A Streetcar Named Demonic (Madder Than Hell Book 3)

by Renee George

  "Don't forget the demon-banishing kit." Olivia pointed to a rollup bag on my dresser. It had a silver spike, holy water, cyanide in a small vial and an insulin syringe, a cone of incense, a Bic lighter, salt, and a tapered candle. Olivia's husband David had put it together for me.

  "I'm matchmaking werewolves, not taking out lesser demons."

  "You never know." She switched Johnny to her other breast. "Better safe than sorry. And don't forget, you need to nail a demon right between the eyes."

  " I don't do the gross stuff. That's just yuck. If I run into evil in a meat suit, I will keep an eye on him or her until you get there, and you can do the banishing."

  She laughed. "You were always so squeamish, even as a ghost. You'd think with your new immortal status you'd be a little less so."

  "Being alive again and a minion hasn't changed me that much."

  A knock outside the door ended the conversation. Elise, blonde, curvy, with deep dimples and periwinkle blue eyes, also my mirror image, poked her head in the room. "Where are you going?"

  I looked at the time. It was not quite noon. "Shouldn't you be in class right now?" She was taking pre-med classes at the community college.

  "How about you don't change the subject? I know you met with that awful demon yesterday and now you're going on a mission for him. What did he want?"

  "Nothing big," I told her.

  She gave me a look that said I was a liar, liar, pants on fire then gave me a polite smile. "I suppose you'll tell me when you want to."

  That was Elise speak for, you hurt my feelings. "Now, don't be that way, Lise. You can't blame me for not wanting to involve you in demon business."

  Another familiar expression blossomed on her face that made Olivia stand up, baby still clutched to her chest, and say, "Uhm, I'll just leave you both to it." She closed the door behind her. Coward.

  “You and I are split from the same egg. We share identical DNA. I may not have made a demon bargain, but that doesn't mean I am not already involved. The fact that you think I am unscathed in this business flabbergasts me. I am the same person who watched with you for one hundred and forty-nine years while Olivia made regrettable decisions because of a demon lord. I won't idly standby while you do the same. Not if I can help it.”

  My stomach burned at Elise's anger, but I couldn't allow my sister to get involved in my dealings with demons and other supernatural creatures. She was the only one of us who had a chance for a normal, human life, and I would do whatever it took to protect her, even if it meant alienating her from my life. I lifted my chin as I tried hard to bury the emotion bubbling inside me. "You can't help me, Elise. Not now, not ever. You are not equipped for this life. Besides, don't you have some anatomy or math study group gathering you should be leaving for soon?"

  Her head jerked to attention as if I'd slapped her across the face. I flinched at the pain of betrayal in her eyes. "You have never been cruel, Eliza. It doesn't suit you."

  I took a slow breath to steady my voice. "I'm a minion now, sister dearest. Cruelty is part of the job."

  The door slamming behind her as she exited the room felt as if she'd slammed it against my heart. I stared at the empty space where she'd stood seconds earlier and buried my face in my hands. "I'm sorry, Elise."

  "Now, now," Frank Fowler said. "Elise won't stay mad at you forever."

  "How I wish that were true," I said.

  Frank and his life partner Ray Walters were two integral, founding members of the Psychical Society of Paranormal Researchers along with Ennis Rutherford and my brother-in-law David Jensen. They were all in their eighties now, although David had been given a second chance to relive his youth, and it made my heart hurt to think about what it would be like when old age finally took them.

  I remembered Frank as a young man. Short, trim, square jaw, wire-rimmed glasses, a thick head of hair, and a serious demeanor. Now, he had a rounded belly, mostly bald, and his glasses were too thick for wire frames to hold. Frank didn't have the research chops of Ray, or the engineering know-how of Ennis, but he brought his own set of skills to the group with what he knew about weapons used to kill monsters.

  When they did research for us, I could still see the young men I remembered from when Olivia used to run with them. I'd asked Frank about werewolves and he'd told me to meet him in the barn. But here I was jawing on about what happened with Elise instead of getting an education on werewolves.

  I watched as Frank pulled a dusty box from the shelf and set it on a wooden work bench.

  "I have been shutting her out of my life for months now, and I believe my earlier words with her crossed a line from which we might never recover." I dabbed at the tears pooling at the corners of my eyes. "It's for the better."

  He grunted. "If you say so." He wiped off the box with a clean rag then popped the locks on either side. His wrinkled skin stretched tight, his dentures bright white, as he smiled at the contents.

  I peered inside. "Pistols?"

  "Not just any pistols," Frank said. "These belonged to Algernon Blackwood, a writer and ardent researcher of the supernatural world."

  "I've never heard of him." I picked up one of the weapons and considered the heft of it before leveling the sight to my eyeline. Poppa had taught all of us girls how to shoot rifles, but pistols were something new. Frank had been helping me with my technique, and I'd managed to become proficient with .22 Ruger and a 9 mm Sig. This gun, a 45 caliber, appeared ancient in comparison. "Does it have a lot of kick?"

  "A bit," Frank replied. "It is one of the first semi-automatics created in 1898 by George Luger. Blackwood had Luger specially design these to shoot silver bullets that had been smelted with wolfsbane to combat werewolves."

  I'd completed an extensive Google search on silver bullets before I'd left the shopping mall, because David's farm had no internet or cell phone reception. Other than electricity and modern plumbing, the place had very little in the way of modern technology. All those people raving about technology being the devil's playground wasn't far off from the truth. David learned that early on, so he kept his property clean of accidental paranormal infestations by keeping it all low tech. After the search, I'd been able to conclude one big problem with silver bullets.

  "From what I've read, I would have better luck hitting a monster with a silver bullet if I tossed it than if I shot it from a gun."

  Frank took the pistol from me. "You see this here?" He pointed to the barrel.

  Other than it being less bulky than the Sig, I wasn't sure why he was drawing my attention to that part. "Okay, so tell me what I'm looking at."

  "The problem with silver bullets is that they are harder than lead, so they tend to ruin the rifling marks inside the barrel. But these Lugers have smooth barrels like a shotgun. According to Blackwood's diaries, these guns will stop even the biggest, baddest Alpha."

  "Oh." I smiled at him. "If you're offering, I'm accepting." Though I hoped I wouldn't need to use them. Unlike my sisters, especially Elise, I could not stand all the yuckiness that came with hunting. Blood, brains, spilled intestines...I shivered. "I really don't want to have to hurt anyone. Leonard is just sending me to make sure two people get married like they’re supposed to do."

  "Two werewolves," Frank said, giving me the look my father used to give me when he thought I was being ridiculous. "From two opposing packs. In my experience, that is a situation that generally ends in a fight. You don't want to be caught in the middle without a way to get out or put a stop to it."

  "Frank's right."

  The lines around Frank's eyes eased when Ray walked into the barn. "Shouldn't you be resting?" he asked cantankerously. Ray had been in remission from cancer for seven months, but that didn't stop Frank from fussing over him. "It's a might chilly outside. Where's your jacket?"

  Ray wore jeans, tan work boots, and pale blue, short-sleeved buttoned-down shirt. His lips thinned in a grimace. "It's seventy-two degrees out, Frank." He nodded to me. "One thing," Ray said. "Silver is also less
dense than lead bullet, which means it won't penetrate as well."

  "And that means what for me?"

  "It means, if you are thinking about pulling the trigger, make sure you're up nice and close to the beast. These are only effective at short range."

  "So, I just have to make sure that if a werewolf is trying to kill me that I have the gun up and ready to go, but I have to wait until he--"

  "Or she," Ray said.

  "--or she," I said, "is right on top of me before I shoot."

  "Well, at least within two to three feet of you" Frank said.

  "Fantastic." I shook my head. "Great. No problem."

  "Are you worried?"

  "I wasn't before you two decided to be helpful."

  Ray grinned. "We're always here when you need us."

  Frank nodded. "You'll be fine, girly."

  "I don't suppose you've got some bullets to go with the guns."

  Frank lifted the felt, false bottom in the wooden case. Underneath was four magazines. "There are eight bullets in each clip. Hopefully, you won't need more than thirty-two."

  "If I need more than thirty-two, I'll call for the cavalry."

  Ray, who was taller than both Frank and me, dipped his head and gave me a quick, fatherly kiss on the forehead. "And the cavalry will come."

  Chapter 3

  I was scheduled to meet with the Ralls and Marion county pack leaders at five o'clock at the Huckleberry Bakery & Bistro on St. Mary's Avenue in Hannibal, the town famous for once being the home of Mark Twain, an American storyteller famous for creating the characters Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. He became famous after I died, so I'm not sure I carried the same reverence as most folks, but I understood the appeal of a story with a moral.

  I parked near the restaurant and grabbed the backpack I'd packed, including the two Lugers, before locking the doors on the truck. A girl couldn't be too careful these days, especially when that girl was a Madder sister.

  The sign on the door said it was closed. I smooshed my face against the clear glass and saw that the place was empty except for a young, handsome man with dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard and a pretty brunette who sat next to him. The man waved me inside.

  As I made my way to the booth, I couldn't help but die a little at the scents of freshly baked apple pie and blueberry muffins. My mouth watered, and I hoped that some of those desserts would be in my belly before this meeting was over. My delight was mildly soured by the expressions of irritation from the couple in the booth, and the man, well, I could feel an undercurrent of anger in him as well. I put on my best Southern girl smile as I approached them. "You two must be the happy couple."

  The man's face went as red as an apple, and the woman sucked in a surprised breath then let out with the loudest, most unladylike guffaw I think I've ever heard from any woman.

  "I beg your pardon," I said politely. "Y'all are Grady Conrad and Carol Ann Broderick, right?"

  The woman slapped the table. "You got that half-right." She looked at the blustery man next to her. "I'm Carol Ann, but this is my father Robert Broderick," she said.

  "Oh." Robert Broderick didn't look much older than mid-twenties. "Oh my. I apologize, Mister Broderick. I've never met...well, your kind before so I wasn't aware that a lack of aging was a side effect to your affliction. I'm Eliza Madder."

  "First," he said, "call me Bobby. Robert was my daddy's name. Second, lycanthropy isn't so much an affliction as it is a birthright. We are not diseases that spread or need a cure." He smiled, and I could tell he was trying to make it charming.

  I nodded. "Duly noted." I looked around. "Where is everyone?"

  "Conrad insisted on a public venue, but this part of Hannibal is in my territory, so I know folks. The restaurant closes daily at two in the afternoon, but the owners agreed to rent the place to me privately for an hour."

  Bobby stood from his side of the booth, a man with manners, as I sat down across from him and his daughter. The sheer height of him made me tremble. I'd never seen anyone so tall in real life before. His presence set my nerves on edge.

  I placed my phone on the table. I'd grown very accustomed and comfortably with modern technology. Google maps made it super easy for to find places and the large digital display made it easy to check the time of day. Right now, it was three minutes after five—a few minutes past the meeting time. "Where is Mister Conrad?" I asked.

  "I'm here," a deep, almost husky voice said from the entry.

  "Late," Bobby grumbled.

  I swallowed the lump as I stared at the most handsome man I'd ever laid eyes on. Grady Conrad filled the doorway with his broad shoulders, and his head, full of thick black hair, nearly touched to top frame. He wasn't as tall as Bobby Broderick, but he was pretty darn close. His green eyes glowed with menace as he kept his gaze unnervingly on the other man in the room.

  "I'm a cautious guy," he said as his shoulders relaxed and he walked to the table with an easy lope. He was sitting down next to me, barely giving me enough time to scoot over. I got the feeling that if I hadn't moved he'd have plopped down right on my lap.

  His leg touched mine, and I blinked, rapidly, as tingles ran straight to my girly bits. Even my nipples tightened.

  All eyes turned on me then. Bobby and Carol Ann with expectation, and the new guy with something closer to curiosity.

  I'd heard werewolves had extreme scenting abilities, and my previously pleasurable tingles turned to a cold shower of horror. "What?"

  "You called this meeting, Miss Madder," Bobby said. "We'll let you take the lead."

  "Oh, right," I said with a quick shake of my head as I threw up a dozen thank-yous that the sudden interest in me had nothing to do with my traitorous hormones. I turned to the hot hunka man sitting next to me. "I'm the mediator."

  "You mean the demon lackey," he said.

  I wasn't angry when I answered him. "Minion is the correct term, but if you prefer demon lackey, then fine. We'll go with it."

  I guess I couldn't blame him for being mean. I'd had a choice in my dealings with Leonard, even though desperation had pushed me to make the bargain. Grady and Carol Ann had no choice at all. They'd been pawns in their fathers' game. I pulled the contract out of my bag and placed it on the table. "Let me start saying that I am sorry for the loss of your father, Mister Conrad," I said sympathetically. I'd lost my poppa when I was only twenty, so I understood the keen loss at such a young age. "But you can call me Eliza," I said.

  Grady looked surprised for a moment, but then nodded. "Go on, Eliza. Mediate."

  Now we were cooking with gravy. I opened the twenty-nine-year-old parchment and summarized what I'd read. "The contract, agreed upon by Robert Broderick and Harold Conrad states that upon the thirtieth birthday of their children, Grady Alan Conrad will marry Carol Ann Broderick, sealing their vows with the mating ritual, and the Ralls pack and the Marion pack will expand out tenfold, and both Alphas will become the most powerful Alphas in the country. If one Alpha should die, under no fault of the other, then on the day of marriage and mating, the surviving alpha," I nodded to Bobby Broderick, and continued, “will assume both territories."

  Grady's relaxed fingers squeezed into a tight fist, but he kept his words calm. "Carol Ann and I can't possibly be made to honor a contract written by two greedy men who couldn't settle their problems without making a demon bargain."

  Bobby, less calmly said, "That demon bargain has kept the peace in this area for more than a quarter of a century, boy. And, when you marry my daughter and take your place as my second, the peace will continue."

  "And if I don't agree?"

  I interjected. "Unfortunately, according to the contract, Leonard can take your life and drag you to Hell. Both you and Carol Ann."

  I heard an awful screech before I realized that Grady had sprouted unnaturally thick nails and was digging grooves into the Formica.

  "Oh, put your claws away, Grady," Carol Ann said. "I don't like this any more than you do, but we are children of alphas, an
d we don't have a choice when it comes to pack safety. We have a duty to our kind."

  "I can see you've been drinking the Kool-Aid, Carol Ann." He shook his head. "I won't do it."

  With a burst of speed and strength, Bobby shot up to his feet, knocking his daughter, and the booth chair they were sitting in, several feet backwards. Grady was up on his feet a split second later, but without all the property destruction.

  I grabbed the twin Lugers from the bag when both men began to grow, their shirts splitting open as they sprouted fur and snouts and teeth and their heads brushed the eight-foot ceiling. I prayed my training the past year would get me through the next few moments as I placed myself between the snarling wolf-men and pressed the barrels to their chests. The points of contact with their skin sizzled, making both werewolves turn their attention onto me. I swallowed and tried to keep my voice from trembling as I said, "These semi-automatics pistols have eight werewolf killing bullets in each clip. I will pull the triggers and keep pulling until you both are dead if you continue this route of negotiation. Do we have an understanding?"

  They'd both stepped back a few inches from me and were returning to their hulking man sizes instead of their Jolly Green Giant werewolf sizes.

  Grady snarled. "I'm not giving up the Ralls' Pack to Bobby Broderick," he snapped. "End of conversation." And with that, he stormed out of the restaurant.

  I winced and forced a smile at Bobby and his daughter. "Well, I think that went well for our first mediation, don't you?"

  Carol Ann laughed again. "What would you have considered bad?"

  I tucked the Lugers away in my bag. "Everyone dead."

  "You're right," she agreed. "That would have been bad."

  I screwed my face into what I hoped looked like optimism. "I'm just going to chase Mister Conrad down for a one-on-one session. There are some pretty heinous ramifications in the contract if either of you fail to fulfill your parts that I think he might not grasp the full weight of."

  "Like the fact that the demon can come snatch us up and drag us to Hell if we don't agree," Carol Ann said.