by Ryan Hill
CONTENTS
Required Legalese
Dedication
Chapter One - The Soup Kitchen
Chapter Two - The Homeless be Trippin'
Chapter Three - You Say It's Almost Your Birthday
Chapter Four - These Legs Were Made for Humpin'
Chapter Five - Rasta Wigs and Red Polka Dots
Chapter Six - Play Us a Song, Piano Man
Chapter Seven - Maternal Instincts
Chapter Eight - Check Out the Pipes on This Kid
Chapter Nine - Cat Fight
Chapter Ten - And How Did You Become a Ghost, Little Boy?
Chapter Eleven - Disrespecting Your Authority
Chapter Twelve - Calling on a Lady? At This Hour?
Chapter Thirteen - Not-so Romantic Entanglements
Chapter Fourteen - An Ex-Demon Meets the Family
Chapter Fifteen - This Guy?
Chapter Sixteen - The Claws Come Out
Chapter Seventeen - The Teacher Strikes Back
Chapter Eighteen - Calling in a Favor
Chapter Nineteen - Detour
Chapter Twenty - Making a House Call
Chapter Twenty-One - My Own Private Hell
Chapter Twenty-Two - The Hunt for Remy Broussard
Chapter Twenty-Three - Extra Muscle
Chapter Twenty-Four - To Catch a Mop Top
Chapter Twenty-Five - Party Crashers
Chapter Twenty-Six - Secret Passage
Chapter Twenty-Seven - The Magister Caelo
Chapter Twenty-Eight - The Building Blocks of Paradise
Chapter Twenty-Nine - Not Good (Metaphorically and Literally)
Chapter Thirty - Return of the Hipster Clown
Thank You!
About the Author
Bart of Darkness
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright 2017 Ryan Hill
All rights reserved.
ISBN-10: 1548225258
ISBN-13: 978-1548225254
Cover Design: White Rabbit Book Design
https://www.whiterabbitbookdesign.com
All rights reserved.
The scanning, uploading, sharing, or tomfoolery of any part of this novel without the permission of the author is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. It would bring a thousand years of bad karma down upon your head. So don’t steal the novel, okay? I worked really hard on it. Think about that before stealing this work of art.
If you would like to use materials from the novel (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at [email protected].
Thank you for being cool about all the legal stuff.
Visit the amazing author at www.ryanhillwrites.com and sign up for the newsletter at http://eepurl.com/7wfaf
First edition: June 2017
For Maggie
CHAPTER ONE
The Soup Kitchen
Pouring soup into bowls for homeless people was beyond boring. Why would I take comfort and satisfaction in feeding the hungry? Subjecting myself to the foul body odor, rotted teeth, and lice that came from a life on the streets? Ulterior motives for being there or not, I found no joy in “donating my time to charity.” Which was why…
“What are you smiling about?” Sam asked.
I shrugged. “Was I?”
“Yes.”
“Thinking about the good old days, I guess.”
It was nothing but the truth. I missed being a full-fledged demon. The hate. The anger. The built-in evil that came factory installed from the moment of creation for a fallen angel. The built-in evil that meant one thing: getting payback for being cast out of Heaven fueled every single inch of Hell’s existence. Even when I was on the outs with Hell—after trying to take over—that drive never disappeared. It wasn’t until a succubus and her pimp ripped off my horns that the need for revenge let up. That gave me a little room to think, and I started questioning things. That questioning led to leaving Hell to make a go of it on my own as a rogue. I blazed my own trail, like the first person who thought wearing bell-bottoms was a good idea, or the dog that first dared to drink out of the toilet.
Granted, there was an adjustment period as I learned how to exist without Hell’s fire in my belly. Hate and evil were still a part of me … but now I had to pick and choose where to direct it, instead of taking direction from higher-ups in Hell.
Not to worry. I was still the chain-smoking, virgin-loving scoundrel feared and beloved the world over. Losing the horns didn’t turn me into some goody two-shoes that would bring a granola bar to a knife fight. And without Hell as my guiding light, I was free to go my own way. Do what I wanted. Sin however and with whomever I wanted. Toward the dark, or Hell forbid, the light. Beholden to no one, and no one to me.
“Still thinking?” Sam asked, bringing me back to reality.
I pffted. “Maybe. What’s it to you?”
“All week you’ve complained about coming here to pay off the bet you lost,” Sam said. “Now you’re here and smiling? I don’t buy it.”
I stared at the girl, taking in her intoxicating, wholesome beauty. Sam’s short, curly blonde hair, legs toned through years of soccer, and rear end to die for put her into this perfect middle area between cute and gorgeous that was my sweet spot. She’d be perfect if she weren’t an archangel in training. The fun we could’ve had together. Sadly, despite my best efforts to prevent it, Sam will one day transition to full archangel status, a fate I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
I take that back.
Yes I would.
I didn’t like Sam’s affiliation with Heaven, but I let it slide, considering she rescued me from an eternal punishment on the Seventh Circle. The almost-angel had needed help finding the Shard of Gabriel, and I fit the bill. The Shard gave whoever held it the power of omnipotence … and after we found it, I had used it to try and take over Hell. In retrospect, I should’ve also used it to figure out how to maintain control after taking over the place, but that was semantics. The point was, we made a good team. She wasn’t exactly the yin to my yang, but we made it work … most of the time.
“Are you sure you’re not being paranoid?” I asked.
“Nope,” she said. “You’ve got that gleam in your eye.”
“That’s probably the lighting in here. Those fluorescents are harsh.”
Sam shook her head and poured soup into the bowl of a homeless girl in her twenties. With the girl’s firm jawline, fine brown hair, and an introduction to the modern marvel known as good hygiene, the wayward soul could’ve been quite attractive. Of course, she’d also have to kick her meth habit, or whatever addiction drove her to live the hobo lifestyle. If her circumstances were different, I’d have loved to ruin the girl. Seeing that she was already at rock bottom, however, I wanted nothing to do with her. I didn’t see the sport in kicking a person when they’re down. I used to, but not anymore. Shame.
“Thank you.” A weak smile crept across the homeless girl’s lips and I caught a whiff of her horrific breath. It made me want to puke.
Which was saying something, considering how bad the soup kitchen smelled. The combination of warm broth, boiled potatoes, and body odor created a noxious odor that stuck to everything it touched, including my tailored suit. I was definitely paying a visit to the dry cleaners before the end of the week.
The homeless girl walked away, but her breath lingered like a case of rancid body odor. I stepped away from the soup to get a dose of fresh air, bumping against Sam.
She leered at me through the corn
er of her eye, convinced I was lying. Which I was. “Don’t forget why we’re here.”
“Oh, I haven’t. I just wish this mystery man would show himself so we could go home.”
An older man with a disheveled, dirty gray beard that would have made Santa Claus wince held out his bowl for me to fill. I grimaced.
“Did you ever think you’d be doing something like this?” Sam asked, letting her suspicions slide for the moment. “Not the case, but the volunteering.”
“Never in a million years,” I said.
But, that’s okay, Sam. I don’t have any plans to make this anything more than a routine stakeout. No plans whatsoever.
“That’ll teach you to bet on the Patriots.”
My face wrinkled. The New England Patriots were cheaters of the highest order. They pulled off dirty deeds that would make a normal, sane person want to join the Peace Corps. I’d even seen the contract that made them so good in the first place. It had been paraded around Hell. I knew how good the Patriots were supposed to be. Beating the New Orleans Saints in the Super Bowl should have been a cinch. All the Pats needed to do was take care of business and I’d have another chance to prove my … um … prowess to Sam.
Instead, one botched kickoff later, the Patriots lost and I found myself feeding the homeless a combination of brown liquid and potatoes, mushrooms, and chicken. The bigger reason for slumming it in the soup kitchen was the murders in the homeless community here in Raleigh. Gabriel, my former friend and Sam’s angel mentor, had tasked her with finding out if something not human was behind the deaths. The soup kitchen was a logical place to look for clues. I wanted no part of feeding the homeless, yet here I was, thanks to the Patriots losing.
“Bet or not, one of these days, you’re going to let me get another whack at you.”
“Get another whack at me?” Sam seemed offended at my remark. “You planning on taking me out?”
“I meant like another roll in the hay. Whatever.” I shook my head.
We’d slept together once during our quest for the Shard, but there weren’t any fireworks. I’d fallen under possession of the same succubus that ripped my horns off, and the only way Sam could break the spell was to get into my pants before the succubus. The worst part? I didn’t remember any of it the morning after. I’ve been trying to convince Sam for a second chance ever since, but the almost-angel has held firm. I did think I was wearing her down, though.
Sam ugh’ed. “How is it that you’re a million years older than me, yet I’m the mature one?”
“Bad luck?”
She gave someone the last piece of corn from her tray, then went back into the kitchen to grab more. Meanwhile, I poured some soup for a woman whose cheeks were caved in, most likely from years of abusing crack. A little soup fell on my hand, then ran down to my pinky.
“Oops. Got some on you.” The lady smiled, revealing a set of teeth that varied between brown and black. She set her bowl down and tried to wipe the soup off my fingers with her unclean, germ-infested hands, and I jerked back.
“Don’t touch me, drifter woman.” This task couldn’t end fast enough.
The lady picked up her bowl, unfazed by my repulsion, and grinned suggestively. “I’ll be out back after I’m done eating, in case I can do anything else for you.”
Grossgrossgrossgrossgrossgrossgross.
I didn’t even wait until she’d turned her back before dashing into the kitchen. I brushed by Sam, went straight for the sink, and ran my hands under boiling hot water, using a heavy-duty sponge to scrub the skin clean. Then I grabbed a stack of paper towels to dry off.
“I’m tainted forever.”
“Bartholomew.” Sam used her stern voice.
“What? Some crackhead molested me. She’s lucky I didn’t scream rape.”
Sam held up a small, empty vial. “What is this?”
If I hadn’t been so disgusted by the homeless lady’s proposition, I’d have broken out into a massive giggling fit at the sight of Sam holding the coup de gras. Nothing like an empty vial of hallucinogens to expose a monster.
“You’ve got me,” I said innocently enough. “That doesn’t look like any of the spices they have here. Where did you find that? The trash?”
“You’re so full of it.” Her gaze was sharp enough to cut through rock. “You left it by the condiments. Probably in the hopes I’d find it.”
Sam was on point. I had left the vial in the open for her to find. I got a kick out of Sam’s reactions to my tomfoolery. The lectures were the best. Listening to her scold me on the ramifications of slipping a bunch of homeless people hallucinogenic drugs felt like icing on the cake, even if it were for the “greater good.”
“Always with the accusations,” I said. “Can’t you ever trust me?”
“You’ve once again proven that I can’t take you anywhere without causing trouble.” She set the item in question on the table, then rested her hands on her hips like a disapproving mother. “I bet that’d be the case, even if I made you behave.”
“Valid point.” I held up my left hand, letting her get a good look at the Ring of the Gods. Crafted by Zeus and some of his other Grecian god buddies, it was the only thing that kept me safe from things like church grounds or Sam’s ability to make me do whatever she wanted—including behave myself—with her Hand of God powers. “Those are the breaks.”
“I can’t believe you.” She threw the vial in the trash. “Did you seriously spike food meant for homeless people?”
I decided to fess up. “Of course. It’s a great way to help us find the bad guy, if there is one.”
Sam ughed. “You know this doesn’t count as payment for the bet now.”
“What?” My face dropped. “No way. The bet was I had to come here and help you figure out whether the homeless murders were part of something more sinister while putting shitty food into the bellies of vagrants; which, by the way, is one of the most sadistic things I’ve ever had to do, and that’s not even counting my insistence that they kill Bambi’s mother.”
Sam gasped. “That was you?”
Of course that was me! But I digress.
I ignored her surprise. “There weren’t any ground rules to settling the bet beyond helping you tonight. Looking at it that way, one could almost make the argument that this is your fault.”
“You always have to work some angle, don’t you?” Her face burned like an irritated rash as she stepped around the oversized metal table separating us and stalked to within inches of me. “You can’t just do something for the sake of doing it.”
“This is what infuriates me about you,” Sam said. “These people can’t afford a warm meal, and yet you’re still doing your rogue demon thing on them.”
“Technically, I’m only a rogue,” I said. “Believe it or not, I was trying to help.”
Sam sighed. “Of course you were.”
Just then, Carol, a volunteer with a luscious perm, stuck her head in the door. “Hey, guys, I don’t mean to interrupt, but there’s something wrong out here.”
Despite the laser beams metaphorically shooting out of Sam’s eyes, through my skull, and melting my brain, she somehow put on a happy face before turning to Carol. “What is it?”
“Everybody is acting all ... loopy,” Carol said. “I’ve never seen anyone get food poisoning at one of these things before.”
I had to stop myself from jumping with excitement. “Weird. But I wouldn’t worry. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”
In a few hours, when the effects wear off. Unless there’s something non-human, in which case…
“Are you sure?” Carol asked.
I glanced at Sam, hoping for a little backup. Carol needed to calm the Heaven down. If she called 9-1-1 I’d have to rush out of there, dragging Sam with me. Why bother with the hassle of authorities for something so simple as a practical joke? Carol, suspicious at Sam and I leaving in such a hurry, would most likely rat me out to the paramedics or whomever, noting that I had “skedaddled out of ther
e real suspiciously.” With the gold crucifix around her neck featuring more diamond bedazzling than a teenybopper’s handbag, Carol seemed like the sort to tell on me, ruining my fun—and Sam’s task.
“Are we?” she whispered.
I nodded. Besides, a good portion of the homeless people were probably addicts. Those ones were probably enjoying the buzz.
“We’re sure,” Sam said. “Maybe it’s their blood sugar or something.”
Bless that little no-winged angel. Got us out of a potential jam, and wasn’t very honest in the process. That’s something I refer to as a win-win.
I laughed to cover up my relief. “I think I accidentally put some sugar in the last batch, instead of salt.”
“He’s so clumsy.” Sam elbowed me in the ribs with a little extra oomph.
“You wouldn’t believe,” I said, rubbing my side. “I’m constantly banging into things. Corners, doorframes…” Virgins…
“I’ve never seen sugar do that to anyone,” Carol said.
“Trust me,” I said. “It’s merely a sugar high.”
Or something like that.
Carol hmmed. “All right. Just be more careful with the next batch, will you?”
“Absolutely,” I said with a smile.
“Good.” Carol went back out to the conference room, and with her all the tension in the air. Not even a pizza-fueled fart felt this refreshing.
With Carol handled and the mini-crisis averted, I got excited all over again. I tapped my fingers and shuffled over to the door, opening it a crack for a peek outside. A bunch of homeless people were giggling and twirling around, arms outstretched, having the time of their lives. One couple held each other, dancing to an imaginary song that wasn’t playing. Another person bobbed their head back and forth, squawking like a bird. I couldn’t contain my laughter.
“I never thought volunteering at a soup kitchen could be so much fun.”
Sam grabbed my ear, yanking me back into the kitchen. Her face burned red hot, like a Ferrari.
“Tell me what you gave them.”
“What?” I rubbed my ear. “I can’t hear you. Someone almost ripped my ear off.”
