Bart of Darkness (The Book of Bart 2)

by Ryan Hill

  “That’s odd,” I said. “Because I was talking to you.”

  “Do you want me to look into that thing from tonight?” Sam asked. “Because Bartholomew already suggested it.”

  I gasped. “Don’t tell him that.”

  “Why not? You did.”

  “That’s not the point.” I didn’t want that dunce cap to know I’d tried to help Sam. He’d take it as some sort of sign that I was changing … for the worse.

  “You suggested Samantha investigate something evil?” Gabriel leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, grinning like a proud father. “Amazing. I’d hoped Hell’s influence would wear off, and clearly it’s beginning to.”

  I pointed at him, furious. “You shut your blessed heathen mouth or I’ll shove a turkey baster up your ass and give you a green tea enema.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Sam asked, her commanding tone indicating that I needed to shut up.

  “This thing … it’s something we’ve never seen before,” Gabriel said.

  “You should get out more,” I said.

  “Heaven thinks you found what’s been killing so many people here in Raleigh. I do too.” Gabriel took a small sip of the tea, then tried to hide his distaste with a hmm. “The confusing part is there’s been no uptick in souls arriving at our gates, and after seeing that thing suck up people–”

  I laughed. “Hold on there, Poncho. Are you here because Heaven is mad someone is stealing souls they think belong to them? My, how the mighty have fallen.”

  Gabriel gave me a glare that said look who’s talking. I could see that he wanted to say it out loud, and I’d have verbally destroyed him for it, but instead he took a deep breath, his neck disappearing into his shoulders. I wondered how difficult that move would’ve been if I’d shoved The Exorcist down that hipster gullet of his.

  “We don’t own souls, Bartholomew,” Gabriel said. “We set them free. Welcome them into God’s kingdom. You know that.”

  “No I don’t. I was long gone before you all got into the soul game.” I glanced at Sam to fill her in. “And by long gone, I mean a couple of hundred thousand years.”

  Sam gave me one quick nod, then disregarded what I’d said all together. “Gabriel, is it possible for these Mop Tops to even steal souls?”

  “That’s what you’re going to have to find out,” Gabriel said. “People are dying, but their souls are nowhere to be found.”

  “Maybe they found a better gig,” I said. “I know I did.”

  “And look where that got you,” Sam said with a hint of venom.

  Ouch. I didn’t have a snarky remark in return. She’d won that round without dispute.

  “Find out if they’re the ones stealing souls and why, if you can,” Gabriel said. “The main task is to free the trapped souls. I can only imagine the horror they’re exp–”

  “Well.” I stood from my chair, the feet screeching against the fake linoleum floor. I’d heard enough. “Since this little soirée doesn’t involve me, I’m going home. Watch some porn, bathe myself in sin, who knows?”

  “You’re the one who made the thing reveal itself,” Gabriel said. “This task belongs to you as much as it does anyone else.”

  “Sure.” I threw out my hands. “Blame me.”

  “Nobody’s blaming you,” Gabriel said.

  “You literally just blamed me, you bucket full of wet cigarette butts,” I said, voice raised. “I’ve been getting it from Grumpy Dwarf over here all night, and you’re a few cards short of a full deck if you think I’m going to take anywhere close to that level of abuse from you.”

  “Let’s tone the tantrum down a bit, shall we?” Gabriel took a loud sip from the tea.

  “I haven’t begun to throw a tantrum.” A tantrum from me would’ve involved pouring the warm green tea into his ear canal, then picking up the table and hurling it through a wall.

  “Could’ve fooled me.” Gabriel refused to make eye contact, pissing me off to no end.

  “Under what circumstance have I ever, or will I ever, take lip from you?” I shouted. “Any kind of friendship we had ended a long time ago, so don’t assume for a second you have the goodwill to give me grief!”

  Gabriel leaned back, eyes lollygagging in my direction. “Do you always have to be so childish?”

  “You think that’s childish? How about this?” I stormed out of the apartment in a huff. They could have their fun without me.

  I moved briskly down the stairs. Sam’s door opened and closed behind me. I didn’t bother to look back. All I wanted was for this crap night to end.

  “Bartholomew.” The almost-angel ran across the parking lot, catching up to me as I reached my Mercedes Benz SUV, which was the same as hers, only black instead of white.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Don’t listen to him. You know I could use your help on this.”

  “You said you don’t feel like you matter. Guess what? You’re riding solo on this one, so you’re the only one that does matter.” I got in the SUV.

  Sitting in the driver’s seat, I patted my ruined suit. Every time I had to discard a suit, it broke my heart. Since pairing up with Sam, my babies were getting destroyed with alarming regularity. It was a tragedy. I hated wearing a ruined suit. It felt like a dead body was draped over me, so to make existence easier, I’d started stashing a change of fresh clothes in the Benz for such an instance. I yanked off the shirt and tie, then threw them on the passenger-side floorboard.

  “Blessed Gabriel.” Since he was Sam’s mentor in Heaven, I’d seen more of that facial cyst in the past year than I had in the past thousand years. Sam was lucky I liked her so much, because dealing with Gabriel annoyed me to the point of wanting to puncture my ear drums with a toothpick.

  I was too angry to mess with the pants. The suit I’d been wearing was dark, and thanks to the sun having set several hours earlier, the blood didn’t show on them. I pulled on a black, long-sleeve t-shirt, then started the car. To Heaven with this night. Gabriel too. He couldn’t have waited until I’d left to bother Sam? Anger forced my fingers to tighten around the steering wheel and I jammed my foot down on the gas pedal. Since the SUV was still in park, the engine screeched as all those RPMs had nowhere to go.

  Sam stood next to the car, watching me with her sad, hurt puppy-dog eyes. I wasn’t trying to hurt her. At least, not beyond spiking the soup. Gabes had an innate talent for bringing out the worst in me. It was great for a demon, not so great for a partner.

  I banged the steering wheel. I knew better than to let my hatred for that hipster angel get the best of me. Sam didn’t deserve any of my rage. All she’d done was win a stupid Super Bowl bet. Gabriel was the one I had a problem with. I ground my teeth, trying to let the moment pass, along with my anger. It worked, enough—to the point I could talk to Sam without worry of reaching my boiling point again. I pressed a button on the side of the door and waited for the window to roll down.

  “That was a bit harsh,” I said. “Even by my standards.”

  “No, you’re right.” Sam pulled a strand of hair behind her ear and closed her eyes, regaining her composure. “I shouldn’t be throwing myself a pity party.”

  She needed a hug. I was already buckled in and everything, though, so it’d have to come from someone else. It was lazy, but oh well. Getting out of the car for a hug was a lot of work.

  “Call if you need anything.”

  Sam waved me off. “Just do your own thing. It’s what your best at.”

  And with that, she walked back inside, arms crossed and head held low.

  I considered going after her, to try and make her feel better, but again, I’d have to get out of the car. So, I’d hurt her feelings. Wasn’t the first time, and most likely wouldn’t be the last. Why did this even cross my mind? I needed to demon up. Sam was making me soft.

  When my downtown condo was destroyed by a crazed televangelist and his lackeys last year, I decided to try life in North Hills, a posh, up-and-coming area not far from dow
ntown. Much as I wanted to stay put and keep living the high life, too many things that liked to go bump—or crash—in the night would’ve easily found me there. I’d moved into a condo off Six Forks Road, only a hop, skip, and jump from my old stomping grounds. Tonight, it at least gave me an excuse to drive my sweet Mercedes when I wanted to prowl for local nightlife.

  I fumbled around for my cigarettes and noticed there was only one left, so I stopped at a strip mall to pick up some smokes and hard liquor: two things guaranteed to wash the taste of angels and homeless people out of my mouth.

  A salt-and-pepper Miniature Schnauzer ran under the car door the moment I stopped; it barked at me as I got out. The mutt didn’t have a collar, and its hair was thinning to the point that some bald spots were visible. Most likely a stray, condemned to escape one awful situation before stumbling into another. Like a sailor without a port. Or a demon without its horns. If the dog wanted trouble, it could find it elsewhere. I wasn’t in the mood.

  “Get out of here.” I shooed it away with my foot as it tried to mount my leg and get a little action. “I don’t care if the pants are ruined and covered in blood. They don’t need your mark of approval on top of it.”

  I forcefully shook my leg a few more times, and the dog lost its grip. It ran away, whining. I rubbed my forehead, guilt seeping through my veins. First Sam, now this. Wait. This? A stray dog looking for love in all the wrong places bothered me? I smacked my temples.

  “Come on. You’re better than this.”

  When I’d lost my horns, and my connection to Hell, I knew developing some sort of … conscience … might happen. There wasn’t a big chance, but a chance. That kind of thing happened to other demons. Lesser demons. Not someone like me.

  The worst part? The way it felt. Misery and guilt used to fuel me. Now those emotions made me want to take a bath in acid to wash off the self-loathing.

  “No. Not happening.”

  This was a glitch in my wiring. My body struggling to adjust to processing dangerous situations without horns to keep myself in check. That was it. All part of the adjustment period. Nothing to see here, especially not an ex-demon developing some semblance of a conscience.

  Regardless, I needed liquor. Lots of it. I walked into the ABC store and got a cart to push around. Each aisle was organized by drink. Vodka, whiskey, bourbon, brandy—well, brandy was mixed in with the bourbon—tequila… I paid a visit to each row, making sure to load up on a souvenir or two to take home with me.

  “Buying for your fraternity brothers?” a redhead asked me in the tequila section. “I’ve never seen someone get so much before.”

  Oh, hello. A ginger, and an attractive one at that. See, Bartholomew? You have nothing to worry about. You’re fine. Still got it.

  Considering her assumption that I was in a fraternity, she didn’t give off much of a virgin vibe, but after everything that had happened, any sort of sin would hit the spot. Especially if it involved a ginger with a toned body and C-cups begging to spill out of a sexy V-neck sweater.

  Mama Mia.

  I needed to make her laugh, and quick. Nothing hooked a lady like a handsome individual with a sense of humor.

  “I’m not Greek,” I said, though I’d sinned with plenty of them. I patted one of the bottles. “This is just a little weekend shopping for myself.”

  She laughed. I laughed with her. I’d taken my place on the floor, the music played, and my dance of seduction started.

  “And yourself?” I peeked at the margarita mix in her hand. “Planning a party or binge-watching with your girlfriends?”

  “Maybe both,” she said. “This stuff should last all weekend.”

  “Depends on the type of tequila you get.”

  I felt the guilt slipping away, my libido rushing in to take its place. My sweet, sweet libido. The ginger’s straight hair was pulled back in a ponytail, exposing ear lobes I wanted to nibble on here in the middle of the ABC store.

  “How about this one?” She grabbed the biggest, cheapest bottle on the shelves.

  I pursed my lips and scrunched my face.

  “I like this one,” she said.

  “I’d rather drink water from a horse’s trough.”

  She set the poor excuse for tequila down. “Then what do you suggest?”

  Clearly the girl was on a budget, and buying her the best bottle in the store would’ve come off as a little creepy and a lot desperate, so I needed to find some tequila that was good, strong, and affordable. I looked over the bottles and prices, but nothing under $49.99 caught my eye. Bless it all. Why did everything good have to cost so much?

  Then I found it. Like a lake in a desert, I fixated on the tequila, ever grateful for its presence. I handed it to her.

  “This one.”

  She inspected the label. “Tequila Cabeza?”

  “It’s pretty cheap for a liter of tequila, plus you don’t need a lot of it for mixing,” I said. “But be careful. It goes straight to your head.”

  She chuckled. “Right, because cabeza is head in Spanish.”

  “You got it.” My brain went mad with confusion. That was a good joke. Why did she barely acknowledge it?

  “So, are you even twenty-one?” she asked. “Do you have a fake ID?”

  “No, I just look much younger than my age.” I puffed my chest out a little, to better show off the physique hiding underneath my shirt. “It’s all about maintenance.”

  She rested her hand on the end of the cart. Her eyebrows arched and she smiled, revealing the tiniest glimpse into her mouth. The girl was intrigued. I imagined what her tongue would feel like against mine. This whole thing was on like–

  “The store will be closing in five minutes,” a raspy voice announced over the PA system.

  Bless it all. I wanted to rip the scalp off that person’s head with my bare hands. Thanks to the raspy voice, my moment had passed. Our hypnotic trance was broken. My libido sulked back into the shadows, leaving guilt and its good friend regret to creep back in.

  “Well, have a good night,” the ginger said. “I have a couple more things to get before they close.”

  “And I need to pay for this bounty, otherwise the cashier might pull a fast one, like when you reach the front of the line one minute past nine and the guy tells you the computer went down, so no liquor for you.”

  She arched her eyebrow, nodding. “Then you better go pay for it.”

  Three hundred and twenty-seven dollars later, I walked out of the ABC store, still cursing myself for screwing up with the ginger. I reached into my pocket and pressed the hatchback button on the electronic key for my Mercedes. The rear opened and I packed the booze in, taking care to pack it so that the bottles wouldn’t tip over or break during the drive home.

  As I tucked in the last of the alcohol, that blessed dog barked behind me. I ignored it.

  No. Not tonight, little poochie. Go find a heart that bleeds to help you.

  It barked louder, like that’d bend me to its will.

  A third bark, even louder. The sound grated on my ears. If it continued, little bits of grated eardrum would fall out. I wondered if the shavings would work well with a clam chowder. That’d be about the only good they’d be after that.

  “I don’t have anything for you,” I said, giving in to the mutt. “Go find some other leg to hump.”

  The dog looked up at me, tail wagging. It cried and held out a paw.

  No. No, no, no, no, no.

  It was like Sam all over again. The dog was cute and acting emotionally wounded. Sam used the same playbook to prey on my “emotions,” though in truth I didn’t have any. Still, that never stopped her from going after them … or succeeding.

  Never again.

  I closed the hatchback with a grin on my face. Free to drive home and leave the dog stranded in the parking lot, victory was mine.

  The blessed dog jumped in the back of the SUV before the hatchback closed all the way.

  Victory wasn’t mine. Yet.

  I
sighed, pressing the hatchback button on the electronic key, and the rear door opened again. The Schnauzer was sitting in between a bottle of brandy and tequila, looking happier than a teacher getting a raise.

  The nerve of this dog.

  “Get out.” I motioned with my hand for extra emphasis. What did this dog want? To go home with me? What kind of fool did it take me for? I was a rogue. I’d spent the past eleventy-million years in Hell. I didn’t know the first thing about taking care of an animal, nor did I want to.

  The dog yawned, exposing tartar-covered teeth, then curled up for a nap between the bottles. I groaned. The scene was too friggin’ cute for words. I hated it. Sam’s playbook struck again. Why couldn’t this mutt be more devilish?

  Then a grand, fantastic idea struck like a bird in a propeller. I enveloped myself in it like a spider web. Without this idea, I would’ve gone home and drank enough to forget about this pooch, Sam, Gabriel, the Mop Top, the failed seduction … the entire night, really. But now I’d found a new goal to pursue.

  I would mold this mutt into a Hell Hound. I’d never had one of those before.

  “Fine.” I pointed at the Schnauzer. “But if you pee, I’m throwing you in a dumpster.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Rasta Wigs and Red Polka Dots

  Three days passed before I heard from Sam again. The two of us chatted most days, like we were in a relationship, but without the bells and whistles that made putting up with the drama worthwhile. Since I’d met the almost-angel, we’d never gone this long without speaking. Thanks to these new, horrible feelings I’d been experiencing, I should’ve worried about Sam, but my new Hell Hound proved a frustrating distraction.

  There was a better than average chance that Ozzie was a Hell Hound long before the canine burst into my existence like an exploding cake. If the dog cocked his leg at something, it was drenched in urine. If the dog put something in his mouth, it was chewed to bits. Didn’t matter if it was food or not. If he sniffed something interesting, he’d investigate the source by tipping over a trash can, digging his face into one of my designer shoes, or even clawing at cabinet doors until I got so frustrated, I opened them. Currently, Ozzie was trying to eat a Kleenex.