by Ryan Hill
The shouting stopped. The pulsating in my head receded.
I opened my eyes. We were parked on the side of the road and I felt something warm in my ears. Blood. I couldn’t believe it. No joke, my skull almost exploded. Sam was the only thing that saved us. She’d somehow managed to get the car off the road—keeping the Mercedes unharmed—and used her Hand of God power to knock out Duffy.
She grabbed some Kleenexes from the console and handed them to me. “For your ears.”
I swabbed out the black blood in my ears.
“Can you hear?” she asked.
“What?” I said, though my hearing was fine.
“Can you hear me?” she yelled.
I grinned as I finished wiping the blood off my fingers and ears.
Sam sucked in her lips, then stuck out her tongue. “Jerk.”
“That was a nice move,” I said, motioning to Duffy with my thumb.
“I didn’t know ghosts could do that,” Sam said.
I balled up the tissues in my hand. “Me either.”
Ghosts couldn’t physically alter the mortal world. Without a body, it was impossible. That was why all those shows about ghosts were a load of bull. Yes, a ghost could pass through a person, freaking them out, but that stuff about opening drawers and stuff was garbage. Yet, there Sam and I were, heads barely saved from exploding, and her nice, new Mercedes SUV in need of new windows.
With no front windshield, we were forced to call AAA to tow Sam’s car to the Mercedes dealership for a replacement. The tow truck arrived after an hour; a speed record for them, but a buzzkill for me. Duffy and his mega sonic screaming were getting in the way of my get-together with Veronica, who was not happy about being stood up. Forgetting to let her know what happened hadn’t helped things.
The sultry half-vixen texted me right when the tow truck came to a stop.
Guess you’re not coming. It was fun. I won’t bother you again.
That was fantastic. I was late, and because of Duffy, I was missing out on some quality one-on-one time with my new sex kitten, probably forever.
“That your source?” Sam asked, trying not to sound interested.
“Wondering where I am.” I kept my phone out of the dollar-store angel’s view while I typed a response.
In an accident. Long story. Talk later.
“Still meeting up with them?” Sam asked.
“Maybe.” I set my phone to vibrate, then stuffed it in my pocket. Hopefully, Veronica would be completely understanding about my plight and remain interested in meeting up.
“I’ll get an Uber,” Sam said.
The tow truck driver took a good twenty minutes to load the SUV onto the truck’s bed. I’d usually praise that kind of care and attention to a fine automobile, but with no word from Veronica, I was losing patience.
When the SUV was safely on the back of the tow truck, and on its way to the Mercedes dealership, we got our own ride. Our Uber turned out to be a yellow Prius.
That Sam. Always so considerate of the environment.
The Prius’ interior reeked of curry. Not even the combination of holding fingers under my nose and shallow breathing kept the smell at bay. I hoped the curry odor wouldn’t forever taint my suit. I took out my phone. Still no word from Veronica. I decided to text her.
Wasn’t kidding about accident. Stuck in an Uber heading to a friend’s. Want to come get me, then we can have our rendezvous?
I sent the text and put the phone face down on my leg. I couldn’t bear to watch the screen, hoping for the ellipsis to appear that indicated the other person was typing a response. This time, Veronica didn’t make me sweat. My phone buzzed.
Where’s ur car?
Sam glanced down at my phone, trying to sneak a peek, but I turned it away from her. With the sneaky approach failing, the almost-angel went for a more blunt approach.
“Meeting up with your contact after all?” she asked.
“Looking like it.”
“Hope she can give you what you want.”
That statement didn’t sound loaded. Not at all.
I texted Veronica back.
Car’s at home. Stuck in a cab with an angel and an insufferable ghost. Don’t ask. I need some sin right about now. Thoughts?
My phone vibrated with her response almost immediately.
You have to ask? Of course. Now … chains or whips?
Oh, that minx of mine.
Both?
I texted her Sam’s address, then jammed the phone back in my pocket. Duffy had crawled into the front seat, trying in vain to grab the walkie-talkie, and Sam’s mouth hung slightly open, aghast at me.
“What?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
I looked out my window, watching cars pass on the opposite side of the road. I didn’t say anything else to Sam. It wasn’t worth it. If the conversation continued, she would only try to psychoanalyze me.
The taxi pulled into Sam’s complex. After the awful curry smell, I almost welcomed the wall of vanilla that would greet me upon entering her apartment. I needed to get Sam a candle that smelled like anything except vanilla one of the days—even if the candle smelled of rotten milk.
She unlocked the door and we stepped inside, but something was off. I sniffed. There was barely a hint of vanilla in the air. Every time I’d walked into this apartment, the vanilla scent was like some giant lumberjack wrapping its arms around me. This was more like a dainty pixie fairy tapping me on the shoulder.
It … wasn’t like Sam. At all. Not even a little bit.
Angels and pre-angels made it a habit to keep their surroundings clean. The nerds felt like it kept them closer to the Man Upstairs, since cleanliness was next to godliness. Sam’s place was the opposite of neat and tidy. Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink, papers scattered across her kitchen table, empty cups on the coffee table, a pile of books checked out from the library on the floor... All of this mess, and she still hadn’t noticed The Exorcist on her bookcase. Bless it all.
In fact … there was more than one pile of books on the coffee table. I frowned. I’d never seen anything like it, and that meant one thing: The remedial-angel was lower than I’d imagined.
I picked up the first book. It was a worn copy of The Bell Jar, complete with the library-issued dust cover. Why read this book? Wallowing in the manic depression of Sylvia Plath would make even the happiest person on the planet put a nail gun to their head. I’d tried to read it in 1973, hoping a discussion on the book would get me closer to a virgin I had my eyes on. Didn’t work. I stopped reading after ten pages and burned the book, sending it to a better, cheerier place. The virgin wasn’t worth all that pain and suffering.
This merited a further investigation. I put the book back on top of the stack, then looked to see what else the almost-angel had checked out from the li–
Oh.
Oh my.
This wasn’t good.
On top of The Bell Jar, Sam had also checked out a journal of Plath’s, and some other super-depressing books. I inched away from the pile. Even looking at it was enough to make me feel lower than a body snatcher tunneling through a seventeenth-century Parisian sewer in search of a dead person. Sam was even lower than I’d realized. A problem.
Duffy, on the other hand, seemed in better spirits as he plopped himself down on the couch, but there was a look in his eyes that betrayed the anger lingering underneath the surface. Not that I blamed him. One minute he’d been a normal kid, playing video games and begging his mom for candy, then all of a sudden he was a ghost. It’d be a lot for anyone to take in, let alone a child.
“Why can’t I go home?” he asked.
“Your parents can’t see you.” Sam sat down on the couch next to him. “If you went home, you’d only be hurting yourself. Bad things happen to ghosts who stay on Earth.”
“Does my family even know I’m dead?”
“Doubtful,” I said.
Sam threw The Bell Jar at me. I ducked out of the way. Th
e book flew over my head, landing on the kitchen floor and sliding to a stop next to the refrigerator.
“I don’t think Sylvia would’ve appreciated that.” I sat on the love seat. “I know I didn’t.”
Sam shook her head and clicked her tongue. She literally clicked her tongue at me, like telling Duffy the truth was the wrong thing to do. Veronica couldn’t get me out of there fast enough.
“This sucks.” Duffy buried his face in a pillow.
It’d suck even more if he started crying again.
“It’s not so bad.” Sam rubbed his back, speaking in a soft, soothing tone. “You’ll see your parents again someday. Promise. And the place you’re going to … is wonderful. Better than anything you could imagine.”
I rolled my eyes. Not exactly the way I’d describe Heaven, but to each their own. I wanted to make a fart sound, but the thought of Sam clicking at me again made my skin shiver.
Duffy turned his head away from the pillow; his face brightened with hope. “You’ve been there?”
“We both have.” I’d never seen Sam act so … maternal. She’d never spoken to me like that. Then again, I wasn’t some little piss ant who’d died and needed a pep talk. “Whenever you’re ready, you can go there. I can call a very nice friend of mine, and he’ll take you there.”
Duffy sat up. “No. I don’t want to go yet.”
“First smart thing you’ve said all day,” I said. “That friend she’s talking about? Total tool.”
Sam puckered her lips and glanced at the books. I grinned and winked at her. With me sitting in the love seat, a lamp or something more valuable was liable to get broken if she hurled another book at me and missed. Sam knew it too, which explained why she only strangled me with her eyes.
The almost-angel turned her attention back to the Duffmeister. “Are you sure? You understand you can’t stay here on Earth.”
“I guess,” Duffy said. “Can I stay a little longer? I’m not ready.”
“Okay,” Sam said. “Only for a few days. Any longer than that could be trouble.”
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. My loins jumped in excitement. Finally! Time to exit this house of sadness and morbidity and enter the warm, sensual embrace of my lady half-demon lover.
“That’s my ride,” I said.
“Off to meet your contact?” Sam asked.
“That is my contact.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yes. So, this has been great and all, but I’m going to leave you two alone to discuss the merits of, you know.” I pointed at the ceiling. “Up there. Especially before the conversation moves to candy corn and kittens.”
“Candy corn?” Duffy asked.
Sam rose to her feet. “I’d love to meet your con–”
The front door blew off the hinges, knocking me to the floor face first. My nose stung, having taken the brunt of the fall, but even worse were the twisted pieces of metal door shrapnel. The little bastards tore through my suit and into my flesh. I rolled out from under what remained of the door, then felt my nose. It was two inches to the right. The cartilage crunched as I set it back in its original position. My eyes watered. Head swirled. I’d forgotten how much a broken nose hurt.
Then someone let out a high-pitched shriek. Probably Duffy. Sam wasn’t the screaming type. She kept her emotions more internal, which was part of her overall problem. Before I could get up, two pairs of black boots stomped past me.
“No!” Duffy crawled over the couch and ran into the kitchen. “I’m not going back to the bad place.”
I shot a glance at him. The bad place? These scallywags were here for Sam and me. Not the kid. Right?
Two wigs fell to the floor and I looked up at the owners of the boots. Black holes on top of their heads. Mop Tops. They’d found us. But how? Sam and I both lived under different names. Which meant they were craftier than I’d realized.
Sam was standing between the two and Duffy, hands glowing, and I wiped the tears from my eyes and tried to stand. I got to one knee, then fell again. My hand caught the fall, sending out a fresh set of pain to my nerves. There was a four-inch piece of the door sticking out from the back of my hand. I pulled the shrapnel out … and everything went dark. Something warm and wet flowed over my eyes. Blood. Bless it all, that door had done a number and a half on me. I felt around my forehead for the shrapnel. My hand banged into the metal, nudging it a little. The reverberation was like a tuning fork the size of Arkansas going off in my head. I gritted my teeth and yanked the metal out.
About me the Mop Tops were bending forward, the furniture pushing up the carpet as it slid toward the Vortex of Suckage. Sam raised her palms, using her Hand of God skill to push back on the monsters. The almost-angel was bent in a defensive stance, showing off her tight buttocks. It wasn’t the most appropriate moment to ogle her body, but I did it anyway. Part of me even hoped the Mop Tops would suck her clothes off, like the one in the alley had done to mine. I wouldn’t have minded that.
With Sam’s power keeping her and Duffy safe, the Mop Tops sucked harder, the whoosh coming from their heads making my ears ring. Bits of paint from the wall broke off and flew into the monsters’ black holes. Sam winced, her power struggling to keep up. Strands of hair moved past her face, reaching for the black holes. This was a losing battle. I tried to get up again, but it was no use. I could barely think straight, let alone fight. More blood spilled into my eyes.
Then Duffy ran out from the kitchen, defiant and firm. “Leave us alone!”
The Mop Tops sucked in chunks of the wall as they turned toward the kid. Why was Duffy taking a stand? Sam and I had things under control … sort of. That was when it occurred to me. The Mop Tops weren’t there for us. They wanted Duffy. Somehow, they’d gotten his body, but the kid’s soul had escaped.
They wanted Duffy’s soul.
Of course! Why hadn’t I seen it earlier? Oh, because my nose was broken.
The kid screamed. Everything went black. I shut my eyes and grabbed my ears. The sound’s force threw me off my feet and out a window, and I fell three stories, crashing onto the parking lot. With my brain resembling a pot of noodles, none of that hurt. Not too much, at least.
Ex-demon or not, having glass tear at your flesh before falling three stories onto asphalt wasn’t the most pleasant feeling in the universe.
CHAPTER NINE
Cat Fight
I awoke a short bit later, my nose touching a piece of gum caked to the asphalt. Sam stood over me, hands at her sides, waiting for me to stand. Duffy kicked and punched the air, celebrating as if he’d won the big game. Pieces of glass fell out of my hair as I rolled over and sat up. My shoulder stung. It was pushed forward a few inches. I’d dislocated it. I reset it, wincing as bone crunched on bone, then took my tie off and tied it tight around the wounds on my head. It didn’t matter about the tie. It was already ruined.
Sam held out her hand. I took it in mine, pulling myself to my feet. My wardrobe, body, pride, everything, was pierced by door and glass … but Sam didn’t have a scratch on her. How did she get all the luck?
“You’re a mess.” She pulled a piece of door from my arm.
“Your face is a mess.” I wanted to come up with something snappier, but my brain still felt like a stir-fry. I stuck a finger in my ear, dried blood crinkling against it. Nasty. Pretty sure the only thing going for me was that I still had all of my extremities. “What happened to the Mop Tops?”
Sam tilted her head toward Duffy. “Kid’s got a gift.”
“I blew them up,” Duffy said, without breaking his victory stride.
“He’s also got the Caelo in Terra after him,” I said.
“I know,” Sam said. “I talked about it with him.”
“And once I recover from being thrown through a building, I want to hear about that.” I leaned against the bed of a truck, taking a moment for myself. “How’d your place make out?”
“Like I said.” She sighed. “He’s got a gift.”
I glanced down at my tattered suit. “A gift for destruction.”
“I called Remy,” Sam said. “He’s picking us up.”
“You have his number?”
“We’ve hung out a couple of times.”
“You’ve what?”
The headlights on Veronica’s car flashed in my eyes, breaking my train of thought. After pulling to a stop in the parking lot, she jumped out of her car and ran to my side.
“Bartholomew, baby.” She stroked my face. “I’d have gotten here sooner, but I was at dinner with Dad and my step-mom. What on Earth happened to you?”
“Sam’s place got destroyed.”
Veronica picked some glass out of my hair. “And you?”
“Same.”
“Hi, I’m Sam.” She sounded as enthusiastic as one could … after her home was destroyed. “And you are?”
Sam knew it was Veronica, and what she was to me. The almost-angel was butting in like some disapproving mother. It was cute, in a deranged sort of way. I casually stepped back, letting the two have at it.
“I’m a friend of Bartholomew’s.” Veronica’s voice took on a defensive tone.
“That’s interesting,” Sam said. “I work with Bartholomew, and I’m pretty sure he said he was meeting someone that might have information about our investigation, not a friend.”
“I can’t be both?” Veronica’s face warmed with anger.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to come across as rude,” Sam said, absolutely coming off as rude. “But if you’re helping with the investigation, maybe Bartholomew and I can just talk to you now?”
“Don’t be sorry.” Veronica’s left eye narrowed. She was trying to figure out Sam’s sincerity. “I’d really rather Bartholomew talk to me. In private.”
Yeah she would.
“In secret?” Sam glanced at me. “Are you keeping secrets from me?”
Veronica was quick to the rescue. “We all have our little secrets, angel.” Her eyes flashed red. “Don’t we?”
Sam raised her hands in a defensive stance. “Demon?”
