Honkytonk Hell: A Dark and Twisted Urban Fantasy (The Broken Bard Chronicles Book 1)

by eden Hudson

  “Tough.” Desty’s face was getting red.

  I let her go. She looked at me for a second like “What the hell?” but she didn’t wait for an answer. She turned around to face Kathan and Tempie.

  “You know I’m not ever going to become your familiar if you stake Tough,” Desty said. “It has to be a willing agreement on my part, doesn’t it? Or the Destroyer thing doesn’t work?”

  Kathan gave her this Prince Fucking Charming smile.

  “You have been doing your homework,” he said. “Don’t worry. According to the non-person laws, Carpenter provoked the attack by extracting Tough’s voice while Tough was still human. Tough was within his rights to retaliate. The Witches’ Council or any relatives of Carpenter’s can choose to pursue the matter, but Tough is free to leave right now. I won’t stop him. Hell, I’ll walk him to the door.”

  I made a sarcastic laugh-face at him.

  “Oh. Okay,” Desty said. Her shoulders relaxed some and she pushed her hair off of her face. “So he’s completely off the hook?”

  “He has nothing to fear from a non-person legal standpoint,” Kathan said.

  I could feel the rest of the tension bleed out of her. She’d been really wound up, ready to fight for me. Man, she was so ridiculous and sweet, trying to act badass. When this was over, I had to think of a way to get her to stay with me. Over my staked corpse would she end up with Mayor Dickhead.

  “I—um—also, I need to talk to Tempie,” Desty said. “Alone.”

  “Kathan stays,” Tempie said. “Anything you have to say to me, you can say to him. I’m just going to tell him anyway.”

  “No, I mean without the essence,” Desty said. “Is that possible? For you to release her for a minute so I can ask her some things?”

  Tempie moved so fast that I couldn’t have gotten between her and Desty without the vamp reflexes. I had just enough time to see Tempie’s fist, then I was on the floor and Desty was helping me pick myself up again. Well, mostly picking me up.

  “Temperance,” Kathan said. It was a warning.

  “I told you, nerd,” Tempie said. “If you even imply something about Kathan again, I’ll hit you for real.”

  “I wasn’t implying anything,” Desty snapped. “I just wanted to ask you about being his familiar and not have to wonder whether he was controlling your answers!”

  “Oh, that’s great!” Tempie laughed and threw her hands up. “The girl whose man-whore boyfriend is screwing that blonde jailbait tramp doesn’t trust my completely faithful lover.”

  Desty flinched.

  I grabbed her hand. I wanted her to understand that I’d been going to tell her and that I didn’t screw around on her on purpose. That I loved her and that everything and everyone else could go to Hell—even me—as long as she didn’t leave me.

  But when Desty looked me in the eyes, it was like seeing something beautiful choke down poison and die.

  Then we heard the explosion. The concussion shook the room.

  Kathan ran to the door and leaned out into the hall. Grabbed a foot soldier as he ran past.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “The barracks,” the foot soldier said.

  Kathan’s mouth opened, stunned. You could tell he couldn’t imagine who might have the balls to attack his compound outright. I wished I could’ve laughed in his face. There was only one crazy Soldier of Heaven in Halo with a shitload of plastic explosive.

  Kathan started to run after the foot soldier. Tempie took a step to follow him, but he yelled back over his shoulder, “No. Stay here.”

  “But—”

  “You’ll be safe here. Sit down and don’t move until I come back. Do not argue with me!”

  Tempie glared at him, but she followed the orders like a good little familiar. Kathan disappeared down the hall.

  “Okay. I’ll be back,” Desty told Tempie. Then she looked at me. “We have to go, now. I’m pretty sure Colt said there would be two explosions.”

  Colt

  I set the last charges around the barn and sprinted for the east wing of the Dark Mansion.

  Somebody should’ve been on guard—that’s what I kept thinking. Then Ryder said something about the Armistice Celebration this weekend and I remembered that Tough was with Kathan and everyone thought I was dead. With no Whitneys to worry about, who would they need to watch out for?

  A van with the graphic for Bub’s Diner was backed up to the east wing of the mansion and a waiter was leaned against the bumper. He was lighting up a cigarette when he saw me.

  “You’re not one of our—” Then he recognized me. His eyes got big. “Son of a bitch. Colt Whitney?”

  I pulled the .45 out of my jeans, trying not to feel guilty for pointing it at his chest. It seemed like I knew someone who smoked Marlboros, too.

  He put up his hands and backed away, half-sliding along the side of the van. “Wait, no, wait! It’s none of my business! I—”

  “Go,” I said. As a last second thought I added, “Warn anybody and you’re dead.”

  The waiter took off running for the parking lot in front of the barn.

  “Probably could’ve been handled better,” Ryder said, leaning against the side of the van.

  I shrugged.

  “I’m rusty,” I said. “You coming?”

  “You’re on your own, Sunshine,” he said. “I can’t go in there.”

  “Pussy. I knew you weren’t really Ryder.”

  “Bullshit you did.”

  I could still hear him laughing as I jogged up the back steps and into the mansion.

  Down the hall of the east wing, past the kitchen and dining rooms. The place was deserted. I didn’t see another soul until I made it to the front hall where the mansion’s wings connected.

  People and NPs were coming in from the guest wing on the west side and the big south entrance doors. Everyone was dressed up like they were going to some high-class soiree, even the foot soldiers.

  Mikal was in the middle of it all, talking and directing traffic into the parlor. She looked deadly in that red evening dress, cut away to show her stomach and the small of her back. I knew I was supposed to be there to save Tough—Grace was distracting Kathan and her sister and we didn’t have much time before the first explosion—but Mikal, my Mikal, was so beautiful and so intense. Something else took over when I saw her.

  Rian came out of Kathan’s residence wing. He spotted me and started to reach for his pistol, so I shot him twice, center mass, to slow him down. Blood sprayed. People screamed and Rian cussed and grabbed his chest.

  “Stand down, Rian,” Mikal ordered. She smiled at me as if I’d just handed her a dozen roses. “Colter?”

  Ants prickled in my veins and electricity buzzed through my teeth. My gun arm went slack. The screaming in my head stopped, waiting for her to say more. She took a step closer and I felt the change in distance all over my skin.

  “I knew there was a reason you were my favorite,” she said.

  People were talking or maybe yelling. Saying things about a psycho gunman and getting out without getting shot.

  All I could do was pay attention to Mikal. Let the sight and sound of her heal the emptiness I’d felt since I lost her. She walked up to me, legs flashing through the high-cut slits on either side of her dress. She stopped less than an arm’s length away. I could’ve touched her. She had to know I was dying to, but she didn’t give me permission—punishment for all those times I’d fought her when all she wanted was a kiss.

  “Take me back.” My voice sounded like it used to back when I was alone. Hoarse, as if I hadn’t said anything in a couple of weeks.

  The first explosion rattled the mansion on its foundations. People were definitely screaming now. Pieces of the barracks fell on the roof like hail.

  “Rian—take a unit, evacuate the civilians,” Mikal ordered. “Everyone else is on fire containment.”

  The foot soldiers ran toward the back of the mansion. Rian started yelling and hustling people
out the south doors. Mikal turned back to me.

  “Sometimes I forget how young you are, Colt,” she said. “A diversion? Maybe from Ryder. I expected better from you.”

  She was right. I could’ve done better than this pathetic, thrown-together excuse for an attack. I would’ve done better if it had been for her.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “I forgive you,” she said. “But if you want to come back, you’re going to have to beg like a good dog.”

  “Please, Mikal.”

  “Give me your gun.”

  I took it by the barrel and handed it to her.

  She checked the chamber for a round. “Get on your knees.”

  I did.

  “You love me,” she said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “You want me to hurt you again.”

  “Yes.” Anything to have her back.

  I felt her hand on my hair and it was all I could do not to push into her touch. She ran her fingers across my scalp, down the back of my neck, then up around my jaw to cup my cheek.

  The black noise filled my brain, but this time I didn’t try to fight it. The glowing, red web stretched out around Mikal, a network of lines that only I was crazy enough to see. Spheres hung from the lines like drops of blood.

  Broken minds can see the lines.

  The second explosion. This time the hail was barn. Car alarms were going crazy. Like I was somewhere outside my body, I heard myself laughing.

  Mikal smiled.

  “You are exactly as insane as everyone always thought, Colter. A rabid dog they all wanted put down—everyone but me.” She bent down close to my face and licked her bottom lip with her forked tongue. “You want to kiss me, don’t you?”

  I nodded, praying she’d let me. Tried to swallow, but she jammed the .45 up under my jaw.

  “Look me in the eyes,” Mikal said.

  They were high-voltage black, too hot for fire, and even more beautiful than I remembered.

  “Good dog,” she said. She pressed her lips to mine.

  The barrel shifted downward and dug into my throat as Mikal squeezed the trigger.

  I lunged forward, wrapped my arm around her neck. My forehead banged against hers. I felt her nose snap. She was too stunned to stop me.

  The red lines twisted and followed Mikal’s body as I threw her off-balance. The bloody sphere by her hip—that was where she kept the Sword of Judgment, I remembered. I reached inside. The flames licked up my hand and wrist. It should’ve been too painful, but fire was one of the first things Mikal’s constant torture had desensitized me to. I felt around inside the sphere.

  My fingertips grazed metal.

  I wrapped my fingers around the blade and jerked the Sword of Judgment out of Hell.

  It was awkward, off-balance, and still burning, but I shoved it up through Mikal’s ribcage until my fist was flush with her stomach.

  For a split-second it all connected—hearing Brandt and Raelyn talking about the Whitney Death Prophecy on their way to the bakery, knowing I couldn’t kill Tough, and realizing what I’d have to do to push him into killing me. Somewhere along the way I’d heard that castoff talking about the lines of power and remembered Ryder telling me where he’d gotten that first bottle of Southern Comfort. Then it had just been a matter of getting Mikal to come after me.

  From the beginning, it should’ve been hopeless. One more failed plan, one more dead Whitney. I never should’ve made it this far. I wished to God I hadn’t.

  Mikal jerked away from my lips. Her black eyes were wide and terrified. She dropped the gun and grabbed me. Her fingernails cut into my shoulders.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Colt?” Blood ran through her teeth.

  The howling of tortured souls. Hell coming for Mikal, my Mikal, my burning angel.

  I held her close. The sword hilt dug into my hip. Her cheek brushed against mine, so soft. The heat of her skin felt like a blowtorch on my blistered hand, but I didn’t let go.

  “Mikal, I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t let them take me,” she begged. She was crying. “Please, Colt—”

  But I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t save her.

  Tough

  Desty and I got to the entrance hall just in time to see Colt pull Mikal’s flaming sword out of thin air and ram it through her stomach and out her back.

  The lights in the mansion exploded and greenish-blackness took over. Wind like a tornado tore through the place, and louder than anything else, this sound like a million fingernails scratching low and high E from every direction.

  Desty held her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. I hugged her against me, hoping she couldn’t tell I was scared sick, too.

  Then they came. They ripped and tore and clawed at Mikal. Colt tried to fight them, but they wouldn’t touch him. They dragged Mikal away from Colt and into the blackness.

  Hearing Mikal scream was worse than knowing Desty was going to leave me, worse than watching Mikal beat Mom to death, or getting stabbed through the Adam’s apple with a stake. All those things would end, eventually. Mikal’s scream was going to go on forever, even after time ended. My ears stopped hearing it when Hell closed around her, but the sound kept playing back in my head.

  Something to look forward to.

  The wind died and the green-black darkness burned off like fog. Colt was on his knees, face on the floor. One of his hands was burnt and blistered. He kept whispering to himself, but the only thing I could make out was, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

  Desty pulled away from me.

  “We’ve got to go before Kathan gets back,” she said. “Get Colt. I’ll get the truck.”

  I grabbed her hand. She was white and shaking so bad she was probably giving off a hum on some frequency.

  “Don’t touch me.” She stepped back and hugged her arms around her stomach. “Just…get Colt.”

  Desty ran for the door.

  I dodged the sunlight shining in and grabbed Colt by the shoulders to pull him up. He took a swing at me, but I twisted both of his arms up behind his back. I had to drag him to the door.

  Come on, dammit. This wasn’t going to work if I had to fight him all the way to the truck while I was on fire. You got to help me, Colt.

  “I sent her to Hell,” Colt said.

  You’re even, then, I told him. Just haul ass when you see my truck, all right?

  “She’s gone. That was the plan—get rid of Mikal. That was— No, if that was the plan, then why— What the fuck did I do?”

  Outside, I heard Desty jam the gears and I winced, but she didn’t kill the engine. She threw gravel up on the steps stopping, then I heard the truck door closest to the mansion open.

  “Come on,” she yelled.

  As soon as I jerked Colt out into the sunlight, I caught on fire.

  Everybody says it’s the primal crow magic that makes vamps freak out about fire, but I’d like to see a human stay calm while their skin cracks and curls up and their muscles drip off their bones like melting plastic bags.

  I hit the side of the truck. Someone grabbed the back of my neck and dragged me into the floorboards. A second later, the sleeping bag from behind my seat smothered the fire. Whoever invented flame-retardant material really ought to get a medal or something.

  The driver’s side door slammed. Desty threw the truck in gear and we spun out. I could hear Colt rocking on the seat beside her, talking to himself.

  “Shit. Mikal? Bad dog, bad dog, bad dog!” He was hitting himself.

  I could hear Desty trying to stop him and drive at the same time. I started to move.

  “Stay still if you can, Tough,” Desty yelled over Colt. “If you’re not careful, the sleeping bag might come off and you might ignite again.”

  But she couldn’t get him to stop and he started fighting harder.

  Hell with this. I was about to push the sleeping bag off when Colt went still and his heartbeat calmed down. Even the way he was
breathing changed.

  “It’s okay, honey girl, I got Colt. You just worry about getting us out of here.”

  Frostbite shot down my spine and something inside me tried to get small and hide. That was Ryder. As sure as my soul was fucked for all eternity, that was Ryder talking.

  Desty

  The woods surrounding the cabin made for plenty of shade, but I sat in the grass and leaned against the flat tire of Colt’s Explorer, slow-roasting in the sun. Shut my eyes and stared at the blood red light shining through my eyelids. I wished I couldn’t hear the yelling coming through the broken window. Colt’s voice had almost given out, but the crashing and banging hadn’t slowed down yet.

  Judging by the way the shadows had moved, it was three hours ago that Tough had shoved me outside. At first I’d been mad that Tough didn’t want my help, but he was right, I couldn’t help. I hadn’t even been able to handle Colt’s episode that morning with the gun. That was nothing compared to this. This was like a full-blown explosion of everything Mikal had been damming up while Colt was her familiar.

  I told myself I should’ve been grateful for the reminder that I couldn’t handle staying with Tough. Emotionally, physically, mentally—whatever the challenge, I was not up to it. I wasn’t a fighter like him or Colt or Tempie. No wonder Tough didn’t love me. How could he even take me seriously when there were girls like Harper and Scout around being all strong and militant and so freaking gorgeous?

  Inside, the noise-level spiked. Glass shattered and wood cracked. Then silence.

  A few minutes passed. Then Tough came out onto the porch and sat in the shade, looking down at the scorched, brown grass.

  “How’s Colt?” I asked.

  Tough shook his head.

  “You knocked him out?”

  He nodded. The bill of his John Deere hat hid his expression, but he had his elbows on his knees and he was leaning hard on them. I got up and went to the porch to sit beside him. Without even looking up, Tough scooted closer and leaned into my side. His skin was so cold.