by Mac Flynn
When the first tendril touched our bubble it was as though someone had slammed their hand against the side of a barn with the eaves full of icicles. The sharp stakes flew from our bubble and stabbed the tendrils. They pinned the creatures to the ground and the tendrils writhed in agony. The slightest touch by the icicles sent a wave of blue color up their thin, twisting bodies, and as the tendrils moved they broke themselves into millions of pieces. The pieces fizzled into puffs of dark clouds that rose up and disappeared into the air. In the background I could hear Astaroth screaming in rage as his precious tendrils were burned to steam.
The hallway was a haze of those dark clouds, and even with the bright light of the barrier I couldn't see a foot beyond the walls. Some of the tendrils broke through the onslaught, and they burst through the clouds and slammed themselves against the barrier. The walls shook and I clutched onto Eric. Vincent grimaced and winced at each blow, and the light around our rings flickered and dimmed.
"Enough of this!" Astaroth screamed.
I gasped when a large tendril, five times the size of the others, emerged from the clouds. It slammed its body against the wall and the barrier shrank by a foot. Vincent fell to one knees and blood dripped from his hands and onto the floor. He closed his eyes and willed more icicle daggers from the barrier, but the creature slid over the wall and broke them off before they could launch.
"Don't you dare give up on me now! I'm not dying in this dingy hall!" I yelled at him. I set Eric on the ground and crawled over to Vincent. His body shook with the effort of retaining the bubble and his sharp teeth bit deep into his lips. The light on our rings was fading fast when I did the only thing I could think of doing: I shoved my hands through the bubble just over his hands wrapped my palms over his hands. I grasped his fingers tightly and pressed my side against his.
The light from our rings brightened to nearly as bright when we joined our lives together. I squinted my eyes and focused my thoughts on the wall below the massive creature. The haze of darkness lifted enough so I could see its body stretched from the wall to our left.
Hit the wall! I ordered Vincent. He nodded, and one of the icicles pushed forth from the barrier wall. I tried to help, but there didn't seem to be any results. How do you work these things?
Focus on the shape and the point of impact he instructed me.
I did as he instructed, and growth the icicle in front of us increased ten-fold. It sprouted to three feet in a second and the creature reared up away from the pointy danger. My gaze flickered to the spot on the wall, and the next moment the icicle shot from the barrier and stuck into the wall. The creature screamed and writhed like its smaller brethren had done as the crystals raced up its body. It gave a hard flail and broke itself from the wall. The thing dropped hard to the ground and shook the whole hallway.
Vincent gasped and his arms fell to his sides. The barrier fell around us, and I dropped my own weary limbs. I gasped for breath, my arms felt like one-hundred pound weights, and the ring on my finger pinched hard. Battling a hellish hell demon really took it out of a girl.
Vincent pulled away from me and to Eric. He swung the young man's body over one shoulder and struggled to his feet. "We must. . .leave."
I propped his heavy side up with my shoulder and pulled him forward. "I'll second that motion," I agreed.
We reached the door and Vincent kicked it open. Astaroth hadn't lied when he said it led to stairs, and we followed them down to a rear entrance to the building. Just around the corner was the car. Vincent dropped Eric in the backseat and shuffled around the rear to the driver's seat. I grabbed his shoulders and directed him around the front to the passenger seat.
"I'm not living through that just to die from you driving me to an early grave," I quipped.
"But you-"
"Can't drive it? I'll be sure to do my best granny impersonation, now sit!" I shoved him into his seat, buckled him in and took my position behind the wheel.
I creaked us out of the alley between Nightmare Tower and the office tower building beside it. There was no traffic which was great because sometimes the car would jump forward and propel us into the other lane. After a few blocks the going got easier, and I risked a glanced at Vincent. He sat slumped in his chair with his charred hands in his lap. They were partially healed, but blood still covered his scorched skin.
"You going to be okay?" I asked him. He gave a nod of his head. "Need me to kiss it and make it better?"
He grunted, which I took for a laugh. "I would rather you didn't," he commented.
I shrugged. "Just trying to help. So you think we really hurt Astaroth? He didn't stop us from going out the door," I mused.
Vincent sat up and sighed. "We caused him pain, but he will live."
I frowned. "Damn. That means he going to get away with eating more people, and we didn't stop him," I reminded him. Vincent pulled out a VHS tape and held it out to me. I grabbed it and turned it over in my hands, but there wasn't any label. "What's this?"
"The surveillance tape of the sacrifice room. I acquired a copy of it before I shut off the power," he explained.
I held the VHS tape up to him. "So we do what with this? Give it to the police?" I asked him.
"The Parasquad patrols more than just the underground when they have evidence of a supernatural crime. They will be very interested to know about Astaroth's dealings with humans," Vincent reminded me.
A smile slid onto my lips. "You sneaky devil. You know, if I wasn't driving I'd give you a kiss right now."
"Then I am grateful you are driving," he returned.
I laughed. "Well, that's a first, you thankful for me doing something."
"Do not grow accustomed to it," he warned me.
I shrugged, but the smile didn't fall off my face. "After surviving that horror I don't think I can get mad at any insulting thing you could say right now." My brow furrowed when I recalled the reason for our salvation. "What was that bubble thing you did, anyway?" I asked him.
"It is a protection barrier meant to protect the human partner from harm. Tim instructed me on how I could focus our telepathic link and use the barrier to both our advantages," Vincent explained.
"Tim taught you a lot. He must have really trusted you," I mused.
"Perhaps," was his uncertain reply.
I wagged my ring finger which lay atop the steering wheel. "Any other cool thing this little ring can do?"
"Much, but nothing you need to know until the time comes. As I warned before, the power of the ring should be used sparingly," Vincent answered.
I sighed and gave a side-glance at him. "Well, you have to admit I did pretty well tonight. Without my help we might have been tenderized by tendrils."
"You did. . .adequate," he admitted.
I snorted. "I guess I'll take that as an improvement in our trapped relationship." I nodded back at our guest. "Now what do we do with him?"
"We contact our client and return her lost pet," he explained.
"And be done with this mess." Vincent turned his face away from me and out the window. My shoulders slumped. "We're not done with this mess, are we? It's about what Astaroth said, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"What can you make of it? You know this witch he mentioned?"
"Yes."
"And we're going to get into another mess figuring out her angle in Tim's death, aren't we?"
"Yes."
I sighed. "All right, we're off to another adventure."
Ways of Witches (Dead-tective #3)
Chapter 1
I stood there bent over the sink, the picture of defenselessness. My head was shoved under the running faucet and my hair was soaked. Beside me on the counter lay the object of my desire: the shampoo. I blindly reached for the soapy goodness and my hand bumped into the plastic container. It clattered to the ground and a swear passed my lips.
"God damn this god damn damned sink," I muttered.
This was part of my daily routine. I would awaken late in the afte
rnoon and wash my hair, or try to. The task wasn't easy when the sink was the size of a pail and you were naturally a little clumsy. I pulled my head out of the sink and looked through my wet mop of hair for the AWOL bottle. The fleeing culprit had fled across the linoleum and wood floors, and paused near the coffin table.
With my head bent down and a distinct sway in my gait I shuffled over to the coffin and snatched the bottle from the floor. Behind me was a trail of wet drops from the ends of my hairs. I knocked loudly on the coffin and leaned close to the lid. "You'd better be grateful for me washing my head in the sink!" I shouted. I would have felt bad, but it was almost night and time for him to get up. Besides, it was true. I avoided using the bathroom so I wouldn't touch his sensitive side, namely the soul in the clear bottle hidden in the medicine cabinet.
"I will thank you when you no longer disturb my rest," Vincent shot back.
"Maybe you need to get in touch with your sensitive side a little more often. It might do us both some good," I countered.
"It is not as simple as that," he argued. I noticed the drops of water from my hair and grinned evilly. I leaned over the top of the coffin where his head lay and listened to the drip-drip-drip of the water as it hit the hollow wood of his bed lid. Vince's voice replied in an even, tense tone. "Is the sun gone?"
I glanced out the window. "It's pretty much-ack!" Vincent flung up the lid and it collided with the side of my face. I stumbled back and titled my head backwards to my Medusa strands fell about my shoulders. My free hand clutched at my throbbing ear and I glared at the vampire who sat up in the coffin. "This is the thanks I get for cleaning your coffin lid?" I garbled through my hand.
"That is the thanks you deserve for disturbing my sleep. Again," he countered.
Vince lifted one foot out and my devious mind forced me to toss the smooth, plastic shampoo container beneath his foot. His shoe made impact on the round tube and his leg kicked into the air as the container rolled out from beneath him. He landed with a hard plop back into his coffin. His head hit the bottom and he lay there for a moment stunned.
I burst into a wild cackle of victory. My breaths came out in sharp gasps as I looked on Vince's wide eyes and his mouth slightly ajar. "Going-wheeze-back to-wheeze-bed?" I choked out.
Our little ruckus happened a couple of days after our last adventure with the death cult of Astaroth, and was sure signs that cabin fever had set in. The only cure was to get ourselves into more trouble, and it came knocking on the door just as Vince rose from his coffin to commit murder-suicide.
Knock-knock rang the sound on our ancient, weathered door. We both turned our heads to the entrance, and I glanced back at Vince. "You order a hooker?" I asked him.
He dutifully ignored my comment and dove one hand into his pants. Out popped the dark glasses, and in a moment they covered his red eyes. "Answer it," he ordered me.
I snorted. "Why should I answer the door? You're dressed, too," I argued.
"Because, as you duly noted last time, I am not the face of our business," he countered.
I wrapped one finger around one of my wet, limp strands of hair. Even terrifying as I was his face was rather ghastly in its paleness, so I answered the door in all my wet-hair glory. I swung open the entrance and found an old man with a cane on the other side. He wore a wrinkled brown suit that matched his wrinkly face, and on his head was a brown bowler. The little old man peered at me through bottled glasses and I have to admit I took a little bit of delight when he started back.
"What the hell have you done to yourself?" the man asked me. That was not the voice of an old man.
I tilted my head to one side and blinked at our guest. "Mitch?" I guessed.
He snorted and pushed past me into the room. "Who else?" he countered.
"A hooker?" I suggested.
"No, but you'll wish it was when you find out my bill," he told me. He pulled off his wrinkly mask and hat, and looked to Vince. "You were wanting to know more about Ruthven and his making trouble still, right? I'd hate to think I went all this way downtown for nothing."
Vince raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "I am."
"We are," I corrected him.
"Well, I happened to learn that he had some dealings with a-"
"-witch," Vince finished for him.
Mitch frowned. "That's right, but how'd you know?"
"Astaroth provided us with some information. What else can you tell us about Hilda?" Vince asked him.
Mitch chuckled. "He probably told you and then tried to kill you, right?"
"Yeah, death by Japanese porn," I told him.
"Just his style, which is to say he doesn't have much of one. Anyway, I got a little more than he does, but because you know the first part I'll give this half-off. The witch he was talking about is dead now, and if my info's right, which it always is, she was a good friend of Tim's." He wagged his eyebrows at Vince. "I'm right, right?"
"Yes, but where and why was she killed?" Vince persisted.
Mitch shrugged. "She was killed at her hut outside town. I'm not quite sure about your second question except that I heard it was about a spell book. There's plenty of those on the market now, so I don't know why Ruthven would throw a fuss over another one."
At the mention of a spell book Vince's pale face grew paler. He tore off his glasses and paced the floor between his coffin and the couch. Mitch and I watched in curious fascination for a few moments until Mitch coughed. "I'm going out on a limb here, but I'm guessing you know what I'm talking about."
Vince paused in his pacing and pulled a wad of bills from his other pocket. He held them out to Mitch. "I trust this will cover your fee."
Mitch's eyes flickered between the roll and Vince's face, but he didn't take the money. "I'd pay you that much if you'd tell me what you know."
"There is only the money or nothing. Take it or leave," Vince ordered him.
Mitch frowned, but snatched the roll from Vince's hand. "You sure don't help a friend out much, do you?"
"I may when I find one, now leave," Vince replied. The vampire resumed his pacing and ignored the two of us still present in the room.
Mitch donned his mask and faced the door. He strode up to me and nodded back at Vince. His voice was so low even I could barely hear the words. "Make sure he doesn't get himself killed."
"Because he likes you so much?" I teased.
He snorted. "No, because he's my best-paying customer." He plopped his bowler hat on his head, tipped it at me with a winning, wrinkly smile, and closed the door behind himself as he left.
I turned my attention to Vince. He had stopped his pacing and now looked out the window. I don't know why he bothered; the city was too bright to see the stars and the view was of the next decrepit brick building over. I walked up to him and stood by his side. "Mind telling me what this is about?" I asked him.
"Tire treads," he commented.
I blinked at him. "Is the tire in your mind a little low on air? What does that have to do with anything?"
He half-turned to me and looked over his glasses at me. "When we fetched the car the tire treads had mud on them."
I shrugged. "So Tim took it out for-ooooh. You're thinking that maybe Tim went to see this witch at her house before he died and there might be a clue there we can find."
A ghost of a smile passed over his lips. "You may yet become a decent detective."
I snorted. "You mean 'dead-tective,' don't you? Anyway, when do we leave?"
"Right now."
"Just let me finish washing my hair-"
"No, now."
My shoulders slumped forward and I dragged my fingers through my hair. "Fine, right now."
Chapter 2
Vince was gracious enough to let me comb my hair with a proper comb, but the shampoo was not to be. Ten minutes later found us in the old death-mobile on our way to-well, someplace. The slummy streets with their trash piled high between buildings made way for the suburbs. On either side of us neat, identical houses lined brightly-
lit streets, and cars sat on the curbs without fear of being robbed of their tires. Far ahead of the road lay a small hill covered in wild growth, the last outpost of natural land within ten miles.
"Where does-er, did this witch live?" I asked him.
"In a shack at the outskirts of the city," he replied.
"And was she really a witch or was she just a witch with a 'b' instead of a 'w'?" I wondered.
"Witches exist in the world, and she was one of them," he assured me.
"So can they curse people and stuff?"
"It is called hexing, and they can."
"So we should be worried about being turned into a frog? Well, if she was alive, that is."
"Witches don't waste their energies on minor insults."
"So you're telling me you're a witch?" I teased. Vince yanked the car for a hard left and my shoulder slammed into my door. "Will you watch it! I'm not made of steel like you, you know!"
"You are nearly as durable as I," he countered.
I rubbed my bruised shoulder. "Yeah, real durable, like an inflatable toy at a cat shelter. Anyway, should we be worried about any booby traps or roommates or something? I mean, we always have trouble with whatever we do."
"There may be protection spells remaining around the cabin, but Ruthven's men may have disabled most of them in their effort to murder her," he pointed out.
"Lovely. So how well did Tim know this witch? Would he really have told her something that we need to know?" I asked him.
"That is what we need to find out," he replied.
The road changed from well-paved to maybe-paved-at-one-point-in-its-history. The car bumped through potholes the size of Vince's coffin and hopped over humps that made Officer Romero look small. The fine houses with their manicured lawns were replaced by older, run-down frame houses with empty windows and weed-choked lawns. Dead trees hung their long, skeletal branches over the road and rusted cars without tires sat on the lawns and on the dirt that made up the curbs.
