Bill of the Dead (Book 2): Everyday Horrors

by Gualtieri, Rick

  And if we couldn’t, then at least I’d be spared from having to go out again and get my ass kicked by vampire newbs. Glass half full and all that.

  “All right,” I said, somehow taking charge despite knowing dick when it came to magic. “Let’s spread out. Just to be safe.”

  “Good idea,” Christy replied. “Once we’re in place I’ll drop the spell and...”

  “Hope for the best?”

  Her response was a tight smile.

  It was really all we had to go on at this juncture.

  BIRDS OF PRAY

  Christy took a moment to tell Tina to stay in her room – as if we could really force the issue if the tyke decided otherwise – then we got in position for whatever was going to happen.

  It didn’t take long.

  The moment she dropped her time spell, the air rang out with a sound that could best be described as hundreds of pieces of chalk being snapped all at once.

  It was hard to describe my emotions, seeing the strange rocky cocoon start to move more violently, as if someone – or something – were trying to break free from within. I desperately hoped Sally was okay, but also knew to temper those feelings in case whatever arose was no longer her.

  A memory popped into my head, me and Tom watching Swamp Thing in my living room as kids. The bad guy had just taken the serum which had created the titular character, assuming it would make him super awesome. But instead he’d ended up looking like his mother had taken up pig fucking as a hobby.

  Hopefully Sally would fare better, but who could say? We were far off the map with this one. I was used to dealing with vampires, wizards, and Sasquatches, not unseen entities that could rip holes in reality and shoot green lightning out of their dicks.

  Okay, I hadn’t actually seen that last part, but you get my point.

  The rocky crust surrounding Sally began to crumble, falling away in thick chunks.

  A smell, not unlike that of burning charcoal, filled the air, to which Tom remarked, “Anyone else in the mood for a burger when we’re done here?”

  In response, I chucked one of the slabs that had fallen off Sally his way, just barely missing him.

  “Are you two finished playing?” Christy snapped.

  “Sorry,” I said, forcing myself to once again focus on Sally.

  All in all, what came next was a bit anticlimactic. No burst of light, no explosion, no fiery halo followed by Sally rising up out of the ashes and declaring herself the embodiment of the Phoenix Force ... even if that would’ve been insanely cool.

  In the end, the cocoon simply split down the middle and crumbled away. A small cloud of dust rose up, and then I saw movement from within, catching sight of a grime-covered foot. Five toes, that was a good sign. A crud-encrusted hand reached up, revealing the right number of grasping fingers. So far so good. No sign of any pig monsters.

  Come on, be okay.

  Sally, or whatever she now was, began to cough violently, a deep wet rattle that caused me to instinctively step forward.

  “No, Bill, wait!” Christy cried, but I was already on the move.

  I reached down to help her, and immediately recoiled as I finally got a good look at what lay before me. I beheld a human shaped body, but it was like staring into the void. Where there should have been skin, black viscous tar covered the creature from head to toe.

  “What the fuck?” Tom cried as it began to rise.

  “Sally?” I whispered, throwing caution to the wind and putting a hand on her – it’s – shoulder.

  The thing that had once been Sally scrambled away at my touch, leaving my fist covered in thick black gunk. It fell to the floor, crab walking away from me until it was backed into a corner. There, it waved one tar encrusted hand out in front of itself, as if warding us off.

  “What the hell happened to her?” I asked, unable to do more than stare.

  “Everyone calm down,” Christy ordered. Then, slowly, she stepped toward the strange entity that had once been my partner in crime.

  “Be careful.”

  “I’ve got this,” she told me in a tone that suggested she really didn’t. Then she turned once again to face the newly birthed creature. “It’s okay. It’s us.”

  If Sally heard or understood her, she showed no indication. Instead, she continued to wave her hands out in front of her, while hocking up even more of that greasy black goo.

  “I knew I should’ve brought my sword,” Tom said, wide-eyed.

  I turned and shot him a glare. “Really?”

  “Dude, look at her. She’s like the fucking tar monster from Scooby Doo.”

  Okay. He sorta had a point there. “I was thinking more like the thing that killed Tasha Yar.”

  “Yeah, but that episode sucked.”

  “Do either of you mind?” Christy hissed.

  “Sorry,” I replied. “I tend to blather when I’m freaking out.”

  “Pussy,” Tom whispered under his breath.

  Oh, he was so lucky I wasn’t under an Icon-killing prophecy anymore.

  No. Our banter could wait. We had more important things to worry about.

  I refocused on Sally, still huddled in the corner. There was no telling what was going through her mind, or if she even had a mind anymore. But then she reached a hand toward her mouth and wiped away a thick swath of gunk – revealing black-stained lips, teeth, and a tongue.

  “Wuh,” it groaned.

  “The fuck?” Tom cried, sounding seriously freaked out. “Its name is Wuh?!”

  “Shut up.”

  “Both of you shut up,” Christy ordered, once more turning to face the Sally thing. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

  “W... what,” it croaked, the word sounding almost like human speech.

  “That’s what we want to know,” Tom replied. “Exactly what the fuck are you?”

  “Not helping,” I hissed.

  The tar creature made a choked coughing sound, then spat out another wad of black goo before trying again.

  “I said... What the fuck is going on?!”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  If Sally’s strange appearance had caused Tom and I to hesitate, the sound of her not even remotely strange voice rooted us to our spots. Fortunately, we weren’t the only ones in the room.

  “It’s us,” Christy repeated. “Don’t be afraid.”

  “What was that?” Sally replied, wiping more of that tar-like gunk away. “Hold on, I can’t hear shit with this crap in my ears.”

  And all at once, her panicked behavior made sense. She hadn’t awoken as some mindless beast. She’d simply been encased in enough grossness to have no idea what was going on.

  It was probably a good thing she couldn’t hear us that well because I’m pretty sure we all let out a collective sigh of relief.

  The spell broken, both Tom and I stepped forward, but Christy turned to him and pointed. “Go get me a couple of towels from the linen closet.” She glanced back at Sally then added, “The ones from the left side.”

  I raised an eyebrow as Tom went to do as he was told, to which she smiled sheepishly.

  “The ones on the right are new.”

  While this went on, Sally continued to wipe the thick black gunk from her eyes and ears. Finally, she blinked several times and focused on us, her green eyes looking extra big and bright against the muck covering nearly every square inch of her.

  “Bill? Christy?”

  “It’s us,” I said, barely able to contain the grin on my face.

  “I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume we made it out of that hell hole,” she replied, continuing to spit out more of that disgusting crap.

  Oh yeah. It made sense that the last thing she’d remember was still being down in the Source chamber. She’d only been gone a few weeks, but it felt like we had a lifetime to catch up on. “We did.”

  “Glad to hear it. So, riddle me this...” She began to push herself to her feet, her body so utterly coated in that thick black paste that it could’ve been a second ski
n. “Where the hell are we? What’s this crap covering me? And did I manage to kill that little cunt?”

  Christy and I shared a quick glance. She wasn’t going to like at least one of those answers.

  “And don’t lie to me, Bill. We’ve already been down that road.”

  “Gotcha,” I replied. “So, in order: Christy’s place, no idea, and ... Gan survived and managed to kidnap Ed, too. And before you ask, no, we have no idea where either of them are now.”

  Sally spat out more black gunk. “Fuck! Never send a nine-millimeter to do a forty-four’s job. What about everyone else? Is Tina...”

  “She’s fine,” Christy said, “and can’t wait to see her Aunt Sally again.”

  That brought the semblance of a tar-stained grin to Sally’s face.

  “Speaking of which,” I replied. “How do you feel? I mean, after ... um ... being in that thing.”

  Sally stepped back and leaned against the wall, likely ruining the paint in the process. “My head is pounding, and I have a feeling I’m going to need to brush my teeth about a thousand times to get the taste of this shit out, but otherwise I feel surprisingly...”

  She trailed off as Tom walked back in carrying an armful of multi-colored towels.

  “Those are the ones for the beach,” Christy chided. “Oh, never mind. They’ll do.”

  Sally appeared hesitant for a moment, but then said, “I’m glad to see you made it out, too.”

  “Yep. Good as new,” Tom replied. “Tits and all.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He smirked as he approached her. “No offense, but you look like you’ve been battered and double-dipped in shit.”

  Sally glanced my way. “She hit her head or something?”

  “It’s ... kind of a long story.”

  “And a fascinating one I’m sure.” She took one of the towels from Tom. “But maybe it can wait until I’ve cleaned up a bit. Is it safe to assume I look as gross as I feel?”

  “You probably wouldn’t be wrong.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Thankfully, the bathroom facilities in the neighboring apartment hadn’t been part of whatever renovations Christy had made to the rest of it. It saved us from having to shuffle Sally around and possibly be seen by Tina before she could clean herself up. It would also give us a bit of a buffer in case we discovered that things weren’t entirely normal beneath all that crap covering her.

  “What if she doesn’t have skin anymore?” Tom asked, echoing that concern, “Or what if that shit is her skin now?”

  “Not helping,” I replied, leading him back into Christy’s apartment, but leaving the door open behind us in case we were needed.

  Christy stepped into her bedroom to retrieve the clothing we’d had the foresight to fetch from Sally’s place a while back, leaving Tom and me alone in the living room.

  “So what now?” he asked.

  “We wait. TV?”

  “Works for me. Just none of those morning shows. Good Morning America makes my vag itch.”

  I glanced at him as I sat down and picked up the remote. “You did not just say that.”

  “What? The whole package has changed. Time to update my vernacular.”

  “Yeah, I guess you should probably stop telling everyone to suck your cock.”

  Tina’s voice immediately chimed in from her room. “You said a bad word!”

  Grrr! I stood and dropped a couple bucks into the rapidly filling swear jar on Christy’s counter. At this rate, I’d be funding a trip to Disney World in no time.

  When I returned, Tom shook his head, knocking some of his shoulder-length blond hair into his face. “Anyway, not happening. You don’t mess with the classics. Although I really should change this hair.”

  “Put it up in a ponytail,” I offered, flipping on the TV.

  “That would feel too much like a man bun. Fuck that shit.”

  I waited for Tina to scold him but, of course, she didn’t. Fucking A. “Fine, then cut it off.”

  “I was thinking about it, but I’m not sure I want one of those dyke cuts.”

  This time, a different voice responded – Christy’s. “What did I tell you about your language?!”

  “Sorry,” Tom called out. “I meant ... um, one of those dork cuts.”

  “You are so full of shit,” I said with a chuckle. He might not be filling up the swear jar, but his critic was a wee bit harsher than mine. Then, raising my voice, I added, “And before you say anything, I already put extra money in the jar.”

  “Thanks, Uncle Bill.”

  Okay, time to nip this in the bud.

  “Hold on a sec,” I told Tom, raising the volume on the TV. I swear, I was the one with super vampiric hearing, yet it seemed everyone else was doing the eavesdropping. “All right, that’s better.”

  Rather than thank me, he plucked the remote from my hand. “Change this shit, dude. The news is for...”

  “...in a statement released last night, acting Police Commissioner Robert Valente confirmed that the NYPD had recently hired a special consultant, although he declined to specify the reasons behind it. Social media, however, has been abuzz with talk that it’s to help the department deal with the series of strange occurrences that have plagued the city over the last few weeks...”

  Wait a sec. Valente. Why did that name sound vaguely familiar?

  Because I knew him.

  “What was that?”

  “What was what?” Tom replied.

  That’s when I realized he hadn’t said anything. I’d answered my own unspoken question in my head. Awfully convenient of my subconscious. Okay, so I knew him. But from where?

  However, if my memories had any insight into that, they weren’t sharing. Nevertheless, the rest of the report had caught my ear. “Leave it.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it, moron.”

  Tom let out a huff and put the remote down. On the screen, the news had cut to an on the street interview. The reporter was speaking to a well-dressed man with movie star good looks. We’re talking tall, dirty blond hair, square jaw, all of that. The only thing out of place was what appeared to be a handlebar mustache, of all things. Annoyingly enough, though, where that look would’ve turned most guys into an instant tool, this fucker somehow managed to pull it off.

  “I’m here today with the city’s designated special consultant, Matthias Falcon. Mr. Falcon, if you don’t mind...”

  “Mentor Falcon,” the man replied in a crisp British accent, somehow managing to make himself sound even cooler with just two words. Needless to say, I already disliked the guy.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I prefer to be addressed by my official title, if you don’t mind,” he replied to the reporter, somehow sounding both smarmy and dashing all in the same sentence.

  “Very well, Mentor Falcon. Can you tell us...”

  “Mentor,” I repeated. “I think this guy’s a mage.”

  “Or at least he plays one on TV,” Tom replied, raising his voice to be heard above the television, where this Falcon guy was busy explaining that he was here to consult on special cases, the specifics of which he was not at liberty to discuss.

  “Hold on,” Christy said, stepping out of her bedroom with a handful of clothes. “Did I hear that right?”

  “Yeah. The NYPD are apparently hiring dipshits with stupid names...”

  “Not that.” She stared at the TV and her eyes opened wide in what I was certain was recognition. Oh yeah, this guy was definitely a Magi ... but hopefully not of the ex-boyfriend variety. “What’s he doing here?”

  Or maybe that’s exactly what he was.

  “My colleagues and I have been keeping tabs on the somewhat ... interesting events of the past few weeks. They recently dispatched me here to investigate, in conjunction with your city’s finest, of course.”

  “In your opinion,” the reporter continued, “are the residents of this city in any...?”

  This Falcon guy, however, responded like a pro, st
epping in before she could even utter whatever sensationalistic buzzword was about to come out of her mouth. “I can assure you, there’s no reason to fret.” He chuckled, sounding both dismissive and debonair. “I’m here merely to assess the situation, nothing more.”

  “But, what if...?”

  “Trust me, you and the citizens of this fine city are in the most capable of hands.”

  He walked away, ignoring further questions from the reporter. The interview obviously over, she handed the reins back to the folks in the studio, who proceeded to change gears to the newest diet craze sweeping the city.

  “So who’s the douchebag?” Tom asked, drawing nary a peep from Tina’s room.

  “What he said.”

  Christy took the remote and turned off the TV, a quizzical look upon her face. “Matthias Falcon.”

  “Yeah, we kinda got that part. Safe to assume he’s a wizard?”

  She nodded. “The Falcon family is well known in Magi circles. Old world, very influential in Europe. Their ancestral estate houses both the Falcon Academy as well as the Falcon Archives.”

  Tom and I shared a glance, then he asked, “So ... is that like the Bat Cave?”

  Christy started to shake her head, but then inclined it instead. “Not entirely.”

  “Spill,” I said.

  “The Falcon Academy is, or was anyway, the most prestigious institute of magic in Europe. They’ve trained mages for centuries. I was lucky enough to spend a semester there right after high school.”

  “Oh?”

  “Harry sent me ... to work on my mind magic.”

  My left eye twitched at the mention of Harry Decker, the late unlamented dickhead wizard who’d originally sicced Christy on me. The only pleasant memory I had of him was being present when he’d died – both times, the first by Gan, the second by me and Sally.

  Speaking of which... “Not to change the subject, but should she be alone in there?”

  “She’s taking a shower,” Christy replied. “I have a feeling it’s going to take a while to get all of that ... residue off.”

  Once upon a time, I’d have remarked that she definitely shouldn’t be alone then. However, considering I was currently dating the resident witch in the room, I couldn’t help but think such a comment would cause me nothing but pain.