by Ryan Hill
“We don’t have to,” Sam said. “We can check her place out tonight, see if she goes anywhere.”
“You got her address?” My search for it had turned up nothing. Miss Adams had an unlisted address. She, and the other Mop Tops too, I imagined, covered their tracks well.
Sam motioned to the ghost with her thumb. “Duffy snuck into the principal’s office and got it.”
“How about that.” Maybe having a ghost around wouldn’t be so bad after all. I winked at the kid. “You sly devil, you.”
“Better believe it,” Duffy said; his face still glued to the phone.
I pressed the SUV’s ignition button, the engine rumbling to life. The feeling of a powerful, humming engine ready to rock never got old. My fingers wrapped around the steering wheel, the modern-day equivalent of a chariot’s reins, while Sam entered Miss Adams’ address into the Benz’s navigation system.
Suddenly Duffy laughed, as if he’d remembered something.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
Duffy pointed at me. “You got in so much trouble today.”
I took a deep breath and imagined ramming the SUV into a tree. Duffy’s little giggling fit would come to an abrupt halt if he flew through the windshield, crashed into a tree, and landed in front of an eighteen-wheeler with no time to move out of the way, leaving him splattered into a million pieces on the road.
“You’re a stupid head,” Duffy said.
I was right the first time. Having a ghost around sucked.
The three of us immediately went to check out Miss Adams’ apartment in Northwest Raleigh. Her complex was on the newer side, complete with nice-looking aluminum siding. Most of the trees were small, as if they’d been recently planted. Even the paint marking the parking spots was a bright white.
“This looks way too expensive for a teacher,” I said. “Especially with the housing market the way it is.”
“Maybe she has a roommate,” Sam said.
“Or maybe we have the wrong address.”
“I got the right one.” Duffy stuck his head in the seats between us. “Stupid head.”
“You’re a stupid head,” I said.
I backed the car into a spot opposite the building where Miss Adams lived. The blinds in her apartment had been pulled shut, but were illuminated by light inside. A silhouette drifted past one of the windows. From where we were, it was impossible to tell who it was—Miss Adams, gentleman caller, maid, fake cardboard figure… Who knew?
“The only way we’re finding out if that’s her is if we knock on the door and she answers,” I said. “Tell me again why I can’t break down the door and grab her?”
“We don’t know if anyone else is in there with her,” Sam said. “Or if she has an alarm system. Any of a million things that could land you back in jail.”
“So?” I was hoping to regain some resemblance of fun before Sam crushed it all.
“So right now, we do this my way.”
My chest sank. Sam had crushed what little remained of the fun.
“Maybe she’ll come outside,” Sam said. “Make our lives that much easier.”
“Boring.” I glanced back at Duffy. “Why don’t you sneak into the place?”
“She’s one of those monsters.” Sam took on a defensive tone. “She’ll see him.”
“I don’t want her getting me again,” Duffy said. “It’s too scary.”
“Understandable,” I said. “But she can’t kill you again. Right?”
Duffy made spitting sounds with his tongue.
“Don’t do that in my Benz,” I said. “Man up, grow some chest hair, and go inside, you ‘fraidy cat.”
“Why don’t you do it, jerk face?” Duffy spit again. Little drops flew out of his mouth.
The little…
“Boys.” Sam laid a hand on my arm. “Can we keep it civil?”
Annoying me was one thing, but disrespecting my beautiful Benz? Duffy was grating on me to the point that I wished Sam and I were back working with a Knight’s Templar who wanted to cut off my head. At least with him, Sam hadn’t always gone against me.
“You know what?” I said. “Fine. I’ll go up there.”
“Good,” Duffy said.
“I’ll show you what a chicken you are.”
“Fine.”
I got out of the car and marched toward the apartment, buttoning up my suit jacket as I moved up the wooden stairs two at a time. I rounded the steps onto the third and highest floor. Miss Adams lived behind the second green door on the left. A Welcome mat at the foot of the door had an obnoxious flower design that made my skin crawl.
“Wonderful.”
I clenched my fists. I hoped knocking on the door wouldn’t send Miss Adams into a paranoia-fueled Mop Top attack.
There was only one way to find out.
My phone beeped right when I started to knock, sending a nervous jolt through my body. The last thing I needed was something jumping out at me. It was a text from Veronica.
Drinks later?
Provided I didn’t get sucked into a black hole of oblivion, courtesy of Miss Adams, my night was looking better and better. I raised my fist to knock again, but the door opened. I shirked back at the sight of Miss Adams. Someone shrieked a little. I can’t remember whom, but it was one of us. Probably Miss Adams. I wasn’t the type to shriek.
“Can I help you?” Miss Adams hid part of herself behind the door. Shame a woman this beautiful was a Mop Top. She had an athletic body, wholesome face, and long, thin, brown hair that fell past her shoulders. Put the girl in some bell-bottoms and a weird, puffy shirt, and she would’ve looked right at home in the seventies.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m Bartholomew. I just moved in downstairs and wanted to introduce myself.”
“Okay.”
She slammed the door in my face.
Wait, what? Nobody slammed a door in my face. Well, maybe if a girl I’d slept with was throwing me out, but even then, only if I left with my suit.
I wondered if the Mop Tops were on lockdown and treated all non-Mop Tops like they were stranger danger. The thought that she knew who I was crossed my mind, but it was dismissed in under half a second. These things only spoke to people long enough to lure them into a dark alley and suck them into the abyss. They may have been aware of Sam and me, but the details were probably thin. I doubted they knew our names, what we looked like, or my favorite cologne.
That was a trick question. I hated cologne.
Regardless, it was unacceptable that Miss Adams slammed the door in my face. This was an affront to demons, ex-demons, and men the world over.
I knocked again. Miss Adams cracked open the door a few inches.
“What is it?”
I noticed she was cradling a leather-bound book in her arm this time. The cover didn’t have a title, but there was a symbol. The odd part was that in all my millennia, I’d never seen anything like it. The symbol was a snake made of fire, wound around a black circle. I didn’t know what it meant, but I did know that wasn’t a book about the teaching of Hare Krishna.
“Did you not hear me before?” I asked.
“You said you wanted to introduce yourself,” she said. “And you did. Good night.”
The door slammed shut. Again.
Wow. This girl was something else. Twice, she’d denied me. If she hadn’t had the power to suck me into oblivion, I’d have wanted to get intimate with her. As it stood, she could get the world’s biggest hairball stuck in her black hole and choke on it for all I cared. I didn’t have time to get shot down by a Mop Top.
I stormed back to the car, the stubs of my horns shifting in my head. I jumped in, then stared at the steering wheel, letting the anger and frustration vibrate throughout my body.
“It didn’t go well, did it?” Sam asked. “I can tell by the look on your face. Definitely didn’t go as planned.”
There was a hint of fun in her voice, making the words sting a little bit deeper. I rolled my eyes toward her.
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“No. It did not go well.”
“What happened?”
“I couldn’t even get my foot in the door.”
“Really?” Sam asked. “With a face like yours?”
“Twice, the prude slammed the door in my face.”
It was twice the embarrassment. And now Sam was on the verge of a quality laughing spell over the whole thing, making things even worse.
“Instead of holding back your little giggles,” I said. “Maybe we should think of a Plan B?”
Sam stared at me, eyes wide with glee.
“Fine,” I said, starting the car. “Laugh it up.”
The hysterics escaped the half-angel’s lips before I finished speaking. Meanwhile, Duffy was off in his own world, looking out the window. I drove the Benz out of the parking lot, shaking my head.
“Sure, I’d love to come up with another plan,” I said out loud, to no one in particular. “Next chance we get, we do this again. Only Sam knocks on the door. The second ole teach shows herself, you blast her with the Hand of God. Capiche?”
No response. Sam stopped laughing and moved on to checking something on her phone.
“Great,” I said, again to nothing but air. “I love the plan too.”
“Hey.” Sam handed me her phone. On the screen was a news story with a rather ominous headline: Parents Hold Vigil as Child Disappearances Continue.
Fan. Tas. Tic. Nothing like a bunch of missing kids to kick everything up to a higher level. And by everything, I meant the pressure to figure out this whole blessed affair before even more kids disappeared. And by higher level, I meant someone from Upstairs would pay Sam and me a visit sooner, rather than later.
Like I said.
Fan. Tas. Tic.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Not-so Romantic Entanglements
With things blowing out of our control, we I needed to regroup and prepare for whatever fallout awaited the two of us. This wasn’t a case of one dead kid anymore. It was a crisis. Sam scrolled through another story about the vigil for the missing children.
“Unbelievable,” she said.
We knew the Mop Tops were taking the kids. Duffy had to be one of the first, if not the first. But why kids? To what end? Killing them was beyond risky for any ne’er do well. If a villain wanted nothing more than a murderous rampage, young’uns were a horrific target. Children’s souls were extra powerful, thanks to their innocence and lack of sin. Once a kid died, their soul set off all sorts of pings on Heaven’s radar. Homeless people, who’d been beaten down by life over and over? Their souls registered nary a blip. The Caelo in Terra could’ve sucked those people into their heads until the cows came home before anyone noticed.
“How long do you think before Heaven gets involved?” Sam asked. She put away her phone, freeing the SUV from the display’s annoying brightness.
“Only a matter of time,” I said. “They’re probably sending Gabriel, and if so you’re on your own.”
“Scared?”
“Annoyed.” A smile flashed across my face. Because there was a kicker to Heaven shoving its nose in this Mop Top business. “And don’t be surprised if Hell shows up, too.”
“Wait.” Sam’s eyes bulged. Jaw dropped. “What?”
I loved surprising her like that. The almost-angel had so much to learn about, oh, everything. “You know how people sometimes come together after a disaster?”
“Yeah.”
“Same thing, just with kids dying being the disaster and Heaven and Hell being the people coming together.”
Sam nodded, an ohhhh escaping her lips.
“Have Heaven and Hell ever worked together?” she asked. “Besides the time we met?”
I clicked the roof of my mouth. “The plague, maybe?”
Sam hmmed. “Makes sense.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
I hated it when the two sides came together. Even more than people joining in solidarity after a disaster. It gave me a sticky feeling all over.
I parked the SUV at Sam’s complex. She opened the door to get out, but stopped when she noticed I wasn’t making a move to do the same.
“Not coming?” she asked.
“No, seeing Veronica.”
She didn’t seem too happy for my date. Her razor-sharp, slice-through-a-three-foot-thick-metal-wall death gaze gave away her irritation with me.
“You’re going to keep an eye on her, I hope?”
“Two of them,” I said. “But not in the way you mean.”
“Promise me you’ll try to look out for any signs she’s with the Mop Tops?”
“Fine.” I sighed, wanting nothing more than Sam to get off my back. “Happy?”
“Enough.”
Veronica was sitting at a table, sipping a martini, when I entered the Big Easy, a New Orleans-themed bar in downtown Raleigh. She rose from her seat to greet me with the customary hug and a quick kiss on the lips. I tried not to salivate at the sight of her in a tight black dress that pushed up her C-cups. The bar’s dim lighting made her legs look long and toned. I wanted to give each of them a gentle caress with my tongue.
The lighting, along with the brick walls, gave the place a moody, sensual atmosphere. If ladies under the age of twenty-one were allowed after hours, I’d have added this bar to my list of go-to destinations for picking up virgins.
I ordered a Jack and Coke from the bar, then took a seat across from Veronica on the opposite brick wall. Sam’s plea nagging at me like an old granny. All I wanted was a little fun, but nope! Some part of me demanded that I make Sam happy. It didn’t help that the Big Easy wasn’t far from where the Mop Tops tended to hang out—a little tidbit that weighed on my mind like a Sumo wrestler. I sipped from my drink, hoping the alcohol would numb my thoughts, but it was more Coke than Jack. I tried to hide my disappointment from Veronica.
“Are you okay?” Veronica asked. “You look like you just lost the lottery.”
Guess I didn’t try hard enough.
I waved her off. “Work stuff.” I finished the drink in one swallow.
She laughed. “Thirsty?”
I motioned to a waiter with my empty glass. “Another Jack and Coke, but take the training wheels off. Jack and I are on great terms.”
The waiter nodded, then rushed to the bar to fill my order. Veronica looked bothered, like the dress’ fabric made her itch in places she couldn’t scratch in public.
“Was she there?” Veronica spoke with a sharp, quick tone.
“You mean Sam?”
“Yes, I mean Sam.”
“That doesn’t sound jealous. At all.”
The waiter returned with my drink. I held the glass to my lips and the cool drink rushed down my throat. Ahh. Perfection. The Jack and Coke was heavier on the Jack side, just the way I liked it.
I gave the waiter a thumbs-up. “Top marks, sir.”
“Superb.” The waiter bowed, then moved on to other patrons.
I returned my focus to Veronica. “You were sounding jealous?”
“Oh, bite me. That girl is a bitch, acting like I’m trying to hurt you in the middle of some non-sexual, non-kinky situation.”
I laughed to myself. I’d never heard anyone call an angel a bitch before. It was sort of an oxymoron, like jumbo shrimp.
“Sam’s harmless,” I said.
“I just don’t think she has your best interests in mind.”
Interesting.
“How so?” I was curious to see where Veronica was heading with this.
“For starters, she’s trying to drive a wedge between us. All day long, she’s in your ear, badmouthing me. Makes me want to sandpaper that face of hers until it looks like jelly.”
Very interesting.
“You’re not wrong.”
“I know.” Veronica finished up her martini and the waiter took the empty glass before it touched the table, then hurried off to fetch another. That man was on point. I would give him a healthy tip when it was time to pay the tab.
“I wouldn’t worry about Sam,” I said. “I’m pretty good at sniffing out catty behavior when it’s staring me right in the face.”
She kicked me under the table. “Jerk.”
I shrugged, taking a sip of my drink, and the waiter returned with another martini. Veronica took a large gulp. She twirled the glass in her hand, eyes lingering on the liquid rocking back and forth. I was more than a little familiar with that sort of look. Veronica had something she needed to say. Chances were I wouldn’t like it.
“I have something to ask you,” she said.
I knew it. Despite only fooling around for a short period of time, she wanted to kick our relationship up a notch or two. If that turned out to be the case, this whole thing had been fun while it lasted—but it was finished.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I know we haven’t been messing around for long, but I was wondering…”
Her voice trailed off, giving me time to think of a thousand different ways to rebuff her declaration of love. I could’ve admitted to using her for sex, breaking it to her that I’d gotten a job on an oil rig in Alaska, or even messed with her self-esteem, telling her she wasn’t that attractive. There were so many ideas to choose from, and I hadn’t even gotten to the classic it wasn’t her, it was me.
“I know you said this wasn’t serious, it couldn’t be serious, in no way would you even entertain the notion of this being serious…” she said.
I’d said that word for word after we first hooked up. I was surprised she remembered. “I did.”
“This isn’t me trying to get serious, but I was wondering if you’d go to dinner with me and Dad,” she said.
Her dad? The ex-demon? I didn’t have any half-demon spawns running around that I knew of, but if I did, and it was a girl, I’d have so many different methods of torture in store for the person she brought home. Didn’t matter if they were human, demon, or an undesignated third party.
I downed the rest of my Jack and Coke a little too fast. I choked and coughed, trying to clear my throat, and thumped my hand against my chest, hoping it would get the hack-fest under control. When the coughing stopped, I took a moment to regain my composure. I wanted to say this next part as crisply and succinctly as possible.