Bart of Darkness (The Book of Bart 2)

by Ryan Hill

  Bile rose in my throat. “Seriously? You liked that? He called you a creature.”

  “The purest creature he’d ever come across,” she said. “You could learn a thing or two from him.”

  “Like how to brew dried worms, breast milk, and poison ivy into some sort of potion?” I almost snorted. “Pass.”

  “Wow,” Remy said. “You really are sour grapes, Bartholomew.”

  I rolled my eyes, returning to the task at hand. “Arthur, I know you don’t like hearing this stuff. I can see it in your eyes. And I don’t want to keep talking about it. So for the sake of everyone, tell us about the book and what you’re up to.”

  Otherwise, Sam and Remy’s ooey-gooey talk might make me throw up all over everyone. Purest creature? What a ridiculous “compliment.”

  Powell’s lips curled. “Boy, I wasn’t able to harm you with the scripture, but I guarantee you, your time is coming. The Magister will see to that.”

  My spirit dropped. “You’re not the Magister?”

  “You all have no idea what you’ve stepped into here, do you?” Powell laughed. “That’s glorious.”

  Sam’s hands lit up. “We can easily find out.”

  Powell closed his eyes and clasped his hands together.

  “Really?” I asked. “Do you think the power of prayer is going to help you?”

  Powell began speaking, but it was some language I’d never heard before, and I’d heard them all. Latin, Gaulish, Klingon… I was familiar with every language. I wasn’t fluent in many of them, but I could spot a language if I heard it. Whatever Powell was saying sounded like Morse Code with hisses and clicks, instead of dots and beeps.

  Sam wrapped her hands around Powell’s and the almost-angel’s Hand of God light brightened as she tried to bend the former televangelist to her will. But Powell’s voice got louder, and Sam’s light dimmed.

  “Something’s wrong,” she said.

  The Hand of God light turned green, then seeped right into Powell’s skin. Sam tried to let go, but it was like her hands were glue. Remy and I tried to pry her free—with no luck. Powell’s prayer had reached a fever pitch, and then something to the side of us caught my eye. I glanced around.

  “Shit.”

  Powell’s book club buddies, or the Magister’s, or whoever, were moving silently in unison, inching closer to us until they’d surrounded. Now they were chanting in unison with Powell.

  I considered extending my claws and chopping Sam’s hands off to free her so we could get the hell out of there, but suddenly there was an explosion of green light from Powell, knocking the three of us to the ground. I heard Remy and Sam speaking, so I knew they were at least somewhat okay. My eyes were nothing but a light show of green spots. It took a couple of minutes, but my vision returned to normal. At least, I thought my vision was fine. The problem was I couldn’t believe what I saw.

  “This … is new.”

  Except for Sam’s SUV, my car, and the three of us, everything else in the parking lot had vanished. I popped a cigarette into my mouth and lit it.

  “I’ve never seen juju like this,” Remy said.

  “I don’t know that anyone has.” I exhaled. “Who up and disappears into thin air in the middle of a blessed interrogation? The gall of some people.”

  Remy helped Sam to her feet. I blew smoke through my nostrils, still pissed. The ability to teleport out of any situation wasn’t fair. Don’t get me wrong, I’d have killed to have that skill, but having it done to me reeked of cowardice.

  Sam dusted herself off. “Where do you think they went?”

  “To the moon, Sam.” I said.

  “Wait,” Remy said. “Some of them had already left by car. Did either of you see if that teacher was with us?”

  “No clue,” I said. “I was too busy grilling Powell.”

  “I’m not sure either,” Sam said. “Great. So Miss Adams could’ve disappeared too.”

  “Fantastic.” I took one last drag on the cigarette, then flicked it away. “Every single lead we had just went into the green light.”

  “Unless she left before all the excitement,” Remy said. “If so, she may be doing nothing more than driving home right now.”

  Sam looked at me, trying to play on what little emotions I had with fluttering eyes and a sheepish grin.

  “Why not?” I said. “I don’t have anything better to do.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The Claws Come Out

  At long last. I didn’t have to act like Mr. Nice Rogue anymore. With time against us, I drove to Miss Adams’ apartment like a bat out of Hell, going no less than twenty miles per hour above the speed limit. Sam and Remy were somewhere behind me. The patchwork angel rarely drove faster than the speed limit, making it possible that a few miles separated me from them.

  Chasing Miss Adams, racing against the clock … this was my element. I was made for this sort of chaos. If we were lucky enough to catch her before Powell sent out the alarm, I’d make that teacher fess up to everything—or I’d pull off pieces of her body, one by one.

  I turned into Miss Adams’ apartment complex, tires screeching. A car was approaching from the other direction and I jerked the steering wheel to the right. I tried to slow down, but the SUV didn’t handle as well as my previous Mercedes sedans. The speed and anti-lock brakes refused to cooperate, and I lost control of my baby. The Benz jumped the curb, crashing through an iron fence, and the airbag went off, punching me in the face. The SUV crashed into the shallow end of a swimming pool, the rear sticking up in the air.

  I popped the airbag with a claw. The bag deflated, leaving me a final look at the dash of my SUV. I fought off the tears. Another Benz of mine biting the dust. I squeezed the steering wheel, letting out my anger and sadness, but let go before the steering wheel snapped beneath my grip. The nubs of my horns pressed forward while water poured into the Benz from the doors, spilling onto the floorboard. Some of the water splashed onto me. I belted out a few obscenities.

  A minute ago, I’d been excited at the idea of torture and dismemberment. Now? Forget it. I wanted to go home and drown my sorrows in a few bottles of wine. It didn’t matter how often it happened; I never got used to losing an automobile. No words, not even, “Bartholomew, you get a new Mercedes,” were enough to quell my grief.

  Then the rear hatchback opened. Remy and Sam were standing on the concrete surrounding the pool, Sam leaning down and trying to get a good look at me.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I hate this fucking job,” I said.

  “We need to go,” Remy said.

  “Just … give me a minute.” I rubbed the dashboard, relishing the feel of leather on my fingertips. My sweet, sweet baby. I’d miss her.

  Then I made my way to the back seat and tossed my cell phone up to Sam, keeping it safe from water damage. I took Remy’s hand. He pulled, helping me climb out of the Benz.

  “I’m sorry.” Sam rubbed my arm. “I know how much you hate losing a car.”

  I waved her off. “Not now.”

  “What happened?” Sam asked, even though she knew.

  “The usual. Tried to dodge a stray kitten, lost control, crashed a pool party.”

  With the SUV totaled, I was in full-on demonic mode and ready to do my worst. My Benz was ruined because of that teacher, and I was prepared to repay her in kind. Her suffering would be so great, a monk that took a vow of silence would say, “yikes.”

  There was still time for that to happen, but for some reason Remy and Sam were standing there gawking at me like I was supposed to do a dance for them.

  “What are you waiting on?” I asked.

  “You,” Remy said.

  For the love of…

  I rolled my head. It always fell to me. Never mind that this whole thing was Sam’s assignment; I had to take control. Such was the life of an alpha rogue, I supposed.

  Suddenly a pair of headlights came our way from inside the complex. When the car passed under a streetlight, I s
aw that it was Miss Adams’ green Toyota Corolla. Perfect. I buttoned my jacket, took out a cigarette, lit it, and took one long, deep drag.

  “Really?” Sam asked. “Now?”

  I ignored her and kept my eyes on the car. The smoke felt glorious as I blew it from my lungs through my mouth. Nothing like a little nitro boost.

  With the Toyota only fifteen feet away, I broke into a sprint. I rushed through the hole my Benz had made in the fence and toward the apartment complex’s main driveway.

  “What are you–” Sam said, but I didn’t hear the rest.

  I flung myself in front of the Corolla, crashing into the hood. The momentum threw me into the windshield and, with the car still moving, my body flipped in the air, landing behind the car on the asphalt. The Toyota stopped, its red brake lights shining on me.

  Pieces of raw, scraped skin burned all over my body. I couldn’t hear, thanks to the feeling that someone had stuck my head in the Bell of Good Luck, and let all 116 metric tons ring over and over. Throwing myself in front of Miss Adams’ car was one of the worst ideas ever. It was even worse than when I’d tried for a shortcut to California with the Donner party.

  “What were you thinking?” Remy asked.

  “Why did you do that?” Sam had tears in her eyes. She knelt next to me, unsure which wound, if any, she should tend to. “If you die you’ll only get sent back to Hell.”

  I spit out some blood. “I know.”

  The Corolla’s door opened and Miss Adams stepped out, her body trembling. From the look on her long, fearful face, I figured slamming into an ex-demon with her piece of crap car hadn’t been on the menu for tonight.

  “I didn’t see him, I swear,” she said. “I’ll dial 9-1-1.”

  Sam and Remy gawked at her and the teacher gave them a confused look. She’d never met or seen them until this instant. When her eyes fell on me, however, it was a different story.

  “Avon calling,” I said with a smile, letting black blood ooze down my chin.

  Miss Adams froze, caught off-guard. She didn’t know what to do. Sam and Remy were in the same boat, standing around and doing nothing of importance. It was super helpful.

  “Grab her,” I said, giving Sam and Remy their cue.

  Miss Adams reached for the door handle. Her hand slipped.

  “Shit.”

  The door opened on her second attempt and she tried to slide into the car, but Remy grabbed her by the hair before the door closed. I winced. Her wig slid off, the black hole on her head looking darker than the night sky. She reached for the wig. Remy got a hold of her wrists and pulled her out of the car.

  Miss Adams screamed and kicked, but the Creole was too strong. She fell to her knees, using her jacket to cover her head.

  “Don’t look at me!” she cried.

  I used the Corolla’s bumper for leverage to stand. My arm refused to help, though, screaming in pain until I stopped.

  Definitely broken.

  I fell back down. Sam took me under the arms and helped me to my feet. My arm hung limp at my side as I stood over Miss Adams.

  “Please,” she said. “My hair.”

  I kept an eye on the complex’s entrance, in case a car—or an armada of them—came toward us. The Caelo might figure out at any moment that Miss Adams hadn’t disappeared with the rest of them and come looking for her. The least we could do was stay out of the open.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” I said. “I’ll drive her car back to her place. See you there.”

  Remy gave Miss Adams her wig back, then forced her into the Corolla’s passenger seat. I sat behind the wheel, holding the teacher’s cult book with my bad arm. The steering wheel felt grimy to the touch and I lamented the idea of driving a Toyota. It didn’t matter that I’d only be driving the short distance back to the teacher’s apartment; it was still a Toyota. A run-of-the-mill economy car. If it were Toyota’s high-end line, Lexus, I wouldn’t have had a problem. It was like I’d gone from riding a prize stallion to a cranky old mule. All that was missing were the flies.

  I turned the car around. Busted metal from the car’s front scraped across the parking lot. As I progressed, I came upon two speed bumps the complex had set out to prevent people from driving too fast in the parking lot. Each bump made my insides hop up and down, including the broken bone in my arm. The hollow, burning pain was improving, but not fast enough for my taste.

  Within moments we were parked in front of Miss Adams’ building. I stumbled out of the car, the book falling from my arms, and as I reached for it, Sam pulled her SUV into the parking spot next to the Corolla, running over my hand. I groaned, holding my hand up in front of me. I moved my fingers. The joints stung, but the hand wasn’t broken.

  Remy got out of the car, alarmed at the sight of me on the ground. “I told you we ran over something.”

  “What was it?” Sam asked from the other side. She came around the car and saw me on the ground rubbing my hand. “Oh no, I’m so sorry.”

  “It is not my night.” I reached under the SUV to get the book.

  Remy had already gone to the other side of the Toyota and grabbed the teacher by the upper arm. She broke down into tears as he dragged her from the car. “What are you going to do to me?”

  Sam opened her mouth to speak but I held out a hand, motioning for her to stop.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” I said, angling my eyebrows to give myself a villainous look. “But if I were you, I’d prepare for all sorts of pain and humiliation.”

  Miss Adams wailed, her body losing the will to stay upright. Remy kept a firm hold on her, ensuring that she remained standing.

  Sam’s eyes were wide with curiosity. Or fear. It was difficult to tell in the dark. I leaned in close to whisper.

  “She doesn’t need to know why we’re really here,” I said. “Not yet, at least, so let me have a little fun first, okay?”

  “I wasn’t going to say anything.” She glanced at Miss Adams.

  I smirked. “That’s my girl.”

  Sam croaked like a frog was stuck in her throat. “I’m sorry, but you just made me a little sick to my stomach.”

  Yep. That’s definitely my girl.

  Remy marched the teacher up the stairs to her apartment, doing his best to ignore her pleas, which got more annoying with each step.

  “Whatever you want,” she was saying. “I can get it for you. Just please don’t take advantage of me sexually.”

  “No promises,” I said, following behind the pair.

  Miss Adams wiggled around. Remy’s grip tightened.

  “Easy now,” he said. “Nobody’s getting frisky with you.”

  The teacher nodded toward me. “He might.”

  I laughed. “Don’t kid yourself. I’m not getting anywhere near that poop chute on top of your head.”

  Sam got the keys out of the teacher’s pocket, then unlocked her apartment door. Inside, Remy plopped Miss Adams down on the couch. She pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around herself. Eyes glued to the floor, she rocked back and forth, muttering something under her breath. It sounded a lot like what Powell said, and I wasn’t about to let our only lead disappear. I slapped her with the back of my hand—the hand that Sam had run over earlier. That felt spectacular.

  A red spot formed on Miss Adams’ face where I’d tagged her. Remy stared at me, wide-eyed. Sam gasped, like what I’d done sucked all the air out of the room.

  “You,” she said, trying to speak through her shock. “You hit … a girl.”

  Really? She chose this moment to take the moral high ground? Mop Tops were sucking up kids all over Raleigh, something even I had a problem with. The stubs of my horns pressed against my skull. The anger boiled up so much that if I’d still had unbroken horns they’d have emerged into the open for all to see.

  “I hit a monster,” I said. “Not a girl. She was saying the same stuff Powell did earlier. Do you want her disappearing or calling for help?”

  Sam’s lower lip trembled.
“N– no.”

  “Me either,” I said. “It wasn’t cool, but this is not the time to play good angel.”

  “Sam’s right,” Remy said. “You didn’t have to slap her.”

  “There’s a lot of things I didn’t have to do.”

  The claws on my fingers extended. I pulled Miss Adams’ legs off the couch, then grabbed her face. She whimpered. I felt the fear reverberating through her body. She was mine. Mop Top or not, Miss Adams knew she wasn’t in control. I was.

  And I loved it.

  “Why are you killing kids?” I asked.

  “The Magister needs pure souls,” she said. “To create Paradise.”

  Paradise? Only the Man Upstairs had the power to do that. He even created Hell. As for pure souls, Heaven got pretty much all of them. We demons didn’t care. There was no sport in tainting a pure soul like Duffy. It was too easy. Too boring.

  “The Magister Caelo wants to show us the way,” Miss Adams said. “Paradise should be for everyone.”

  Oh, give me a break.

  I glanced at Sam. “Sounds like someone wants to put you all out of business.”

  “At first, the Magister only wanted homeless people,” Miss Adams said. “He said nobody would notice.”

  I knew it.

  “We didn’t start taking children until recently.”

  “What changed things?” I asked.

  “One of us was discovered.”

  The soup kitchen.

  “The Magister said that to ensure Paradise, we needed to speed things up by taking stronger, more pure souls. Otherwise, the non-believers would stop the Caelo in Terra.”

  “Children,” Sam said.

  I stole a glance at the almost-angel, who was pale and sick at Miss Adams’ confession to killing children.

  “What’s that all about?” I nodded toward the brown book we’d found on Miss Adams.

  “The book?” Miss Adams asked. “The Magister wrote it.”

  “We figured that.” I dug my claws into her face. I didn’t dig deep enough to draw blood, but she knew it wouldn’t take much effort. “What’s the book about?”

  Sam laid a hand on me. “Don’t murder her.”