Bart of Darkness (The Book of Bart 2)

by Ryan Hill

  I shrugged her off. I was only intimidating the teacher. A little intimidation never hurts.

  “The Magister’s teachings,” Miss Adams said. “How to become a true follower.”

  “Let me take it from here,” Sam said. “We need to hand her over to Heaven.”

  I ignored Sam. Her goody-goody attitude and angelic preference for life over death wouldn’t get far with this lot. I figured she didn’t want to be party to murder, but I had to be able to threaten Miss Adams or we wouldn’t get any information out of her, and I wasn’t going to let Sam stand in my way. “How do you become a true follower?”

  “You have to be initiated,” Miss Adams said.

  “I’m all ears.” My claws dug further into her skin. Five thin, red lines of blood trickled down her face.

  “That’s enough,” Remy said, trying to pull my hand away. “Listen to Sam.”

  I pointed at him. “I’ll tell you wh–”

  A blinding, white light surrounded me.

  Sometime later, I woke up on the floor, white spots dancing in front of my eyes.

  Miss Adams slept on the couch, five dots marked by dried blood on her face courtesy of my claws. She wasn’t tied up, which meant, I figured, that Sam and Remy didn’t care if she escaped. And if she did, she’d run right to warn Powell and the other soul suckers.

  Terrific.

  “Don’t worry.” Sam sat in a chair off to the side. “She’s not going anywhere.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.” I moved my broken arm. There was a little pain, but for the most part it had healed. “Knocking me out.”

  “You slapped her,” Sam said. “Even with the last teacher, you never slapped her.”

  “Didn’t need to.” That last teacher, a succubus, had got me under her spell. The one good thing from that ordeal was sex with Sam. No, I had no memory of the deed and the almost-angel only did it to break the spell, but it still happened. “You took care of that for me, remember?”

  Sam shrugged, making a sound for I don’t know without opening her mouth. She picked at the chair’s arm, a nice distraction from the fact that I’d poked a major hole in her I can’t believe you smacked a girl/teacher/Mop Top how dare you argument.

  I stayed on the floor, leaning against the front of the couch. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

  “Left about an hour ago,” she said, unwilling to take the bait. “He had some things to do at the store.”

  “Lovely. My car?”

  “I called a tow truck,” she said. “So at least it’s not sitting in a swimming pool?”

  “That poor, poor Benz.”

  I rubbed my eyes, willing them to wake up. Sam still looked sick to her stomach over the deaths of children, though she had nothing to do with it. I figured it was the angel part of her, wreaking havoc on an already frail psyche. She needed a good pep talk.

  This stunk. I hated offering words of encouragement. It was like betraying my demon roots.

  “Sam, it’s okay. Well, not really, because killing kids is a massive no-no, but you’re doing everything you can to stop it from happening. That’s as noble a quest as it gets.”

  She didn’t respond and we just sat there, the air getting heavier the longer we stayed quiet. Sam opened her mouth to speak a couple of times, but each time stopped herself. Finally, I’d had enough of the sounds of silence.

  “You didn’t have to knock me out.”

  “You were going to murder her,” she said. “Killing in defense of one’s self is one thing, but you were going to kill her.”

  I thought about giving her a line of bullshit explaining away my actions. Something like I was still in pain from the Corolla running me over, not to mention the anger about my car crashing into a swimming pool, with the general Mop Top insanity icing on the cake. But I was too tired to lie.

  “You’re probably right.”

  “That’s it?” she asked. “That’s all you have to say for yourself?”

  “An admission of guilt? Yes, that’s all.”

  Sam looked away, trying to fight the tears forming in her eyes. She never seemed to grasp how much darkness there was in the universe. Whenever she stopped to think about it the sadness hung around her like heavy chains, pulling her down into the abyss. It was obvious my actions hurt her, but what did she want from me? A promise to never do anything bad ever again? She needed to grow up. I wanted to tell her as much, but there wasn’t a point. It’d only send her further into the depression abyss.

  I decided to change the subject. “What did you find out from Miss Adams? You didn’t only use the Hand of God on me, did you?”

  Sam leaned forward, showing an interest in conversing instead of reprimanding. It was a welcome change from her how could you, Bartholomew spiel.

  I clapped my hands together, then winced.

  Good.

  My excitement didn’t wake Miss Adams.

  Sam pointed to the teacher. “She’s one of the newer recruits. They call themselves Caelo in Terra, which pretty much means Heaven on Earth. The book she had is also called Caelo in Terra.”

  “I prefer Mop Tops,” I said.

  “Definitely,” she said.

  Still, with this new information, my mind was filling in some of the blanks. “So they’re just a cult, and this Paradise they want to create is literally a Heaven on Earth?”

  “They’re a pretty powerful cult,” she said. “They reject the notion of good and evil and feel everyone deserves Paradise.”

  “Did the teacher say what the Caelo want to do with Hell and Heaven?”

  Sam shook her head. “She didn’t know, but you can probably guess.”

  “Capture or kill.”

  “I think so, but more they want to create the paradise they think everyone deserves here on Earth.”

  I snorted. “Why here?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because Heaven and Hell are already spoken for?”

  I jutted out my lower lip, thinking about that. “Makes sense.”

  “In a weird way, it sort of does.”

  I looked over at Miss Adams. She’d gotten herself into some serious trouble. I figured once Heaven got a hold of her, she would wish I’d ended her life.

  “What’s Powell got to do with them?” I asked.

  “He’s a preacher for the Caelo, helping spread the word,” Sam said.

  “The word?” I snorted. “That’s original. Do they ask people if they’ve heard the Good News too?”

  Sam tried not to smile. “Miss Adams said Arthur preaches about a Magister Caelo a lot, that he’s the one to lead everyone to Paradise.”

  “A Teacher of Heaven?”

  “That’s the literal translation from Latin, but in this case the Magister leads the Caelo in Terra.”

  “Let me guess.” I thumbed at Sleeping Beauty. “She doesn’t know who the Magister really is.”

  Sam bit back a smile. Nope, the teacher had no clue.

  “Powell might,” she said. “But that’s it.”

  “Where are they based?” I asked.

  “She didn’t know that either,” Sam said.

  I snapped my fingers. “Bless the breaks.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith.” Sam’s eyes darted off to the corner and she did a little dance with her shoulders.

  I cocked an eyebrow. “What’d you do? Is it my turn to be disappointed in you?”

  “I’m not saying no.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The Teacher Strikes Back

  When the mood strikes, that Sam can be a little hellion. Even if I wasn’t trying to show her the light, the almost-angel had a natural ability for skirting the rules. The rule she “massaged” at that moment was free will.

  Miss Adams only knew so much about the Mop Tops. The fun part? That didn’t mean the teacher wouldn’t learn more as time passed. If the Magister Caelo was indeed in a rush to create this Paradise, there would be plenty of need for additional positions of responsibility within the cult, even for a newbie l
ike Miss Adams. That’d give the teacher increased access to the dealings of the Mop Tops, and maybe even to the Magister. All we needed was to tag her and release her back into the wild.

  It was against Heaven’s rules to deny free will and force the teacher to get in touch if she came across anything regarding the Magister, Powell, or Caelo in Terra. So Sam couldn’t technically force her. What the clearance-rack angel did do was plant an idea in the teacher’s head that if she learned something and didn’t contact us, her body would itch.

  “Itch?” I asked. “What good would that do?”

  “None,” Sam said. “But she’ll keep itching, scratch raw spots all over her body, and be in a lot of discomfort. And as the itching gets worse, the idea that she needs to reach out to us will also get bigger. Once everything reaches critical mass, she’ll get in touch.”

  I couldn’t hide my glee. “You sexy little heartbreaker.”

  The catch with convincing a Mop Top to rat out her own was waiting. The moment Miss Adams reached out, Sam and I had to move. The whole thing put an awful cramp on my torrid affair with Veronica. Whenever my phone beeped, regardless of what—or whom—I was doing, I had to check. Two days in and Veronica was not happy.

  We sat at her kitchen table, drinking wine and eating steak that she’d grilled. It felt odd the she wanted to cook dinner for me. To me, it was like advancing our relationship. I was still bothered by the conversation I’d had with her dad the other night, so cooking dinner had me thinking about finding the nearest exit. Once Veronica told me everything used for the meal was stolen from a Whole Foods store, my worries disappeared, like an outed mafia informant.

  “Are you trying to make me jealous?” Veronica asked when I checked a text from Sam. “Because it’s working.”

  “That’s adorable,” I said. “But no.”

  The text was short, to the point, and beautiful.

  It’s time.

  Finally. After waiting longer than I would for most virgins, Miss Adams had gotten back to us with some Caelo-related news.

  I finished the wine. “I have to go.”

  Veronica sat there, spurned, mouth hanging open like I’d told her she wasn’t attractive. “You’re leaving? Just like that?”

  “I told you I might have to leave.” I waved the phone in the air. “And I do.”

  Veronica got to her feet. “Then I’m coming with you.”

  I scrunched my face, thinking it over. Veronica tagging along would go over about as well as a dance party at a funeral. The half-demon’s presence would make Sam so angry, chances were she’d raise some ruckus about me trying to sabotage things so I could keep getting into Veronica’s pants.

  “Let’s do it,” I said.

  We rode to Sam’s apartment in my piece of crap rental car, a Toyota Corolla that looked too much like the one Miss Adams drove. I’d requested a Mercedes—or the luxury equivalent—but all the rental place had was the Corolla and some low-level Hyundais that I couldn’t even bring myself to name. The whole thing was sickening.

  Driving a Toyota was the epitome of slumming it. If my insurance company wasn’t dragging their feet on the payment for my last Mercedes, I’d already have had a new Benz. In the Roman Empire, I could’ve fed the insurance people to a lion or two until one of them paid up. These days? A strongly worded phone call was the harshest available route. Ah, progress.

  Sam was waiting for us in the parking lot. The pre-angel could not have acted happier to see Veronica. Duffy was still at his parents’, so at least I didn’t have him to worry about. I couldn’t stand riding around in the rental Corolla any longer, so the three of us piled into Sam’s SUV, then hit the road.

  “Thanks so much for coming with us,” Sam said through gritted teeth. She had a huge, forced grin on her face. It was endlessly entertaining, watching Sam take the high road.

  Veronica was sitting in the back seat, a slight grin on her face. The ex-demon probably enjoyed Sam’s pain. Sitting across from the almost-angel meant I had a front row seat. Everything with Sam was a bit too manufactured. The overly big grin. The perky tone in her voice. All of it screamed over-compensation. It took everything I had to keep from clapping in glee.

  “I hope it’s not awkward without Remy here,” I said with all the sincerity of a politician. “I don’t want you feeling like a third wheel because Veronica came.”

  Behind me, I felt Veronica push my seat forward with her knee. A quiet approval of my joke.

  “I never even thought about it,” Sam said. “The more the merrier.”

  It seemed like she wanted to say more, but didn’t. She probably had some of the same ideas about Veronica tagging along that I did—including the fact that she may reveal herself to be a friend or foe. Considering she’d put herself in a ripe position to hinder or help our investigation, I’d hoped for the latter.

  Sam turned the SUV onto the beltline.

  “Where exactly are we going?” I asked.

  “There’s some kind of emergency meeting at Powell’s house,” Sam said. “Miss Adams gave me the address.”

  “Do you have any high-quality bugging equipment I don’t know about?” I asked.

  “No,” she said.

  “Will we be able to peek in through a window and see what’s going on?”

  “Doubtful.”

  “Then how the Heaven do you expect us to get in there?” I asked. “Knock on his door and ask if Powell wants to buy some Samoa Girl Scout cookies?”

  “I always preferred Thin Mints,” Veronica said.

  “I’ve got an idea.” There was a hint of defensiveness in Sam’s tone. “But it’s an emergency meeting. It’s got to have something to do with our visit the other day.”

  “That didn’t answer my question,” I said.

  “I can go in there,” Veronica said. “Tell you what they said. None of them know me.”

  “No,” Sam said. “I’ve got it covered.”

  “How’s that?” I laughed. “Do you have some little mechanical flies that can record what happens?”

  “Give me a little more credit than that. Miss Adams is going to be our woman on the inside.”

  Oh.

  I didn’t have anything witty to respond with. Using Miss Adams wasn’t a bad plan. At all. I nodded my head and looked straight ahead while Sam turned the SUV into a wealthy neighborhood.

  “Thought you’d like that,” she said.

  “A red herring? I love it.”

  She parked the car and pointed at a house around the corner that looked to be hosting quite the gathering. “That’s Powell’s house.”

  “It’s not as big as his last place,” I said.

  The ex-televangelist’s previous home had been a mansion at Lake Norman in Charlotte. The new place wasn’t that large, but it was still upper echelon. Cars lined the street. People young and old, men and women, all followers of the Magister Caelo, I assumed, walked toward Powell’s home. One of the followers was Miss Adams. I watched as she greeted a few people, then disappeared into the house. A few minutes later, Sam’s phone rang.

  “This is Sam.” The almost-angel was silent for a moment, listening to who I assumed was Miss Adams on the other end of the line. “Okay.”

  Sam turned the speakerphone on, then set the cell down on the dash. The sound of people talking through the speaker had a scratchy, electronic sound. Most of it was white noise, as people spoke over each other. I couldn’t make out a lot of it—but I didn’t need to. This was nothing more than chitchat.

  Then Powell’s voice boomed over the others, getting them to quiet down. It was show time.

  “Before we begin, let us bow our heads and pray,” he said. “We thank thee, oh great Magister Caelo, for showing us the light and the way, providing us strength and nourishment, and giving us Paradise here on Earth.”

  Blah, blah, blah. Sickening. I’d heard this all before, back when I was an angel.

  “Thanks be to the Magister,” the others chanted.

  “Gag m
e,” I said, before proceeding to stick a finger in my mouth and gag.

  Sam gasped, reaching for the phone and pressing the mute button. “Stupid.”

  “I know you’re not talking about me,” I said.

  “I’m talking about both of us. I forgot to mute it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “How is that my fault?”

  “Because you run your mouth.”

  “Don’t talk to my piece of meat like that,” Veronica said, sounding more condescending than defensive.

  “Excuse me?” Sam’s eyes narrowed, staring death halos at Veronica. “This has nothing to do with you.”

  “You’re just jealous I get that sweet demonhood of his whenever I want,” Veronica snapped.

  “Don’t kid yourself,” Sam said. “If I really wanted it, I’d have it. Before you came along your man toy wouldn’t stop begging me for it.”

  “Key word? Before.”

  It was nice to see Sam’s friendly façade melt away, though none of this was doing any of us a bit of good. Sam and Veronica exchanged more words, each more heated than the other, and I debated recording the fight on my phone for posterity. Heaven, I might have even posted the video on the Internet for the world to see. An epic cat fight such as this deserved as wide an audience as possible. I reached for my phone, but just then Miss Adams spoke up. The fun was over.

  Even Sam and Veronica paused their war of words.

  “Mr. Powell, sir,” she said. “I need you to know there’s a group of people outside, listening to everything we say.”

  Well. That was unexpected. And rather disappointing.

  “Did I hear that right?” Sam gasped.

  I nodded with a soft shh.

  “I’m not sure why I’m helping them,” Miss Adams said. “But I felt compelled to let you know.”

  Sam moaned. “Why didn’t I put a fail-safe in there?”

  “It’s okay,” Powell said. “There will always be outside evils trying to destroy the Paradise our Magister Caelo is building. Thank you for sharing.”

  I laid a hand on Sam’s forearm, her holy skin sending a tingle through my fingertips.