by Ryan Hill
“I’ve had more fun in medieval torture chambers,” I said.
“It could be worse,” Sam replied.
“No, it couldn’t. We’re trying to stop this crazy new cult from doing who knows what to the world, and yet we’re stuck in a car with a bunch of squawk boxes.”
“It’ll be over soon,” she said. “I may even let you smoke in the car.”
That was a nice offer, but I’d never sully new car smell by smoking a cigarette. Well, maybe I’d have one. If I cracked the window a little, the suction—in theory—would take care of the potential for smoke to linger and stick in the SUV. In the end, though, I decided against it. The kids and their noise pollution would’ve ruined whatever joy smoking would’ve provided.
We dropped the kids and the couple off in Mooresville around ninety minutes later, bringing that trial by aggravation to an end, and I called Remy.
“We dropped everyone off,” I said. “When all this Mop Top business is finished, we can talk about your favor again, but not before. Got it?”
“Okay,” Remy said. “How are you coming back? Highway 70?”
“What other way is there?” I scoffed. “The back roads? I’ve had my fair share of dueling banjos in the past.”
“Fair enough. You’ve got your extension.”
“Wonderful.”
I hung up and closed my eyes, hoping for a moment of peace and quiet. Then Sam turned on the radio, breaking the silence. I wanted to kick the stereo to bits, but that required too much effort. The Animals’ House of the Rising Sun blared through the SUV’s speakers.
“That’s not ironic,” Sam said.
“Not at all,” I said. “I can’t wait to get back to Raleigh. A stiff drink and a hot bath are calling my name. I also miss my dog.”
Wait. What? Did I just say that out loud? I missed my dog? What in the wide, wide, world of sports was happening to me?
“Did I hear you right?” Sam asked. “You miss Ozzie?”
“No, I miss…” I stammered, trying to come up with an excuse. “I miss…” I couldn’t think of one blessed thing that rhymed with dog besides log, and shook my head, embarrassed at my lack of wit. “Just take me home.”
“You got it.”
It sounded like Sam laughed a little, but the music made it impossible to know for sure.
“Sooner the bet–”
But suddenly Sam squealed and jammed both feet on the brakes. The SUV’s tires screamed bloody murder as we lurched to a halt, and the momentum threw my body forward, the seat belt tightening against my chest as a safety measure.
“What the Heaven?”
Sam pointed straight ahead. Miss Adams stood in the middle of the road, the SUV’s headlights illuminating her neon jumpsuit. The teacher pulled off her wig.
“Back up,” I said.
Sam fumbled with the transmission.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
“I’m trying.” Sam set for reverse and finally shot backward, the two of us watching the dashboard video screen for direction. Then a pair of legs appeared in the cam, followed by a wig falling on the ground.
Shit, shit, shit. There was more than one of the Mop Tops.
Sam, mouth open a sliver, slammed on the brakes. I glanced over to see a panicked look in her eyes, her shoulders heaving up and down from heavy breathing. It was not often an angel, even one in training, experienced true fear. Yet, here I was, looking a terrified angel in the face.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I can’t run them over.”
I could.
“Let me drive.”
It was too dangerous to get out of the car with the Mop Tops out there, so Sam and I were forced to switch seats without stepping outside. The two of us awkwardly crawled over, around, and under each other as we swapped seats. Sam’s hand slipped off the dash during the maneuver, and she lost her balance and fell, her knee landing on my privates. I groaned.
“Sorry,” she said.
Sitting down in the driver’s seat, I fought off the deep burn in my special bits and put the car into drive, then turned the SUV’s high beams on. The glare bore into Miss Adams’s eyes. She covered her face from the blinding light, giving me an opening.
I pressed my foot down on the gas pedal, revving the engine past 6,000 RPMs. But something was wrong. The engine growled like a panther, but the SUV didn’t move. The tires were just spinning in place. I glanced in the rearview mirror and there was a Mop Top behind us. A larger woman—who was trying to suck us in through the black hole on her head.
Then Sam noticed the woman too. The almost-angel lit up her hands, aiming them at the Mop Top to the rear, but I slapped her hands down.
“Not in the car,” I said.
She gawked at me like I’d told her she had body odor.
“What? You’ll break something.”
“Fine.” She pressed down on the power window button, rolling the glass down. I pulled her away, then used the master console button to roll the window up and lock it in place.
“What?” she asked.
“Don’t do that,” I snapped. “What if they sucked your head clean off your body?”
If Sam had time to react like a normal person, she’d have rolled her eyes. Like I said, though, there wasn’t time.
“What do we do then?” she asked. “Because I’m fresh out of ideas.”
Meanwhile, the Mop Top was getting the upper hand. The SUV was trying to fight, but it was a losing battle. Some things were too powerful, even for five hundred horsepower. The woman pounded on the hatchback, cracking the glass as I feverishly scanned the dashboard.
“I should know where it is.”
“The rear windshield wiper?”
“Duh.” Embarrassing. I’d assumed I was familiar enough with all Mercedes models to know where the rear wiper blade button was.
Sam pointed at a plastic square with a windshield wiper graphic. I pressed it, shooting wiper fluid from the hose right onto the Mop Top’s face. She staggered back, her hold on us weakening. Her head moved back and forth, probably because she was spitting the fluid out of her mouth. I hoped that’s what it was. The dirty Mop Top deserved it.
The temporary break in the suction gave the SUV a chance to accelerate forward, but then Miss Adams moved back, yanking off her wig. She aimed the bottomless pit on the top of her head at us. With twenty feet separating the teacher from us, our only hope was to close the distance before she could suck us in. The SUV barreled forward. But the black hole on Miss Adams’ head pushed out, instead of in, slowing down the Mercedes.
“Didn’t see that coming,” I said.
Sam’s hands lit up again. “I’ve got to,” she gasped. “I’m sorry, I know you hate it, but it’s my car.”
“If you must.” I patted the steering wheel, apologizing in advance for the damage Sam was about to cause.
Before the almost-angel had a chance to hit Miss Adams with the Hand of God, the SUV spun into the air. On the ground below Sam and I, both Mop Tops were pushing outward with their black holes. The SUV was caught in the middle. Sam and I twirled around like we were in the middle of a tornado. I didn’t know how long we were stuck in that vortex of death, but it was awful. Sam screamed, her curly blonde locks bouncing around. I felt sick to my stomach and my head felt like someone had put it in a high-powered shaker.
Then Sam’s Hand of God special shot forth, ripping two holes in the windshield. The beams of light were pushed around their targets, despite Sam’s best efforts. Still, even though the Hand of God wasn’t hitting the monsters, as a safety precaution—I assumed—they flung the car off the highway, toward a clump of trees.
The sound of metal meeting wood made a dull screech as we crashed into a tree. A branch tore through the middle of the front windshield, creating a barrier between Sam and me. Oh, the anger that swept through my body. What remained of my horns begged for retribution. It wasn’t that the Mop Tops did this to us. That part I could almost understand. But destroying S
am’s Mercedes, so soon after my own was totaled? Unacceptable. I extended my claws and snapped the branch in two.
It wasn’t one of my better ideas.
The branch had been acting as a balance beam, and without it the SUV tumbled down the tree, crashing through several other branches. Finally, the front bumper hit the ground, releasing the airbags, and the SUV tipped over, landing upside down.
“You hurt?” I asked.
“I think they broke me,” Sam said. “You?”
“Same. Ruined another suit.” Everything in my body ached from the Mop Top tornado and the branches the SUV had crashed through, not to mention the ground breaking our fall. Most of all, my pride was hurt. Two Mercedes had bit the dust on my watch in the past few days. “Stay here.”
I kicked the door off the frame, sending it flying into the night. The Mop Tops were walking toward us. I crawled out of the car, picked up a broken branch beside me, and rushed at them, ready to strike. The branch broke as it cracked against the side of the older woman’s face. I didn’t need the branch for Miss Adams. No, for her I finished what I’d started.
Before she could suck me into her head, I dug my claws into her belly. Warm blood spilled onto my hands and further ruined my suit. The teacher’s face went wide and shocked. I felt pure satisfaction watching the life drain from her eyes, and wished I could kill her more than once. Then a slight breeze pulled at my side. It was her comrade.
I ran as fast as I could, but the woman’s vortex was already pointed at me and I felt the black hole’s pull gaining in strength. Since she had her eyes to the ground, I ran to the side for a flanking attack. With the black hole only taking in grass and stray sticks, the woman stopped a moment to see why I hadn’t disappeared into her head.
“Over here,” I whispered.
The woman gasped as my claws tore into her flesh. I grinned like a kid who’d won a new bicycle.
“You don’t mess with kids,” I said. “Ever.” Even if the kids deserved it.
The black hole on her head sealed as she died, leaving her corpse with a big, shiny bald head on top. I checked Miss Adams. Her head was the same.
Interesting.
The other Mop Tops Sam and I had encountered imploded before death, dying by sucking themselves into … themselves. If that wasn’t an option, the holes on their heads sealing themselves seemed like a fail-safe. The Caelo in Terra had a weird way of covering their tracks, but it worked. I was more than happy to deny Miss Adams such an easy out.
The teacher’s blood dripped from my fingers. I savored the image. It was like I was back in the good old days; a simple demon talking General George Custer into attacking at Little Big Horn.
“I’ve missed this,” I said.
“Killing people with your bare hands?” Sam asked.
“That and being a total badass.”
Sam tsked. “All right.”
I knelt and ran my hands against the ground, getting the blood off. “What?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You don’t approve?” I asked, getting back on my feet.
Sam tilted her head and paused, befuddled that I’d ask that question. “Of course not. I’m trying to become an angel.”
Oh. Right.
“That makes sense.” I’d been too wrapped up in my blood lust to register that Sam was, indeed, playing for Team Heaven.
Suddenly the bargain bin angel took out her cell phone. “I’m calling a tow truck.”
“Don’t do that. Call 9-1-1.”
“Why?”
“You report the SUV stolen. That way, insurance covers the cost of replacing it.”
“And the bodies?”
“We’ll toss them in the bushes. Nobody will know.” I felt around the older Mop Top’s pockets and found a pair of keys.
Sam pouted, then put her phone away. “You’re terrible, you know that?”
I grinned and stashed the keys in my pants. “Of course.”
Sam took Miss Adams by the legs and I held her by the hands. Together, the almost-angel and I carried the body over to the bushes.
“On three,” I said. “One, two, three.”
The two of us swung Miss Adams over the bushes and to the other side, safely away from anyone’s view. We did the same with the other body and, with that taken care of, Sam was free to call 9-1-1.
“Can’t I buy my own car this time?”
“Nope. We spend too much time together for me to ride around in something like a Nissan Sentra,” I said.
“You’re driving a Toyota Corolla right now,” she noted.
“Yeah, but I don’t own it.”
Dialing 9-1-1 took care of her demolished SUV, but the two of us still needed to get out of there. Sam and I walked around for a few minutes in search of the vehicle the older Mop Top’s keys belonged to. We finally found the car—a minivan, of all things—parked on the shoulder of a side road.
It’d do for a getaway vehicle.
I held out the keys. “You drive.”
“Why?” Sam asked.
“I can’t be seen driving a minivan; are you crazy?”
“Could you please?” Sam looked at me with puppy dog eyes. Coupled with her soft, shaken voice, there was no way I could refuse her request.
I sighed. “We must never speak of this disgraceful action ever.”
“Deal.”
I got behind the wheel of the minivan. There was a pine tree odor eater hanging from the rearview mirror. I yanked it off.
“I think it’s safe to say we’re all square with Remy after this,” I said. “And then some.”
I turned the key in the ignition. The minivan’s engine sounded like a seventy-year-old woman with a sixty-year smoking habit.
Despicable.
“Not to play you-know-who’s advocate,” Sam said. “But did Veronica know about this road trip?”
That tested every particle of patience in my body. “I’m driving a minivan. Things can’t get much lower for me. Is this really the time to ask that?”
“It is,” Sam said. “And if the tables were turned, you’d ask me the same thing.”
True.
“No, I haven’t talked to Veronica.” I held up my phone. “You can even check my messages to be sure.”
“I trust you,” Sam said.
We sat in silence as the minivan chugged along the highway, it’s candy-assed engine refusing to let me drive more than three miles-per-hour over the speed limit.
Sam sniffed. “Well, there’s got to be someone else.”
“It could’ve been Veronica,” I said. “But that doesn’t make sense, I never told her anything. So, if she was the bad guy, it would mean someone that isn’t me told her about this field trip.”
“Which brings us back to Remy.”
“Nobody else knew we were here,” I said. “And he is the one who set this up.”
I didn’t like pointing the finger at Remy. The Creole was as close to being a friend as anyone. Sure, I hadn’t been happy with him as of late, but still.
That didn’t change the fact that everything indicated Remy had set us up.
Sam let out one of those long, contemplative sighs that sounded like it was her final breath before dying. I didn’t want to think about the damage Remy’s backstabbing had on the almost-angel. The whole thing was too much to believe. Why do this? It didn’t make sense—but it would soon enough.
The minivan wouldn’t get Sam and I to the House of the Rising Sun as quickly as I’d have preferred, but it’d do the job. And once we were there, Remy would have a lot of explaining to do.
“You know, sometimes,” Sam said, wiping away tears, “I really hate this world.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Making a House Call
Sam and I ditched the minivan about a half-mile from my condo, where my rental Toyota Corolla awaited. It wasn’t much of an improvement over the minivan, but it was an improvement. As we walked back to my place, I told Sam that she shouldn’t stick aroun
d for the next part, where I’d rip Remy’s anus through his mouth. It didn’t seem like the almost-angel’s cup of tea—much like driving a piece of crap minivan wasn’t mine.
“Sleep in for once,” I said, my building coming into view around some new construction. “Take Ozzie for a walk. I’ll even give you one of my credit cards. Go on a shopping spree. All I ask is that you skip out on tomorrow morning.”
“I want to confront Remy too.”
I shook my head. “I’m not confronting him. I’m strangling him with his intestines.”
“That’s … graphic.” Sam rubbed her eyes. “I still can’t believe he would do something like this. It’s so not Remy.”
“Agreed,” I said. “He can be loyal to a fault.”
Sam massaged her neck. “Did we do anything to make him want to set us up?”
“Not that I’m aware of, unless you broke his heart or something.”
“Come on,” she said, looking at me sideways. “Romantic entanglements are a big no-no for me.”
I held up my hands. “Just asking.”
Besides, Remy didn’t stand a chance of getting her to break that rule. I mean if I couldn’t do it, nobody could.
We crossed an intersection. Only one block left before home.
“There isn’t enough soap in the world to wash the stink of both a rental Toyota and a minivan off me.” I said.
“You’ll do it.”
I lightly tapped Sam on the shoulder. “Why so glum?”
“Everything has gone topsy-turvy since the soup kitchen,” the skim milk version of an angel said. “I didn’t think this would get so big.”
“Don’t do that.” I glanced up at the newly built parking deck by my condo, wishing my car was in it, safe and sound. “The Caelo were killing people before we came across them. That wasn’t our fault. Right?”
“I guess.” Sam enveloped herself in her arms—a sure sign she wanted to retreat into her thoughts. Not this time. We couldn’t afford that this late in the game.