Vampire Soul Box Set (Vampire Romantic Comedy)

by Mac Flynn

  He smiled and bowed his head. "It was my pleasure, but perhaps next time I will wear gloves."

  We made our goodbyes and I returned to my apartment to wait out the day. My mind streamed with a lot of hopes, dreams, fears, dancing sugar plums, and doubts. The day slipped away and just after sunset the lid on my coffee table rose. Roland sat up and found me on the couch with the soul box beside me. The same time he woke up was when the soul box started its blue-mist smokestack impersonation.

  Roland looked ghastly pale, even for an undead. His assessment of a few weeks looked as optimistic as he looked awful.

  "Ready for some adventure?" I asked him.

  He raised an eyebrow. "That would depend on the company," he teased.

  I gestured to the box and me. "We're the company."

  "And the adventure."

  "The adventure is visiting Alston to find out what he knows about your box, and return some expired fish," I told him.

  A smile slid onto his lips. "That's sounds like an intriguing challenge," he commented as he stepped from his coffin. "How do you propose to approach him?"

  "We walk through the door and ask him about the fish, and maybe he'll slip up on the box," I suggested.

  Roland furrowed his brow. "It would be best if we didn't mention the lid of the box being as it is."

  I stood and smiled. "My thoughts exactly. We're there on the fish mission."

  I fetched the card with the address Alston had given me the first time I met him, and we drove to that part of town. It was on one of the older commercial streets. The buildings were one-floor with deep basements, and there were a lot of bars over the windows. Guys with tattoos stood on a few of the corners and watched us drive by, and even the dogs gave us funny looks.

  Most of the buildings were dark or had on some small night light, but not Alston's office. His was lit up for business, and his door was even open. The tough thugs in the neighborhood either were too afraid to steal from the place, or they worked for the place. I parked my car on the curb and looked the building over. It was brick with a pair of large windows on either side of the tall door. An alley on the left revealed some windows at ground level. The building had a basement.

  I glanced over my shoulder at the boxes of fish. "I guess we can leave these things in here. Anybody who steals them will deserve what they get."

  "The smell will keep them at bay," Roland quipped.

  I glared at him. "I'm supposed to be the comic relief, remember?"

  He grinned. "We can share the duties."

  "Thief. . ." I muttered as we got out.

  Roland and I went inside together and found a comfortable office with plush waiting chairs and a wall that divided the office work from the prying eyes of the customers. There was a window with a ledge and desk behind it, and a bell sat on ledge. I walked up and rang it.

  "Room service! Room service!" I called.

  In a moment Alston stepped out of a room on the right hand wall beyond the space divider. His face lit up when he saw me, and he walked over.

  "What a pleasant surprise," he commented. His smile slipped when he noticed Roland behind me. "A good evening to you both. You look ill, Mr. Roland. Perhaps we should get you a seat."

  "This isn't a pleasure visit," I warned him. "We've got some business with you and your boss."

  He smiled. "He is a client, yes, and as such you must understand I can't be completely frank with you about any of his dealings."

  "That's okay, we're not Frank," I quipped.

  He smiled. "Have I ever told you your sense of humor is extraordinary?"

  "And have I ever told you I'm not available?" I snapped back.

  One of his eyebrows raised just a notch. "I see. Well, as I was saying, let me sit you down so we can speak in comfort."

  He opened the divider door and led us into the back. There was a large table with a half dozen chairs in the rear. Roland and I took one long side, and Alston took a chair on the other.

  "Now what business exactly is this discerning?" he wondered.

  "I've got a car full of freshly-caught possessed fish, and I'd like to know how they got into the diner," I told him.

  Alston leaned back and smiled. "I can be somewhat informative considering this is an investigation. A prospective client came to us wishing to press damages against your employer for a brutal attack on him late last year. I advised the man that it was a clear sign of self-defense, and we could do nothing for him in that regard."

  "In what regard could you help him?" Roland questioned him.

  Alston leaned back in his chair and his smile widened. "Another of my clients had a recent shipment of fish come in to harbor. The fish was found to be-well, not very tasty, and I asked him to sell the load to someone who would buy such cheap fish. Naturally, he jumped at the opportunity to assist me."

  "Naturally," I quipped.

  "The deal was sealed-"

  "In blood, probably," I interrupted.

  "-and the man went away with his shipment. I wasn't sure what he would do with it, but you being here has confirmed the results," Alston finished.

  I stood and leaned over the desk. "If you cursed the fish then you need to take them back," I demanded.

  He shook his head. "The matter is out of our hands. The contract has been signed, and responsibility for any damages, or returns, rests solely on the individual who sold your employer the fish."

  "And who was this client of yours?" Roland wondered.

  Alston smirked. "As I said, I'm still bound by some of the rules of the attorney-client privilege. That includes the name of the prospective client."

  "So let me get this straight. We get to know what they did, but not who they are and why they did it?" I guessed.

  He gave a nod. "Exactly."

  "You're a real asshole, you know that?"

  "I have been called that several times, yes."

  I narrowed my eyes and frowned. "Well, I'm going to call you a bunch of different things if you don't-"

  Alston's smirk slid off his face and he stood from his seat. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

  "Not until we-" A hand fell on my shoulder. I looked back to find it belonged to Roland. He shook his head. "You seriously want to leave when we can get all the answers out of this devil worm?"

  "This is a battle we can't win," Roland warned me.

  "He's right, you know," Alston spoke up.

  I whipped my head to him. "What I know is-" My eyes widened and I started back.

  Alston's shadow loomed on the wall behind him like a massive security guard. The outline was distorted, but I could clearly make out a pair of brimstone-red eyes in the dark face. They flickered and glared back at me like a bully ready to pounce. I stumbled back into Roland's arms and Alston's smirk returned.

  "You forget that I have a very important client, and he's been kind enough to give me some protection," Alston informed us.

  "You wouldn't pass such volatile merchandise to a prospective client without his permission," Roland commented. "Why did the Devil allow the purchase?"

  Alston resumed his seat and the shadow receded into the darkness against the back of his chair. "My important client is quite interested in you pair, but he believes your development is too slow."

  "Whatever happened to your client's infinite patience?" I asked him.

  He chuckled. "My client has infinite patience, but he can't stand inaction. That's why he's contrived this new challenge for you both."

  "So he knew we'd know he's behind this?" I guessed.

  "There was that chance, but my client doesn't always work in the shadows," he replied.

  "We should go," Roland spoke up.

  Alston raised an eyebrow and I looked at Roland as though, after several centuries, senility had finally caught up with him.

  "But we-" Roland stood and pulled me out of my chair.

  "We have learned what we could," he insisted. I saw a flicker of something in his blue eyes. It was a wink. I thi
nk.

  I frowned and glared at Alston. "Don't think this isn't done. I'll send you the car cleaning bill if I can't get that smell out."

  He smiled and bowed his head. "Good evening to you both."

  I grudgingly allowed Roland to drag me out of the attorney's office and onto the street where he released me. His eyes roamed the old building while I folded my arms across my chest.

  "Mind telling me what that was about?" I asked him.

  "We weren't going to learn anything further from him, nor could we force the information from him," he pointed out.

  I tilted my head to one side and studied him. "So what's your plan?"

  He turned to me and smiled. "You wish for the fish to be gone from your car?"

  "Um, yeah. They smell worse than Ralph's cooking."

  Roland nodded at the left-side of the building. "Alston may provide us with room in which to deposit the crates."

  I followed his gaze and my eyes fell on the windows to the basement. A grin slid onto my lips.

  "I like the way you think, friend."

  CHAPTER 7

  There were multiple and complicated parts to this plan. Actually, not really. I drove my car to the back of Alston's building and helped Roland unload the eleven crates by the nearest basement window. The building had an empty concrete basement and with a set of stairs at the opposite end that led to the interior door. The window was easily pried open. After all, nobody was stupid enough to mess with the Devil's advocate.

  Nobody but us, that is.

  Roland slipped inside and I handed him the crates. He piled them in the middle of the room. Some of them jumped in our hands and informed us the dead fish were very much undead once more. The sneaking took about ten minutes. Roland knelt beside the crate closest to the window and wedged his fingers under the lid.

  "Ready?" he asked me.

  I slipped to the side of the window and held it open for him. "Ready," I replied.

  Roland flipped the lid open and flew for the window. He slipped outside and I shut the window behind him. The fish flew out of their crate and circled the room. They knocked over the other crates as they'd done before and loosed their brethren on the basement. Several of them bonked against the windows and the door. Roland and I secured the window and watched as the basement door blew open.

  Bad move.

  Alston stood in the doorway. He was bombarded with the undead fish as they flew at his face. The terrorized man grabbed at his face and stumbled backwards out of our view. Half the fish flew after him while the others remained around their crates.

  I covered my mouth to stifle my laugh and glanced at Roland. His lips were pursed together.

  "What's wrong?" I asked him.

  "I had hoped-" His hope was interrupted when Alston made his appearance in the doorway. In his hands was an old-looking book opened to the middle.

  Alston raised one hand and mouthed words I couldn't hear.

  "What's he-"

  "Quiet," Roland hissed.

  Alston wiggled his fingers and the fish dropped to the floor like a rain of sardines. He snapped the book closed and glared at the mess of dead fish. The man's eyes narrowed and he whipped his head to the basement windows. I yelped when Roland flew past me and grabbed me on the way by. He flew us to the car and tossed me into the passenger seat beside his soul box. Roland took the wheel.

  "What are you-" I glanced past him at the alley. A dark shadow exploded through the windows and slammed against the opposite building. It flew up like a wave and crashed down with the front aimed straight for us. "Roland!"

  He started the car and slammed on the gas. The car jumped forward and the wave of darkness missed the rear taillights by an inch. I looked behind us as we flew down the road and watched the wave retreat back into the alley.

  "What the hell was that?" I asked him.

  "The same shadow we witnessed behind Alston. The Devil's work," he told me.

  "What got that thing's knickers in a twist?" I wondered.

  "We saw too much," he revealed.

  "Too much of what? He wiggled his fingers and dropped the cold fish cold," I recounted.

  "We watched Alston destroy the curse on the fish," he explained.

  I wedged the square box out of my side and put it on my lap. "All right, so we watched him lift a curse of the Devil. What does. . .that. . .have-" My eyes rolled down to the box in my lap. I pointed at it and glanced at Roland. "Is this-"

  "A curse of the Devil? Yes," he affirmed.

  "So if we can-"

  "Find the curse and speak the words over the box then my soul may be set free," he finished.

  I slid around so I sat sideways in my seat. "Then why'd we leave that office? Alston's got the curse," I pointed out.

  "Alston would never release the curse to us, but perhaps there was another he released it to," he told me.

  "Like who? Who else would need-" I snapped my fingers and pointed one at Roland. "The person who he sold the fish to! He'd want a de-curse in case the crates got opened!"

  Roland smiled and bowed his head. "Precisely." He frowned. "Unfortunately, I can't fathom about whom he was speaking."

  I slipped down in my seat and furrowed my brow. "They had a grudge against Ralph for damages for an attack last year. An attack last year. . ." My eyes widened. "Flat-Nosed Finnegan!"

  "I beg your pardon?" Roland asked me.

  "Flat-Nosed Finnegan was beaten up by Ralph last year for trying to purchase services from me that I wasn't selling," I explained. "He was in the hospital for weeks, and the judge ruled the attack was justified!"

  "Is there any way we can find this disfigured man?" Roland wondered.

  I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. "I've got a source who might know." The phone rang a few times before a voice answered.

  "What?" Ralph growled.

  "Ralph, you have any idea where Flat-Nosed Finnegan might live or work?" I asked him.

  I could just imagine his eyes getting thin. "What the hell do ya care about him?" he returned.

  "If I tell you your diner is fish-free will you tell me where he lives?" I persisted.

  "It is?" he yelled.

  I winced. "Yes, now you owe me big for the exorcism. Where's Flat-Nosed Finnegan live?"

  "Is that all ya want?"

  "Yes, now where?" I demanded.

  "Well, the hate mail he keeps sending me comes from an address at the end of Ray Road," he told me.

  "Thanks, Ralph, and good luck cleaning up the diner. I won't be in tonight," I added.

  "What? After having last night practically off ya better get yer tail in-"

  "Bye!" I hung up the phone and pointed at an oncoming street. "Turn here and step on the gas. Finnegan lives just out of town a couple of miles."

  "The disfigured man didn't bother to hide his location?" Roland wondered.

  "His brain's probably a little jarred loose. Ralph beat him up pretty bad with Beater," I replied. "I just hope it wasn't jarred loose enough that he doesn't have that de-curse for the fish."

  Roland pursed his lips and pressed harder on the gas. "We shall see."

  We drove through town and out into the country. The scenic lawns and painted houses were replaced with scenic weed patches and houses that were last painted twenty years ago. The usual lawn ornaments were rusty cars and goats tied to stakes as sacrifices to the five-foot tall weeds. The houses became few and far between as the street lights were exchanged for the starlit sky. The smooth road was replaced with a giant pothole that was a narrow, broken mess of deep ditches and soft shoulders.

  I heard a crunch of wheels behind us and glanced over my shoulder. A dark shape came up on our rear and sidled up beside us on the narrow country road. The vehicle came nose-to-nose with ours before it suddenly swerved towards us.

  Roland yanked the wheel over and gave us a few inches between their car and ours. My back hit my car door and I had a good look at the black car beside us courtesy of our headlights. The black sedan car. With
two shadowy figures in the seats.

  "Those guys again?" I growled.

  "You're acquainted with them?" Roland asked me.

  I sheepishly grinned. "Did I forget to mention them?"

  "Completely."

  "They tried to use their shadowy-Devil powers take your soul box earlier today. Now I think they're after your life."

  "Un-life," he corrected me.

  Their car swerved towards us and Roland slammed his foot on the gas. We sped forward and were scuffed in the rear.

  "I wish we could un-convince them to harm us," I quipped.

  "I may have a solution. You said they were of the Devil's making?" he asked me.

  "Yeah, they had black shadow stuff inside of them. Why?" I returned.

  "Do you have a light?" Roland inquired.

  I flinched when the black car sidled up to the car and sparks flew against Roland's window. There went a hundred bucks for a paint job.

  "Now is not the time for a cigarette," I scolded him.

  "This is rather important," he insisted.

  I jerked my head to the dashboard in front of me. "In the glove compartment."

  "Then take the wheel," he ordered me.

  He leg go and the car swerved. I leapt across the seats and grabbed the wheel before we didn't need any help from the demonic duo to put us into the ditch.

  "Are you trying to get me killed?" I yelled at him.

  "No," was his answer as he traded seats with me and popped open the glove compartment.

  Gloves, licenses, old candy, and a mummified mouse spilled onto the floor. The guys in the other car sped past us and swerved in back of our car. They rammed our rear and shoved us forward. Our front tires skidded and we almost made the acquaintance of some lovely weeds in the deep ditch.

  "Whatever you're planning you'd better do it fast. My car's about to learn how to fly into a ditch," I warned him.

  "This won't take long," he assured me. He pulled out a packet of matches and rolled down his window. "I merely need to punch their tires."

  "Don't you mean puncture?" I suggested.

  "No."

  Roland pulled himself out the window and climbed atop my car. He released his hold on my car and I watched his shadowy form sail back until he hovered over the black sedan. Roland flew to the driver's side of the sedan and I heard a loud pop as one of the tires was punctured. The car swerved from side of side. There was another pop, and the demon guys lost complete control. Their car flipped and did a couple of impressive fox-like barrel rolls into the ditch to my right. It rolled to a stop in the weed patch beyond the ditch. I stopped the car twenty feet beyond them and glanced in my rear view mirror.