by Mac Flynn
Bat breathed a sigh of relief, and I took that as a sign that I could start breathing again. I slumped down against the nearest table and shuddered. "That was a little too close for comfort," I breathed.
"Yes, much closer than they're ever come." Bat switched back on the lights and walked over to me with a raised eyebrow. "I haven't heard exactly what started this police mess."
"We got a job offer and I thought it'd be a smart idea to take it," I told him.
Bat chuckled. "Just like Tim. He'd take any job offered to them and get himself into more trouble than the client offered, but he took the challenge as a greater reward."
I frowned and shook my head. "Yeah, but he knew what he was doing. I just dove feet first into the deep end of a pool filled with piranhas with badges."
"Even Tim had his setbacks, and he didn't always know what he was doing," Bat pointed out.
"Was Vince a little more helpful for him or did Tim practically go it alone, too?" I asked him.
Bat smiled. "I doubt you're alone, not when Vincent is around. He may seem like a stubborn undead idiot, but he has his heart in the right place."
"I'm pretty sure he had that removed so he wouldn't have to feel guilty," I quipped.
Bat raised an eyebrow. "You're very perceptive."
I turned to him and blinked. "How?"
We were interrupted by the reappearance of Vincent who strode over and glared at both of us. "Are you both conspiring to destroy us?" he accused us.
"I'm sure both our actions were unintentional, Vince," Bat teased.
Vincent wrinkled his nose. "Vince?" he repeated in a tone that showed confusion and displeasure.
Bat chuckled and turned to me. "Perhaps you two should get on with your assignment. I'm sure your client would appreciate a quick resolution to their problem." He wouldn't take no for an answer as he turned us both toward the mechanic shop door and pushed us toward it. "And I'll thank you not to make such a ruckus the next time you visit. This old man's heart can't take too much excitement," he scolded us. We stumbled ahead of him, through the door and to our waiting car. Bat scurried back to the dividing wall door and turned to us with one hand on the knob. "And try not to bring friends next time without first announcing them." He gave us a smile as a final farewell, and slammed the door behind him.
Vince and I frowned at the door, then turned to each other. "Is he always crazy?" I asked him.
"Often more so," Vince told me. He strode over to the car, slid into the driver's seat, and started the engine.
"Hey, wait for me!" I shouted. I scurried around the front of the car and slipped into the passenger seat, though not without pushing away some of the scattered clothes. I glanced behind us at the closed garage door. "How do we get out, anyway?"
Vince backed the car up at high speed and I screamed as we careened toward the shut door. I ducked and prepared for the long line at Saint Peter's desk, but the garage door swung open, and we shot out of the warehouse and down the alley. We skidded out of the narrow street and Vince turned the wheel sharply so we spun ninety degrees to face the road we'd come from earlier. I raised my head and grabbed onto the dashboard when Vince slammed his foot on the gas pedal and drove like a vampire out of hell down the street.
"Do you always have to drive like this?" I yelled at him.
"Yes," was the indifferent reply.
"Did I mention I hate you?"
"Yes."
"Just making sure."
Chapter 6
Vincent kept the same path we'd taken until we reached the street, then he took a sharp right into the bad neighborhoods. "Mind telling me where we're going?" I asked him.
"Yes."
I waited for a response, but he didn't give one. "Tell me where we're going," I demanded. He ignored me and kept driving like he was on a homicide-suicide mission. I clenched one of my hands into a fist and felt the ring there dig into my skin. A sly grin slid onto my lips and I held up the ring. "Tell me or I'll use it. Don't think I won't," I threatened him. Vincent slammed on the brakes and I nearly learned to fly through the windshield. Instead I slipped down beneath the dashboard and a bunch of clothes fell on me. I popped my head out of the boxes and scowled at him. "Would you stop doing that?"
His vibrant and furious eyes drowned out my own anger and I shrunk down into the boxes of clothes. There was a growl to his voice I'd never before heard, and it actually scared me. "That ring has power that should never be trifled with, and should never be used except sparingly," he warned me.
"How am I supposed to know that? It's not like you or Bat tell me the whole story, or even part of it," I quietly shot back.
"We tell you what you need to know at the time you need to know it," he countered.
I climbed from the floor onto the seat. "And you think that's good enough? How would you feel being led around like a blind man stuck to a vampire and surrounded by things that creeped you out?" Vincent frowned and turned away. "Well?" I persisted.
His reply was so quiet I barely heard the words. "What I feel doesn't matter."
I rolled my eyes, and dug myself out of the clothes and slid back onto the seat. "Don't give me that teenager brooding act, it hasn't been that long since I tried that on everybody to get attention." Vince turned to me, and inspected my person with a look of disbelief on his face. "What? I'm not that old," I defended myself. Vince still gave me that disbelieving stare, and I crossed my arms and glared back at him. "I'm not that old," I firmly repeated.
"How old are you?" he asked me.
"That's not a question you're supposed to ask ladies."
"Then not being a lady, you should have no trouble answering it."
"Aren't you ever going to lay off me, or are we going to be like this for the rest of our lives?" I asked him. "Besides, don't we have a job to do or find some people to shoot at us?"
Vincent glanced over me for a moment more before he turned straight ahead. "Have you ever acted?" he asked me without looking at me.
I shook my head. "Not really. A few plays in school, but that's it." I narrowed my eyes and leaned toward him. "Why?"
"Because you're about to become a socialite," he informed me.
I blinked and tilted my head to one side. "Why?"
Vince rolled his eyes. "Because that will let you infiltrate the cult and find the boy," he told me.
"Um, mind if I ask what this cult's all about? You kind of looked like you recognized that name that was on the card. What was it, anyway?" I wondered.
"I've had past dealings with them, but we'll need more to infiltrate them." He punched his foot on the gas pedal and we sped forward down the crummy, bumpy roads.
I held on and recited a few prayers before I asked him the questions on my mind. "Mind telling me where we're going to get that info?"
"The Boo Bar."
"So that Mitch guy?" I guessed.
"Yes," he replied. I puffed out my chest, proud that I actually knew something about Vincent's plans.
"So what do we need to know that you don't already know?" I asked him.
"Their members and address. It would be a good idea to ingratiate yourself with them so you will be invited to their ceremonies," he replied.
I cringed. "You know, maybe we shouldn't take this case after all. I don't want to end up on a cutting block with a bunch of robed people holding knives and wanting to go all Mr. Stabbity-Stab on me." The corners of Vince's mouths twitched up into a ghost of a smile. I grinned and leaned toward him. "You think I'm funny, don't you?" His lips quickly resumed their usual menacing indifference, but I prodded his arm with a finger. "Come on, admit it, Vince. I make things interesting."
"Stop calling me that," he ordered me.
I plopped back into my seat, crossed my arms and tilted my head up in a perfect pose of 'nope' refusal. "I happen to like that name. It's a lot nicer than that stuffy Vincent one."
"Vincent is my name, not Vince," he growled.
I glared at him and growled back. "Vince."
"Vince."
"Vincent."
"Gah!" I slapped my hands over my ears and shook my head. "Damn it, you're stubborn! How did Tim put up with you?" Vince pursed his lips and from his morose expression I felt regret at bringing up Tim's name. My arms fell to my sides and I sighed. The fight left me "You miss him still, huh? I guess I'm not much of a replacement."
"No."
I rolled my eyes and twirled the ring on my hand between two fingers. "You know you never did tell me what was so dangerous about using this thing," I reminded him. He didn't look willing to resume the conversation, so I tried another topic. "What about this Ruthven guy? Bat said he was some sort of immortal. How's he lived so long without a ring like we have?"
"He is an alchemist," Vincent replied.
I was glad to get an answer out of him, but a little confused. "He does what with chemistry?"
Vincent rolled his eyes. "An alchemist is one who fuses science and magic to create perfection."
"So we're up against a crazy perfectionist? That shouldn't be too hard to deal with. We just have to spill a bunch of seeds on the ground and he'll be there picking them up forever," I suggested.
"The idea of perfection is for the human body to shed its mortal coil and obtain immortality," he explained to me.
"Oh, right. I knew that."
"I'm sure you did," Vincent replied. He started up the car and shot us forward down the street.
I slapped my hands on the dashboard and planted my feet firmly on the floor. "So if he's lived this long then that means he found out how to live forever?" I guessed as I tried not to watch the buildings speed by.
"He has extended his life and youthfulness, nothing more," Vincent replied.
"I'm surprised he doesn't bottle his secret and sell it. He'd make a ton of money off of it," my capitalist self mused.
"What is immortality if you can't rule over mortals?" he countered.
"Not lonely, for one," I argued.
Vince's eyes flickered over to me. "What a heaven on earth that would be," he answered.
My appropriate reply was to wag my tongue at him. "You just don't know how lucky you are to have me as a partner."
Vince scoffed. "I doubt I will ever see anything of this luck of which you speak."
"Maybe you're just not looking hard enough. I've got a ton of talents that we can use."
"Name one."
"I can make you angry."
"That hardly helps us."
"Sure it does. You focus that anger on our enemies and they won't stand a chance." I detected a twitch of his lips both up and down. Only I could simultaneously amuse and annoy him. "And maybe I'm not that bad of an actress."
He scoffed. "You're a terrible liar and that makes you a terrible actress," he countered.
"Well, we'll just see about-" Vincent slammed on the brake and nearly sent me careening over the dashboard. Again. "Don't you ever stop gently?" I yelled at him.
"No, and we're here." He opened his door and got out.
I looked around and saw nothing but abandoned buildings and rusted cars. "If you mean we're at the last place I want to be, then yes, we're here." Vincent ignored me and stepped over to a manhole. He easily removed the heavy metal cover and proceeded to climb down the ladder. "Hey, wait for me!" I yelped. I scurried out of the car and skidded at the edge of the manhole. I expected complete darkness, but found the familiar torches of the paranormal underground. "Oh right, these tunnels," I muttered.
"Hurry," Vincent ordered, and walked out of my line of sight.
I frowned and looked around the street. Completely deserted and creepy as hell, which wasn't much of an improvement from following Vincent down a tunnel but at least I'd have company. I hurried down the ladder, but found we had one problem. "I can't move the cover back," I yelled at the figure who strode down the tunnel.
Vincent paused and glanced over his shoulder. "Yes, you can," he argued.
"No, I can't. Those things weigh a ton because they don't want normal people moving them," I pointed out.
"You're no longer a normal person," he reminded me.
I hunched my shoulders and scowled at him, but couldn't argue. The ring on my finger was an ever-present reminder of my weirdness. I climbed back up the ladder, grabbed the manhole cover with both hands, and gave a hard yank. The heavy cover slid toward me so quickly I nearly had my head taken off, but ducked down just in time. The round metal clambered into place and shut off the faint light of the night sky.
I half fell down the ladder and scurried over to Vincent where I stopped in front of him with a nervous smile on my face. "All done!" I announced in a voice two octaves higher than usual.
Vince chuckled. "Then follow me."
He led me down the torch-lit tunnels to the strange paranormal terminal station of shops and boos. There were a few differences in the decor with a couple of strange scorch marks along the walls and floor. Some of the shops also had their glass broken and their doors crisped, but the mess was cleaned before we arrived. There was a particularly bad scorch mark in the center of the terminal.
I was almost glad when a familiar face met us at the opening to the terminal except that face belonged to the zombie officer George Romero. He blocked our path and didn't look too thrilled to see us. "State your business," he ordered us.
Vincent raised an eyebrow, but his glasses covered the expression in his eyes. "Why?"
"We've had trouble here recently, so anyone entering needs to state their business and be frisked," he replied.
Vincent looked around the area. "What kind of trouble?"
Officer Romero frowned. "I'm the one who's supposed to be asking the questions here."
"We're here to get a drink," I spoke up. The two men turned to me and I shrugged. "What? You don't think I'd want a drink every now and then?" I asked them.
The zombie glanced at Vincent. "Is this true?"
"She's a terrible liar, so if you believe she's telling the truth then it must be true," Vincent answered him.
Officer Romero looked back to me, and I put on a face so sweet I felt tooth decay set in. He sighed and nodded. "All right, but you still need to be frisked."
"What are you looking for?" Vincent questioned.
"Illegal materials, now lean up against the tunnel wall with your backs turned to me and your hands on the wall above your heads," the officer ordered. Vincent didn't look happy, but he agreed to the frisking and I stood by him near the wall. Romero rummaged through Vincent's pockets and found the left over money from our shopping trip. He weighed the roll in his hand and his eyes flickered over to Vince. "I didn't know the detective business was so fruitful."
"Only if you have the skills to detect what you're looking for," Vincent quipped, an obvious shot at whatever Romero was looking for.
Romero growled and tossed the roll back to Vincent, who easily caught it and stuffed it back into his coat. He turned his attention to me. "Your turn," he ordered.
"Oh, goody," I grumbled. I positioned myself as ordered, and he frisked me. When he reached my chest his clumsy hands got a little too frisky with me. My eyes widened when he brushed against my breasts, and I whipped around and landed a hard punch on the side of his face.
My eyes grew larger when Romero's neck cracked and his head twisted to an angle that told me he didn't need a chiropractor, he needed a body bag. The zombie didn't seem the least bothered as he raised his arms and wrenched his head back into position. I choked out a garbled scream, stumbled back and Vince caught me before I fell. "That is why zombies make good officers," Vincent whispered to me.
Romero tested his head out with a few turns, and then frowned at me. "Don't do that again, young lady," he warned me.
I hurriedly shook my head. "N-no, sir, never," I promised.
"Are you satisfied we don't have what you're looking for?" Vincent asked him.
"Yeah, you're not carrying any of the books," he agreed.
Vincent raised an eyebrow and righted me so I stood on my shaky legs. "Books?" he repeated.
Romero gave a nod of assent. "We've had some trouble with amateur sorcerers coming in here with books full of powerful black magic and setting themselves up as our lords and saviors." His sarcastic tone told us he hadn't been impressed with their self-described second comings.
Vincent nodded at the scorch marks in the terminal. "And the marks are from them?" he guessed.
Romero smirked. "I guess you really are a detective, but yeah, those are from the idiots with the books. They got into disagreements with some of the patrons, and thought they'd use their new skills as sorcerers in the argument. That didn't end well."
"What happened to them?" I asked him.
He pointed at the scorch mark in the center of the terminal. "Some ended up like that. They cast a spell and exploded in a blast of fire. Most were sucked into the books the moment they opened them."
"So some of them went out with a bang?" I quipped.
"Any idea where they're coming from?" Vincent wondered.
Romero pursed his lips and shook his head. "Not a clue, but we've got our best men looking into it. As for you two, you're free to go."
Chapter 7
Vincent bowed his head and strode forward with me at his heels. I avoided the scorch marks on the ground and leaned in close to him. "You think these books are the ones we saw at the Precinct?" I whispered.
"Undoubtedly," he replied.
"So are we going to tell Romero about what we saw?" I suggested.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because our business is not his."
I gestured to a scorch mark we passed. "I'm pretty sure somebody combusting in the terminal makes it his business," I argued.
"Ruthven is our business, not his," he rephrased. His firm tone told me the subject was closed and we strode into the Boo Bar.
I only hoped I wouldn't regret arguing this point later, though with that creepy eye that sprouted from the wall watching us I hesitated even to breathe much less talk. The thing came out as it had before and I stuck so close to Vincent it looked like we were Siamese twins. The bar was as full and rambunctious as the last time, showing that even crazy combusting black sorcerers couldn't ruin a good drinking time with friends.