Hot Blooded

by D V Wolfe

  “Ready to become a part of our family?” I heard a voice rumble beside me. It was the demon with the mustache.

  “Oh boy am I ever,” I said, moving forward. I moved a hand around to feel for my back pocket and a stake. No back pocket. No stake. I glanced down at my hands. No. Fucking. Purse. The itching felt like it was seeping into my brain and I was starting to lose control. I was going to have to make do. Somehow. There was a hand on my shoulder as mustache-demon guided me forward towards the book. He was probably sick of seeing me hold up the line. There was a lot of standing in lines in Hell. It would seem logical that the demons wouldn’t be huge fans of them topside.

  There was an old-fashioned fountain pen lying in the crease between the open pages of the leather-bound book. It was tarnished brass. Brass is not the best thing to stab demons with. It’s not as pure as iron or rock salt, but it was better than nothing. There were lots of baddies to whom brass was fatal. It occurred to me that I’d actually never stabbed a demon with brass and I kind of wanted to see what would happen. And with that, the rational part of my brain packed a bag and took off. I was moments from ripping off this wig and dress and scratching myself on the rough black stone platform like a bear against a tree, just to get the itching to stop. I bent over and picked up the pen. I put a hand under the book and pretended to situate it for signing.

  “You just need to sign,” the mustache-demon said, moving closer. “No need to pick it up.”

  “The print though,” I said. “It’s just so small and I don’t have my glasses on.”

  “There’s nothing to read,” he said, his tone becoming snippy. “Just sign on an empty-”

  The fountain pen went into his neck fairly smoothly. Well, the tip did. Turns out the tarnished sides of the pen point were covering some imperfections and a burr on one side of the point hacked at his meat suit like a serrated blade. Black arterial spray hit me in the face and the shrieks and gasps from the audience and the men around us were almost deafening.

  “Damn it,” I heard Gabe mutter behind me. I turned my head for a second and saw him pull the iron knife from under his pant leg as the demons started bearing down on me. I felt a hand claw into the back of my neck and I swung from the elbow with the fountain pen. I let go of it this time, leaving it embedded in the screaming demon’s hand. I scooped up the book and turned to see Gabe stabbing the same demon in the back of the neck with the iron knife. So maybe it wasn’t the fountain pen that made him let go of me. Maybe it was Gabe’s knife tickling his esophagus from behind. Six of one, half dozen of the other. Oh well.

  “Stakes,” Gabe growled as he was attacked from behind by two of the people from the line and the roly-poly demon.

  “Yeah,” I snapped, trying to work out how to get back to the pew we’d been sitting in. “I know. Some asshole made me put them in this thing called a purse.”

  The aisles were full of pissed off people, trying to fight their way to the front. Gabe was a boulder in the river and they were rushing around him. Mary Alice was sitting in the spot next to my purse, looking shell-shocked. There were people on either end of the pew, shoving and fighting to get into the aisles. The only way to get back into the pew was to go over. I climbed onto the front pew and jumped over, stepping on a woman’s lap and a man’s shoulder as I launched myself into the third row of pews.

  I landed with both feet, next to Mary Alice. I glanced down at her. “Go join a real cult or something,” I said. “This isn’t the place you want to be.” I snatched up the stupid purse and ripped it open. I pulled the .45 out and the remaining three stakes. I still had nowhere to stick them. I didn’t have cleavage anywhere near the size I’d need to support their weight. So I carried the stakes in one hand and the gun in the other, tucked around the book and with the barrel closer to my face than I would have liked. I started to climb back over the pews and hands grabbed at me.

  As I made it over the second pew, they ripped me back, popping buttons off my dress and bashing my head into the first row. My vision clouded and my head split in pain. I felt people pulling on the gun in my hand. I tightened my grip and kicked out. The hands were starting to let go, howls of pain erupting behind me. I was on the ground, looking up through one bleary eye and I saw Noah slapping and flicking ears and punching people in the face, the skin on his hands glowing slightly. He had the cypress stake in one hand and I could smell burning wood. If he wasn’t careful, he’d turn his stake to ash before he could run anyone through with it. I scrambled to my feet keeping the book as tight to my chest as I could. Then I realized, my gun was gone.

  “Bane!” Gabe barked. I looked around. I couldn’t see Gabe. There was a dog pile going on at the front and Gabe’s muffled yells were coming from somewhere beneath it. I tried to move forward, but I was jerked back again. The fabric of the dress was ripping. I kicked out and connected with someone’s face. I stumbled forward and fell, more than crawled, over the pew in front of me. The room was still spinning and my head was killing me, but what was worse was the pain in my chest. Please. Not again. Not Gabe. There was blood. Red, not black, on the hands rearing back from the dogpile, before sinking in again. No. Not again. I lunged and stabbed, not caring if my pike made contact with human or demon. I had to get him out of there. Someone was screaming. I guess it could have been me. Now hands were grabbing at the stake and trying to pull the book away from me. I was shoving and stabbing, searching for Gabe. I felt the book slipping from my arm and I let it fall. At the moment, it didn’t matter. The memory of Nya being stabbed by Ornias flitted through my head. No. Not another one. I had to get to Gabe in time.

  “Bane! The book!” I heard Noah scream. There was an uproar from somewhere in the middle of the mob and I saw Gabe’s head emerge. His gaze was wild as he grabbed a man punching him in the gut by the throat and pushed a woman’s face away with his hand. His eyes met mine and I felt relief roll through me. He was alright. A sharp pain shot through my side. The rushing, heavy feeling washed over me with the pain. Stabbed. I could feel blood running down my hip. I gripped the stake in my hand trying to focus on what I needed to do. I swung around. It was the asshole that had seen me leaving the church, the gleeful smirk back on his lips. Oh hell no. He wasn’t going to be the one to take me out.

  I rammed the stake upward, through the bottom of his chin. His face split in shock, his eyes wide. And then he began to convulse. His skin went gray, black blood running out of the corner of his mouth and he began to liquify. As his body collapsed in on itself, I fell forward to my hands and knees. The book was gone. I closed my eyes as I felt the wet stone under my hand. I didn’t need to look. I knew it was blood. Mine and Gabe’s, mixed with the demons’. My arms were starting to go out. My head was so heavy. There was so much shouting overhead. The sounds of flesh and bone being pummelled. And screaming. It was starting to sound echoey and far away. Gabe’s face swam in my memory. And Noah’s slapping people with his fiery hands. They were ok. They’d be ok. And Rosetta was probably ok. And Stacks was outside. They’d all be ok. They could walk away from this. Who cares if these jerks were lining up to go downstairs. My cheek hit the stone. It was oddly warm. It was probably the blood loss, but the ground underneath me seemed to rumble.

  Hands. There were hands on me. Oh well. I hoped at least they’d make it quick. Skin touched mine. Rough, square hands, under my arms. I knew these hands.

  “You’re not going out that easy,” Gabe grumbled. I was being lifted to my feet. There was another surge of people rushing towards us.

  “Get out of here, Gabe!” I mumbled.

  “Shut up Bane,” Gabe said. He was still holding me up and I felt his chest against my back.

  Someone was moving near us. I still had the stake in my hand though I wasn’t sure I had the strength to wield it.

  “Get out of here!” I recognized the voice. It was Nigel. “Take the book and get the hell out. I’ll hold them off.”

  I blinked and tried to clear my vision. Nigel was kicking people in the shin
s and shoving. He took a punch to the face and a scratch attack from a woman. And he turned to kick a man who was lunging for Gabe, knocking him to the ground.

  Gabe was dragging me towards the aisle. “The book!” I shouted, but it sounded weak and far away. I stared around at the ground. It was gone. This whole charade had been to get that damn book and someone had beaten us to it. I’d had it in my hands and it had slipped through. Like Berith, Sister Smile, Joel, and Nya...

  I felt my legs shaking beneath me. “Oh no you don’t,” Gabe said, lifting me back up.

  “I’ve got it!” I heard Noah call.

  “Thank the maker,” Gabe muttered. I wanted to argue for him to let me go. I was slowing him down. But my mouth wasn’t working. I couldn’t get words to form. My brain was numb and my body wasn’t cooperating. “Shit, she’s bleeding out,” I heard Gabe say, sounding very far away.

  “What the hell?” Rosetta’s voice.

  “Go!” Gabe shouted and he picked up speed. I felt my limbs flopping around, tangling in his legs. He paused for a moment and I felt him scoop me up. I blinked up at him, willing my vision to clear. His face was so close to mine. I could feel his labored breath as he ran. His eyes looked different. I couldn’t quite put my finger on how. They were still the same shade of blue. The same shape. He glanced down at me as the ceiling tiles above us rushed by overhead. Fear. I realized. Fear was the difference.

  “Don’t leave me, Bane. Hold on,” he whispered. Then the world became dark and quiet.

  14

  Swearing. Soft and close by. I wanted to smile but my face wouldn’t cooperate. I knew that crotchety voice. Somewhere nearby, Rosetta was doing something that she found annoying.

  “Keep it elevated,” I heard her snap. Was she talking to me? My limbs were heavy but I tried to move them. My right one wouldn’t cooperate but I felt my left raise a couple of inches. “Not you,” Rosetta said and she put her hand on my arm. I felt the brush of a plastic tube against my wrist and a dull ache like an IV needle, moving under my skin. No. She wouldn’t have… not a hospital. I cracked a bleary eye and looked around. The room was dim, but a camping lantern on a table next to me illuminated Stacks’ living room. Movement beside me caught my attention and a hulking figure on the ground next to me sat up.

  “Welcome back to the land of the living,” Gabe said. Relief washed over me. He’d survived and so had Rosetta.

  “Noah?” I asked, almost afraid of the answer.

  Gabe nodded. “He’s fine. He went to get supplies.”

  I looked around the room. “Stacks?”

  “He’s covering our tracks,” Gabe said. “I think he missed his calling. He has a black belt in fucking with cars.”

  I was on Stacks’ couch and I let my head fall back against the arm and closed my eyes. My head was aching and I raised my left arm to my forehead, the plastic tube stretching tight. I heard Gabe hiss from the ground next to me.

  “Careful!”

  I dropped my arm back to my chest and looked at the tube following it up to the bag that was hung over a wire hanger on Stacks’ coat rack that had been repositioned next to the couch. There was another tube coming from the bag leading down…to Gabe’s arm.

  Gabe was watching me, something bright in his eyes. He shrugged. “I couldn’t let you get off that easy. If we have to slog through this bullshit bog called earth, you have to too.”

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. I remembered Gabe’s blood on the stone floor in the church. “You shouldn’t be doing this Gabe. You’re hurt too.”

  He shrugged again. “‘Twas only a flesh wound.” Gabe glanced up at the bag. “You sure are needy though, man I’m going to turn into a raisin at this rate.”

  I rolled my eyes and reached for the tube in my arm. “On that note.” I started picking at the tape and he raised a hand to still mine. His warm heat on my skin sent electric shocks up my muscles. It was...comforting. Too comforting. No. We weren’t doing this again. We couldn’t. I couldn’t. Not to him.

  “Gabe,” I said softly. But, my rebellious hands acted on their own, pinching his pinkie finger between two of mine. I glanced up at him, not sure what to say. I had to be clear. I couldn’t hurt him or worse, risk him, anymore. His beard was wild and so was his dark hair. His blue eyes burned into me and I dropped my gaze. He was a man-medusa. If I looked into those eyes, I was going to turn to stone. Instead, I focused on his torso. “I ruined your suit.”

  It was true. His dress shirt was stained brown with dried blood. He’d lost the tie and jacket but I could only imagine what those looked like. Gabe removed his hand from mine and picked at his shirt.

  “Eh, I never liked suits anyway. As soon as I joined up with this crew, the clock started ticking on this suit,” he said.

  Rosetta appeared from the hallway with a stack of ratty towels in her hands. She glanced over at us and I saw her eyebrow raise, a smug smirk on her lips. “Back with us, I see.” She nodded at Gabe. “I told him you were too ornery to die.” She glanced at the transfusion bag. “But, it probably didn’t hurt that he knew this field dressing stuff.”

  “Or that he’s a universal donor,” I groaned, stretching my arm. She gave me a long look and I could see the worry lines beneath her bluster.

  A slow grin moved across my face. “You were worried about me,” I said to her.

  She rolled her eyes. “Such a drama queen. Everything is always about you. I was worried about the kid crying. You know me and crying teenagers.”

  I half-snorted but the poker white-hot pain in my side stopped me. “No,” I gasped. “I didn’t know you had a thing about crying teenagers. Why don’t you fill us in?”

  “Anyways,” Rosetta said, turning away and leaning her head over the towels in her arms. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was wiping her eyes. Instead of saying something, I decided to save this for later blackmail. “The kid went to get food and more band-aids, and Stacks,” she growled. “Made me leave my Caddie down a back road in someone’s barn. The kid had to drive me back in that stolen Taurus of yours. Stacks was practically grinning when he told us to stash it.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “I told you to steal a car like the rest of us.”

  She pursed her lips. In the end, her Baptist nature had won out.

  I sighed. “I’m sure once the heat is off of us, you’ll be able to get old Bessy back.”

  She sniffed and held out the towels to Gabe. “Here, they’re ratty and you don’t want to think about what parts of Stacks they’ve touched, but they’re clean as far as I can tell.”

  Gabe took them from her and I saw his hands shaking.

  “You’ve given me enough,” I said, pushing myself up on the couch. “You better save some for yourself.”

  Gabe looked at me. His face was pale. I staggered up and closed the line of the tube running to my arm. I gritted my teeth as I pulled the IV out. Gabe didn’t stop me. I looked over at him and saw his eyes were becoming glassy. His posture was slumped and he started to fall back onto the floor.

  “Gabe?!”

  I stumbled off the couch to get to him.

  “Get his back off the ground, get behind him!” Rosetta barked. I pulled him up by the shoulders, trying to cradle his head, his chin to his chest, and then I put my weight behind his back to get him to shift forward. Rosetta was pulling the cushions off the couch and lifting his legs, stuffing them under his calves. I had my hands under his armpits and his back against my chest. It was wet. His back was soaking through the front of my shirt. I leaned back to look and my heart stuttered in my chest. Blood.

  “Shit! He never got stitched up!” I said.

  “What? Stitched from what?” Rosetta asked.

  “He got stabbed,” I said.

  “That makes two of you,” Rosetta grumbled. She moved away and I pulled at his shirt trying to get it up and out of the way to see the open wound. It was seeping, but slowly. It wasn’t what caused him to now lay unconscious in my arms. That was me. He’d
given me too much. The wound didn’t help him any, but if he died, it would be my fault.

  “Here,” Rosetta said, pulling a bag of clear IV fluid from Gabe’s duffle bag on the table. Someone had drawn three x’s on it in permanent marker. I recognized it. It was a bag of his ‘deathbed cure’. He carried it around to deal with hangovers.