Devil Inside: A Quincy Harker, Demon Hunter Urban Fantasy Novella by John G. Hartness

Author:John G. Hartness [Hartness, John G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Falstaff Books
Published: 2017-05-18T18:00:00+00:00

9

I woke up with a headache, a really sore shoulder, and the smell of smoke lingering in my nose. All in all, I’ve had worse. I tried to sit up, and immediately, the pain in my shoulder went through the roof, and I moved right into the “worse” category. I fell back to the bed I was on, and that sent another wave of pain rolling through me. I fought desperately to keep my lunch in place as the waves of blinding pain radiated from my shoulder to my skull and back again.

“Fuuuuuuck,” I groaned.

“Oh good, you’re awake. We didn’t want to try healing you until we could at least let you scream a little.” I didn’t try to sit up this time, but I did manage to turn my head to the side and look at Arianne. She was sitting in a cheap hotel chair, and by my best guess at the chair and the table beside her, we were back at the King Charles. I assumed we were in my room, but they all pretty much look the same, and I couldn’t see any of my crap lying around, so maybe not.

“Heal me?” I asked. My voice cracked, and I sounded like a man who had just walked for a week in a desert. Or spent five minutes in a burning building. They sound about the same. “Feel free to start that process any time.”

“Okay, but this is going to hurt,” came a new voice. I turned my head to the other side and saw a young man with blond curls and a goatee sitting on the bed next to me. He held a pair of very large scissors and wore a serious expression. I didn’t like where this was going.

The stranger leaned in, scissors moving toward my throat. I sucked back the agony in my shoulder enough to roll away from him and bring my hands up as I tumbled off the bed and came up to my knees.

“Back off, pal. I don’t know what you’re planning with the scissors, but nothing I’ve got going on requires surgery.”

A puzzled look flashed across his face, then he relaxed and let out a little laugh. “Don’t worry,” he said, exactly the kind of thing a psychopath with scissors would say. “I have to cut your shirt off to set your clavicle. Otherwise, when we heal it, your shoulder won’t work right. I don’t think you want to try to raise your arm over your head right now, do you?”

I looked down at my clothes. I had just survived a fire, so it’s not like anything I was wearing was really salvageable except for my trusty Doc Martens. My jeans were pretty much okay, except for a little soot and a scuff at the knee, but my shirt and t-shirt were pretty well fucked.

“Fine,” I said, standing and moving back over to the guy. “Why don’t we at least introduce ourselves first. I’m Quincy Harker.”

His eyes widened a little, and he shot a nervous look over at Arianne.

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