Hunted by Jeremy Michelson

Author:Jeremy Michelson [Michelson, Jeremy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-12-16T22:00:00+00:00

37

Hilario sat in sullen silence behind the wheel of his van. It rocked with a gentle motion as the fiery river Phlegethon carried them along. He ignored the lacy beauty of the silver barge that carried them.

What did it matter now?

Today was just another notch on his long, long, long list of failures.

Only he’d never been responsible for the death of a city before. How did one atone for that?

At least the sulfur odor wasn’t so bad now. Strangely, the inside of the van smelled like wet iron and cinnamon rolls.

He glanced at the rear view mirror. The black curtain he used as a privacy screen was drawn across width of the van. The curtain trembled and shook. The van’s suspension creaked in a rhythmic tempo. One that seemed to be quickening.

Queezleyan sat on the floor in front of the curtain. The rat-demon’s six tails wagged. The creature turned its head. Caught Hilario’s eye in the rear view mirror. Gave him a thumbs up with his clawed and scaly hand.

Hilario ground his teeth together.

Larry Sparrow turned his ghostly form in the passenger seat. Gave the curtain a longing look.

At least he’d stopped wailing. Once Hilario told him Rachel was probably as deceased as he was, Larry had let out as unholy a keening as Hilario had ever heard. It was like red hot railroad spikes being driven in his ears, followed by a refreshing vinegar rinse.

“What’s gonna happen now?” Larry asked.

Hilario shrugged. What was the point in talking about it?

He drummed his fingers on the wheel. In front of them, Detective Marco paced the silver barge’s deck. Arguing with his gun it looked like. He had the pistol out, wagging his finger at it and talking animatedly.

The detective and his weapon had as much of a love/hate relationship as Odom the Paladin and the Sapphire Witch did.

He glanced at the rearview again. And the shaking curtain reflected in it.

How long before they moved back to the hate phase?

Larry gave the curtain another glance too.

“I can’t leave,” he said.

Leaving unsaid the question of why Hilario wasn’t outside, keeping Marco and his gun company.

“It’s my van,” he said.

And no one had asked him permission before getting in and doing things in his van. There was no respect for personal space. Something he was grudgingly used to in the unseen world. But in the normal world he treasured and protected his personal space. Other than cheeseburgers and pizza and Butter Brickle ice cream, personal space was one of the best things about the normal world.

Going home would be nice. Wash the hot greasepaint off his face. Get into his civilian clothes (ginormous black sweatpants and t-shirt). Put his feet up in front of the TV, a quart of Butter Brickle ice cream in one hand, a spoon in the other.

Well, that wasn’t going to happen any more, was it?

The lords of the dark realms were going to take his personal space and poop all over it.

His face went hot. Again.

There he went thinking only of himself again.

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