Hell Bent: A Broken Magic Novel by Devon Monk

Author:Devon Monk [Monk, Devon]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2013-11-05T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Not a shoe store. Terric parked at a local Fred Meyer, a one-stop-shopping department store between his place and Victor’s. I shuffled in, past the pumpkins in huge boxes outside the door, past the produce section with a colorful display of fruits and gourds. There was also a scarecrow, which might explain why Eleanor was suddenly drifting so sullenly beside me.

She didn’t like Halloween, which, when you thought about it, was ironic. A ghost who didn’t like the celebration of dead things. I figured it was because on that first Halloween, she and I had both held some hope that she might cross into death because they say the veil between the living world and death is the thinnest then.

I’d even taken her out to the graveyard with the Death magic well beneath it.

Other than me getting rained on, and her getting depressed, nothing had happened. Ever since, she’d been sad on Halloween.

I took the most direct route to the shoe section, kicked off the UGGs, and bought the first decent pair of work boots I could find. Nothing fancy, but if someone needed a tree cut down, I could probably handle it. I snapped the tags, shoved the UGG boots into the box, then started toward the checkout on the other end of the store.

Eleanor had drifted maximum distance from me. She was studying an end shelf filled with Halloween trinkets and decorations.

I took a couple steps, expecting her to follow. She stood there, bent just a bit, her long, ghostly hair covering her face as she stared at something in the shelf.

I walked around behind her, looked over her shoulder.

Jack-o’-lanterns, witches, ghosts with smiling faces, and a Frankenstein stein cluttered the shelf. But behind all the cheerful candy-colored decorations was a single statue. Made out of metal that had been treated to a green patina, it was the figure of a cloaked and cowled man, head tipped down, face hidden in the shadows. He held a scythe by the handle, the curved blade at his feet, as if he were too weary to lift it again. And spread wide across his back were angel wings.

The angel of death, grieving.

“You like it?” I asked her, not caring about the woman who looked up at me and hurried away.

Eleanor just shrugged one shoulder. But she did not look away from it.

I picked it up. Was impressed at the weight and craftsmanship.

“Let’s go,” I said softly.

Eleanor looked from me, to the statue, then back to me. She gave me a small smile.

I bought the boots, the statue, and a pack of cigarettes. Made my way toward the front of the store. Passed in front of a stockroom door and noted a guy walking out of it.

Walked past him before I heard the click.

I turned.

Did not expect the Taser in that man’s right hand, nor the gun in his left. I also didn’t expect the other two guys who strode out of the sporting goods and household paint aisles.

I called on magic, just as the guy with the guns raised them both and pulled a trigger.

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