21
To call the normal world pure, at least the parts with humans on it, would cause most normal people to fall over laughing. They would roll on the ground, clutching their gut as tears rolled from their eyes.
And when they finally laughed themselves out–groaned and wiped the moisture from the corners of their eyes and stood back up–they would call that person an idiot.
And they’d be right.
The normal world wasn’t a place of purity and light. Terrible, horrible, disgusting things were done to normal people by normal people every hour of every day in the normal world.
But…
Compared to the unseen world…
Especially the bad places of the unseen world…
Planet Earth was a utopia.
You say there’s places there where you’re not in danger of having your intestines ripped out and wrapped around your neck by a three headed ogre seven times a day? Sign me up!
You say there’s place where they don’t dip your face in molten lava while a crew of four jonga bears work your backsides? Heck yeah I want to go there.
Earth was almost a paradise compared to all that.
And creatures of the unseen world were seldom allowed to pass into that world. The normal world was just a speck compared to the vast layers and layers and layers of the unseen world.
But it was a prize that everyone wanted.
Hilario opened a hidden compartment on the floor of his white Econoline van. (Thank you, Ted!) The ghost of Larry Sparrow peered over the back of the seat. Sulfurous and salty air swirled around him as the wind gusted. The branches of the nearby blood thorn trees scraped against each other. A sound like glass on metal.
He shivered from a chill that started inside him.
Who or what had taken the form of the Sapphire Witch?
The memory of sulfurous demon breath against his ear tightened his chest. No wonder she didn’t want him scanning things with his inner senses. Her disguise might have been compromised before she tricked them into the unseen world.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Rachel and Marco and the still unconscious delivery driver, Rodney. Normals–for the most part. They didn’t belong in this place.
He had to get them out of here.
And Larry’s ghost, too. This layer of the unseen world would be kind to ghosts.
He rummaged through the hidden compartment. It would have nice if he’d had a Hero’s Sword tucked away for such an occasion. Or even a thorn bristle wizard staff.
Alas, the best he had was a nice, solid…crowbar.
Larry gave him a look. “Whats-a that-a for-a?” he asked.
Hilario raised the crowbar. No, he couldn’t beat Larry to death with it. Despite his continuing use of his insultingly fake accent. Charged with the proper spell, iron could be used to whack the ectoplasm out of a ghost. But that would be a bad thing.
And being dragged back to one of the bad places didn’t mean he was on holiday from trying to do the right thing.
Not yet anyway.
“Jumbo sized lock pick,” Hilario said.
Larry’s ghostly eyebrows arched up. Hilario didn’t wait for a reply. He turned and did his floppy shoed clown walk back to where the others waited.
The Sapphire Witch frowned as he approached.
“What is this, clown?” she said, “We do not have time to waste on foolishness.”
Which was a silly thing to say. His entire day job was built around foolishness. Where would he be without it? It would certainly make wearing the clown outfit in public awkward.
He held up the crowbar. “I have just the thing for breaking locks,” he said.
The Sapphire Witch crossed her arms over her chest. “Just use the dark power, clown.”
He honked his nose and did a little shuffle two step. Which made his knees scream for mercy. Usually he had lightened himself before he tried anything like that.
But his reserve was too precious to waste on such things right now.
His reserve wasn’t going to be enough to get them out of here as it was.
“This is a different kind of magic,” he said.
He stepped up to the fat padlock with its thick, rusted shank. Even the crowbar wasn’t going to be enough to open it. But that was the least of his problems.
“The normals call it leverage,” he said, “Some ancient normal world man once bragged he could move the world with a big enough lever.”
The Sapphire Witch’s frown deepened.
“Get on with it, clown,” she said.
Hilario spun the crowbar around his fingers. Honked his nose again.
“Of course, my lady,” he said.
He pointed to something over her shoulder.
“Say! Is that a purple breasted matador raper?”
The Sapphire Witch’s head turned.
Oh, this was a bad thing, no matter what way he looked at it. Especially if he was wrong.
With all his strength he swung the crowbar at the Sapphire Witch’s head. It connected with a satisfying thonk! His face warmed with shame at his enjoyment of the sound.
But, goodness gracious, did it get a result.
The Sapphire Witch’s head shattered like a terra cotta pot whacked by a, well, crowbar. Shards of face flew out in a spray of debris.
He continued his swing. Let it carry him all the way around.
He lowered the crowbar and slammed it against the Sapphire Witch’s legs. They crunched and shattered like her head.
Again he carried himself around and swung the crowbar into her tumbling torso.
Clunk.
The crowbar bounced off.
Pain shot up his arms. He yelped and almost dropped the crowbar.
Almost.
The Sapphire Witch’s torso dropped to the dirt with a leaden thunk. Red light pulsed from the jagged stump of her neck.
He stepped back. Hands stinging, he raised the crowbar.
Something started to crawl from the torso’s neck.
Killing it would be bad.
But not killing it might be bad, too.
Why couldn’t things ever be clear?
A squeaky voice called out from the stump. “What did you go and do
