“Don’t!” he shouted.
But, of course, she didn’t listen.
No on ever did.
She spun around. The barbed gate was before her. She raised her flaming sword and cleaved the giant padlock in half. It fell to the ground, sparking.
With one foot she pushed at the gate.
It swung open with a horrific creak.
Or maybe that was the Sea Terror.
Slimy hands slapped the van’s windshield. Human shaped hands connected to rubbery tentacles.
More hands connected to tentacles slipped into the open side door.
Poop on a stick.
Hilario mentally pushed them out yanked the door closed. He stomped the accelerator.
The Sea Terror roared. Slimy fingers grasped at the edges of the doors. Beat on the roof and sides of the van.
It was like being inside a drum set at a sugar fueled kids birthday party.
The van slewed back and forth, still light on its tires from Hilario’s magic. He yanked the steering wheel. Pointed the nose at the now open gate and the receding figure of a woman covered in green fire.
He stomped on the accelerator. The engine rattled into a high pitched whine. The van shot through gate.
Slimy hands slipped away from the windows.
The roar of the beast faded.
A narrow road made of rough rocks curved up to the lighthouse. The van groaned and rattled over it. Hilario’s blubber jiggled like the world’s most unhappy bowl of gelatin.
He spotted Rachel. Her green fire lit up a large, arched entrance at the side of the lighthouse.
She raced in, Rodney still slung over her shoulder.
Poop nuggets!
What choice did he have?
Saying a quick protection spell, he sent the van through the arch and into the darkness beyond.
25
There were a lot of places Hilario would have rather been.
On a beach, sipping pina colada’s, watching the sun set over pure blue tropical waters.
At home, relaxing in his oversized, overstuffed and super comfy recliner, feet up, a carton of Butter Brickle ice cream in hand and Simpsons reruns on the TV.
Heck, he’d even take being on the bus in the middle of rush hour downtown traffic.
Anywhere other than the bad places.
Or wherever this place was.
The van floated through a darkness so complete he wanted to roll down the window and rap his knuckles against it.
The van’s weak headlights didn’t illuminate anything ahead of them. Not a single speck of dust.
Or the ground in front of them.
If there was ground.
The van’s engine still rattled and vibrated under the cover next to him. It sounded like it was idling though. He reached down and turned the key. After a few sputters, the engine stopped. The silence was complete. As oppressive as the darkness. He tapped his fingers along the steering wheel just to hear something. Anything. A little noise to reassure himself he could still hear.
“What is-a this-a place-a?” Larry said.
Scrunched down in the passenger seat, Larry was as pale as a…ghost. His faint blue glow seemed even fainter. He was so translucent Hilario could barely make him out against the darkness outside the window.
From the back of the van came a groan.
Detective Marco. Sitting up and clutching his nose.
“Holy fuck, what is that smell?” he said.
“You,” Hilario said.
Well, technically it was the Sea Terror slime staining Detective Marco’s clothes. A putrid odor that would make skunks blush at their own ineffectual scent in comparison.
“I can’t-a smell-a anything-a,” Larry said. He clapped his hands to his head. “Ai yi yi! How am I going to cook if I can’t smell!”
Hilario sighed. Stared out at the darkness. It felt like the van was still moving. Even though the engine was off. And even though there were no visual clues that they were going anywhere. Or any clues that they were anywhere.
Where was Rachel? She should be a flaming green beacon out ahead of them.
Unless he ran her over without knowing it.
Unlikely, though.
An image flitted through his mind–Rachel slicing the huge padlock in half with her flaming sword.
“Larry,” he said, “Is there anything you’d like to tell me about Rachel?”
Larry fiddled with the buttons on his double breasted chef’s coat. Stared at the floor.
“She-a great-a lady,” Larry said, “Don’t-a know-a what-a she-a ever-a saw-a in-a me-a.”
“I’m guessing it wasn’t your stupid fake accent,” Hilario said, “Which you need to stop doing.”
Larry grimaced. A small stab of shame when through Hilario. Which he quickly brushed aside. Sometimes it was necessary to be mean.
Though, that was yet another slippery slope to the bad places.
He let out another sigh.
“Sorry, Larry,” he said, “Did you know about her…abilities?”
Larry wrapped his arms around himself. He stared off into the darkness.
“Yeah,” he said, “She tried to hide it. Did pretty good too. All our years together, and I only found out about it by accident right before…”
“What? Before what?”
Larry put his hands to his face. For a moment it looked like he was going to break into sobs. But then he got control over himself. Lowered his hands.
In a flat voice he said, “Before the divorce. When she found out about me being in…her kitchen.”
“Whose kitchen?” Hilario asked.
Larry glanced toward the back of the van.
“Where’s that crazy rat thing?” he said.
Hilario stomach did a little flip flop. The rat demon. For a few seconds he’d almost forgotten about it.
“It’s…locked up. Sort of.”
His bloodwood box wasn’t meant to contain demons. It was meant to contain something else. Should he ever find it. But, for now, it made an adequate jail for a six-tailed rat demon.
Hopefully.
“Did I hear right?” Larry said, “That thing wasn’t the real Sapphire, was it? Please tell me it wasn’t.”
There was a pleading tone to the man’s voice. Larry gave him a beseeching look.
What the…?
Hilario clenched the steering wheel. Knots formed in
