Something he seemed to be falling backward on.
“Sorry,” Hilario said.
Another thump rocked the van. Metal groaned.
There was a dizzying, stomach churning feeling of being spun around. Like the van had rotated like a rotisserie chicken on a spit.
Oh, not good.
“Can we kill it?” Marco asked.
He had his gun out.
Let me at it, the gun said I got a hollow point load I’m itching to blow out.
The gun said that in a way too sexy voice. It was possibly more disturbing that whatever was out there.
Possible. But not likely.
“Hang on, Detective Marco, sir,” Hilario said, “Normal world firearms, while impressive, seldom have the desired effect on unseen world creatures.”
“You talk too long,” Marco said, “Just say yes or no.”
“No,” Hilario said, “Don’t shoot it.”
You gonna listen to that perp clown? the gun said, We gotta do this again?
“Shut up,” Marco said.
Maybe Marco and the gun hadn’t settled their differences after all.
Something banged the other side of the van. Hard. Hard enough to leave a dent.
The sense of spinning slowed. At least the last blow had canceled out the spin.
“What-a are we gonna do-a?” Larry asked.
Great. The accent was back.
Two more thumps rocked the van.
Hilario turned forward. Put his hands on the steering wheel. There were more important things to worry about than Larry’s in and out accent.
He closed his eyes and extended his inner senses. Sent out slight tendrils of consciousness to taste the energy stream outside the metal confines of the van.
For a moment he felt nothingness. A chill so deep, so empty, he almost reeled his tendrils back in before it burned him.
But then he felt something else.
A familiar presence.
Rachel!
He swiveled and bolted from his seat. Nearly trampling Marco as he jumped to the side door. He put his fingers to the handle and stopped.
No. This wasn’t right.
Something buzzed at his senses. A warning. A sense of danger outside the thin metal walls of the van.
He put his hand down and stepped back. He clenched his fists at his side. Thought it through.
The van was protected by the spell he put on it just before they passed through the arched entrance back in the realm of Despair. If he opened the door, or cranked down the window, the spell would pop like a bubble.
Something was out there, though.
Was it Rachel? Or something else?
“What’s going on clown?” Marco asked, “What’s out there? Is it Rachel?”
Marco got up. Moved toward the door.
“No!” Hilario said.
He put his bulk between the door and Marco.
“We can’t open the door,” Hilario said.
Marco got a fierce look. “Rachel’s out there somewhere,” he said, “Maybe its her out there. Needing our help.”
Marco raised the gun to Hilario’s face.
“Move,” he said.
The end of the barrel yawned like a chasm before him.
Better do it, clown boy, the gun said, my boy ain’t playing with you.
Great. He liked it better when Marco and the gun weren’t seeing eye to barrel, so to speak.
“Detective Marco, sir,” he said, “I don’t know what’s out there, but I don’t think it’s Rachel.”
“Then why’d you jump up and go for the door, then?” Marco said.
Yeah, tell my boy why, the gun said.
Inanimate objects really shouldn’t talk. They often gave bad advice and generally had a limited view of the world. One should never ask a chair for advice.
Chairs mostly complained about bad smells and the weight of their occupants, anyway.
“Detective Marco,” Hilario said, “Please, Rachel is out there, somewhere, but I don’t think whatever is–”
Bang! Something hit the back corner of the van. Hard.
Hard enough the van van slewed in a dizzying arc. Marco lost his footing and flew into Hilario.
And bounced right back off.
Hilario reached for the gun. His fingers brushed the barrel, but he couldn’t catch it.
Marco tumbled backward. His head slammed against the wall.
The gun went off with an explosion loud enough to nearly stop Hilario’s heart.
For a moment everyone froze as a thin cloud of smoke, stinking of cordite, filled the far corners of the van.
Hilario took a mental inventory of his body parts. Other than his heart pounding like a runaway pony, and his ears ringing like a struck bell, everything seemed intact.
The only other living person in the van, Marco stared at him with wide eyes. The gun was pointed away from his body, and there weren’t any spreading bloodstains. It seemed like a good sign. They had survived.
“Uh, Hilario,” Larry said, “Maybe you should look at this?”
He really, really, really didn’t want to.
But what else was he going to do? Curl up in a ball and suck his thumb until whatever it was went away?
If that sort of thing worked, he would have never left his bed in the morning.
Slowly, he came up off the wall. Turned his head toward the windshield.
His breath caught in his throat.
“Oh, mega poop,” he said.
They were more screwed than a forest of Ooblookinian Twister Trees.
28
Things always went bad.
One way or another.
Even when the intentions were good.
When Hilario had first petitioned the coven council to be sent to the normal world it had seemed like a long shot. After all, he was a bad creature from the bad places. He’d done all the bad things that could be done. Though, admittedly, he hadn’t enjoyed them. But most people didn’t really enjoy their jobs.
They did them anyway.
His petition had eventually been kicked up to the head of the council, the great wizard Ebentov. Ebentov had called Hilario to his office in the twilight realm.
Hilario had disembarked from the bone man’s skiff at the dock to Ebentov’s old heap of a castle. The strangely metallic stink of the Styx faded behind him as he carefully picked his way over the rough and lopsided
