Then he slammed through the open door of his van. He barely jerked his floppy clown shoes in before the door crashed shut.
The van lurched forward. The body creaked and groaned.
The next instant they were airborne.
Air whistled past the open window.
The lights of the city spread out before the windshield. The van zipped over them at tremendous speed.
He grabbed the steering wheel. Tried to analyze the magic holding the van.
Received a psychic slap that sent his mind reeling.
The city lights got bigger. Resolved from streaks to dots to lit windows and streetlights. He scrambled for the seat belt. Dragged it over his tremendous belly. Clicked it home.
Put his hands back on the steering wheel. The magic still held the van. At least she hadn’t just thrown him.
Where were they coming down?
The van nosed toward an open patch of ground. A park?
No. The ground was dotted with gray rectangles.
Oh, pigeon poop.
The van crashed down on a narrow paved path in the cemetery. The springs and shocks groaned and creaked. For a stomach churning moment it felt like the van would tip over.
Then it righted itself. It rolled up to a squat brick building that Hilario knew was near the center of the cemetery. Surrounded by cherry trees, the little building was windowless. Only a round brick chimney gave any clue what it might be.
The van creaked to a stop at the roll up door at the end of the building.
The door where they rolled the gurney through. Into the crematorium where flame would consume the body. Leaving only bits of charred bone.
How was that for a message?
Hilario let out a shuddering breath. His heart pounded so hard it felt like his long expected heart attack would show up any moment.
He wasn’t going to get off that easy, though.
“Friend Hilario,” Larry said, “What happened? What did she say?”
Hilario turned to the ghostly apparition in the van’s passenger seat. Larry’s face was twisted with worry.
“That didn’t quite go as I expected,” Hilario said.
6
Hilario concentrated on the iron gate. On the lock at the center of it.
Weak lamps along the street outside cast a yellow glow on the brick wall that surrounded the cemetery. And the stupid gate. Why did people lock up cemeteries at night? The residents weren’t going anywhere.
Well, not usually.
He shifted his massive bulk on the drivers’s seat, gloved fingers clenched on the steering wheel. Chill air, scented with grass and earth came through the open window beside him. His stomach rumbled. Protested the unreasonable amount of time since its last meal.
He told it to knock it off. It wasn’t like he was going to run out of physical energy reserves any time soon.
“I no-a like-a these places-a,” Larry said.
“Shut up,” Hilario said, “And stop with the accent.”
Larry slumped down on the passenger seat in sullen silence. His ghostly presence cast a dim, blue glow in the front of the van.
Tough. Hilario needed to concentrate. Iron was difficult to manipulate. The metal was the province of another realm and didn’t like to be bossed around by beings of his lowly status.
His mind found all the pieces of the locking mechanism. He took his hands off the wheel. Twisted his fingers into positions of casting.
Pushed at the iron.
Which ignored him. Not even a: Hey, what’re you doing? Just cold metal silence. It was beneath the gate’s dignity to speak to him, apparently.
He sighed. Unlocked a sliver of his light reserves. Pushed at the lock again. Hard.
Tumblers clicked. The latch withdrew.
The gates swung open with a low creak of metal on metal.
“You’re some kind of wizard,” Larry said.
Hilario gave him a sharp look. “Don’t call me that,” he said, “You’ll get me killed and your disincorporated heiny sent to the bad places.”
Larry looked bewildered. “Why?”
Hilario put the van in gear. Eased his poor, abused steed out into the street.
“Just don’t, okay?” he said, “Wizards have a very strict system of rank. And almost no sense of humor.”
Larry shook his head. “I don’t like being dead. I miss my kitchen.”
Hilario’s stomach growled. Apparently it missed Larry’s kitchen too.
“Where are we going now?” Larry said.
“Back to the Sparrow,” Hilario said.
Larry jerked upright. “Why?” His eyes were wide.
“Because that’s where your body is,” Hilario said. Without adding: what’s let of it.
“I don’t want to see my body,” Larry said.
Hilario guided the van through the darkened streets. No taking the freeway this time. The van had suffered enough abuse for one night. Though it still stoically puttered on, the engine rattling and the body creaking. But no complaints.
“What happened back there?” Larry asked, “With…her? Do you think she saw me? I don’t think she did.”
“I don’t know. Weren’t you looking?”
“No, I was hiding in the footwell,” Larry said, “You called her a witch. She seemed more like a god.”
Hilario cringed. Gave Larry a look that would have made the man’s blood freeze, if he still had any.
“She’s a gem witch,” he said, “Not a god. Don’t ever call a witch a god. It goes to their heads and makes the real gods mad.”
Larry shrugged. “This is all kinda new to me.”
“Just don’t say things like that,” Hilario said.
Larry threw his hands up.
“How am I supposed to know?” he said, “I’ve never been deceased before.”
Hilario ground his teeth together. Spirits. Why did he end spending so much time dealing with the dead? Was it part of his penance? Or was he just spectacularly unlucky?
Ha, ha. Of course he was unlucky.
He was still overdrawn with George, the god of luck. Would be until he could find a replacement for that stupid amulet.
And it
