Dark Hope (The Devil's Assistant) (10 page)

After another brush, I realized too late that it wasn’t my presence that sensed the movement. It was my physical body.

Opening my eyes, I was jerked back to the post office, right before someone whacked me on the back of the head.

Seven

I woke with a splitting headache and a large lump on my head.

The old springs of the cot creaked as I sat up. Yep, I was in Mayberry’s jail. I closed my eyes and rested my head in my hands. There was a strong bleach smell wafting in from the other cell. Combined with my headache, the pungent scent made me want to hurl.

Other than today, I’d only been unconscious four times in my entire life. Three of those had been in the last five years—and two of those three had been courtesy of Mace. One more today and I’d be doubling my record. At least I was adding variety: tranquilizer dart, right hook, and now a whack on the back of the head.

I pushed back the nausea. I was alone, but I could hear noise from the front room through a partially opened door. There was a short hallway that led to the back, but there was no way I was getting past the thick bars.

Other than my watch and my clothes, they’d taken everything else—even my shoes. I shook my head. Did they think I’d hang myself with the laces?

“Well, well,” the sheriff said, swinging the door to the front room open wide. “I thought I told you to fit in.” He leaned against the doorframe.

“Where’s the postman?” I asked.

“He’ll be along directly.” The sheriff had a smug grin. Did he know what was going on?

“Well, let me know when
your boss
gets here.”

I had to hold in a snort when he straightened and puffed out his chest. Obviously, I’d hit a nerve.

“He’s not my boss. There’s always two. Equals.”

As if I was skeptical about his declaration, I raised one of my eyebrows in an attempt to piss him off. No need to give him any respect. “Right. Equals. Looks more like a leader and a
follower
to me.” I pointed at him as I said follower.

His lips formed a thin line. “It’s about time, not rank. He’s just got more at the moment.”

I chuckled. “Time is constant. Won’t he always have more?”

“He’s out in six months,” the sheriff snarled. “Then I’m the one with more time.” With a cocky snort, he added, “Unless there’s a screw up. Then I’m on top sooner. Either way, in six months I’ll be number one.”

Was this a prison sentence for them? The postman said he’d been here fifty-nine and a half years. Another six months would be a sixty-year stretch. He’s out in six months unless there’s a screw up—someone getting out would certainly be a screw up.
Great
. A man with nothing to lose but his freedom.

“So second fiddle,” I chided, “low man on the totem pole—like I said, let me know when your boss gets here.”

The sheriff’s eyes narrowed. He put his hand on his revolver, but stopped when he heard a bell ring behind him. He glanced back then dropped his hand away from the gun.

“Where did you get this?” the postman asked, holding up my phone.

Dropping The Boss’s name might be my only chance to survive long enough to escape. The sheriff had been a bit too eager to reach for his gun. “
He
gave it to me.”

The sheriff’s brows pulled together.

The postman considered the phone, pursed his lips
,
then said, “The phone doesn’t work here. Which means
He
can’t find you.”

I held his gaze without giving anything away. I dealt with the Demon King five days a week. This guy was a joke. He couldn’t intimidate me if he tried. “Whatever, man. The GPS in that thing has been busted for weeks. I just haven’t had a chance to get it fixed. He will come searching for me.”

I eyed the sheriff. “So I better be breathing when
He
finds me.”

“Who the hell are you talking about?” the sheriff blurted.

I chuckled.

The postman sneered at the sheriff. “She means the Demon King. The Devil. This is a phone from Hell—the real one.”

“Oh, shit.”

Taunting the sheriff, I raised and lowered my right eyebrow. His eyes were wide. Good. Now he understood what he was dealing with.

“If she belongs to
Him
,” he whined. “We’re screwed. He’ll kill us all when he comes for her.”

“She’s lying,” the postman scoffed. “This phone doesn’t work here. He didn’t create this place
—
another did, one of his own. He won’t come for her.”

“If you say so,” I said smugly. There was no reason to let him know he was right, and not just for the reasons he listed. “Do you really think the Demon King uses GPS to keep track of me? You can’t take these.” I held out my right arm. I expected the mark to show itself, as it had when Wylan James asked for proof. It didn’t appear.

The postman snorted. “What? Did Daddy lose the end of your leash?”

“He’s not my father,” I snapped.

Still smiling, he said, “We don’t need to eat or drink here to survive. This is the nothing of nowhere, and you can sit in that cell and rot for eternity for all I care, but you’re not getting out of here.” He threw the phone into my bag. His gaze dropped to my watch. “I told you to take everything,” he snapped at the sheriff.

The sheriff bristled. “I couldn’t get the watch off. I tried while she was unconscious. The damn thing shocked me twice.”

“Take it off,” the postman said to me.

“I’d love to. Tell me how and it’s yours.”

His eyebrows rose a fraction. Looking at the sheriff, he said, “Don’t open this cell for any reason. You got me?”

The sheriff stared, slack-jawed. “Wasn’t planning to.”

The postman glared at him and walked out. I heard a thump like my bag hitting the top of a wooden desk, before the bell from the door clanged.

The sheriff put his hand back on his gun. “Just you and me now.”

I shrugged and leaned back against the bars. “Your
boss
might be right. The Demon King may not be able to find me here, but how difficult do you think it will be once you’ve sent me to the real Hell with that revolver?”

The sheriff snorted as if my threat was empty then returned to the main room.

My head hurt. I reached back and touched the lump. I’d kill for some Tylenol. I wasn’t sure how I’d get out of the cell, but I refused to sit and do nothing. I closed my eyes and stepped outside my body. The transition was getting easier. It didn’t hurt as much this time.

I thought about the crossroads and blinked my presence to the four-way stop.

I listened for the music. After a few seconds, I caught the ice cream truck melody. I followed the song. It grew louder as I passed the small church at the corner of the town square. The music led me toward the railroad tracks. I continued until the notes dropped away and I stared at a brick wall.

What just happened?

I was back in the alley, the one I’d arrived at after walking through the threshold in the dead town.

Frustrated, I tried again, but again hit the wall.

The demon was right. There was no exit. I’d attempted every logical path that led out of town. They all dumped me into the alley. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t even my body that was getting dropped at square one—it was my presence.

Was any of it real?

I opened my eyes, hauling my presence to my body. The dizziness wasn’t as bad this time. I recovered quickly, but my head seemed to hurt more. Great, either it was a side effect of my new ability or my presence didn’t feel the pain of the blow to my head when I was outside my body.

I guess it didn’t really matter. I stretched out on the cot to rest.

~ * ~

I woke to the faint echo of a ringing bell jarring me from my nap. My headache was better, but the lump still throbbed. I sat up on the cot.

“Sheriff,” I called, but there was no answer.

I closed my eyes and popped my presence into the other room. Empty. The sheriff was gone. I opened my eyes.

A bright line of sunlight was now three-quarters up the wall. The sun was setting. Had time really passed? The watch hands were still spinning. I sighed in disgust. I’d forgotten the one thing I could never lose was now useless.

I was about to look away when the hands slowed and stopped at twelve o’clock. Then the big hand pointed toward the back of the cells, from the front room. I raised one of my eyebrows.
Unbelievable
.

“I need a way out of the cell, not a compass.” I sighed, dropping my hand. I was talking to my watch.

The watch started vibrating. When I looked, the hands were back at midnight. My stomach twisted and turned as a burst of energy pulsed from the watch. Weird. The vibrations increased, and the watch emitted a high-pitched whine. The sickness rolling in my gut was followed by another short burst of energy. The vibrations increased, and the whine soared in volume.

Wincing, I gripped my side just before the third wave pulsed. Every time it happened, the pain, vibrations, and whine increased. By the fourth, I was bent double and the whine had escalated to the point it went silent.

The cell’s bars rattled and shook.

I wailed as the fifth pulse slammed into the room with enough force to knock the door off its hinges—literally.
The door
clanged loudly as it hit the floor.

I didn’t move, paralyzed by what just happened. The pain was fading, but not gone. The watch was spinning again, making me grimace from the pain it caused my red and raw wrist.

A noise from outside snapped me to attention.

It was time to move.

I stood, groaning from the dig at my side and rushed out to the front room. Grabbing up my bag, I slung it over my head. My shoes had been stuffed inside with the phone and my wallet. I dropped the shoes on the floor and jammed my feet into them. Reaching for the doorknob, I hissed when the sudden movement reminded me of my raw wrist. I checked the watch. The hands still spun. I concentrated on the face. Like before, a second later the spinning stopped, and the big hand pointed to seven.

“What? Are these directions?” I asked, then rolled my eyes at how crazy that sounded.

The big hand circled once and stopped on seven. Now I was sure I was crazy because I think the watch just answered me. I moved my wrist. Like a compass, the big hand continued to point behind me. It was a watch that could rattle metal hinges until they disintegrated.

I looked back at the cell. Before I could decide if I trusted it, the sheriff’s voice outside propelled me into action. “Okay, you win,” I said to the watch. “Get me out of here.”

The watch continued to point to the back. I found a door at the end of the hall beside the cells. It led to an alley behind the jail. When I emerged, the sky was almost dark, but the moon was full and cast an eerie pale light over everything.

I glanced at the watch and followed the big hand, which pointed to the right. I kept an eye on the watch as I ran through back alleys and side streets, trying not to get spotted. All my careful dodging was almost ruined when I slammed into a man as I veered on to a blind alley. We both wound up sprawled on the ground.

Scrambling to my feet, I reached out to help the stranger. A shock of static energy passed between us as I took his hand. “Sorry,” I said.

At the same time, his arm went limp, his eyes closed, and he crashed to the ground. A moment later he opened his eyes, his expression confused. When I reached a second time to help him, he cringed away. I guess he didn’t want to be shocked again.

“Where the hell am I?” he wailed.

Okay, I wasn’t expecting a newbie. Was he not spelled to believe he was part of this crazy town?

I heard voices. They were getting closer. I had taken a step to flee just as the stranger clasped my wrist.

“Where am I?” His eyes were wide with fear.

“I don’t know either.” I wrenched my arm away. “Follow me if you want out.”

I took off. I had no idea if the guy was behind me or not. I could hear the sheriff barking orders nearby. I reached the end of a side street—right across from the alley I kept being dumped in. Why was it leading me there?

Before I had time to think, someone hollered, “Sheriff! There she is.”

I didn’t try to see who shouted. I ran
,
full speed, across the street to the alley. I glanced down one more time to make sure the watch was pointing straight ahead, then closed my eyes and headed for the wall. It was freedom or Hell, Montana forever.

I braced myself to hit the wall, but I passed through as if it wasn’t there—as if the wall had been an illusion. I passed back through the threshold as easily as I had the first time.

The quiet of the dead town was back until a man’s earsplitting wail went off beside me. I opened my eyes and found myself at the farmhouse where it all started. The man I’d run into was now lying on the ground beside me writhing in pain.

“Are you okay?” I asked,
but
clearly he wasn’t.

His eyes were vacant.

I gasped in horror as he began to age. His skin sagged with lines, and his cheeks became hollowed and sunken. Rapidly, he was changing from a young man in his thirties to an old man—wrinkled by age. He panted then his hips bucked off the ground as his body convulsed and spasmed.

“Thank you,” he whispered through contorted wails.

“For what?”

“Waking me.” He cried out and clutched his chest. His body went rigid, then limp.

Cautiously, I touched the side of his neck. He was warm, but there was no pulse.

Dead.

I stood. What had he meant? What did I wake him from? The demon’s spell? The Whammy? The demon said nothing ever changed, but clearly time had not stopped. It was just waiting for them to leave.

I jumped when the high-pitched sound of the ice cream truck barreled toward me. Was that the exit? The other direction hadn’t worked.