Homeward Bound (Journeyman Book 1) (6 page)

The prisoner spoke. “Are you the purveyor of this fine establishment?” he asked in a raspy voice. As he gestured with his arms, the handcuffs reflected the overhead lamps, sending their light dancing uncomfortably across Eugene’s face.

“Yes, I am.”

“Then indeed it is your lucky day,” he said coldly. The prisoner continued, pointing a finger toward Eugene. Something told the shop keep that this wasn’t the kind of luck one wished for. “I have a couple of questions that need answering and you… well, you are the man for the job.”

He waved his pointing hand and the policemen fell back a few steps.

Shorty broke away and walked toward the door. After a quick look around, he found the switch for the “OPEN” sign and flipped it. The letters faded as he returned to the other officer’s side.

Eugene felt a rumble in the pit of his stomach and his heart began to pound in his chest. He couldn't focus on any one thing, desperately needing some comfort in this extremely uncomfortable situation. Maybe if he could move his hands beneath the counter and press the silent alarm or maybe if he could snag his shotgun to pepper these assholes, he would feel better and safer. All was for naught when the effort was stopped before it even began.

“Ah ah ah,” said the prisoner as both cops reached for their weapons. “I know what you're thinking. We’ve no time for company just yet. You and I still have to chat.”

The sweat stung as Eugene tried to watch the detainee through squinted eyes, still catching brief flashes of light from off the cuffs.

The man leaned forward. “So my good man, have you had any visitors tonight?” Good lord his breath was terrible, as if strips of meat were trapped between his teeth since the days his shirt was pure white.

“No,” said Eugene amidst a cough that brought up a little bit of sick with it.

The prisoner’s look screamed
liar.

“No… one of any importance,” Eugene corrected, coughing once more.

“Hmmm,” pondered the convict. “Is that so? I’ll be the judge of that.”

Just my luck
, Eugene thought.
What kind of gangland crap has that son of a bitch brought on me?

“So this ‘nobody important.’ Who was he?” The man picked up a quarter and started to tap the glass with it.

“Some kid” he told him, “maybe in his early twenties. I didn’t catch a name.”

“A shame,” he replied, pausing to look at the coin in detail. He placed it back on the countertop before picking up another, shiner one. “Paid by cash did he? Well, it's a good thing he wasn’t all that important.”

Eugene fell silent, as if he stopped breathing.

“So, was he with anyone else?” the man pressed, continuing to knock the countertop with his fresh coin.

“Nobody in the store,” Eugene replied. The tapping grew faster and he wiped his forehead with a sleeve; was the heating unit on? The air was notably hotter and patchy sweat stains had formed under his arms and across his lower back.

“There was someone out in the vehicle, well two actually: a man and a woman. I couldn’t see either of them very well.” The non-stop tapping was getting to him, now beating against the inside of his skull. “Stop it!” he exclaimed before dialing his voice way down, “please?”

The prisoner flicked the change toward Eugene, striking him on the chin. “So there were three total,” he said, looking over his shoulder. With a head jerk the cops promptly stepped up to each side. “The vehicle they were in, was it a truck?”

“Yes,” he answered curtly. Maybe a shift in tone would get these men to leave. “Are we close to being done; I was quite busy beforehand…”

Ignoring him, the questioning continued. “So do you know where were they going? Where they live?”

“What the? How am I supposed to know that? I have no goddamn idea!”

Who are you guys? What do you want? Just get out!

The con frowned. “Listen -”

“Look! You listen!” Eugene shouted.  “I told you! I! Don’t! Fucking! Know!”

“No
you
listen here you bloated meat sack, things are about to get really messy for you.”

“Go to hell!” he snapped, sending a glob of spit onto the man’s face.

Wiping the phlegm that caressed his cheek, the prisoner blinked. His gray eyes were suddenly black with a flowing ring of deep crimson.

“Been there already and hated it, as you’re about to find out.” He swung his arm, the handcuffs crashing into the countertop and shattering the glass.

The officers rushed in and grabbed Eugene, holding him firm as he attempted to get free. They were so much stronger than he was. Unnaturally so. They yanked him hard across the demolished counter, scraping his body over the hundreds of razor edges inside and like a limp doll they hurled him onto the floor before going to scoop him back up.

The prisoner surveyed the splintered glass like he was shopping for jewelry, looking for the largest and most beautiful one he could find. There it was. Reaching in, he removed a long, knife-like shard and turned to face Eugene, who was still struggling with his little bit of might.

“Please…” he quivered, shaking uncontrollably on his cracked legs as fear overtook him. “I’ll do anything. Just let me -”

His eyes met those empty, red rimmed pupils as a thin line of prickly heat glided over his neck. Warmth flowed from of the gash and over his chest, oozing down his body like a broken egg.  He had no choice but to continue looking at the unforsaken gaze drilling into him, gasping for breath before his round body toppled.

The man removed his boots as Eugene expired, a faint whisper of breath skating across the shiny pool. He stepped into the brackish liquid, still pleasantly warm, and used one of his bare feet to shove the body out of the way.

“Spiritum meum, victor erit,”
he uttered in an abyssal tone that shook the walls. “
In malign positus, loquar!”

The store lights flickered and showered the room with sparks as the blood snaked under his clothes all the way up his body. Rushing from his collar, the tendrils wormed their way around his lips as he continued to speak in a long lost, guttural language.

“Onoskelis, it is I,” he said demonically.

A few minutes later a voice boomed, coming from all directions. It was fathomless, forceful, and feminine. “What news do you bring, Stolas?”

“Tonight we have confirmed that the Hardy coven was, at last, decimated.”

“Excellent work,” she said. “You and your company will be rewarded. That little bitch learned what a mistake it was to turn against us, as will they all in time. Now, we must focus our attention to the north and the wendigos -”

“Your grace,” he interrupted. “The coven was decimated, but not by us.”

It grew eerily quiet.

The buzz of the freezers took over, echoing in Stolas’ ears as he remained outwardly calm. However, the shadow inside strove to maintain composure. His host’s skin became itchy and it was impossible to remedy.

“Onoskelis?” he said nervously. The long pause remained for nearly a minute more. Cautiously, he carried on with the report. “Based on the use of Solomon weaponry, scientifics, and other trace evidence at the scene, we believe the attack was carried out by a small team of Journeymen. Specifically -”

“Gage… Crosse,” her voice resonated, toppling boxes from the shelves. Gage had managed to find a way to be at the epicenter of nearly every major supernatural event over the last couple of years. He was certainly a man on a mission after the death of his parents and that made him extremely dangerous, especially to demonkind. She could respect that, but also knew that if he was involved then there was a definite threat to their immediate plans.

“Yes,” Stolas confessed meekly. “We have reason to believe he is based somewhere in the Houston area with this team of his. We are working to find out where that is but it is heavily warded, as is his transportation.”

“Is there reason to suspect he knows anything of our plans?”

“Well, not in detail. There were also no prisoners taken but, there is no way for us to know what Hardy told him before her demise.”

“Hmmm,” she replied. “We cannot afford to have that behemoth poking around. You are to keep your distance and remain where we are at our strongest: in the shadows. Our plans are making considerable headway and any suspicion about or attention on us shall be kept to an absolute minimum. Is that clear?”

“It is, your Grace.”

“That brings me to the manner of your contact with me, Stolas.”

He swallowed hard, noticing the shorter cop had stepped forward a few paces, fitting gloves over his hands.

“How did you come about finding enough blood to use this spell?”

“The… shopkeeper,” he disclosed.

“The shopkeeper,” she repeated. “Who happens to own the store that infamous demon slaying menace had just… fucking… visited?”

A hand latched onto his arm, spinning him around. Shorty had him, brandishing a small iron blade resembling a railroad spike. Demonic seals were engraved down its entire length.

A few feet away, the spindly cop murmured with his head bowed and Stolas realized what was happening too late. He attempted to step out of the pool of now stale blood, but his feet were frozen, the liquid around them crystallizing into icy clamps. He was trapped like a rat in a cage.

A coughing fit followed as the taller cop’s whispers picked up pace. Umbral mist laced with red belched from Stolas’ mouth with each uncontrollable hack.

I need to get out of this sack of skin!
he thought while closing his eyes as he tried to eject from the host. There was no guarantee that there was anyone nearby to repossess in time, but that was a risk he was willing to take and it was certainly better than the permanent fate he knew was coming.

The shadowy form of a night raven spawned briefly, ready to take flight, but suddenly glitched back into the body that now anchored him.

“You have made some mistakes in the past, my not-so-wise feathered friend,” Onoskelis chastised. “Perhaps those herbs you’ve been so fond of have clouded your judgment. But knowing
that
particular Journeyman is so close to us and our plans, we must be far… far more careful. We can afford no more mistakes like this and we cannot afford your grand levels of stupidity any longer.
Vale,
Stolas!”

The store rumbled once more and she was gone.

Before he could get another word out, the iron spike made its way into his chest. Shorty smirked as he turned the blade and Stolas convulsed; sooty vapor wafted out of every pore yet was heavy and sank to the floor. Holding onto the weapon, Shorty pushed Stolas backwards.

Hell did not await him, nor Heaven. The unmitigated dark of the abyss swallowed his corrupt demonic soul before he hit the floor, utterly and unquestionably dead.

The gangly cop then walked over to the counter, grabbed a shard of glass, and placed it into Eugene's hands. He turned back to his partner. “I’ll prepare in here,” he said peacefully.

Shorty nodded, exiting the store. He walked to the police car parked under the filling station awning and settled calmly into the seat, lifting the radio. Pressing the button, he spoke with authority, “This is Officer Sullivan. We have a coroner's case at Montgomery's Gas and Convenience.”

YOU KNOW THE TIME
of the morning where if sleep evaded you, none of the options laid out on the proverbial table for rest were going to pan out? As luck would have it, that's exactly the time Adrienne found herself in. The sun was still well below the horizon and she couldn’t sleep if she wanted to.

I bet Joey is still awake too,
she thought as she walked down the hall, poorly trying to justify her own insomnia.
That was a lot of sugar, caffeine, and whatever else shoved into those slender cans he was knocking back like a crack whore turning tricks.

On the other hand, Gage was probably sawing enough logs to add a third story to the Lodge. That goddamn grizzly tease, innocently snoozing up there while she was down here, wide awake with him fully on her mind.

She stumbled her way into the kitchen, her vision blurred by fatigue and the annoying flickering above the sink. A certain man was tasked with fixing that light and he had obviously made it a top priority. Squinting between its random flashes, she looked out the tiny window.

The GMC was parked caddy-cornered to a gold ‘80 Z28, its classic American lines making Gage’s baby look downright clunky in comparison, kind of like its owner.

Beyond the vehicles pitting themselves against each other, the trees swayed with a trance-inducing dance and just past the grassy expanse a section of the metallic ring that surrounded the property shone in the moonlight. The rain had also started to pick up; still a drizzle, it would likely be a steady downpour within the next hour.

Parched, she sluggishly opened the cabinet where the drinking glasses should be, only to find there were none inside. A glance down at the sink showed her where they had gone: swimming in a cesspool of dirty dishes while a large air bubble belched at her with a pop.

Sigh.

As she started cleaning and cursing under her breath, a huge mass entered the room and loomed behind her. Stepping up, it grabbed hold of her shoulder and she twirled, flicking off the dagger that was still on her belt. She quickly raised it high and let the tip sink in, releasing a small trickle of blood.