Netherworld II: Blood Potion No. 9 (25 page)

C.K.’s voice put an end to the horrible
thuds of blows and snapping of alligator jaws. “Hold up, guys.
Let’s see if this fucking traitor is ready to talk.”

Bane’s pained gasps filled the cramped
space. A sliver of a growl slipped out, defying C.K.

Dan whispered, “That collar must be
silver. Otherwise, he’d have shifted.”

C.K.’s snuffling stupid voice rang out
again. “Who you working for, you shithead dog? Huh? The cops?
Tristan Keith? The Savannah chapter of the Beasts? Who sent you,
asshole?”

There were a succession of meaty thuds,
and a sickening dry sound, like a thick branch snapping in half. It
took me a moment to realize C.K. was kicking Bane, and had broken
something in the process. The horrible sound of retching and
sickly-sweet odor of vomit joined the coppery notes of fresh blood
and the smoky scent of something burnt. I shuddered and offered my
own little moan in sympathy. Dan’s hold on me tightened.

C.K.’s voice was rising in rage. “I’m
going to feed your mangy ass piece by piece to my dragon. It’s your
choice whether I do it while you’re dead or alive.”

Hazel spoke. He actually sounded bored.
“Don’t waste your time. I’ll get Fizz to spill.”

That got Bane talking, his voice
ratcheting out between pants and growls. “She knows nothing. Leave
her alone.”

C.K.: “Go on and take her, Hazel. Make
her confess. Make her scream. Then make her die.”

There was movement beyond our shelter
of cardboard. A moment later, Hazel came into view between the edge
of the boxes and the unit’s wall. He had Fizz’s tiny frame slung
over his shoulder.

I swallowed, feeling ill to see the
hard-on tenting the crotch of his jeans.

He rolled up the unit’s door to let
himself out, allowing a blinding flash of light in. The dragon
screeched. Smiling like a kid on Christmas morning, Hazel called
back, “Say bye-bye to your girlfriend, Bane. I’m going to have lots
of fun with her.”

He left, rolling the door closed behind
him. With the witch gone, I popped out from behind the stack of
boxes, Dan right behind me. I tried hard not to look at the bloody
mess Bane had become

C.K. stood over him, his piggy face
uglier than I remembered. “I think the dragon is hungry, and wolf
meat will go down fine, I bet. Let’s start with this mutt’s
dick.”

Dan scowled at the Beasts’ leader.
“Screw Bane’s case and Tristan’s agenda. I’m not letting this
bastard kill anyone else. I’m going for help from Gerald’s crew.
See if you can distract them,” he told me.

“Hurry, Dan,” I begged.

He disappeared, leaving me to save
Bane’s family jewels and all the other parts attached.

All I can say is thank goodness for
this technological age, because every last one of those shifters
had the telltale bulges of cell phones in their jeans pockets. I
went to the one closest to me and drew energy until it beeped
death.

A couple of the shifters were tugging
at Bane’s waistband, apparently intent on making good on C.K.’s
intention to feed the dragon the werewolf’s tastier bits. After
killing off another cell phone, I went to work.

I flung the battery-powered lantern at
C.K., missing him but smacking a weregator pretty good on the side
of his scaly head. Then anything small and light I could get my
hands on flew through the air: a screwdriver, a small lamp, a
calculator, a

few empty beer bottles, a small sign
that said No Cover Charge. This and more battered the Beasts,
making them duck and yell and flail at the air.

“Damn it!” C.K. yelled with a very
piggy squeal. “Why the hell is Hazel keeping a ghost in here?
Stupid fucking witch!”

He yanked out his cell and hit a
number. It didn’t make the first ring before I sucked it dry. I
raked C.K.’s round cheek with my nails and was delighted to see
raised scratches appear. Then I kneed his crotch. My position and
his shortness didn’t allow for optimum force, but he snorted and
bent over a little anyway.

“Fuck this shit!” Mr. Potty Mouth Pig
squalled. “We’ll finish this lousy dog somewhere else. Let’s get
his ass out to the car.”

Despite my continued barrage of flying
bits, the weres managed to unchain Bane from his position on the
floor. They kept him cuffed and collared though, and he seemed weak
as a puppy as they dragged him out into the sunshine. I was sure
hoping someone was around that would see the gang shoving and
kicking him to wide-eyed Bottle’s car. Unfortunately, my lack of
luck held, and no one in a position to help was in sight. As C.K.
ratcheted down the unit’s door and locked it up, Bane fell to his
knees next to the back of the car.

“Pop the trunk,” C.K. yelled at the
gape-mouthed Bottle. She did so and C.K. gave Bane a kick before
turning to his menagerie. “Load him up. We’ll take him to the woods
and have us a meal.”

Oh crap. I’d seen shifters fight each
other to the death. The survivors had eaten the remains to dispose
of the evidence. No doubt C.K. and his group didn’t have any qualms
about doing the same.

My mind flew as the Beasts loaded Bane
into the trunk and closed the lid with an adamant thump. I’d
succeeded in keeping Bane from being fed to the dragon, but now
they were taking him somewhere else to finish the job. Dan with his
contingent of Tristan’s weres wouldn’t be able to track them down
in time to save him.

As I fretted, wondering what in the
world I could possibly do, C.K. directed his troops. “Out behind
the old Snak Shak on 341. You know the place, boys.”

Everyone knew that place. The Snak
Shak, once a dispensary of burgers and barbecue, its dining area an
outdoor cluster of picnic tables, was now a dilapidated shell. It
had gone out of business three years ago after a gang — really a
half dozen teenage boys who liked to race crotch rockets, set
dumpster fires, and knock over mailboxes — was found brutally
murdered, their bodies draped on top of the tables like a macabre
buffet. The killers were never caught. I now wondered if I wasn’t
looking at their murderers.

C.K. got in the car’s front passenger
seat. “Let’s go,” I heard him order Bottle through her open
window.

“C.K.? Honey? If the cops go looking
for him, there’s a bunch of his blood in my trunk—” she
began.

His heavy backhand cut her words off.
It was a good thing her window was down, because otherwise her
skull would have made hard contact.

“Drive, you stupid cunt!” he yelled.
Sniffling, she started the car and pulled away.

I was out of time. The other Beasts
mounted their motorcycles and they roared to life. I ran over to
the closest one and grabbed on. The power flowed into my body, and
the bike shut down.

Another biker, his bear aspect making
him a shaggy creature, laughed at my hapless victim. “Problems,
bro?” He kept laughing until I killed his bike too.

The world around me was coming into
hypersharp focus. I was getting high off the excess power I was
drawing, and there were close to thirty motorcycles to disable. My
body tingling in reaction, I hit a third.

As it sputtered, its werehog rider
banged a frustrated cloven fist on the gas tank. “What the hell?
Someone been messing with our bikes?”

I shut him down, and it felt like every
hair on my body stood at attention. My eyes felt wide enough to
fall out of my head. The werehog, bigger and not as butt ugly as
C.K. (but certainly not pretty), sat on his dead machine and stared
at me.

He shouted to the rest, “Holy shit,
look at the ghost bitch! She’s fucking with us!”

Bitch indeed. That was no way to talk
to a lady.

Now that they knew what the problem
was, the other bikers, the ones with the still-running engines,
were starting to pull out. They’d be out of the gate within
seconds, chasing after C.K.

The gate. Aha!

The hog was cussing me. “You hateful
crotch! No one screws with my bike!”

I grinned at him, energy snapping
through me. “You can see me? Well check this out.”

I flipped him and his two buddies off.
Now cussing is for the illbred and I acknowledge waving the middle
finger around is a form of cussing, but some things just have to be
said.

Leaving them with their mouths hanging
open, I zapped off and materialized at the little box that required
a passcode to get into the storage space. The power box was right
there too. The other Beasts were approaching the closed gate and
would trip it open at any moment. Pulling the energy coursing
through me out of both hands, I reached into the two metallic
boxes. Then I let enough power back into my fingers to dig at wires
and circuitry. No, I had a better idea. I fed them some of the
energy that was making me dance in place like I needed to find the
ladies room toot-sweet. There was a spark, and a sizzle, and a bit
of smoke. I caught a backwash of power and nearly backflipped with
exuberant energy. Woohoo!

The blatting motorcycles drew to a stop
on the other side of the now nonfunctioning gate. I did a crazy
little victory dance for the benefit of the staring and trapped
shifters. Oh sure, they could climb over the gate, but their bikes
couldn’t. Game, set, and match to Brandilynn.

I laughed and stuck my tongue out of
them, shaking what my momma gave me. Okay, maybe rubbing their
snouts in defeat was a little much. Just remember I was jacked up
and high as a kite right then. I think I can be excused for my poor
sportsmanship.

“So long, boys!” I shouted at the
snarling shifters, who were fighting to get the disabled gate open.
“I’m gonna do some hog hunting now!”

Their curses and shaking fists let me
know that they heard and saw me just fine. Being visible gave my
hectic brain an idea to help Bane out of the jam he was in, and I
was raring to go. So I went … straight to the hood of Bottle’s
car.

I arrived planted on all fours in the
middle of the Chevy’s hood as it clattered down 341 near the
industrial section. You should have seen Bottle and C.K.’s faces as
I glared through the windshield at them, even before I yelled,
“BOO!” Bugging eyes and round, manhole mouths. I swear to you, C.K.
screamed louder and higher than his girlfriend, his cloven hands
thrust out to ward me off. Bottle let go of the steering wheel to
grab the sides of her head, and the car squalled as she hit the
brakes hard. Priceless.

Then the car swerved out from under me,
and I popped over to the side of the road to watch it jump the
curb. Bottle had rolled up her window, and I heard it when her head
thunked against it. Ouch. The car came to rest a few feet from
train tracks and stalled out.

Forget PIT maneuvers and spike strips.
All you need is a seriously amped-up ghost as a hood ornament and
the bad guys stop.

Neither passenger moved, and I
materialized by the driver’s side to check the situation out. Boy,
I hoped I hadn’t killed Bottle. C.K. – meh.

Bottle was breathing but out cold. C.K.
shook his head, clearing the cobwebs. A rivulet of blood ran down
the side of his jowly face. “Ha ha, tag, you’re it,” I
called.

His nearsighted gaze swung over to me
and squinted, trying to make me out more clearly. He bared his
yellowed tusks, and I offered a big, theatric yawn. I’m already
dead. Whatchoo gonna do, Pig Boy?

What he did was lean over Bottle, throw
the car door open, and shove her out onto the ground at my feet.
“Stay out of my way, bitch,” he snorted to me as he slid over to
take her place behind the wheel.

Yeah, he was a real winner to take home
to Mom.

He tried to start the car back up. It
ground to life, but when C.K. jammed the transmission into reverse,
neverminding his girlfriend who would get run over if he followed
that course, something under the car screeched. The car shut off
again without moving a bit. I blew C.K. a raspberry.

He tore out of the car to scream in my
face. His was as red as a beet. “Fucking ghost! You think you can
fuck with me? I’ll take his ass out now!”

With that, he leaned into the car and
popped the trunk. Uh oh. I materialized at the back of the car as
the lid swung up, and Bane’s startled gold eyes stared at me. Crap,
why wasn’t there any traffic on this road, someone who could make a
911 call? We were

between the gravel yard and the waste
treatment plant. Surely cars moved down this street on a regular
basis.

Of course, the gun C.K. was pulling out
of the waistband of his jeans would kill Bane before the police
would show up, no matter how fast someone called. Double
crap.

“Bane, he’s coming with a gun! He’s
going to kill you!”

“Damn straight I’m going to kill him,”
C.K. growled, coming around to aim at the werewolf.

Fortunately for Bane, C.K. had
underestimated the power I still had. I swung both arms up, pouring
all the energy I possessed into them. My forearms hit C.K.’s wrists
hard, knocking his aim off. The gun went off harmlessly into the
sky before Pig Boy lost his grip on it. It flew into the weeds
where the bright sun winked off its metal.