Sacrifice (Dylan Hart Odyssey of the Occult) (6 page)

My inner Dylan screamed things in my head like ‘you’re a
fucking idiot’ and ‘see what you got yourself into now, you stupid cunt!’ Inner
Dylan is a bitch. Then again, so is outer Dylan.

“I can’t believe we haven’t heard from Malcolm or Tatum. I
left Marienne’s house in the middle of New Orleans suburbs running for my life,
so I didn’t really get a chance to tell Tatum, who was across town, I was
leaving. You’d think she would have called me by now.” I talked over inner
Dylan hollering in my noggin.

I’d have called
her
.
I scowled and pouted to myself lost in thought about things that really weren’t
worth worrying over. Bigger fish and all that.

“Malcolm is Primus. He can take care of himself and his
concubine.” Cyrus reached across the center console and held the top of my
hand. “You worry about saving your own ass. Tatum is in no danger at the House
of Porte. Marienne and her cabal will keep Azelie at bay.” He let out a quick
scoff, “Besides, she only wants to kill you. I think the rest of us are safe.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. I laughed so fucking hard a
little pee came out. It wasn’t funny. It was terrifying. I should have been
huddled in a ball in a dark corner sucking my thumb, but that’s not really my
style. Not yet anyway. The day was young. Shit, by my current standards, it was
practically a crying, shitting infant.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be driving Ms.
Pushing
Daisies through the middle of
cropsie-ville
.
You might become a casualty of war,” I quipped after my laughter had wound
down. Cyrus didn’t respond before I said, “Well, I guess you’ve already been
there. Cyrus got himself
zombiefied
and left poor ol’
Dylan to fight her own battles,” I chuckled again, but he still said nothing.
“All right, what the fuck did I do now?”

“Nothing. I’m just driving,” he replied, his voice monotone
and his expression stone.

Well, if bullshit could walk and talk, it’d be named Cyrus
Atossa.

“Yeah, and I’m just fucking peachy,” I pointed out, as
sarcastically as I could muster. “Do I need to point out that my inner turmoil
is very nearly boiling up past its limit? I can hardly believe I’m not locked
up on the third floor at Community Hospital after the shootout at the O.K.
Corral broke out in my living room, let alone why I’m just not flat out dead
right now. Oh, let’s not forget the fact that there is a serious part of me
that still cannot truly comprehend there is some kind of wacked-out voodoo
curse on my head.” I raised my arms and let them flap against my thighs. “I
mean, come on now, magic? Real honest to goodness curses? How in the fuck is
that possible? This isn’t the dark ages here! This is the twenty-first
Goddamned century. What? I’m just supposed to fall to my knees, groveling and
praying to God to relieve me of my demons?” I slapped the palms of my hands
against the dashboard. “You tell me, eh, you tell me how in the fuck I’m
supposed to handle all of that? My best fucking friend has basically left me to
rot for you and your fucking fang-
tarded
vampire
shit-streaks, and what the fuck do I get for it? Hours in the car with Cryptic
McAssholeton
and his fancy-
pancy
curses and dead things!” My breaths came in and puffed out in short huffs. The
weight of my situation played hell on my nerves and made it harder and harder
to hold it all in. “I’m nutting the fuck up now! If you can’t fucking tell!” I
screamed, spat, and cursed at the perfect profile of Cyrus Atossa. He listened
quietly. “What in the fuck am I supposed to do? Tell me!” I begged him, so pathetic
and desperate I would have been proud if he just smacked me across the face
right then and there. “Tell me, please, because right now, I’ve got nothing but
you! You’re it. You’re the guy. Don’t fuck it up now.” I finished in a huff, my
chest heaving from exertion.

Without a word, Cyrus slowed the car and pulled onto the
dirt shoulder. The likely expensive tires on his shiny white SUV kicked up dust
and pebbles as we screeched to a halt. He didn’t so much as lift his foot from
the brake and his belt was off. I didn’t have time to register his movements
before he and I were nose to nose. My breaths were panting from my lips,
shoving my chest up and down. A second later, his hands grabbed the back of my
head and shoved his mouth against mine.

The manic streak had hit me and it hit hard. Being thrust
into perilous situations can take a toll on a bitch. In true manic outbursts,
inhibitions are nonexistent and impulses run rampant. Unfortunately, for this
highly volatile deviant, that meant displaying a long awaited sexual experience
in front of a butt load of passersby on Highway 99.

The center console separated our bodies, but our upper
halves were
smushed
together like they’d been sent
back in time to junior year of high school. It didn’t take more than a minute
before the sweat started to soak the hairs at the base of my neck under his
warm, strong hand. Kissing someone new was exciting and nerve wracking, all
wrapped up in one fantastic bundle of sex and embarrassment. Thoughts of Azelie
and her dead things faded into the recesses as images of naked romps burst
through in flashing erotic pangs. Sex in the middle of the day, along the
shoulder of a highly traveled highway, made my fat ass tremble with
insecurities. Beefy thighs and improperly placed lumps and bumps trying to fill
the luxurious leather seats with another body would not be easy or attractive.

His heavy hands moved from my neck, traveling down and
toward the point of no return. Extended periods of time between sexual
encounters was never a positive thing. Especially when one was being courted by
the likes of a vampire boy who frequently showcased man undies. I felt like a
sixteen-year-old boy in the backseat of my dad’s car, with a raging boner and
the prom queen in my lap. If something didn’t happen soon, it just might bust
out like the fucking Incredible Hulk. Just not green. Or mad. Maybe a little
mad.

He squeezed my thick thigh and adjusted his body as if he
was preparing to crawl over the center console. In preparation, I gave myself a
pep talk. You know, just in case.

Listen up, fat or
not, you’re about to get laid on the side of the road. You have two choices,
either go for it and face the consequences later, or tell him to fuck off and
be forced to deal with reality and all that entails. Fuck reality. Sex is
better.

Before I could act on my decision, the cliché, but still
outrageously embarrassing, tap-tap-tap on the window jarred us from our snog
session. After a hard swallow, I looked from the corner of my eye to see a fairly
amused Highway Patrol officer peering into the not yet steamy passenger’s
window. Cyrus lifted his hand from my thigh and pushed the button to lower the
window. Without thinking, I burst into laughter. The mania continues.

“Sir,” Cyrus nodded.

I felt my face flush a hideous shade of red. The officer
watched my reaction, very obviously trying to hold back his own laughter.

“You guys all right?” The officer asked, the corners of his
mouth turned up trying to mask a smirk. But his jaw was set tight, not fully
succumbing to the hilarity he had just encountered. Cyrus and I were two adults
partaking in consensual sex. It just happened to be in public and the middle of
the afternoon.

I still laughed. I’m sure the officer thought I was stoned
or something. Cyrus kindly remained calm for the two of us. What was he going
to say? ‘I’m sorry officer. You see, my friend here is an idiot and got herself
a hex put on her. She was freaking out so I decided to pull over on the side of
a busy highway to put my dick in her. I thought it’d shut her up.’ Probably not
the best idea. I allowed my laughter to slow to a low rumble and glanced at the
cop to my right. The look on his face told me the explanation I had drudged up
in my head might actually result in a high five and beer on his tab, but I kept
my theory to myself.

“We’re fine. Sorry, sir. We’ll be on our way.” Cyrus had his
stoic voice on.

The officer openly smirked, “Just get to where ever it is
you two are headed, and get there safe.”

Cyrus nodded and I smiled, and the officer gave us one last
up and down before he walked away. For all he knew, we were husband and wife,
young love, fresh and still full of heat and passion. His age suggested that
perhaps he yearned for that heat between him and his own wife. Maybe he’d go
home and try it out for himself. Lord only knew, I was just trying to think of
anything other than Cyrus and his nudity. Oh, and Azelie and her zombie girls.
The simplicity of Mike and his promises of white picket fences might have been
a much better life choice than where my actual decisions had gotten me. I was a
full-fledged moron.

My face was red and I had dry mouth from laughing like an
idiot. I rubbed the back of my hand across my mouth, rubbing away the tingling
Cyrus had left behind on my lips. My heart skipped back and forth a few times,
reminding me of the anxiety doing cartwheels in my butt cheeks. A part of me
wished the cop would come back to my window and arrest me for being drunk in
public, or under the influence of drugs or something equally untrue. Maybe a
set of heavily barred doors could protect me from the danger of headless dead
things I thought were real and out for me.

I refused to look directly at Cyrus, choosing instead to
watch the officer walk away in the side view mirror. I could feel him breathing
on the side of my face, but I didn’t turn to meet his eyes. The embarrassment
of post-non-sex, or whatever you’d call it when sex didn’t actually happen, was
thick and slapping me in the face. Fuck, it was practically a mushroom stamp on
my damn forehead. I wanted out of the car, out of my own skin. Shit, I’d have
settled for out of my damn mind at that point. Regardless of the situation,
that cop was right. We needed to stop fucking around and get our asses in gear.
We had a little Mexican boy to track down. Up, up, and away!

I watched as the cop got into his cruiser. He didn’t start
the engine. He didn’t buckle-up. He just sat there, staring at us. Cyrus stared
at me, from inches away. I stared at the officer. And the officer stared us
both down. Of the three, Cyrus felt the most intimidating. The idea of having
to come face to face with him so immediately after such an intimate moment,
made my palms sweat. It was pretty bad when dealing with men was more
terrifying than being arrested for lewd acts in public. Not that I knew what
that is or anything.

When the cop didn’t budge, I decided to bring it to the
attention of the man now nuzzling my cheek.

I cleared my throat, “All right, hot stuff, I think he’s
waiting for us to move on.”

As am I.

Cyrus let out what I can only describe as a growl,
practically panting in my ear.

“Look, I don’t want to sound ungrateful for your hotness or
anything, but this really isn’t the time.” I waited for him to get pissed and
call me a bitch, or a cunt, or something worse, something cruel and
irreversible, but he didn’t. He said nothing. Instead of shutting up, I chose
to continue to sputter on. “The last thing I need is more confusion. Sorry.” I
felt like a real grown up saying those words. It was important to keep life in
perspective, to prioritize and take care of business before getting involved in
shenanigans. Under all that pride, I felt like an asshole for turning down
someone like Cyrus Atossa. When else in my fat little existence would I ever
get the chance to nail sex on a stick? Never, that’s when. Never.

He cleared his throat softly, moved away from me and back
into his seat. I didn’t dare look at him full on, just sly glances from the
corner of my eye or in the reflection of my now rolled up window. I pressed my
lips together tightly between my teeth, trying to make the sensation of his
lips stop lingering on mine.

“Sorry,” he said finally.

“You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.
Except maybe wait until the absolute wrong moment to make a move,” I chuckled.
“Honestly, it’s shit like this that reminds me of your humanity.”

“What’s that, another monster joke?” he practically hissed
his words.

“No, it’s a ‘you’re way too hot to be a human’ jab. It’s the
truth, deal with it.” I shrugged, attempting nonchalance I really didn’t have
in me at that point.

“Who says I am?” His matter-of-fact tone sent goose bumps
over my skin.

I wondered if this was our transition. How two people can
move from second base along the side of the road, to philosophizing about the
meaning of the word human without taking a breath, I had no clue, but it seemed
as normal as putting on your underwear.

“You better get your ass moving. That cop isn’t going to be
your bro for much longer if we keep sitting here.” In true Dylan Hart fashion,
my head switched gears in a second, and I continued without skipping a beat,
“What happened to you at House of Porte?”

He put the car in drive and clicked on his turn signal,
preparing to enter the roadway again. I had a feeling this wasn’t his usual
routine, but I guessed you couldn’t be too careful when you had the
popo
on your ass with a voodoo bitch not too far behind.

He pulled into traffic before answering my question. “Azelie
won. Temporarily, that is.” His eyes were trained on the road, and it seemed
his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.