A Demon Bound (Imp Book 1) (33 page)

Could I possibly be free? Free to take the assets I’d hidden and start a new life. I couldn’t assume a new form, but I could use the human methods to gain a new identity. They were very clever about their forgeries, if you had the money to pay them. I’d contact Wyatt and have him meet me. I’d have to get a new identity for him, too. He could still kill zombies with a different name.

I took the highway home, slogging through traffic, then pulled down the road past Wyatt’s house. I should feel happy. This was my choice. I felt just as miserable as before, though. I looked over at Wyatt’s house, thinking of his broken fridge door, and shooting guns in his back yard. I wandered about my yard, patting Boomer, dipping a toe in the pool and watching my horses in the field, grazing peacefully. My eyes were getting misty, which was a human thing, not typical of my kind. I went inside, and saw the blinking button on the answering machine. It hit play, thinking this would be the last time I’d hear this person’s voice. It was Wyatt.

“Hi, Sam,” he said sounding miserable. “You’re not picking up your cell phone. I don’t know if you’ll stop by your house, or even listen to your messages before you leave. Probably not, but I wanted to leave a message just in case. You must have shook up Althean pretty bad, because he killed someone outside of Hagerstown today. He bypassed Waynesboro entirely. We’re heading down to Sharpsburg which looks to be his next area. There are only a couple werewolf residences there, so I’m hoping we can nab the guy and wrap this up.

“I’m tagging along with Candy to help her out for a couple of days. If this thing isn’t resolved by then, I’ll probably call a friend to come pick me up and I’ll head back. I know you said Michelle was arranging for your animal care. I called her to make sure she’d cover for the next few days until I get back. I want you to know I’ll go right to your safe and follow all your instructions. I’m hoping you’ll find a way to come back, although it doesn’t look like that’s going to be possible. If you ever make it back in the next sixty years or so, I might still be alive. I’d love it if you looked me up, even though I understand we’d hardly be able to pick up where we left off.”

There was a few seconds of silence on the tape before he continued. “Sam, knowing you made all the difference in my life. Everything is different when I’m with you, risks are fun, amazing things are possible, anything can be overcome. I was never a serious person, but with you I really saw how humorous and fun life could be . . . if I only took a chance. I’ll always remember you. I know you’re immortal, and that your time with me was a grain of sand on the beach of your life, but I hope that knowing me meant something to you, too. Good luck, Sam.”

I really had been away from home, living as a human for too long, because my eyes were leaking all over the place and my chest was heaving air out in choked bursts. It was very unpleasant.

I cried until I felt like I didn’t have any more in me to cry. Didn’t make me feel any better and I looked like shit. My face in the mirror was red and blotchy with puffy eyes, and I couldn’t breathe through my nose. I missed home, missed my own kind, but wasn’t ready to go home and deal with the politics, the power struggles, the stupid breeding petitions. I liked my life, here. When it got boring, fun was within arm’s reach. Humans were plentiful, and very entertaining. And Wyatt. I really liked being with Wyatt.

There was no logical reason for what I was about to do at all. I was staying here in this realm, but I wasn’t going to run off and hide under a new identity either. I couldn’t really go back to the way things were before this week. I’d just have to make the best of what lay ahead. What I was doing was a leap off the cliff, trusting in my instincts that things would somehow be okay. I got a much needed hot shower, changed my clothes, packed a small bag and headed west toward Washington County and Sharpsburg. Whatever happened, happened.

Sharpsburg was a dot on the map. A series of country routes led there from the highway around the mountain and through Boonsboro. I prefer the steep winding narrow roads right over the mountain and down into the heart of the little town. With less than a thousand residents, it’s got that typical small, one street town kind of feel. The place would have faded into oblivion except for the fact that it saw the bloodiest day of the Civil War right on its doorstep. Over twenty three thousand dead, wounded or missing. That’s pretty impressive, even by demonic standards. The historical folks did a decent job with the battlefield site, too. It had scores of informative plaques, monuments and some cannons. It would have been far more impressive to have tens of thousands of mannequins posed for battle, bloody and shot to bits, and scattered around the fields so visitors would walk amid the carnage and really get a feel for the action, for the scope of the slaughter. It’s a shame preservation groups didn’t take these things more seriously.

It was such a tiny town. I searched for Althean, trying different vantage points to make sure I covered the whole area. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, now that I was actually here. Should I wait for Althean to show up, and then swoop in dramatically? Should I text Wyatt, letting him know that I hadn’t left? Should I search for Gregory? Maybe not. I wasn’t sure what he’d do to me since I had not crossed the gates as told me to. I knew I was going to have to face him, eventually. Either way, I knew he wouldn’t be pleased. No, I really didn’t want to find Gregory. Not yet. I searched again for Althean, then went to the General Burnside Tavern for a drink. I was not really good at this waiting thing.

The bar was small. One room with a few tables and a couple of dart boards. Some guy with a guitar played in the corner with his case open for tips. It didn’t have a lot of money in it and I suspected what was there was placed by the guitarist himself in an effort to prime the pump. Everyone ignored him. There were four guys at the bar drinking beer and watching football on TV. It was too early for the pro season or even college. Did they show football re–runs in off season? The best of last year? I plopped down next to them and ordered a Bud Light. I knew better than to ask for vodka in this place.

Part of my thoughts went to a constant scan for Althean. That was a boring activity though, so I drank my beer, eyed the patrons and wondered what I could do to entertain myself until I could kill something. The four guys at the bar were riveted to the game on TV. There were a couple of guys playing darts. The guitarist started up again bellowing some ballad about love and tulips. One of the guys at the bar glanced at him in irritation and turned the captioning on the TV. I didn’t realize they close captioned football games. Huh.

“What’s the guitarist’s name?” I asked the bartender.

“Bob Burrows,” he told me, glancing over at the singer. “He annoys everyone, but the owner’s sister knows him so we have to let him play.”

I took a swig of beer and looked over at the guy. He was skinny, with a short beard and longish brown hair. Mid–twenties. His hands on the guitar were rough and calloused with a wedding ring on his left hand. He had that far away look in his eyes of a man whose dreams have been derailed by reality. The guitar was second hand, but in decent shape. The case battered with some band stickers that clearly were not placed there by the current owner. His sheet music was propped up in the lid.

“How often does he play here?” I asked.

The bartender shrugged. “A couple times per week if we’re lucky. He works construction. Went to Shepherdstown College across the river for a year for music, but got married and dropped out. His wife gets irritated if he’s out here too many evenings.”

I got up and walked over to the guy. “Are you Bob Burrows?” I asked.

He looked at me, clearly noting I was not one of the regulars, or even a local in this small town. “Yes.”

“I’m a private investigator out of Hagerstown,” I told him. “I’m doing surveillance in a divorce case. I just wanted to let you know that your wife is fucking the propane delivery guy. His wife hired me to get proof after she found some naked pictures of your wife on his phone. You seem like a nice guy, and I just thought you ought to know.”

I never saw a man scramble up his guitar and case so fast in his life. He raced out the door and a few moments later a truck roared out of the parking lot. His wife probably was cheating on him. Loser was so hung up on what could have been that he can’t have been very present in their relationship.

I turned around to see the patrons staring at me. Even the four football watching guys had torn their gazes from the television to look at me with their mouths open.

“You wanna play darts?” a short wiry guy asked me.

Althean was still nowhere nearby so I played some darts and ordered the hot wings that were on special.

The hot wings were good, but they didn’t improve my dart game. I finally gave up and started tossing darts into the various decorations on the wall holding the dart board. My favorite was in the nose of the mounted deer head. It was very amusing to see a lovely cluster imbedded in the deer’s left nostril. The patrons and bartender started to look at me warily. They probably were beginning to think they had been better off with the guitarist. Much to everyone’s relief, the bar finally announced last call. I’d filled the deer head and a painting of some military guy with dart holes, and was trying to convince one of the drunken guys to put a stalk of celery in his mouth in a William Tell–style feat of accuracy. The bartender managed to shoo us out the door before I impaled the guy.

Still no Althean. It was two in the morning and I was getting bored with walking the one street town. I could go to the all night Waffle House up the road, but I was worried it would be too far to get an accurate fix on my target if he arrived. Everything was closed in this town. Crossing the street, I made my way again to Burnside Bridge Road, where a small gas station occupied a corner.

The gas station had closed hours before, but there was a soda machine humming away outside the garage building. I only had change enough for one soda, so I used a small trickle of energy to dislodge the rest out of the machine and wasted some time shaking them up and pitching them against the gas pumps. The minimum wage attendant would get quite a shock when he opened in the morning and found the pumps sticky with dented soda cans strewn about.

Finally, I couldn’t take any more boredom. I texted Wyatt letting him know that I had decided not to leave anyway, and that I was in Sharpsburg vandalizing a gas station. I told him that he should come down and bring some beer so he could drink with me. Then we could pitch the bottles into the road.

Maybe I should just pick up Wyatt and go back to our houses. If I wasn’t allowed to kill Althean, then the whole thing was going to be pretty snoozeville. Although, I did want to watch and see what Gregory was going to do to him. I could learn a lot from that guy. Wyatt called back immediately.

“Sam? You’re really still here?” he asked in a hushed tone.

“Yeah. Why are you whispering? Where are you? What’s going on?” I asked, whispering back.

“Gregory wanted us both to leave, to go home and let him handle it, but Candy insisted she needed to stay. I think she wants to make sure it’s truly resolved before she goes back. I’m still here because I have the computer models, and I don’t have my truck so I don’t have a way back. We’re holed up at one of the werewolf houses off Burnside Bridge so Candy doesn’t get attacked separately again. Gregory has been gone for hours. He’s in a horrible mood. Seriously horrible mood.

“Sam, why didn’t you leave? What are you doing still here? You’re not safe, here. I don’t know what he’ll do if he knows you’re still here. He’s a sanctimonious jerk; I don't think he’s going to tolerate you living over here now that he knows about you. Plus, the mood he’s been in this evening, he’s liable to just kill you on sight. You really need to make yourself scarce.”

Sanctimonious was a good word. I had no idea Wyatt had that kind of vocabulary.

I didn’t know what I was doing, either. What was I trying to gain from this? Why didn’t I just scoop up Wyatt and go back to the house? Because I was a stupid idiot and couldn’t keep away from this damned angel. I needed to see him, needed to know who he really was inside. Candy wasn’t the only one who needed to see this through. I had to see if Gregory would deliver justice or just cover it up. I shouldn’t really give a shit, but I needed to know if the angel was a hypocrite, to know what his moral framework was, to know if he lived by the inflexible code which fractured our races so long ago.

“Where are you?” I asked Wyatt. “I just want to make sure you and Candy are safe. Don’t worry about me; I know what I’m doing.” Lie, lie, lie.

Wyatt told me the address, somewhere off Burnside Bridge Road. I told him to stay tight, and that I’d call him in a bit.

I went out again, casting around for Althean without success. Dreading what I was about to do, I drove to the outer portion of town, as far away from where Wyatt and Candy were as I could get and converted every cell of my being in a huge pop of noise. I hoped it was far enough away to not scare Althean, but close enough to jar Gregory’s exterminate instinct and bring him running.

It was barely a second later before something large and rock like flashed an inch from me and knocked me to the dirt.

I slid across the ground for about three feet. “Damnit, I just took a shower and put on clean clothes.”

“You!” the angel said. He closed his eyes, and then opened them again, as if I were an illusion that would disappear. “The guardian
saw
you cross. She told me she saw you go through the gate with her own eyes. How did you get back here?”

I wasn’t about to narc on the guardian. “I have mad skills,” I told him.

He looked at me blankly.

“I am a being with many diverse talents,” I explained. The guy really needed to work on his modern slang.

“I know, what ’mad skills’ means, I just don’t see what that has to do with anything,” he said. “Why? Why did you come back? I go against the council decree that I should kill you on sight, then actually allow you to freely return home and you not only come back to this realm, but you come here and bring yourself to my notice less than twenty four hours from when I let you go.”