Chapter Seven
B
unny clutched the bag of junk food to her chest and hurried out to the pink Caddy. The pavement of the parking lot blistered her bare feet, but she hardly noticed. Stuck in the car with Trish Trash Russell for the better part of an hour? Somebody shoot her. Please. Things couldn’t get much worse.
She pulled the bag of Skittles, the Hot Tamales, and the partially emptied bottle of Dr Pepper out of the sack and deposited the rest on the floorboard within easy reach. If she was going to do this, it would have to be under the influence of sugar.
She climbed into the car, wadded her dress up around her thighs, and jammed the soft drink bottle between her legs. Tearing a hole in one corner of the Skittles bag, she poured a third of the contents into her mouth and chewed. The sugar euphoria took hold. She closed her eyes and concentrated. She could do this.
The car door opened and Trish slid into the passenger side seat in a cloud of chili dog and onion funk. Good thing the windows were down or Bunny might have hurled. She took a hearty slug of Dr Pepper and scarfed down some more Skittles.
I think I can, I think I can, I think I can,
she chanted mentally.
“Ooh, this is going to be so much
fun,
” Trish crooned. She took a bottle of wine out of the plastic sack and set it on the seat. “Just like old times.”
“Old times?” Bunny cranked the car and pulled back onto the road. “What ‘old times’ are you talking about? The time you stuck sardines in my locker or the time you announced over the loud speaker during cheerleader tryouts that my favorite hobbies were catching farts in a jar and giving Principal Chambliss blowjobs during study hall?”
“My, you were an industrious little girl.”
“I didn’t
do
those things. You lied!”
“I did?” Trish took a huge bite out of a chili dog. “Oh, well, water under the bridge.”
“Have to be a mighty big bridge,” Bunny muttered.
She kept the windows down because of the smell. Her beautiful upsweep hairdo was toast by now anyway. Trish’s highlighted tresses whipped around in the wind from the open windows, but she seemed oblivious to anything but her chili dog.
Bunny shuddered. She didn’t know which was worse, the greasy, burned smell of the hot dog or the little grunting noises of enjoyment Trish made as she ate it.
Trish finished off the first chili dog and unwrapped the second one. Setting the foil wrapper in her lap, she opened her purse and fished inside it. “Ah, here they are,” she said, brandishing a bag of M&Ms.
She ripped open the package and sprinkled the multicolored candy on top of the waxy smear of melted cheese.
Bunny’s stomach lurched again. Gross. She eased the accelerator down a notch. The faster she got to Foley and ditched Trish the better. They sped through the green countryside, passing the occasional house and seedy looking gas station. A metal sign said
Bay Minette 8 Miles.
Trish waved the M&Ms sandwich in Bunny’s direction. “Wanna bite?”
“Uh, no thanks.” She gave her passenger a sideways glance. Trish’s sunglasses moved up and down on the bridge of her nose as she munched. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anyone eat a chocolate chili cheese dog before.”
“Really? I like to mix my pleasures, in spite of the sometimes unpleasant consequences.”
“Consequences?”
“Broken bones, cirrhosis, venereal disease, heart attack.” Trish shoved the last of the bun in her mouth. Unscrewing the bottle of strawberry wine, she drained half of it in one swallow and belched. “Ooh, and heartburn. Mustn’t forget that one. That’s the trouble with humans.” Her voice deepened to a harsh bass. “Your bodies wear out too quickly. It’s a nuisance, really, having to constantly change from one carcass to another.”
“Holy shit!” Bunny shrieked, swerving across the yellow line and back again.
She shot a startled look at her passenger. Trish’s sunglasses were gone and her eyes were dark pools of purple gunk. As Bunny watched in horror, Trish’s face distorted and the hands gripping the wine bottle grew twisted and gnarled. Wicked claws sprouted at the end of the demon’s grotesque fingers.
The thing on the other side of the car gave her an evil grin. “What’s the matter little rabbit, afraid of the Boogie Man?”
“Oh, God, you’re not Trish. You’re a demon!”
The Trish-thing chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that crawled up Bunny’s spine and paralyzed her with fear. Holding the bottle in a two-fisted grip, the demon took another long swallow of wine and wiped its mouth with the back of one misshapen, warty hand. “Not the brightest star in the universe, are you? But I doubt it’s your intellect that attracted the Dalvahni. I can’t say as I blame him.” The demon trailed a crooked, black nail down Bunny’s bare arm. “You are a delicious little thing.”
“Don’t touch me,” Bunny cried, shrinking against the driver’s door.
The car careened over the yellow line again and she jerked it back into the right lane. She stared straight ahead, willing her frozen brain to think. What should she do? Drive faster? Slower? Slam on the brakes and throw herself out of the car?
No, couldn’t do that. She might hurt the baby.
The demon went on talking in that deep, horrible voice. “I thought you were succulent the first time I saw you.” The monster took another pull on the wine bottle. “But now you’re even more delicious. Sweet and creamy, my very own Bunny Shake.”
“The first time you saw me? Wait, you’re the demon that attacked me at the library?”
“Right again, little rabbit.” The demon tossed the empty wine bottle out the window and broke open the second one. “Thought I killed you, to tell you the truth. You must be tougher than you look.”
No, not tougher. Rafe saved her, thank God. But he wasn’t here to save her now. And that was her fault for running away.
Bunny kept driving. She didn’t know what else to do. She was too terrified to think. If she jumped out of the car and ran, the thing would probably catch her. Her only chance was to keep talking, to keep
it
talking, and hope it would buy her some time until she could think of something to do.
“What do you want?” she asked, clutching the wheel with terror-stiff hands.
“I’m going to use you to trap the Dalvahni. Then I’m going to kill him and drain him dry of his powers. When I finish with him, I’m going to feast on that sweet little meat sack you call a body.”
Use her to hurt Rafe? Not no, but
hell
no. Maybe it was hormones or maybe her sugar high had worn off, but Bunny was no longer afraid.
She was pissed.
“Oh yeah?” she said. “I got your meat sack right here, bitch.”
Taking her right foot off the accelerator, she lifted her leg and executed a perfect side kick over the center console. Bunny had never been particularly athletic, but this side kick was a thing of beauty. Jackie Chan couldn’t have done better.
Wham!
Her right foot connected with Trish with the force of a battering ram. The blow took the passenger door off its hinges and knocked the demon out of the car.
“Whoo hoo,” Bunny shouted, pumping her fists in the air. “That’s what I’m talking about!”
Exhilaration coursed through her veins. She felt strong and invincible. No more Miss Nice Bunny.
She was Bunny to the max, Bunny with an attitude.
She was freaking Super Bunny.
She looked in the rearview mirror. The demon rolled down the side of the highway and came to rest in a grassy ditch.
Bunny slowed the car. “Crap.”
Trish might be a brass-plated bitch, but she didn’t ask for this. Bunny couldn’t in good conscience drive off and leave her on the side of the road without making sure she wasn’t hurt. That would be rude, especially if the demon was gone.
And even if it wasn’t, she still had to check. It was the right thing to do.
Shoot a monkey.
She put the car in reverse. The broken door dragged in the dirt as she backed up. “You all right, Trish?”
Trish groaned and sat up. She’d lost her sandals, her hair looked like it had been attacked by a rabid Flobee and her clothes were covered in dirt and grass stains. But nothing seemed to be broken. A pair of wobbly purple eyes focused on Bunny with an obvious effort. Recognition dawned. The fiend roared, buffeting Bunny with a gale force wind that reeked of onions and canned chili.
“Whew.” Bunny waved her hand in front of her face. “I’m taking that as a yes.”
Trish’s jaw expanded grotesquely. A long, black tongue as thick as a man’s arm whipped out of her mouth and snaked through the air toward Bunny.
Uh oh. Something had its demonic panties in a bunch. She’d done the polite thing. She asked, “You all right, bitch?” and Trish had answered. The rules of Bitch Etiquette had been satisfied.
Bunny gunned it. The damaged passenger door swung crazily on its busted hinges. With a loud metallic screech, the demon snagged the broken door with its tongue and ripped it off the Caddy.
Yeow.
Audrey was going to have a kitten when she saw her car.
Coop was singing along with the musical device called a radio.
Git your dawgs off my porch.
Git your Chevy out my drive.
Git your Redman off my table,
’Cause I done found out you lied.
Rafe gritted his teeth. His head pounded with images of Bunny. Bunny trapped and at the mercy of the djegrali, Bunny broken and bleeding, the life’s blood pouring out of her while he sat confined in this wheeled conveyance with her idiot brother. Granted, the vehicles of today were faster than the horse and carriage, the mode of transport used by humans the last time he had hunted on Earth. And the roads were vastly improved. But their progress seemed agonizingly slow.
His muscles tightened with repressed rage. He wanted to kill someone or something, maybe Coop if he did not shut up.
He scowled and waved his hand at the radio, and the annoying racket Cooper called “music” abruptly ceased.
“Hey!” Coop fiddled with the noise maker. “The radio quit working. Damn. I like that song.”
He swerved the truck off the road and pulled up to a metal box in front of a single story building.
Rafe glared at Coop. “Why are we stopping?”
“We need gas. Only got a quarter of a tank. I wasn’t planning on driving to Gulf Shores.”
“I see.” Rafe tightened his hold on his temper. He was a warrior. A warrior remained calm and rational. This delay could not be helped. Why then did he feel so murderous and on edge? “I will pay for your fuel.”
“Nah, man, don’t worry about it.”
Rafe removed a leather pouch from his jacket pocket and handed Cooper a wad of bills. “I insist.”
Coop counted the money. He looked up, his expression incredulous. “Are you crazy? There must be a thousand bucks here.”
“If that is not sufficient—”
Coop shoved the money back at Rafe. “Sufficient? It’s way too much.”
“It is not too much,” Rafe said stiffly. “I would recompense you for the use of your truck.”
“Recompense? Now there’s a twenty-five dollar word if ever I heard one. No wonder Bunny fell in love with you. Smart as a whip, my baby sister, but I can’t understand half of what she says. Always got her nose in a book. Course, she
is
a librarian.”
Rafe tried again. “At least allow me to pay for the fuel.”
Coop unhooked a long, black tube from the metal box and stuck one end of it in a hole in the truck. Rafe stared at the contraption. What was it called? Ah yes, a gas pump.
“Nope,” Coop said. “You’re family now. Your money don’t spend with me.”
A curious sense of warmth stirred in Rafe’s chest. “Family?”
“Sure. You married my baby sister. That makes you family. That is, if you can patch things up with Bunny. What’d you do to make her so all-fired mad, anyhow?”
“I told her the truth about me.”
“Not your first lap around the racetrack, huh?” Coop rolled his eyes. “No wonder she’s pissed. It’s your wedding day. She wants butterflies and roses and all that romantic shit. She don’t want the
truth.
Listen, I been married nearly fifteen years. If in doubt, apologize, even if you got no idea what you did wrong. Even if you didn’t
do
anything wrong, say you’re sorry. It’ll get your nuts out of the blender.”
Rafe processed this bit of information. “I will endeavor to remember that.”
“Good. Tell you what, Mr. Money Bags, why don’t you go inside the store and get me a bag of pork skins and a Co-cola. I’m thirsty.”
“Very well,” Rafe said.
He strode into the low building. As soon as he stepped inside he detected Bunny’s delicate floral scent and the unmistakable stench of the djegrali. He opened his senses. Gone, both of them; whether together or separately, he could not tell.