The Book of Bart Page 12

  “Apparently, she heard you spouting off about the whole thing in the cafeteria.” Monica sauntered up to me, then took firm hold of my privates with her hand. Being this close to me, the charm did its work. Her face turned a sickly white before she took a few steps back. “Big, bad Bartholomew. Snooping around, trying to keep people off your scent when all the while you killed Casey.” The color returned to her face. “You want to kill this mystery girl too, don’t you? Not that I have a problem with that. I’m just sad you didn’t include me in your little scheme.”

  Maybe I’d been spending too much time with Sam, but Monica’s audacity took me by surprise. Even more surprising, I didn’t flush the charm down the toilet and knock out a quickie with her.

  “Don’t you think killing Casey, then making it a point to ask about him is a bit… obvious? Give me some credit. I have been doing this demon thing a few millennia longer than you.” Monica became a demon shortly after a Roman Caesar had her executed for refusing to marry one of his older friends. In exchange for revenge, she became what she was now.

  “And yet you’re the one in the dog house.” Monica moved closer to me, then took one look at the charm. She stopped her advance. “Tell me how you killed Casey. Did you take your time? I love it when they take their time.”

  “I didn’t kill Casey. I don’t even know how that rumor got started. Wait… does Stacy have lunch the same time as me?”

  Monica arched her eyebrows. “I think so. I’ve seen her around in the cafeteria some.”

  The screeching chair. That must have been Stacy, running off to tell her friends a juicy bit of gossip. Freakin’ high school.

  “Interesting.”

  “Wait. So you really didn’t kill him?”

  I threw out my hands. “No. Don’t you think I’d be bragging right now if I had?”

  Monica sighed. She looked at herself in a mirror, fixing her hair. “Pity. I’d have told you who the girl is. Guess you’ll have to fulfill the terms of our agreement after all, you tease.”

  In that case. “Why didn’t you say so? I did kill him. I was only joking before.”

  Monica smirked as she straightened her hair. “Now I know you’re lying.”

  I pointed at the door. “Can I go now?”

  Monica reached into her purse and pulled out some lipstick. “You may.”

  I left before she could try to blame me for something else, like the Lincoln assassination. If I spent much more time with Monica, we were liable to fight, screw, or both. I hadn’t taken three steps out of the bathroom when a hand drenched in holy water wrapped around my neck.

  The hand belonged to Frady-McNeely’s star quarterback, Tyler Haxall.

  tried to fight off Tyler, who again had good old Clayton and Darrel at his side. He dragged me out into the parking lot. This at least reminded me to call Remy about the progress on a protective charm against these kinds of shenanigans.

  “You killed our friend,” Tyler snapped. “Payback time. We know what you are.”

  “Your kind isn’t welcome around here.” Clayton punched me in the stomach.

  I laughed. “That doesn’t hurt, you moron.”

  “Yeah, but this does.” Tyler grinned as his grip around my neck tightened.

  The smell of burnt flesh seared my nostrils.

  “Why’d you do it? Why’d you kill Casey?”

  “I didn’t. I don’t know where you heard that, but it’s not true.” I began choking. At least I had that vial of Sam’s super healing ointment in my jacket pocket.

  Tyler punched me in the face with his free hand. It felt like he’d dented my left cheek. He must have dosed both of them with holy water.

  “How do you know what I am?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Clayton said. “We know.”

  “Darrel, bring your car around.” Tyler pulled out a plastic water bottle, probably full of holy water, and tossed it to Thing Two. “Put that on one of the front tires. I want to show this damned thing what we do to douches who mess with us.” He grabbed my charm. “What the Hell are you wearing? One of your boyfriends give that to you?” He yanked it off and threw it across the parking lot.

  Great.

  Darrel ran to get his car. If they were dousing a tire in holy water, they must be planning on running me over. I’d normally survive that kind of thing, but a tire covered in holy water? That was a scary proposition.

  “Think about this for a second,” I said. “You don’t want to do this. You guys aren’t killers.”

  Tyler’s eyes narrowed. “Killer? The only killer is you. We’re just doing what the good Lord intended. Sending you right back to Hell where you belong.”

  I coughed up some nasty black bile. At least it got on Tyler’s hand and not my suit. My blood ran hot and had been known to burn human skin. Not as much as the acid blood in Alien, but it’d do the trick. Tyler flicked it off before any damage could be done.

  I had to think fast to get out of this mess.

  “I have a fake ID coming, I can buy you guys some alcohol,” I said. “Whatever you want. My treat.” The sniveling tone of my voice disgusted me. “Just name your price.”

  That’s the best you can do, Bartholomew?

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much difficulty coming up with a reason not to be destroyed. At the least, I hoped my awful idea would stall them until a good idea decided to make an appearance.

  Tyler and Clayton laughed. “We play football. All we have to do is snap our fingers and we get whatever we want,” Clayton said. “Girls, booze, drugs… you name it.”

  Tyler snapped his fingers. “And right now I want to see what happens when you run over a demon’s head with a car.”

  He grabbed the back of my neck and threw me down on the asphalt, right next to a cigarette butt.

  Idea.

  “Can I at least get a final smoke before you… you know?” I asked.

  Clayton chuckled. “Why not?”

  Tyler glanced up at his friend. “You do it. I’ll keep holding him down.”

  “Great. They’re in my jacket pocket.”

  The jacket pocket in the suit you just ruined, turd face.

  Clayton kneeled down and pulled out my pack of cigs. He tucked one in my mouth.

  “Light?” I asked.

  Tyler wrapped his fist around a chunk of my hair. I felt my scalp begin to rip. “Can’t you just light it with your fire and brimstone breath?”

  Have I breathed fire and brimstone so far? I haven’t? Well, then. You’re an idiot.

  “I’m not a dragon. So would you?”

  Tyler took the lighter out of my pocket and lit the cig. At least I’d go out smoking.

  Out the corner of my eye, I saw Darrel’s car pull up. Wonderful. They wanted to send me to Hell using a late model Nissan Altima. An Altima. How embarrassing.

  “Do either of you have a nicer car than that? I’d prefer to go out in style,” I said.

  “Nope,” Tyler said. “You’re not good enough for American.”

  I watched Tyler motion for Darrel to pull the car up. The front driver’s side tire came to a rest against my face, burning me with the holy water. I wished I had some sort of telekinetic or Jedi powers to call for help. Failing that, I settled on the next best thing.

  “Help!” I cried out as loud as I could. “Help me! Fire! Rape! Fire!”

  “Shut up,” Tyler said, punching my face as he held me down.

  “Please! Somebody! Fire! Help! There’s a kitten stuck in a tree!”

  Please let someone hear me.

  “You’re going to die, demon,” Tyler said, pushing down on my face with his hand.

  “Please! I’m a virgin! Damsel in distress! Get your fresh, juicy hot dogs!” I screamed so loud my throat started to feel scratchy. Although, the constant smoking probably didn’t help with that, either.

  “Hey, what are you doing over there?” a voice called out. I looked over and saw Kyle.

  “Kyle,” I shouted. “Help. Go
tell somebody on these assholes for me.”

  “Bartholomew?” he called out. “What are you doing?”

  “Get these meatheads off me.”

  More students emerged from the school to check out the commotion. Even Miss Evans came outside to investigate the hullabaloo.

  “Hey Ty. Man, let’s bolt,” Clayton said. “There’s too much heat.”

  “You lucky demon,” Tyler said, an inch from my face. “Next time you won’t be able to cry for help like a little bitch.”

  He jumped up and got into Darrel’s car, along with Clayton. The car sped away before anyone could tell who’d tried to end me. I sat up and dusted myself off. Thankfully, my suit didn’t look any worse for wear, so I quickly applied the healing ointment to my neck and pulled up the collar to hide whatever spots I’d missed.

  “Bartholomew?” Miss Evans asked, running a hand through my hair. “Are you okay? What happened?”

  Miss Evans wore a tight navy top that showed off just enough cleavage to let the world know she knew she had a fantastic rack. I hadn’t noticed how hot she looked earlier in class, but I did now. I wanted to take her then and there.

  “I’m fine. I left a book in the car and some undesirable accosted me. He knocked me down, called me names I’d rather not repeat, stuff like that.”

  Miss Evans patted my shoulders, getting more dirt and muck off. Just feeling her touch made me want to show her a Hell of a good time. “Well, it’s a good thing you’ve got such a powerful set of lungs on you, otherwise who knows what would have happened.”

  “Yeah. Sorry to cause such a stir.” So embarrassing. A demon crying out for help? Simply inexcusable. If anyone from down below knew what I’d done…

  “We’re just glad you’re okay,” Miss Evans said, giving me a hug.

  I wrapped my arms around her, making sure my fingers brushed the top part of her rear. Being so close to her felt intoxicating. I had to think of a naked, overweight nun with a massive, hairy mole on her face just to keep myself in check.

  Miss Evans released me and gave me a warm smile. “I think we should get back to class now, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  Sam rushed up to us. “What happened? You okay?”

  “Yeah. I’ll tell you about it later.”

  She pointed at my body. “Where’s your, um, thing?”

  I patted my crotch. “Still there.”

  “Your charm,” she said with a droll look on her face.

  I laid my hand on my chest. The charm wasn’t there. “In the parking lot somewhere.”

  Miss Evans said goodbye and walked back to school.

  I found the charm under a pickup truck and slid it over my head. I instantly felt at peace.

  “Who was it?” Sam asked. “The Black Cloud of Death?”

  “No. Tyler and the two Things.” I strolled past Sam and out of the parking lot, fuming.

  “At least you’re okay,” Sam called out from behind me.

  I didn’t answer. If not for the holy water, I could have easily handled myself with Tyler and the two Things. Someone tipped them off about my true nature, but I couldn’t worry about them right now. Their day would come. Nobody would believe them if they ran around telling people about me being a demon. No, the more pressing matter concerned that rumor about me killing Casey. That one could ruin everything. Monica wouldn’t rat out a fellow demon, but somebody else might have put the pieces together and spilled the beans.

  Jenny.

  I knew Jenny had Latin at the end of the day, so I moved as quickly as possible through the hallway in that direction. I found her talking to a friend of hers outside the room. Her friend saw me, did a double take, and quickly vamoosed. Smart girl.

  Jenny turned to me. “Before you say anything—”

  I grabbed her arm and pulled her into a corner of the commons area, where hopefully nobody would hear what I had to say.

  “You’re hurting me,” Jenny said, trying to wiggle free.

  “It’ll hurt a lot more if you lie to me right now.”

  “I didn’t tell anyone. I promise.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “The entire school thinks I’m a murderer. Care to explain how that little ditty got started?”

  Monica said Stacy Potter spread the rumor, but I needed to be sure.

  Jenny’s eyes went wide. “Not by me. I can’t believe you’d even accuse me of such a thing.”

  “I didn’t tell anybody else about it. I mention to you that I saw Casey die, then all of a sudden some of his football buddies try to run me over with their car. A bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

  I laid my fist against the cinder block wall and pushed. The white paint cracked from the pressure.

  Jenny leaned forward. “Is that what happened to you outside? Are you okay?”

  “Messed up my suit a little but otherwise, yes. I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

  “Good.” Jenny brushed past me, giving me a furious look, her face flushed with blood. “I can’t believe you would think I’d do something like that to you.”

  She shook her head and rounded the corner into the hallway.

  Okay, so maybe it was that Stacy girl from the cafeteria.

  Or maybe Josh was the guilty party. Only one way to find out…

  I looked all over school for that little shit. He had to be here somewhere.

  I walked past Kyle making out with some Goth-looking chick with dyed purple hair and an eyebrow ring. Her leather jacket topped off the “I hate you, dad” look she obviously aimed for.

  Good for him.

  At least he tried to sin. I’d have given him a high-five if he wasn’t still enjoying first base.

  I found Josh out by the bleachers, watching the football team practice.

  “Well, well, well,” I said, sitting down on the row of bleachers behind him.

  “I played linebacker in high school,” he said. “A headhunter. I loved it. If an opponent did anything to piss off our team, it was my job to retaliate against the offense.” He leaned back against the row behind him. “Break a finger in a pile, late hit the QB, whatever. Defend the team at all costs. Then high school ended. No more football. But I’m still a headhunter for the Knights Templar. Funny how some things stay the same, no matter how much changes.”

  “That’s great,” I said. “Very moving monologue. Am I to believe you’re still defending your team?”

  “I just want you to know I’ve stuck to my word. I heard about your run-in today. Sorry that happened, especially since I had nothing to do with it. Whatever problem I have with you, I promised I would wait until after we got the Shard of Gabriel, and I meant it. Particularly after saving my eye.”

  “Honor is such a turn-on.” It was high time for a cigarette. I lit up, offering the cig to Josh.

  “No thanks.”

  We sat in silence as I smoked a few more cigarettes. Tryouts should be over soon. Josh’s cell rang.

  “Hey,” he said softly, in that universal voice guys use when they’re talking to a girl they like. Josh sprang up. “I’ll be right there.”

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  Josh ran for the steps. “It’s Samantha. Something’s happened.”

  amantha sat on the floor outside the gym, clutching her knees to her chest and weeping. I couldn’t tell if she’d been physically hurt or not. She didn’t seem to be bleeding anywhere. At least she cried quietly and didn’t draw attention to herself.

  Josh rushed over to her, taking her in his arms. “What happened?” he asked. “Did somebody hurt you?”

  Okay, jerk, be the real gentleman here. See if I care. “Are you okay?”

  Sam nodded. “It was horrible.”

  I told you so.

  “What was?” Josh asked, rubbing her arm. “Tryouts? Did you get cut?”

  “No.” Sam shook her head. “That’s the worst part. I got in.”

  Hmm. I crossed my arms. “So what’s the problem? That’s what you wanted.”

&nbs
p; She looked me in the eyes, tears making her face glisten. “You were right. They are the most awful collection of monsters. All they want to do is torture and manipulate anything that’s in their way. And I have to be part of it now.”

  “You didn’t notice when you were a cheerleader before?” Josh asked.

  She shook her head. “No, why should I have?”

  Sam lowered her head again, a new stream of tears pouring down her cheeks.

  I had warned her about this. Sam’s breakdown had to be due, in part, to her trying to become an angel. For whatever reason, the transition sort of mutated a person’s DNA, making the individual want to do good. Some people are born with addiction in their genes. Angels are born with the desire to be good. As such, when surrounded by something as horrible as cheerleaders, that impulse ran up against a brick wall, which could be a bit… upsetting for the angel.

  “It gets worse,” she said, her voice cracking. “It gets so much worse.”

  “How’s that?” I asked, lighting another cigarette. “Should we get a doll so you can point to where the bad girls touched you?”

  Josh gave me a disgusted look. “Come on.”

  “It’s the coach,” Sam said. “He’s the reason I died.”

  I drove Sam’s crappy Hyundai back to her apartment. Inside, Josh continued doting over her while I ordered a pizza. Sam took some time to compose herself before getting into the story, as she apparently had to wade through years of conflicted emotions about the entire thing. She set a bottle of red wine on the kitchen counter.

  “Why do you have wine?” I asked. “That kind of seems like a no-no.”

  “It is the blood of Christ,” she said.

  Whatever. Wine is wine. I uncorked the bottle and poured its contents into the three wine glasses. Josh passed on his, stating he preferred beer. The heathen. I poured his wine into my glass. After Sam finished her wine, she dove into the story.

  Coach Mort was a senior at Samantha’s high school when she was a sophomore. Tall and athletic, all the girls wanted him.

  “Even the teachers noticed him,” Sam said.

  “I bet they did, the catty hos.”

  Sam glared at me. “Can you not joke right now?”