The Book of Bart Read online

  “Not happening,” I said.

  Powell finished off his wine in one giant gulp. “Just remember. You chose this.”

  He nodded at his henchmen. Their chests heaved up and down as they drew in huge breaths. The pair grew in size, as if they inflated themselves. What on Earth were they? Their shirts began to stretch and tear. Their skin went from pale white to deathly gray. The bowties ripped in half, falling to the floor.

  “Um, Bartholomew,” Sam said.

  “Don’t look at me.”

  As the henchmen’s eyes glazed over, I tried to figure out their origin. Voodoo had zombies, Christianity had us and those silly angels, ancient Greece had the Olympians, Zoroastrianism the Amesha Spenta, Sumerians the Annunaki, but these guys? Who knew? Maybe they came from another dimension, but the possibility of cross-dimensional mythological creatures would’ve been too complicated to think about, even if my horns were still attached. Their bodies got so large the shirts ripped right off, breaking my train of thought. They destroyed my kitchen island with one flick of their wrists. One less obstacle between us and them. And one more thing for me to fix in this blessed place.

  “They’re like gray Hulks,” Josh said.

  The wood, silverware, and everything else in the island flew at us. Small pieces of wood lodged in my chest. Sam and Josh shielded their faces with their arms, which were covered with splinters. I pulled a fork out of my shoulder, the tines drenched in black blood.

  Sam’s hands lit up as she used the Hand of God. The light surrounded the three of them, but nothing happened. They didn’t go to Purgatory. She thrust her arms forward. The light surged forward, throwing the henchmen and Powell back against the kitchen counters, smashing the wood and granite to pieces. If this roughhousing went on much longer, my apartment would be in as bad a shape as Sweet Claudette.

  Josh pulled Quincy’s knife out from under his shirt and flung it at the intruders. It flew straight into one of the henchmen’s eyes. We all stopped for a moment to see if it actually hurt the thing. The henchman wiggled the knife back and forth, trying to remove it as optic fluid leaked out of the socket. The knife finally came out, with the monster’s deflated eyeball attached to the end. Both the knife and the eye landed on the floor with a wooden, squishy thud.

  My water gun lay on the back of the couch. I stumbled over, grabbed it and aimed at the henchman’s eye socket. A stream of holy water flew across the condo, splashing all over his face.

  With the exception of water spilling out of the empty eye socket, nothing happened.

  Of course the holy water didn’t do anything. Since televangelists are able to use the perks of being associated with God without any strings attached, it would figure their henchmen had the same deal.

  Powell laughed. “Bart, Bart, Bart. Holy water only works on the damned, and to Heaven, we’re nothing more than simple, God-fearing creatures.”

  “Not anymore,” Sam said, sending another flash of light in his direction.

  The force of it sent the buttweasel through the kitchen wall and into my bedroom. So much for only needing a new carpet and renovations to the den. Now I’d have to remodel the whole friggin’ place. Or get a new one, which would be easier. The henchmen looked through the hole in my kitchen at Powell, who lay on my bed, out cold.

  “Boss?” the one with both eyes asked.

  With his back turned, I snuck up behind him. I glanced over at Josh and motioned for him to do the same with One-eyed Jack. One more step and I’d be within reach of the henchman’s head. Josh stopped to pick up his knife. Using his foot to keep the eye in place, he pulled the knife off. Josh, being Josh, used a little too much gusto, dinging it against the refrigerator and making just enough noise to catch the attention of the henchmen.

  The monster missing an eye smashed his hand across Josh’s face, knocking him several feet back. I lunged at the other one, nails extended. I dug my razor-sharp claws into the henchman’s neck. The flesh tore apart between my fingers. The thing’s throat gave way and I ripped it out. The gaping hole in the throat spewed black bile everywhere as the henchman fell to the floor, dead. I threw the mangled flesh at the other one and ran around behind him.

  I tried to wrap my hands around his neck and remove his head, but the thing proved too strong. He easily pulled one of my hands back, so I did the only other thing I could think of. I plucked out his other eye with two of my claws before he threw me off. The blind henchman stumbled around the kitchen, howling. He bumped against the window frame, holding his hands over his empty eye sockets.

  “Do it, Sam,” I said.

  Sam’s hands lit up, and the Hand of God pushed the henchman out the window. Considering the damage already done to the place, a smashed window didn’t matter at this point. It would’ve been like crying over a broken fingernail during the Apocalypse.

  Josh picked himself off the floor and joined us by the window in time to see the henchman revert to his human form.

  “Isn’t that going to raise a few alarms?” Josh asked. “Especially since it’s kind of obvious which window he came out of?”

  I shrugged. The henchman’s death did answer the question of whether or not to get a new residence. “This place is in Quincy’s name.”

  “There is a way we can kill two birds with one stone,” Sam said, nodding toward the bedroom where Powell remained down for the count.

  “You’ve never been more attractive to me than you are right now,” I cooed.

  “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she said.

  I dialed 9-1-1. The operator answered on the third ring. Not very responsive for an emergency phone number.

  “Yes, there are several men screaming at each other in my building. Sounds like a lover’s quarrel. I’m really scared. I tried to tune it out, but then… oh, I don’t even want to imagine what happened next.”

  “What happened next, sir?” the operator asked.

  “I heard a loud crash, then a thump on the sidewalk below. I hope they only threw a chair or something out the window. I don’t want to meddle, but they were interrupting my cartoons.”

  I gave the operator my address and we scooted across the street to watch the fireworks.

  “Maybe I should become a missionary in the Sudan or something,” I said. “Just disappear from everything. Maybe die of Ebola or the Hanta virus.”

  Sam smacked my arm. “Will you stop feeling sorry for yourself?”

  “No.”

  “Seriously,” Josh said. “It’s even getting on my nerves.”

  “Like that’s going to make me stop.”

  Thirty minutes later, the police carted Powell off in handcuffs on suspicion of double homicide. He screamed and shouted that he’d been framed, and that the Lord would clear his name.

  The silly goose. I’d teach him to mess with me.

  swallowed my self-pity about being hornless, or at least tried to by focusing on my anger. Few things drove a demon like anger. Except I wasn’t a demon anymore. Or was I? Maybe I could refer to myself as a rogue demon, beholden to no one. That actually sounded pretty sweet.

  I packed a suitcase full of clothes for school and grabbed my tux, which somehow survived the demolition of my place. I wanted to stay in a hotel, but Sam insisted I stay with her. Josh went home to ice his face, which had a baseball-sized bruise on it.

  “You want to sex me up, don’t you?” I asked, carrying my stuff up the stairs to her apartment. “That’s why you don’t want me to stay in a hotel.”

  She sighed. “Please. You weren’t even that good.”

  Ouch. I’d figured as much, since I’d been possessed at the time, but her words still hurt. “You did not just say what I think you said.”

  Sam crossed her arms. “In case you didn’t hear me, I’ll repeat. I said you weren’t. That. Good.”

  So much for that famed angelic compassion. What hurt worse, she had only Coach Mort to compare my performance to.

  “Well, it couldn’t have been that good for me either,
because I don’t remember it. So there.”

  “Of course you don’t. You were possessed.” Sam unlocked the door and walked in. She didn’t look the least bit amused by our conversation. From what I could gather, she hadn’t been all that amused when we slept together, either.

  “That’s beside the point,” I said as I entered her apartment.

  Sam tossed her keys on the coffee table. “Is it?”

  “Yes.” At least, I thought so. “You can’t hold being possessed against me. I demand a do-over.”

  Sam snorted. “Absolutely not. You know better than that.”

  I took in a deep breath of her vanilla candles. “I can’t have you going around telling people I’m terrible in the sack. Haven’t I suffered enough already?”

  Sam flipped on the lights in the den. “I’m sorry you lost your horns. I really am. But you’re not getting a do-over.”

  I set my suitcase down next to the couch. “I’m assuming I don’t get to sleep in your bed?”

  Sam shook her head. “You can make do with the couch.”

  “Wonderful.” So much for finding some kind of silver lining in this whole mess. No horns, no sex, no nothing. Just work. Give me an office, a beer belly, three kids, and I’m the average middle-aged male.

  The rest of the week passed without any drama, a more than welcome change. I even began the slow adjustment from being a “Hell-bound” demon to “rogue” demon. That change wouldn’t happen overnight, but maybe I’d survive this whole ordeal. Josh stayed home from school so nobody would ask any questions about the massive bruise on his face. Sam even made him promise to skip the Homecoming game Friday night so he could rest up for the dance on Saturday. If he’d been a real man, he would’ve ignored Sam and done what he wanted. Someone should’ve probably told him a girl wasn’t going to respect someone whose nose was up her ass, but that someone wouldn’t be me.

  I spoke to Jenny after school on Friday, asking if I needed to be with her at the announcement of the Homecoming King and Queen during halftime of the game that night.

  “Did you get nominated for Homecoming King?” she asked.

  “No.” I probably would have, if not for that rumor about me killing Casey. Stupid rumors.

  “Then clearly you’re not popular enough to be up there,” she said with a wry smile.

  “Clearly.” I would enjoy trying to get under her shirt tomorrow night. Maybe I’d even get inside her pants. One could only hope.

  Sam waved at me. Time to go. She wanted to bring Josh a milkshake from Cook-Out and check on him.

  “And see how he looks,” she said.

  “Admit it. You just don’t want to go to the dance with someone who has an alien growing out the side of his face.”

  She turned the car onto the main road outside of school.

  “You got me,” she said flatly.

  “You vain, vain girl. Would they approve of such behavior high up yonder?”

  “As opposed to going with you? I doubt they’d mind.”

  She picked up a couple of cheesecake milkshakes for Josh and herself. I abstained, choosing to smoke instead.

  “Please crack the window,” Sam said. “I don’t want this tasting like black lung.”

  “Why? It would probably improve the taste.”

  She glared at me. I gave in and cracked the window, exhaling my sweet, smoky nectar outside.

  When we got to Josh’s, I had the unbridled pleasure of knocking on the door, as Sam had a milkshake in each hand. Josh still looked like he had a purple monster trying to hump his jaw.

  “Oh wow.” Sam scrunched her face up. “How do you feel? Does it hurt to move?”

  Josh shrugged. “It hurts to live.”

  Truer words have never been spoken.

  Sam handed over his milkshake and took a seat next to him on the couch. She eyed the bruise with tenderness, like she’d instantly morphed into a protective den mother. I tried not to make a joke about her maternal instincts.

  “Sure you don’t want me there tonight?” Josh asked, wincing. “This mystery vixen could show up.” He looked over at me. “Can you even do this without your horns?”

  Sam spoke before I could open my mouth.

  “Bartholomew and I can handle it. You just rest.”

  I smiled and winked at Josh when he looked at me. “Yeah. We got it. You… rest.”

  “Just get better,” Sam said, placing her hand on his.

  Josh shot me a sideways glance, as if to say he’d won both the battle and the war because of Sam’s gesture. Whatever. I tapped my watch.

  “We need to go if we don’t want to be late, Sam.”

  I stood and smirked at Josh, who looked crestfallen.

  “Enjoy the milkshake,” I said.

  “Enjoy not being Hell-bound.”

  My chest sank. Dealing with this internally was one thing, but having it thrown in my face hurt my feelings, even if the kid did have a point. I really didn’t know how I would… perform without my horns.

  Sam and I arrived at the football field an hour before game time. Coach Mort paced around the parking lot, holding a clipboard. He saw Sam and made a “check” motion.

  “Looking like a million bucks,” Mort said with a twinkle in his eye. “I see you brought the boyfriend with you. What’s up, my man?”

  He held up his hand for me to high-five, but I gave him a look that told him to back off.

  “I’m not her boyfriend.”

  What a buffoon. Had Mort acted this stupid in high school? Sam must have been really naïve.

  “Okay man, that’s cool,” he said.

  “I’m going to have a smoke,” I said, leaving Sam alone with him. She probably didn’t want me to abandon her right then, but I also hadn’t wanted her to put her hand on Josh’s. The angel, and me too for that matter, needed to learn that actions have consequences. No matter how petty those actions might seem.

  “Don’t walk away so disappointed,” Lucifer called out to me. “Just because you lost your horns. Women lose their breasts to cancer every day, yet they fight on.”

  I turned to see him standing in Coach Mort’s spot. He even had the man’s gym coach outfit on.

  “Go on into the locker room, get changed and warmed up,” he said to Sam, patting her on the rear with the clipboard. She didn’t seem to notice Coach Mort’s transformation, or care about the sexist gesture. The big man had a knack for concealing himself from people. It was probably the greatest trick he ever pulled.

  “What do you want?” I pouted.

  “You know what I want.”

  “I don’t have it.”

  “You don’t have the Shard, you don’t have your horns… I bet you don’t have your dignity, either.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “What can you do?”

  Lucifer changed the subject. “So, how are things going with you and tight-ass? And by tight-ass, I mean she has a tight ass, yet at the same time is a tight-ass because of her affiliation with you-know-who. It’s a dual meaning.”

  Oh. Is it?

  “Great,” I said. “So happy you asked.”

  Lucifer took a step back. “Do I detect sarcasm?”

  I smiled. “From me? Never.”

  “Remember. I’m keeping an eye on you.”

  I held up two fingers to my eyes, then pointed them at Lucifer. “I’ll be sure to keep two on you.”

  “I hope you don’t fall flat on your face trying to strike out on your own.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Say what?” Coach Mort had returned. “Son, I don’t think I like the direction this conversation is going.”

  “Never mind,” I said, waving him off and walking away.

  I lit a cigarette as I walked around the school grounds. I didn’t want to be the first one into the stadium for the game. I could hear the shouts of the football teams warming up, but I had no desire to sit there and watch them. Plus, they didn’t allow smoking in the stands.

  Monica walke
d toward the gym wearing a bodysuit. Part of me wondered if she had any panties on underneath. I was sure she did, but that didn’t stop me from imagining otherwise.

  I flicked the cigarette and reached into my pocket for another. I looked up to see Nicholas, holding a cigarette between his fingers. I jumped back.

  “You and your dad both. Can’t you just text me or something?”

  Nicholas laughed under his breath, twirling the cigarette between his fingers.

  “You know we like to kick it old school. So you saw Dad? How is the old son of a bitch?”

  “Same,” I said.

  Nicholas held up the cigarette. “How long has it been since you had one of these?” he asked.

  “You literally just saw me smoking one.” Idiot.

  “Interesting.” Nicholas ran the cig under his nose, taking an audible whiff. “You just smoked a Red Circle?”

  My eyes flew open. Red Circle. I snatched it out of Nicholas’s hands. The cigarette smelled like all the worst parts of Hell rolled in smoking paper. Fantastic. I’d had one before, as a reward for helping Rome get sacked. I would’ve traded sex with a thousand virgins for a pack of those beauties.

  “By the gates of Hell, how did you get this?” I asked.

  Nicholas chuckled. “Dad has crates of them lying around.”

  He held up his Zippo, which had a peace sign on it, and lit the cigarette for me. I inhaled. Every molecule of my body buzzed with delight. A kitten prancing in a field couldn’t have felt better than I did at that moment.

  “Exquisite,” I said, exhaling through my nose.

  Nicholas held up an entire pack. I felt a slight bulge in my pants.

  “These are yours, if you can tell me when I can get my hands on the Shard.”

  I took another drag on the Red Circle. “Soon. Very soon. Trust me.”

  Nicholas’s light-hearted face turned cold. “I don’t trust you.”

  “Like I told you before. You aren’t the only interested party. By tomorrow night, your main competitor will be out of the way, and it will be all yours.”

  “Why not just give me the Shard and I’ll get rid of the other party myself?” Nicholas asked.