The Book of Bart Page 5

  “So high school is―”

  “Literally Hell on Earth. Because it’s overrun by demons.” I started the car. “And they would sniff out your purity and innocence from a mile away.”

  “Did you see any demons in the house?”

  “No. Believe it or not, I don’t know every single demon in Hell.” And it wasn’t like they wore signs announcing their presence.

  The next day, I put on a Brooks Brothers charcoal suit and went to Casey’s high school after classes ended. The ID in his wallet said he went to Frady-McNeely Christian Academy. I smirked. This kid never stood a chance. Public schools naturally sucked―demons didn’t need to go there to make the experience worse, though they did anyway. The big boys came to play at private schools, since they provided more bang for the buck. Kids who came from money were more likely to have a greater influence later on in life, making them perfect targets for Hell’s finest.

  Once it seemed like most of the students left, I casually walked inside, only to be greeted by cream-colored cinder blocks on all sides. The evil bounced off the walls like a rubber ball. It felt like a home away from home. Except at home, I at least knew my way around.

  It took twenty friggin’ minutes to find Miss Evans’s classroom, and that was because I broke down and asked a janitor for directions.

  Posters of famous authors like Faulkner, Fitzgerald, Hemingway, and, for some reason, John Grisham hung on the walls. She sat at her desk, grading papers.

  I knocked softly on the open door. “Miss Evans?”

  Miss Evans looked up from her papers and smiled. She had her hair up in a messy bun and wore black, thick-rimmed glasses. I normally didn’t go for the experienced type, but a part of me very much wanted to throw her up against Hemingway’s poster and show the old man how we did things here in the 919.

  She pulled off her glasses. “Well, hello there. I didn’t think you went to school here. I think I’d recognize someone who roamed these halls in a designer suit.”

  I smiled. It’s always a pleasure when someone appreciates fine tailoring. “What is it they say? Dress for the job you want? Or in my case, the grade you want.”

  “That’s adorable,” she said with a laugh. “So, how can I help you?”

  I sat down in front of her desk. Being this close to her made my senses go into overload. She smelled of waterfalls. I wanted to take her and leave her in ruin, begging for more.

  “I wanted to talk about Casey.”

  She leaned back in her chair. Her breasts pushed out against her tight shirt. Even demons as appealing as me didn’t command this much sex appeal.

  “I’m not sure how much I can help. I was only his teacher.”

  “Well, you’d be surprised. The main thing is, I’m pretty sure he was seeing somebody, but we can’t seem to figure out who. Maybe you’ve heard something? I know kids like to talk.”

  Demons, too. We loved to gossip. The worse the rumor, the better.

  “Kids do like to talk, which is why I’m surprised you haven’t heard anything, being a kid yourself,” she said in a knowing tone of voice.

  I gulped. Did she suspect that underneath this virile exterior lay a millennia-old demon? “True, but I don’t go to this school. Have you heard anything?”

  Miss Evans held her hands behind her head and leaned back, pushing her chest out even farther. I tried not to stare, but who was I kidding? This woman had me hooked. One day, the two of us would make beautiful music together.

  “Why so interested in Casey’s love life? If you were a good friend of his, I’d imagine he’d have told you.”

  I smiled. Not just a pretty face on this one. “Just kind of doing the family a favor. They heard rumors, and if true, they wanted to talk to the girl, get to know her a little. That kind of thing.”

  Miss Evans set her hands on her desk and leaned forward. The shirt hugged her body. “That’s very sweet of you…”

  “Bartholomew.” I blurted my name out like a horny teenager. I resisted the urge to cover my mouth with my hand and vomit out my shame. How could I let my libido get this out of control?

  “Bartholomew,” she said. “Such a strong name. I’m sorry, I haven’t heard anything. Maybe you could give me your phone number, in case I do? Or should I just call the family?”

  My face felt hot. Which didn’t happen. Ever. I’m from Hell—my face felt hot to begin with. I loosened my tie and unbuttoned the top button on my shirt.

  Miss Evans stood and walked in front of me, her hips swaying back and forth as if they moved to the beat of a drum. “You okay? You look like you’re about to burst into flames.”

  I laughed nervously. “I might be. I’m sorry. I don’t usually get flustered like this. It’s just kind of an awkward thing to talk about, I guess.”

  Miss Evans smiled and licked her lips. Oh, baby. She reached back across her desk, giving me a side view of her wonderful breasts. This woman knew exactly how to work it. She handed me her phone.

  “Give me your number, so I can call if I hear anything, or need the name of a good tailor.” She gave a small, delicate laugh, as if she’d checkmated me.

  My hand shook as I keyed in my number.

  “Thank you.” She took the phone from me. “I hope I get to speak to you again.”

  “Yes. Me too.”

  I forced myself to stand, hoping she wouldn’t see my, erm, excitement. I said goodbye and rushed out of the room.

  Being so close to Miss Evans had me at the boiling point. A girl wearing a cheerleader outfit with blonde hair and an athletic body walked toward me. Our eyes locked.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Hey,” she said, her eyes narrowing.

  Poor girl. I’d hoped all the students had gone home already, but I’d forgotten kids participated in a sickening amount of afterschool activities to make sure those transcripts made them look like saints so they could get into a good school and begin the long march toward mediocrity.

  I stopped in front of the cheerleader. Her shoulders moved up and down when she breathed. I took her in my arms and kissed her, trying to release some of my pent-up tension. Our tongues explored each other. She ran her fingers through my hair and pulled me close. I’d missed that.

  Somebody grabbed my shoulder from behind and yanked me away from the girl, slamming my face into a locker. I tried to keep my cool and not let my horns come out. This asshole had no idea who he was dealing with.

  “What the Hell are you doing?” a guy said behind me. “That’s my girlfriend.”

  “Tyler,” the cheerleader said. “Please, Remember what happened last time. You don’t want to get kicked off the team.”

  “Yeah, Tyler,” I said. “Or you might get so hurt you couldn’t play, oh, ever again.”

  Tyler smashed me into the locker again. “Think I’m afraid of some homo in a suit?”

  “Homo? Did you not see what I was just doing?”

  I used my supernatural speed to break free from his grip and whip around before Tyler had a chance to inflict more damage. He hesitated for a moment, blinking as if he didn’t believe I’d moved so fast. I grabbed his throat and hoisted him a good foot off the floor, then drove his back into the lockers on the opposite side of the hallway.

  This felt more like it. Holding some kid’s life in my hands. I’d missed this rush of power.

  “I do so love it when the tough ones turn out to be anything but,” I said. Tyler struggled to break free. He made a sick, gagging noise in his throat. Hopefully he wouldn’t pass out before I finished speaking. “Not much fun when you’re not the biggest, baddest guy on the block anymore, is it?”

  “You should know,” a guy behind me said.

  I lowered Tyler to the floor, and then turned around. The two mongoloids from yesterday loomed in the hallway. They looked so angry, I wondered if smoke would rise from their bodies. “Thing One and Thing Two. How great to see you two again.”

  Thing One grabbed my tie, pulling it out of my jacket and toward him. �
��Messing with us is one thing. But messing with our quarterback? We’re going to fuck you up, man.”

  I laughed. “I’m scared. Really. Terrified beyond belief.” I yanked my tie out of his hands and tucked it back inside my jacket. “This tie cost two hundred dollars, so have some respect, will you? Some of us have taste in clothing.”

  Thing Two punched me in the stomach. I acted hurt for a couple of seconds, bending over and moaning, then I stood up and stretched. It had the desired effect of confusing them.

  “That tickled,” I said.

  Both Things moved in, fists raised. I tried to contain my excitement.

  “Clayton, Darrel, leave him alone,” Tyler said. “This one isn’t worth it.”

  He moved between us, creating some breathing room.

  “Sure I am,” I said.

  “Tyler’s right,” the cheerleader said. “Leave him alone.”

  “This gay boy needs to be taught a lesson,” Darrel said, pointing at me.

  I rolled my eyes. “Again with the homophobia. What is it with you all? Quick bit of information. There’s nothing wrong with being homosexual.” I straightened my tie. “We just made you think there was.”

  Clayton tried to push past Tyler, but the quarterback held him off.

  I waved to him. “You boys keep your buttholes bleached, you hear?” I left the three of them alone with their anger, but stopped at the cheerleader. “You… are an absolute heartbreaker.”

  “I know,” she said, her eyes lingering on my lips.

  I winked as I walked away from the scene, reveling in the train wreck of hormones and frustration I’d created. I lit a cigarette before throwing open the front door and heading for my Mercedes. Some kid stood by the car, his back to me. He had a silver hoodie covering his head. Little shit looked like he was breaking into my baby.

  “You won’t find any Katy Perry CDs in there,” I said. “So move along.”

  I stopped directly behind the kid, who ignored me. Bad idea. I had no problem snapping his neck, especially at this moment. “Last chance. Step away from the car or―”

  The kid turned around, then spat holy water in my face.

  The asshole.

  y face burned as the holy water tore through my flesh like acid, revealing my true form underneath. The scaly, monstrous one hardened by several millennia living in the fires of Hell.

  “You son of a―”

  The kid kicked my feet out from under me, knocking me to the ground. If my melting face hadn’t already ruined my suit, being smeared over the pavement certainly would. I wanted to scream, but I refused to give my attacker the satisfaction. He bound my hands with plastic cuffs, took the car keys from my pocket, then popped the trunk.

  “Unholy heathen,” the boy snarled as he yanked me to my feet.

  I wanted to say something witty in return, but my face hurt too much, throbbing like an exposed nerve. He pushed me into the trunk, and slammed the lid.

  The engine kicked over and the momentum of the car shoved me against the side as the boy began driving. His jerky steering hurt more than my dissolving skin. This nincompoop had no idea how to handle a powerful luxury vehicle like my baby. Whatever heart I had would be destroyed if he wrecked it.

  After a few minutes, my face stopped melting and the pain died down enough so that I could think clearly. I pulled my hands apart, breaking the cuffs. I wanted to tear through the back seats and remove my captor’s head from his body, but decided against it. My assailant’s life would be snuffed out soon enough; my Benz would last forever.

  My cell phone rang. I fished it out of my pocket. “Oh. Hi, Sam,” I said.

  “Hey. How did everything go at the school?”

  “Swimmingly. I learned absolutely nothing, then got holy water spit in my face. Now I’m locked in my trunk while some ne’er-do-well is driving me somewhere, probably so he can finish what he started without anybody seeing.”

  Sam gasped. “Heavens, no.”

  I rolled my eyes. Drama queen.

  “Do you know where you’re going?”

  I stuck my finger in my mouth like a practicing bulimic. I’d thought her smarter than that.

  “Oh, sure, let me pop my head out of the trunk and take a look.” I shook my head. “Are you crazy? Of course I don’t know.”

  “Sorry. Can’t you just, you know, tear yourself free?”

  “You’re insane if you think I’m hurting my baby.”

  “Okay, okay. There’s an app on your phone called Find My Friends. Turn it on and I can follow you.”

  Say what?

  “That’s a bit Big Brother-ish, don’t you think?” George Orwell had to be turning over in his grave.

  “Do you want to get sent back to Hell by this person?”

  I stuck out my lips. “Not really. He spit holy water in my face like I’m common street trash. It’s insulting.”

  “Then turn it on. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  I turned on the app and watched as an overhead view of the Beltline appeared on my phone. My blue dot moved along with the map. I had no clue where we were going. After a minute of watching the dot move, I got bored and put the phone back in my pocket. I’d know our destination soon enough.

  After a few more minutes of driving, I felt the car make a sharp turn and pull to a stop. A tennis shoe slid into my face. I let my nails sharpen and wiggled around until I got myself into a good position to lunge at this kid and rip his head clean off.

  The trunk popped open. I flew out, arms extended, ready to grab the sneaky little shit by the throat.

  He wasn’t there. I landed face first on the asphalt of an empty parking lot. I sprang to my feet and looked around for him. No way that clown disappeared into thin air. Unless…

  I whipped around and found a sword pointed at my chest. I raised my hands and inspected the sword. Its onion-shaped pommel looked familiar.

  “You know this weapon, don’t you?” the kid asked. “Foul creature.”

  I shrugged. “Seen one sword pointed at you, seen them all.”

  He had a messy mop-top of brown hair, deep brown eyes, and still looked to be growing into his frame. He placed the tip of the sword against my throat, making my flesh burn.

  He sneered. “Built from steel blessed by Pope Gregory the Thirteenth in 1577. The sword’s been in my family for five generations. It passed to me fifteen years ago, when my father was killed.”

  “Seeing how you turned out, he must’ve been a real gem.”

  He pressed the blade deeper into my neck. The cold steel made my skin bubble.

  “Do you think this is the best time to run your mouth?”

  “I can go either way.”

  He applied more pressure to the sword.

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “I’m sure he was a wonderful human being.”

  Hidden sarcasm. Wonderful human beings existed only in people’s imaginations. Even Mother Teresa had more than a few skeletons in her closet.

  “You sure you don’t recognize the sword? My father tried to kill you with it. His name was Joshua Rivers. Senior.”

  Now I remembered. Pops hunted me for several months in 1997 while I tried to throw a wrench into the United Kingdom’s transfer of Hong Kong to China. Thanks to him, I’d failed. Even the best of plans somehow managed to have a monkey wrench thrown in them. In 1999, I caught up to him in Portland, Oregon where he’d tried to impale me. I snapped his arm off and plunged the sword through his heart. Technically, he’d stabbed himself, because his arm still held the sword. Semantics, I know.

  “Ah. I think I remember it. Demon hunters aren’t supposed to hold grudges, are they, Junior? Makes it too easy for emotion to cloud their judgment.” His father wouldn’t have made that kind of mistake.

  Josh smiled. “There are always exceptions.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Yes, there are.”

  I was on a mission from God. The sword hadn’t yet caused as much damage as it normally would, so I figured I might as well try my l
uck.

  I swallowed my apprehension and grabbed the weapon. Pain seared my skin, but I didn’t burst into flames, which is what should’ve happened. I yanked the blade out of his fist, then flipped it in the air. I grabbed the thing by the handle in mid-air. By the time I could pierce Junior’s chest with it, he had a bottle of holy water ready to throw at me.

  Tires screeched to a halt next to us. Sam emerged from another crap car, this time a Hyundai. She’d actually managed to do worse than a Jetta. Heaven really needed a bigger budget.

  “Stop,” she shouted.

  Junior glanced at her and froze. I didn’t bother to look. Nobody spat holy water in my face and lived to brag about it. I slapped the bottle out of his hand and the glass smashed on the ground. Little Junior’s eyes went wide with fear as I raised the sword, ready to take the turd’s head off.

  “Do it, you Hell beast.” Junior spat on my shoes. “Go on. Kill a kid.”

  I glanced at the glistening saliva on my shoes. Unbelievable.

  “These are New & Lingwood. You don’t spit on five-hundred-dollar shoes, you little shit.” My horns tried to poke through my forehead.

  “Bartholomew, don’t,” Sam cried. “You know what will happen if you do.”

  I forced myself to stop. She was right.

  “Murder is a mortal sin,” Sam said. “You commit a mortal sin and it’s a one way ticket to the Ninth Circle.”

  Just like everything else that’s fun.

  I sighed. This parole, or gig, or whatever, sapped the fun out of everything. I grunted and threw the sword across the parking lot. It lodged in a light pole.

  “This isn’t over,” Junior said.

  I balled my hands into fists. “How did you find me?”

  “You have your sources, I have mine.”

  Sam moved over by my side. Her eyes went wide. She seemed terrified by the scales she could see underneath my molten face. “What happened?”

  “Holy water.”

  “He got the drop on you?”

  “You bet I did,” Josh said.

  I kicked at the ground. “I’d rather not talk about that.”