Grave Robber for Hire (13 page)

“
Noo.” I threw the only body part of mine not locked by Hell’s creatures, at his head. My cast cracked him on the skull. I swung it again, cracking the heinous shithead hard. He fell back, spun his head in a Carrie move, and inadvertently softened his grip.

I hurled myself backward with my broken arm extended to re-snapping point. Teeth grit, I grabbed the wooden bed frame behind me and clung. Fighting the pain, I h
oped the wood wasn’t cheap pine waiting to splinter. I had to remain in my own time. If I fell into another, I’d be gone. Not only could monster Clyde rape me and eat me chunk by bloody chunk, if I fell into 1875 I’d be stuck.

I didn’t do corsets, embroidery, or good posture.

Of course, I had to stay alive in 1875 first. And looking at the thing trying to haul my ass to him, living wasn’t going to be a massive concern.

Off to the side a huge man appeared.
Tyreal’s Conan ghost from Josey’s house. Suede vest flapping, he ran toward Clyde. Sword gripped in two hands, he swung a left right strike at Clyde’s throat. Clyde spun, gnashed his teeth, and spewed black mist at Conan.

Conan fell back, two handed his sword above his head and leaped, slashing toward Clyde.

Clyde screamed as the metal bit into his shoulder and lashed out a clawed hand. The long claws cut savagely into Conan’s bicep. Conan flipped, landed on his feet, spun, grinned and leaped back into the fight.

A bright gold flash burst all around us. I cringed, shunning the blinding light. A gold bolt smashed into Clyde’s shoulder and knocked Conan backward. Clyde jerked, gripped me harder. I showed my appreciation and screamed.

A fist girdled with a golden aura flashed across space and time and smashed into the side of Clyde’s head.

“Hit him again. Pound his brains.” Whatever you both are.

Clyde spun, releasing his grip on my wrist. Thick black blood gushed down my hand. Fierce blistering heat inched up my arm as if acid consumed my flesh.

Conan sideswiped Clyde’s legs from behind, knocking the monster to his knees. Blade raised, Conan swung aiming to behead.

A man shaped golden light leaped through the air and landed on Clyde, knocking him to the ground. The sword tumbled uselessly through the air and stuck into the earth.

Conan roared. He and the light man pounded Clyde. Clyde opened the maw of his mouth, black mist gushed from the cavity hitting the light field and Conan. The light crackled as if it were flames doused with a fire hose. Into the night spewed a mix of gold and black steam that stank of rotted flesh, bad eggs with a back note of shit. Lovely.

Glad they couldn’t bottle that smell, I struggled not to hark up my breakfast and stood, wanting to help my two would be saviors. But my snake anklets once more acted like my greatest buddies and rewound around my legs tight. My feet tingled and felt numb from lack of circulation. Golden man stood and kicked Clyde as Conan still pounded.

“Viggo?” Awesome. Vig was light man. Freaking weird, but awesome.

Vig yelled, “Pull out, Hayyel,” just as Conan and Clyde staggered to their feet and faced each other, ready for round three.

I waved at my feet with my mauled bleeding wrist. “I can’t I’m trapped—I’m trapped.” The snakes coiled tighter and started pulling down as if to drag me to the Earth’s center.

Vig grimaced, “Leeches.”

Still hanging onto the hotel’s bed frame, I dug my bloodied fingers under the snakes and pulled and ripped at their slimy skinned coils, trying to force a tiny gap to allow circulation and my escape. No matter how hard I fought, how desperately I clawed, I remained lashed in place.

Conan’s fist mashed Clyde’s face. Clyde kicked Viggo’s legs from under him. Vig crashed to the ground, his gold light puffing out in a gust. Clyde dropped and rolled out of Conan’s grip, blasted him with black mist, knocking him to the ground. Arm lifted with fist balled, Clyde pounded Vig’s head, again and again.

He gripped Vig’s hair,
hauled his head back and to the side, exposing his throat. Jagged toothed maw open, Clyde dripped black saliva.

“
Nooooo,” I screamed and twisted. “
Viggo
!”

Conan rolled for his sword.

Shark teeth hit Vig’s neck. A golden fireball scorched the air, the earth and their enmeshed bodies. Clyde rolled to the side, flames of gold and black licking at his skin. Vig stood and shook, shaking the flames from his body. His shirt was shredded, hanging in scorched strips. His trousers charred and smeared with smut.

Conan stood, his sword ready.

“Hayyel.” Vig’s voice sounded as ragged as I felt. Yet something in his and Conan’s eyes told me they enjoyed every moment of the brawl.
Men, ghosts, and guardians
.

Clyde no longer the monster thing, rolled to his side, and coughed hoarsely. He groaned. “I will get her. Now or in the future. She must be mine to set me free.”

He looked obscenely uncooked considering the fire ball he’d become. But if he planned on wearing that outfit again he should do a major rethink, unless he was considering taking up chimney sweeping.

Conan and his sword disappeared.

“Angel,” an anguished voice yelled. I felt a hard and abrupt tug. The snakes dug in, Vig spun, blasted the ground at my feet with light. In a quick snap of their lithe bodies, the snakes recoiled. Ankles free, I fell backwards, hit hard flesh, and felt arms wrap around me.

“Angel, you okay? I came as soon as I felt it.”

Tyreal. Shit, I’m demon contaminated. “My arm, don’t touch it. God, don’t touch it or me.” I seethed with evil. Fever pitched and rolled through my body, burning my insides with Hell’s own virus.

“Viggo saved me. Saved me, but now he’s trapped.” I pulled from Tyreal’s grasp and threw myself off the bed. On legs made of
jello, I wove left then right toward the bathroom. Door slammed and locked, I leaned against the vanity and retched black vomit into the sink until I heaved clear.

Shower on, I stripped. Hot water bathed my bleeding black arm, washed the filth from my legs to reveal welts thumb thick around my ankles and calves. My inner fire still thundered through my body, that I could deal with—for now. But my arm. I had to stop more evil from crawling into my body from that limb. Cutting it off seemed a bit excessive, and with a disposable plastic razor the only available cutting tool, improbable.

“Angel, you okay in there?”

“Yep, great,” I called. I didn’t want Tyreal near me while my arm internally rotted from a macabre flesh eating disease.

Out of the shower and wrapped in a large white hotel towel, I stared into the mirror. Eyes purple blue stared back. Tears formed and slipped. With Vig locked in the past, I’d be lost and lonely while I rotted away. On the upside, it didn’t appear I’d live long.

Food wasn’t that interesting in the eighteen hundreds for Vig to drool over, and what electrical appliances would he have to pull apart? And he liked heavy metal music, groaned at classical. Maybe he’d learn to find embroidery and people drinking tea interesting. Or not.

The blood running out of the claw marks on my wrist reduced. If this evil shit didn’t eat me alive or send me insane, I’d need a tetanus shot. And that just added to my bundle of happy happy.

A flurry of light, and Viggo poofed in behind me. Shirtless, he displayed a body ripped like nothing I’d witnessed in real life. I spun and threw myself into his arms, held him close. “Vig, you’re still with me.” I hugged him closer.

A large hand cradled my head to his chest. He drew in a deep breath and pushed me away. “You are idiot, my Hayyel. Leeches are bad. Give me arm.”

I blushed and raised my burning arm. He took it, scowled and blew out a snort I took as pissed off ancient.

His fingers touched the holes the claws had dug. His hand glowed silver gold. A sucking sensation slipped through my arm. Things pulled away from inside me and dragged toward Vig’s hands. My internal fever receded, coalescing toward my wrist into a fierce electrical burn. Seconds passed. Furious pain hit the lesions. I gnashed my teeth together to stop from crying out, and the pain drifted away.

Close to passing out, I gasped and shuddered as if my body sighed in relief. My blood oozed red and clean
, and the blisters were gone. Vig ran his hand around my wrist until the wounds closed entirely.

I looked at them and found only the tiniest pale marks left behind.

He pulled me to him, wrapped his heavy arms around me and held me tight. “Idiot.”

“Vig, who helped you. The big guy that looks like Tyreal?”

Pound, pound, pound
, on the door. “Angel? You okay in there?”

Viggo grunted and looked at the door. “Him. He too idiot. He trust you.”

I grinned, squeezed Vig back, and called to Tyreal. “I’m fine, be out in a minute.”

Viggo took my face in his hands and kissed me on the forehead. He smelled of apples and light. Another hug, he ran his hand down my spine. “Hayyel,” he sighed, “for-bad-don,” and poofed out.

I stood with my arms hugging nothing and pitched forward. Something felt different about Vig’s hug, almost possessive. “Viggo, come back.”

“What? Did you say something?” Tyreal knocked on the door again.

Wonderful, I’d been talking to Viggo loudly. Now Tyreal would think I’d lost my mind. Then again I think he guessed I wasn’t quite every-day-sane-Jane. “Just stubbed my toe, had to scold the vanity.” I stepped out of the bathroom.

Tyreal looked me over, then grabbed and kissed me. Another mind blowing sex fest of a kiss as explosive as he’d shared with me last night. Where do guys like him learn to kiss? They should set up kissing school. Teach ordinary men how to seduce with one hot lip lock. But it had been a bad day. Sex was mostly not on my mind. I ran my now rot free hand down his biceps, measured them for size and hardness. Oh my.
Mostly
sex wasn’t on my mind.

He pushed me away. Black with anger, his gaze latched onto mine. “Fuck, I needed that. You scared the shit out of me. I will never trust you again. You are a total moron. Tell me what part of don’t touch the journals, didn’t you understand?”

“It’s my job.”

“Your job is dangerous. You should stop doing it.”

“Pardon?”

“You heard me. You keep this up you’ll be dead and there won’t be any animal rescue farm.” He put his hands on my cheeks and kissed me, hard and sharp and demanding. Just as suddenly as he started, he stopped.

I stepped back. “You’ve got to stop kissing me like that. Your kissy shit fugs my brains.” My whole life fugged my brains, especially the last week, but those kisses weren’t normal. I’ve kissed a lot of guys, toads and princes both, and I’d never been kissed the way he kissed me.

Never made to feel so totally taken, owned, possessed by a lip lock.

“Princess, you need fugging in a big way. And your kissy shit as you put it, slays me sideways. But now, it’s dinner time. And I have info on Josey Richards.” He looked down at my wrist, squinted and turned it over. “If you want to eat, better wear some clothes. The towel is real cute, but the urge to tear it off you is strong.”

He lifted my wrist and examined the remaining tiny marks. “What was on your hand before?”

Err.
I blinked. Good question. “Soot and ink?”

He squinted at me. “You got it from another time?”

“Yes.” Well I did, I wasn’t lying on that bit.

“Why do I feel you’re so full of shit, I can almost smell it?”

I sucked in a breath and he ogled the boobage oozing over the top of my towel. “What were we talking about?”

Good to know, boobs blank his mind like his smiles sucked mine dumb. I hitched the towel higher. “About how you’re not my type.” Liar, liar, pubic hair on fire.

Nice, funny, intelligent, caring, who’d want that in a guy? And of course, I liked them not so god-damn gorgeous. Actually other than the looks, I usually couldn’t have given two frog farts about the rest.

Food Tyreal said. Yeah food, and booze—lots of booze. Frigging case was turning me into a lush. But after living through today’s horror movie exposé, I needed alcohol. What really pissed me to my soul was that I’d faced all that-that-that whatever, and still didn’t find squat to bring me closer to finding the Rembrandt.

I deserved my twenty percent fee for taking such crap. Hell, here’s a thought, I’ll add a new clause to my contract. If I deal with monsters and creatures from the black pit of impossibility, Hell, or any other dimension, my fee increased to fifty percent. Seemed fair, I didn’t see anyone else dripping black blood today. Just the idiot grave robber.

I patted Tyreal’s bicep, and stepped away. “While I pick out a dress, could you pour me a scotch, throw some coke in it for me?”

“Tell me about it. I swear I knew you were in horrible trouble.”

Conan? “What did you do when you thought I was in trouble?”

“Left my drink and ran.”

“Didn’t, I don’t know, change clothes in a phone booth, pick up a sword and jump time?” Do we still have phone booths? Anywhere?

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” I’m insane that’s all. But that was twice I needed help and the Conan ghost had shown up. And this time he’d played an active sword swinging kick-monster-ass-role. Ghost guy was cool.