Christopher Moore - Practical Demonkeeping

“First, it’s Sergeant. Second, I’m getting to be a master at making mistakes, so one more is no big deal. And third, the only person who is going to die is this little Arab if he doesn’t get his ass on the ground.”

What was taking them so long? Travis had dragged the translation out as long as he could, stalling on a word here and there, but he could tell that Catch was getting impatient and to delay any long would endanger Jenny.

He tore two sheets from the steno pad and handed them to Rachel. “It’s finished, now you can untie them.” He gestured to Jenny and the Elliotts.

“No,” Catch said. “First we see if it works.”

“Please, Rachel, you have what you want. There’s no reason to keep these people here.”

Rachel took the pages. “I’ll make it up to them once I have the power. It won’t hurt to keep them here a few more minutes.”

Travis fought the urge to look back toward the woods. Instead he cradled his head in his hands and sighed deeply as Rachel began to read the invocation aloud.

Augustus Brine finally convinced Gian Hen Gian to lie down on the ground. It was obvious that Rivera would not listen to anyone until the Djinn relented.

“Now, Masterson, where in the hell did you get that metal suitcase?”

“I told you, I stole it out of the Chevy.”

“Who owns the Chevy?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“You can tell me or you can go up on murder charges.”

“Murder? Who was murdered?”

“About a thousand people, it looks like. Where is the owner of that suitcase? Is it one of these guys?”

“Rivera, I will tell you everything I know about everything in about fifteen minutes, but now you’ve got to let us finish what we started.”

“And what was that?”

Brine spoke up, “Sergeant, my name is Augustus Brine. I’m a businessman here in town. I have done nothing wrong, so I have no reason to lie to you.”

“So?” Rivera said.

“So, you are right. There is a killer. We are here to stop him. If we don’t act right now, he will get away, so please, please, let us go.”

“I’m not buying it, Mr. Brine. Where is this killer and why didn’t you call the police about him? Take it nice and slow, and don’t leave anything out.”

“We don’t have time,” Brine insisted.

Just then they heard a loud thump and the sound of a body slumping to the ground. Brine turned around to see Mavis Sand standing over the collapsed detective, her baseball bat in hand.

“Hi, cutie,” she said to Brine.

They all jumped to their feet.

“Mavis, what are you doing here?”

“He threatened to close me down if I didn’t tell him where you went. After he left, I got to feeling like a shit about telling him, so here I am.”

“Thanks, Mavis,” Brine said. “Let’s go. Howard, you stay here. Robert, in the bed of the truck. Whenever you’re ready, King,” he said to the Djinn.

Brine jumped into the truck, fired it up, and engaged the four-wheel drive.

Rachel read the last line of the invocation with a grandiose flourish of her arm. “In the name of Solomon the King, I command thee to appear!”

Rachel said, “Nothing happened.”

Catch said, “Nothing happened, Travis.”

Travis said, “Give it a minute.” He had almost given up hope. Something had gone horribly wrong. Now he was faced with either telling them about the candlesticks or keeping his bond with the demon. Either way, the hostages were doomed.

“Fine, Travis,” Catch said. “The old man is the first to go.”

Catch wrapped one hand around Effrom’s neck. As Travis and Rachel watched, the demon grew into his eating form and lifted Effrom off the ground.

“Oh my God!” Rachel put her fist to her mouth and started backing away from the demon. “Oh no!”

Travis tried to focus his will on the demon. “Put him down, Catch,” he commanded.

From somewhere down the hill came the sound of a truck starting.

Gian Hen Gian stepped out of the woods. “Catch,” he shouted, “will you never give up your toys?” The Djinn started up the hill.

Catch threw Effrom to the side. He landed like a rag doll, ten yards away. Rachel was shaking her head violently, as if trying to shake away the demon’s image. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“So someone let the little fart out of his jar,” Catch said. He stalked down the hill toward the Djinn.

An engine roared and Augustus Brine’s pickup broke out of the tree line and bounced up the dirt road, throwing up a cloud of dust in its wake. Robert stood in the bed, holding onto the roll bar for support.

Travis darted past Catch to Amanda and Jenny.

“Still a coward, King of the Djinn?” Catch said, pausing a second to look at the speeding truck.

“I am still your superior,” the Djinn said.

“Is that why you surrendered your people to the netherworld without a fight?”

“This time you lose, Catch.”

Catch spun to watch the truck slide around the last turn and off the road to bound across the open grass toward the candlesticks.

“Later, Djinn,” Catch said. He began to run toward the truck. Taking five yards at a stride the demon was over the hill and past Travis and the women in seconds.

Augustus Brine saw the demon coming at them. “Hold on, Robert.” He wrenched the wheel to the side to throw the truck into a slide.

Catch lowered his shoulder and rammed into the right front fender of the truck. Robert saw the impact coming and tried to decide whether to brace himself or jump. In an instant the decision was made for him as the fender crumpled under the demon and the truck went up on two wheels, then over onto its roof.

Robert lay on the ground trying to get his wind back. He tried to move, and a searing pain shot through his arm. Broken. A thick cloud of dust hung in the air, obscuring his vision. He could hear the demon roaring behind him and the screeching sound of tearing metal.

As the dust settled, he could just make out the shape of the upside-down truck. The demon was pinned under the hood, ripping at the metal with his claws. Augustus Brine hung by his seat belt. Robert could see him moving.

Robert climbed to his feet, using his good arm to push himself up.

“Gus!” he shouted.

“The candlesticks!” came back.

Robert looked around on the ground. There was the bag. He had almost landed on it. He started to reach for it with both hands and nearly passed out when the pain from his broken arm hit him. From his knees he was able to scoop up the bag, heavy with the candlesticks, in his good arm.

“Hurry,” Brine shouted.

Catch had stopped clawing at the metal. With a great roar he shoved the truck up and off of him. Standing before the truck, he threw his head back and roared with such intensity that Robert nearly dropped the candlesticks.

Every bone in Robert’s body said flee, get the hell out of here. He stood frozen.

“Robert, I’m stuck. Bring them to me.” Brine was struggling with the seat belt. At the sound of his voice the demon leapt to the driver’s side of the truck and clawed at the door. Brine heard the skin of the door go with the first slash. He stared at the door in terror, expecting a claw to come through the window at any second. The demon’s claws raked the support beam inside the door.

“Gus, here. Ouch. Shit.” Robert was lying outside the passenger side window, pushing the bag with the candlesticks across the roof of the truck. “The play button, Gus. Push it.”

Brine felt the pocket of his flannel shirt. Mavis’s recorder was still clipped there. He fumbled for the play button, found it, and pushed, just as a daggerlike claw ripped into his shoulder.