Page 5 of Brimstone and Broomsticks
Before I headed off to the town detention center, I opened the file and uttered a soft ‘whoa’ at the mug shot. Hot damn. Even with some fresh bruises that had no doubt gotten even more colorful after a night in jail, the guy was smoking. Not that I particularly wanted to get naked with a D and D/assault two, but…damn. Hot damn.
Tearing my eyes from the picture, I scanned the arrest notes. Huh. Looked like he’d had the upper hand with Clinton Dickskin before a few of Clinton’s buddies stepped in to help out. That wasn’t easy to do given that Clinton was one of the town’s more beefy and belligerent werewolves and wasn’t known for holding back on his punches. Even with four against one, Hottie McHotpants had made an impressive showing before the sheriff got there and magic-bombed the whole lot of them. Out of the four, one had gone to the hospital for stitches and a compound fracture, one probably should have gone to the hospital for stitches but refused treatment, and Clinton had gone downtown to press charges—which made me wonder about the human who was handy enough with his fists to make one of the baddest werewolves in town cry assault.
It wasn’t the first time Clinton Dickskin had gotten into a fight. Probably wouldn’t be the last time, although I can’t recall him ever getting the crap beat out of him to the point that he whined to the law. Who the hell was this guy, Chuck Norris? Whoever he was, half the town would want to buy him a beer once this was over. If he stayed in town, that was.
Back to my client, Infernal Hottie. Oh no. I stood corrected, he actually had a name according to the police report, although no ID and, of course, no money. Lucien. No last name. He told the cop he didn’t need a last name because he was the son of Lucifer. Great. I rolled my eyes. Figures I’d get the whack-job. I was probably going to have to call in psych after all.
I read on.
No ID. Bit of a dust up with Clinton in Pistol Pete’s around midnight according to the bartender. Bouncer threw the werewolf out. Clinton’s buddies protested, so Lucifer got shown the door as well, just to keep peace and be fair and all. Someone called in the fight in the parking lot. When the sheriff arrived, he found Clinton looking like he’d been driven over by a 1998 Jeep Grand Cherokee. Human arrested. Bus called in for two werewolves. Paramedics found one with bruises and cuts, another with a rather interesting compound fracture as well as cuts and bruises. The human had cuts and bruises. Clinton had cuts and bruises, including a rather deep one on the head from being shoved head-first rather forcefully into the window of a nearby truck. All except for the wolf with the broken arm refused transport, and Clinton insisted that charges be pressed.
Hellboy, on the other hand, seemed surprisingly unharmed for having been in a fight with four werewolves. There were a few claw wounds about two inches long on his forearm, side, and chest, judged by the paramedics as not deep enough to require stitches. Hellboy had refused medical treatment as well.
Huh. The guy was a smoking specimen of male physique and he fought like some ninja dude. I was impressed. And I completely understood why our local sheriff had decided he needed to haul this alleged “human” off to the pen for the night, and why my bosses had decided to lob this case my way.
Didn’t mean the guy was actually a demon or anything, but it was best to be safe in a town where all sorts of supernatural creatures wandered the streets.
I picked up the phone and called my sister, Bronwyn. “Hey. Human guy gets into a fight with four werewolves, injures three and walks away with minor injuries. What do you think?”
I heard the slurp of her drinking her coffee. Bronwyn wasn’t an early riser. She’d probably just rolled out of bed five minutes ago. “Are you smoking crack?”
I looked heavenward and shook my head. “That’s what the police report says. They arrested him. Clinton is pressing charges for assault.”
She choked on her coffee then began to laugh. I waited patiently until she’d finished and managed to catch her breath.
“Who the hell is this guy, Chuck Norris?”
“I know, right?” I replied. “What are the odds?”
“Slim to none, that’s what they are.” She took another sip. “You get tagged to pull the guy’s ass out of jail?”
“Of course,” I replied.
“Well, be careful. Could be some Navy SEAL, ninja, badass. Or could be someone you might not want to mess with without your amulet and a staff of power.”
“Or could be a human who didn’t have the smarts to back down.”
“Then he’d be a dead human,” Bronwyn countered.
I bit my lip in thought. “The werewolves wouldn’t kill a newb. They might beat the shit out of him and toss him across the wards, but they wouldn’t kill him.”
“Two nights from the full moon?” Bronwyn scoffed. “Please. Someone insults them this time of the month, and there’s gonna be blood.”
She wasn’t wrong. “So why isn’t this guy in the hospital, and why is Clinton whining about being assaulted?” I mused.
“Because maybe he’s not really human?” Bronwyn replied. “Cass, be careful. I enchant objects. All we’ve got in Accident is a bunch of wards surrounding the town that haven’t been updated in decades. Those things do their job, but if someone’s carrying around an enchanted object, or if they’re not really a human, the wards aren’t going to negate that.”
“You thinking a VanHelsing?” I asked.
“I fucking hope not. But be careful, just in case.”
I thanked her and promised to make that coconut cream pie she liked for Sunday dinner, then hung up, digging the amulet out of my purse and draping it over my neck before getting my jacket, and heading out to the door to the county lockup, to see someone who might be the son of the devil, and hopefully get him out on bail.
