Seymour hit the gas, watched the RPMs skyrocket, and yet nothing happened.
Then he saw it.
In the rearview.
Lou was holding the truck, his hands morphed partially into giant claws as he shouted, “Get out! Right now!”
“Fuck you!” Seymour pressed the gas harder, tires squealing as the truck remained trapped. “Fuck, fuck, fuck?—”
“You do know it’s illegal to leave the scene of an accident, right?” Flanders drawled.
“Oh my God, shut up!” Seymour pleaded. “I just wanna fuckin’ go, okay? I wanna go the fuck home to my stupid fuckin’ life away from this stupid fuckin’ city?—”
“If I were you, I’d stop this truck and go with Lou. Right now.”
“What?”
Flanders was staring out the windshield, teeth bared.
There were two men—wow,beautifulmen—standing in the middle of the road. They were both slender and lithe, one Black and one white, and they were dressed in coordinating purple and green outfits adorned with fresh flowers.
“Who the fuck are they?” Seymour demanded. “More spirits?”
“Your worst nightmare.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Seymour turned to Flanders. “What?—”
Flanders was gone.
The truck suddenly zoomed forward, and Seymour scrambled to hit the brakes so he wouldn’t hit the two men.
The men smiled, flashing rows of sharp teeth as their eyes turned solid black and… they vanished.
What in the…?
Fuck it.
Seymour sped forward, praying to every god he knew for the lights to stay green so he could put as much distance between himself and that crazy ass flower shop as he could.
He’d had enough of monsters and ghosts and vanishing people.
He wanted to go home.
The next light turned red and forced him to stop, but by now he was several blocks away. A few more and he could hit the highway, and he never had to see this awful city again.
He still had that appointment with the lawyer.
Shit.
It didn’t seem like Lou or Flanders or anyone else was following him. He could head to the law office, get the will shit out of the way, claim whatever was coming to him, and then book it home.
His heart thumped hard when he realized that would mean missing out on the coffee date with Sariel. A great smile and pretty blue eyes were hardly worth messing with werewolves or giant talking dogs or any of this monster mess, but he did wish he’d at least gotten Sariel’s number.
The level of disappointment surprised him, but he tried not to think about it too hard.
They’d only talked for a few minutes in a damn cemetery.
Even now, however, Seymour couldn’t get Sariel out of his head. His little laugh, his bright smile, how he lit up talking about that damn zodiac crap. Maybe Seymour could stick around for a wee little bit longer–No!
