I was thankful that it wasn’t as loud and as powerful as a few seconds before, but it tap-danced on my very last nerve.Opening my mouth to relay that exact sentiment to Lou, I didn’t even get to inhale before he continued with his usual air of superiority and overbearing concern.
“…because shit happens, and those who made these rules know that shit happens, you are exactly where you are supposed to be, Guy MacAllen.The Powers That Be always make sure of that.And let us not forget that…”
“Fate will not be denied, and She is a fickle bitch who loves to torment anyone and everyone?That, for some reason, She decided I needed an extra strong kick in the ass?That Fate and Destiny, and apparently, all The Powers That Be thought Arrhythmia was where I needed to be and…?”Grinding my teeth, trying not to lose my mind and whatever religion I might have left, I sarcastically snorted, “And, most importantly, you are doing exactly what I said you would do– you took me back to school to teach me things you thought I had forgotten.”
Keeping with pretty much every conversation we’d ever had, or would ever have, Anluan continued without missing a beat.“Yes, Fate gets what She wants when She wants it.It is part of being the Omnipotent Being that She is, but I don’t think insulting Her is going to help your situation.Instead, why don’t you…”
“Nope, not gonna do it.If I want to state the obvious, and that happens to insult the Omnipotent Being known as Fate, then all I can say is, needs must, Old Man.Needs must.”Snatching my hat off the floor, I tapped it against my leg to knock off any dirt from the floor, put on my head, and huffed, “We’re headin’ out to ride the boundary and check the Wards.Something about the far east corner is callin’ to me, and that is never a good thing.”
Happy that Lou knew it was time to be quiet, I headed out the front door and into the cool night air of the Chihuahuan Desert.Making a beeline for my baby– a mint condition, 1990 Harley Davidson Black Tempest Fat Boy that I’d worked four summers of long, hard hours on my uncle’s ranch to buy, the tension in my shoulders lifted the closer to her I got.
She was in pristine condition, with gleaming chrome tailpipes that rumbled and roared, and custom leather saddlebags made to my exact specifications.Oh yeah, I made sure my baby came with me when I was sentenced to a hundred years just this side of Hell.There was no way I was going to leave her behind.Fogarty Petersen had zapped my ass here without telling my family or friends, but the son of bitch couldn’t keep me from bringing my Harley– and I damned sure hoped he hated knowing that he hadn’t taken everything from me.
A couple of days after I arrived, I met Roy Robison, Arrhythmia’s own craftsman, and he and I hit it right off.Not only did we both love Harleys, whiskey neat, and hot peppers on everything but chocolate cake, but he’d been unjustly sentenced to life in our Goddess-forsaken penal colony by the same asshole as me.
Trying with all my mightnotto think about Fogarty Petersen, mostly because I was already in a piss-poor mood and that piece of shit Necromancer made me see red, I threw my leg over the seat of my hog and slid the sole of my boot onto the kick starter.Flipping on the kill switch, I kicked down sharply and let the shining silver bar push my foot back up while I gently closed the choke and gave my bike a little throttle until I heard the sweet rumble of her engine.
“Music to my ears.”And it was.For the first fifty years of my bullshit sentence, I rode my Harley more than I did anything else.It was how I stayed sane… How I didn’t kill anyone… What I did to keep from finding the Hellmouth rumored to exist in our shitty little town, opening it, and jumping in headfirst.
Loosening my grip on the front brake lever in perfect synchronicity with the rear brake pedal, I gave my Harley a little more gas, and we took off like a shot.It was the closest thing I’d ever found to flying, and sometimes better because I was the one in complete control.
The sharp, distinct crunch and crack of thousands of limestones being crushed or kicked up by the wheels only fueled my need to tear up the roads.This little ritual was my happy place.
“A century…” I whispered the words.“It’s just no use.That fuckin’ bastard always finds a way to infiltrate my brain.”
“And he always will,”Lou agreed.“Until you find a way to forget that he exists.”
It was the same thing the old Dragon King had been saying since the moment the soles of my boots hit the sand of Arrhythmia.There was no comeback, no witty retort, nothing I could say– because he was right.
No sooner had I thought the words than did visions of that fateful night in downtown Valentine flash to life in my mind.There was no use trying to push them away; the memories were always stronger than I was.
Engaged in my weekly ritual– beers with my Uncle Owen, Chief Cheveyo Thorntree, and my cousin, Jed Thorntree, my elbows were propped on the old, scuffed and scarred but highly polished wooden bar of The Hitching Post.Waiting for Jenni Lyn Blackthorne, the bartender/owner of the only drinking establishment in the small town of Valentine, Texas, to hand me our next round, I chuckled when my uncle teased, “Did you get lost, Guy?I’m dying of thirst over here.”
Before I could say anything, Jenni Lyn, a cantankerous, but lovable Honey Badger Shifter, who’d owned The Hitching Post for longer than I’d been alive, hollered, “You better hush up, Owen MacAllen.Don’t make me call your pretty wife and tell her you’re botherin’ me again.”
“Again?”
“You heard what I said.”
Laughing so hard, I had to take a seat on the closest stool or end up on my ass in the middle of the dusty, wooden floor.I thoroughly enjoyed listening to the two old friends give each other a rasher of shit.It never got old.It didn’t matter that sometime during our weekly visit to The Hitching Post, either Uncle Owen or Jenni Lyn made a smartass comment that got it all started.It was always a good time, and they ended up laughing with the rest of us.
And this night was no different.Jenni Lyn was giving just as good as she got while serving everyone at the bar, including me.Picking up the four beer bottles by the necks, I weaved my way through the tables and chairs to my party.
Setting the beers in the center of the round, wooden table, I was still snickering about the last zingers Jenni Lyn tossed my uncle’s way when my butt hit the seat of my chair and the front doors of The Hitching Post exploded inward.The suffocating smell of stale smoke filled the air, wafting through the massive, open barroom on thick clouds of damp, black dust.
“Lou, clear the air.”A split-second after I thought the words, the Dragon King’s hot, steamy breath flew from my lips, and what I saw had me up on my feet and halfway across the room in a shot.
Stopping right before Foster Petersen, the half-Jackal, half-Necromancer, all-asshole brother of Fogarty, poked me in the chest with the extended claw of the Jackal with whom he shared his soul, I snarled, “You really wanna tempt Fate, Foss?”
Closing the distance between us in less than a heartbeat, Foster’s fetid breath burnt the inside of my nose even though his mouth was nowhere near my face.There was barely a whisper of space between us, and still the asshole was too short to look me in the eye.Pushing up on his toes like a little bitch, Foster stretched his spine until it cracked and lifted his chin as high as he could, and his gaze still only came up to my chin– but I didn’t give a shit about the errand boy, I only had eyes for the boos.
Glaring at Fogarty as he smirked in my direction, I wanted to let Lou set the piece of shit Necromancer who’d revived a defunct, unlawful, and bigoted Branch of the Southern Texas Branch of the Paranormal Council on fire and watch him burn.The thought literally started to form in my mind, but Uncle Owen had more restraint and was way quicker.
Appearing behind Foster’s back and standing in front of the Necromancer, his deep, Texas drawl reverberated through the airwaves.“You have no jurisdiction here, Fogarty.”With a nod towards the broken, splintered, and shattered doors, he added, “And you own, Jenni Lyn, a brand-new set of doors.”
“Damn straight,” the Honey Badger Shifter yelled from where she stood at the bar.“And a cleaning crew to get rid of the stench of death.”
Dismissing everything with an obnoxious wave of the fingers of his left hand, Fogarty ignored both Jenni Lyn and Uncle Owen as he slithered to the right.Stopping when he was sure I could see him, the bastard lifted his solid silver cane and pointed the sharpened tip my way.
