Chapter 5

No answer, I put out my hands and let out a cyclone of the blaze, it blows into the Air Mite's mouth and it goes up in flames, I grab the tentacles spinning it toward the dragon and it's charging with huge wings and force, I start tossing mites at it, they blow up and the smoke clears, the dragon's impenetrable. It snaps an air mite in half.

Oh, come on!

My wings are going out of control again and I can feel the heat behind me, the dragon opens its mouth closing in.

...

I glare at Rafe while Amanda scrubs goop off my hair with a sponge, the dragon is dead with its nasty black tongue out on the ground and a sword on its throat while the patrons open a gateway to get rid of it

"You said this trip wouldn't be dangerous, you call that a baby dragon? That's Godzilla for Pete's sake!"

"It was just a minor setback and you'll be back to sending more subtle assortments and_"

"Shut up!"

Rafe zips it and Amanda's pulling a tentacle from my hair, I slap her hand away. "Hands off," I say and take the towel from her, a bit spooked by her eyes but angrier.

Word-for-word I'm throwing in the towel and I'm not coming back to this shit hole, I reach a stage where cursing's not enough and punch a tree, the mushroom snaps and falls on other mushrooms and they collapse like dominoes and a swarm scatters.

"I quit!"

"Told you"

"Angel, please be reasonable"

"I'll give you reasonable, right here"

Rafe dodges my fists and groan when Amanda raises a leg to kick me down, the ground gives out and I feel like a piano just dropped on my head, I get up and she looks ready to fight me.

"Get me outta here_ you stay out of my way cotton candy hair you hear me?"

I get back to my deep dark cave after Rafe sparingly teleports me home. I'm at home and I'm staring at my poor excuse for a living room with the TV on and that hot correspondent, Brooke Riley's talking about the attack last night and I see the douchebag and his hag at the crime scene and my dead body, oh I did I look like a dead turkey and the fool's putting it on air.

I clench my hands, if I ever find that son of a gun who put a bullet through my chest, I'm going to turn him to barbecue and feed him to Cerberus if he exists. I remember seeing horns on his head, he looks humanoid but with no eyes, I wonder if he's some kind of Mole Demon.

I don't know how to find him but you know what they say, if something doesn't click you take a step back and see what's missing. I go back to the crime scene and roll my eyes, the X Rafe put is still there. The CSI's are taking the body bags except for mine.

I don't have to do all the work, I watch the detective put the bullets they extract from the bodies in a bag, I'll just let them do their thing and take it from there, I would say they didn't know what they were up against, maybe it's some Satanic extremist on a killing spree and I happen to be on his Christmas list.

I can't catch up with their science jargon but they say that it's an old model and wouldn't go that far, I take a look at the bullets that I can't feel and see that they're pellets.

"We can't find any footprints to identify his shoe size, nothing. This guy's a ghost"

"Can I get a comprehensive list of all the gun purchases in the district?"

"Right away"

I'm watching them shuffle through a computer and nothing appears. Find something and get on with it! I scream but I'm the ghost in the room, the detective's talking and I'm wiping my hands on his face and it's defective.

"Then he must be a collector"

"Or a thief. Look, there's a report of a missing 1918 classic from a showroom by Murphy's Archive"

"This must be it, we're driving over there, pronto"

"We need authorization"

"Bitch, their stuff's missing, we don't need authorization"

It's like watching a cop classic but only not as fascinating, the place looks more dire and empty than my room. I wonder what a devil is doing with a gun and the one that could materialize and hold one for that matter.

The manager is looking at the case that's not broken and the sergeant is dusting the case for fingerprints, I walk around the box and it reads "The Devil's Pistol"

"It was recovered at the same time and was believed to dwell at a house where people faced the most terrible experiences, the torture house belonged to the Japanese and they killed American soldiers there before the house was destroyed by American troopers by warplanes."

The cops are chuckling at the tales and the detective feels at the case.

"You say this thief broke in here and there is no footage to prove it"

"The cameras are working 24 hours a week, nonstop"

"How long does it take for the footage to be wiped?"

"Four hours after a week"

"We're too late"