angry mastiff. Fangs pressed against my shoulder, but didn’t puncture the leather jacket. I hauled it off of Suzy with every drop of magically reinforced strength that flowed through my muscles.
We flipped, and I ended up on its back, straddling the spider like the ugliest motorcycle I’d ever seen in my life. It thrashed underneath me.
I’d ridden mechanical broncos a few times in my day. It’s a fun bar activity for teetotalers.
Not so fun with a demon.
It just about tossed me into the wall, but I managed to cling to it, wrapping one fist in its wiry hair. My head bounced off a wooden beam.
Dazed, I pushed my Desert Eagle against the carapace behind its eyes.
And I fired.
Blam!
The Desert Eagle was a fucking hand-cannon in comparison to Suzy’s new Beretta 9mm. She might as well have been shooting BBs at it. My hollow-point bullet, however, punched through its head segment and ripped out the other side.
It collapsed under me.
The spider had finally been squished.
My legs were shaking as I stood. Hands were shaking, too. I tried to turn on the safety but couldn’t seem to find it.
Fuck. This was not me.
I should have been writing up magical usage reports. Should have been sneaking Dilbert cartoons onto Fritz’s door while he was in the seventieth phone meeting of the week. Should have been bribing the administrative assistants with donuts to get a fresh supply of essential oils delivered faster.
I should not have been shooting demons in abandoned mines.
When I kept fumbling with Desert Eagle, Suzy gently removed it from my grasp and flipped on the safety for me.
“Thanks,” I said. I couldn’t even hear my own voice.
I think she mouthed, “No problem.”
She shucked her jacket, then pointed at me. I looked down. The daimarachnid had drizzled blood and venom all over me.
The mines were much too stuffy to wear jackets anyway. I dropped it.
When I spoke again, my hearing was a little bit better. I could actually tell that I was trying to talk, anyway. “Next time, let’s requisition shotguns,” I said.
Suzy leaned heavily on me, wiping her sleeve over her forehead. “Shotguns? How about a nuclear bomb?”
Better and better.
CHAPTER NINE
WE FOUND WHERE THE daimarachnid had come from at the end of the tunnel.
Unfortunately.
A few yards down, the ancient wood had given up and allowed the walls to collapse into rubble. The rocks were covered in a stringy white substance that stretched from ceiling to floor. Reminded me of Halloween decorations. Except that this wasn’t fluffy cotton.
It was webbing. Huge goddamn spider webs shit out of a demon’s goddamn ass.
“That’s something I didn’t want to see, ever,” I said. Not that I’d ever given a lot of thought to the possibility. But if I had, “demon shit-webs” would have been really high on the list.
Suzy grimaced and lifted her flashlight higher. The glass covering the bulb had shattered when she dropped it, but it still worked. “There’s something inside of that stuff.”
I looked closer. She was right—there were two large masses submerged in the webbing, each almost as big as I was. They looked like cocoons. “If those are eggs, I’m fucking done,” I said. “I will quit my job and walk out of here. I will move to fucking Costa Rica. I will spend the rest of my life as a bartender serving fruity umbrella drinks to fat tourists. I swear it, honest to God, right this moment.”
Suzy grinned. “I’ll take that bet. You gonna cut one of those open, or should I?”
Cut it open? What if whatever was inside was still alive? I wasn’t sure how many bullets remained in my Desert Eagle, but I was willing to bet that there weren’t enough for an egg sac filled with demon babies. In fact, I didn’t think there were enough bullets in the world to deal with all the daimarachnids I now suspected to be hiding in the Nevada desert.
Ah, hell. Why not? How much worse could this day get?
Rhetorical question. Don’t answer
We flipped, and I ended up on its back, straddling the spider like the ugliest motorcycle I’d ever seen in my life. It thrashed underneath me.
I’d ridden mechanical broncos a few times in my day. It’s a fun bar activity for teetotalers.
Not so fun with a demon.
It just about tossed me into the wall, but I managed to cling to it, wrapping one fist in its wiry hair. My head bounced off a wooden beam.
Dazed, I pushed my Desert Eagle against the carapace behind its eyes.
And I fired.
Blam!
The Desert Eagle was a fucking hand-cannon in comparison to Suzy’s new Beretta 9mm. She might as well have been shooting BBs at it. My hollow-point bullet, however, punched through its head segment and ripped out the other side.
It collapsed under me.
The spider had finally been squished.
My legs were shaking as I stood. Hands were shaking, too. I tried to turn on the safety but couldn’t seem to find it.
Fuck. This was not me.
I should have been writing up magical usage reports. Should have been sneaking Dilbert cartoons onto Fritz’s door while he was in the seventieth phone meeting of the week. Should have been bribing the administrative assistants with donuts to get a fresh supply of essential oils delivered faster.
I should not have been shooting demons in abandoned mines.
When I kept fumbling with Desert Eagle, Suzy gently removed it from my grasp and flipped on the safety for me.
“Thanks,” I said. I couldn’t even hear my own voice.
I think she mouthed, “No problem.”
She shucked her jacket, then pointed at me. I looked down. The daimarachnid had drizzled blood and venom all over me.
The mines were much too stuffy to wear jackets anyway. I dropped it.
When I spoke again, my hearing was a little bit better. I could actually tell that I was trying to talk, anyway. “Next time, let’s requisition shotguns,” I said.
Suzy leaned heavily on me, wiping her sleeve over her forehead. “Shotguns? How about a nuclear bomb?”
Better and better.
CHAPTER NINE
WE FOUND WHERE THE daimarachnid had come from at the end of the tunnel.
Unfortunately.
A few yards down, the ancient wood had given up and allowed the walls to collapse into rubble. The rocks were covered in a stringy white substance that stretched from ceiling to floor. Reminded me of Halloween decorations. Except that this wasn’t fluffy cotton.
It was webbing. Huge goddamn spider webs shit out of a demon’s goddamn ass.
“That’s something I didn’t want to see, ever,” I said. Not that I’d ever given a lot of thought to the possibility. But if I had, “demon shit-webs” would have been really high on the list.
Suzy grimaced and lifted her flashlight higher. The glass covering the bulb had shattered when she dropped it, but it still worked. “There’s something inside of that stuff.”
I looked closer. She was right—there were two large masses submerged in the webbing, each almost as big as I was. They looked like cocoons. “If those are eggs, I’m fucking done,” I said. “I will quit my job and walk out of here. I will move to fucking Costa Rica. I will spend the rest of my life as a bartender serving fruity umbrella drinks to fat tourists. I swear it, honest to God, right this moment.”
Suzy grinned. “I’ll take that bet. You gonna cut one of those open, or should I?”
Cut it open? What if whatever was inside was still alive? I wasn’t sure how many bullets remained in my Desert Eagle, but I was willing to bet that there weren’t enough for an egg sac filled with demon babies. In fact, I didn’t think there were enough bullets in the world to deal with all the daimarachnids I now suspected to be hiding in the Nevada desert.
Ah, hell. Why not? How much worse could this day get?
Rhetorical question. Don’t answer
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