Highway to Hell Page 7

  I open my mouth to say something and find the words won't come out. “Fae, that's--"

  "It's decided, alright?" She looks around to the others who all nod.

  I'm grateful they have my back and I'm not alone in this. “Fae, drop Marty off--"

  "I'm going with the kid.” It's the first time Marty addresses all of us and he points to Lowell. Leo rolls her eyes. “It’s the way it's gonna be, girlie.” I think Leo might kill him when he looks at her.

  "Fine, but you slow us down, Old Man--" I point my finger at him. He climbs back in the sidecar and Leo throws her hands up.

  "I'm staying too.” Tora leans around Leo again, who smirks.

  "When did this become a friggin' Democracy?" I say. “Fine. We ride out and meet at the University in the morning. Hole up somewhere for the night if you can shake the Hounds. Lowell and I will head there and try to get the mark off with his friend and then we ride from there.” Before any of them can further argue with me, I kick Sugar back on and rev up. I wait for Lowell to come back to the bike before taking off. Since my girls are so good at sorting through all of our troubles without my word being law, I leave them to it, to figure out who's riding down which highway in different directions.

  I circle back and head southwest before hitting the road north and directing my bike to the University. The ride gives me all kinds of time to get messed up in the head. The landscape bleeds together in my periphery, like a smeared painting. The colors are there, but so is the chaos of browns, golds, greens, and reds all swirled together. It resembles my thoughts, swirls of questions in the maelstrom of my mind.

  What the heck am I thinking? Taking on Hell must be the stupidest thing anyone in Heaven or humanity, has ever done. I'd like to say I can blame Damien for the biggest blunder of all time. The only one worse was when the Cosmos permitted Damien to be born at all. Did the years of denial with Zeke really made me think I can ignore what is right here in front of me, right now? Am I that much of a screw up I can't see this decision is the one sure to land me in an eternity of hurt and suffering?

  Lucifer offered me a deal. Atone for my sins and bring in souls, day after day, knowing what is in store for them. In some ways, it feels like a worse punishment than if I’d just taken the pain. If I’d gone that route, then I would just be facing an eternity with my own suffering, not shouldering the weight of everyone else's by having to bring them in.

  I sigh, resigned to my choice. I justify it as I'm choosing not to stand by and do nothing again. There are some things a girl can't go back from. Like spray on tans. That orange shit stains everything and sticks around forever and in places one shouldn't be able to tan to begin with. The decision to go against Lucifer and Hell itself is just another orange shit stain on all the decisions I've made in my life and afterlife. This mess is definitely the stickiest though.

  After a few hours of inner war between doing the right thing and lamenting my decision, I pull into the parking lot of the University and park the bike next to a beat-up blue pickup truck. If the professor friend is as unkempt as his truck is when Lowell tells me, "He's here,” I wonder if the man's theological ideology has as many rusty holes in it as this junker.

  "Which building?"

  Colleges aren't the most comfortable places for me. I get a few marks on them from time to time. I never told the girls when I turned eighteen and left my Mum to drown in the alcohol and the Anderson’s from their oppressive micro-managing, I took out some student loans and given the solid life a go. That was before I met Zeke.

  We walk across the campus green without saying a word. Rather than wasting my undead breath, I figure I can shock the Hell out of the professor for kicks and giggles, since it will be the last bit of joking around I ever do. But, for practical purposes, I figure it's probably best to cement a plan in place since I don’t know how long it will take Damien to catch up to us. There's so much to go over it's hard to know where to start.

  I look around, taking in the campus. I have only seen this one in pictures when I was trying to decide where best to spend the government’s money with my student loans. Brick buildings with faceless windows spurt up, forming a semi-circle around the courtyard. Perfectly symmetrical bushes line the walkways and walls of the buildings. A well-manicured lawn adorns the campus between each building and a centerpiece in the courtyard with a cherub stone fountain trickles serenely. If I had the capability it would make me have to pee rather than focus on studying. A bizarre modern art piece looks like someone bent metal scrap pieces around to look like a car accident, but purposefully done in the name of art, sits next to the fountain. Most likely the work of a student, it all looks like just another postcard-perfect picture of Americana. I am as out of place here as I would be at a glitzy and glamorous bachelorette party with drunk giggling women and a thong-clad stripper named Raphael. I make sure to keep my demon features under wraps until we're alone with the professor though. As much fun as it would be to rock their sheltered little worlds, there's no use dropping that bombshell on humanity. They aren't ready for proof it's real, even if it is a theology class we are headed to.

  When Lowell opens the door of the red brick building in the center of the ring, the fluorescent lights glare down from above. Students and faculty stop and stare at us as we walk past. Lowell must have been here before because he walks to the far end of the hall with purpose as I quietly follow his lead. We must make quite the duo. Him looking all Boy Scout and me looking like a degenerate.

  Lowell touches my elbow and it makes me jump. I'm not keen on being this close to this much humanity. My boots echo in the hall and I can't help but glance through the glass windowpanes in the classroom doors on either side of us. Faces peer back at me and about halfway down the hall, the feeling like I’m the freak kids used to call me in high school forces me to look down and count the tiles as we walk over them. I thought colleges were supposed to be different. Where every kid was accepted and being different was celebrated.

  When we get to the end of the hall, Lowell pushes another doorway open and I groan. Inside there are about fifty students sitting in the raised seats of the lecture hall. All of them turn to look at us, as well as the middle-aged man in the sweater and tie on the dais at the center of the class.

  I lean in to whisper, "What's with the professor and Marty? Don't you have any friends who aren't older than mummy dust?"

  Lowell nudges me in the ribs with his elbow harder than necessary. I rub the spot where he landed a hit on my side and we begin the long walk down the steps as I feel the incredulous stares coming from the lecture participants. This just might be more intense than the wrath of Hell.

  When we reach the dais, Lowell smiles apologetically to the teacher who looks between us. He blinks behind his glasses, confused, like he’s trying to sweep away the cobwebs in his mind and see the situation clearly.

  "Lowell, is everything alright?" The middle-aged man scratches his head. It might not be the best act because he doesn't have much chestnut hair left up on top of his head to be inadvertently pulling out.

  Lowell shakes his head and the professor's bright blue eyes bug out. He has such handsome yet advanced features, but the shock creates an unseemly owl-like effect. “Turn the microphone off.”

  "As you can see, I'm in the middle of class.”

  "I would never interrupt if it weren't a matter of life and death.”

  The professor looks long and hard at Lowell.

  "Please, James.”

  After a moment, James clears his throat, leans over the microphone and offers an apologetic, "Class dismissed.”

  Students groan and begin filing out of the hall as James turns back to us. Who knew college kids could love this theology crap so much?

  "What is going on? You look like you've seen a ghost. What do you mean a matter of life and death?" James keeps his voice down so it doesn't carry over the microphone. The last few stragglers siphon out the door before Lowell finally responds.

  "Ah, well, you s
ee, it is a death. My death to be precise.” Professor Dudard looks even more perplexed.

  "You aren't making any sense. Do you need me to call a doctor? Who is this woman?"

  Lowell holds up his hands and drops them like he's trying to offer up a reasonable explanation, but has none to give. “Well, there's no easy way to introduce her.” He glances at me nervously and I get the “please behave” look.

  I shrug and grin at him. I can't help having a little fun every now and then, and at the expense of the professor? This is going to be epic.

  “She’s the demon who was sent from Hell to collect my soul which was mistaken for my brother, Zeke's.”

  6

  Professor Dudard's eyebrows disappear into his thin hairline. It's a neat trick and with all of the disbelief planted on his puss, at least his eyebrows are on fleek for the occasion. So I do Lowell a favor and give the professor my sweetest smile featuring fangs, whiskers, and fire in my eyes.

  I think I might be doing Heaven a solid when James stumbles away from me to one of the vacated seats at the front of the lecture hall, clutching his heart. Turns out he is just one of those guys who preaches a lot about the word, but his faith, like everyone else's, walks a fine line between the unwavering confusion of a tie-dyed t-shirt with some sick shades of doubt mixed in it.

  I sit on the edge of the stage while Lowell coaxes the professor into breathing better by pushing his head between his knees, but when Lowell gives me the look, the one telling me I'd screwed the pooch on this one, I kicked my legs back and forth and look around while they get their Kum Ba yah yah's out. There are a lot of, "Sweet Jesus and Oh Lord's" coming from the professor. It does make him sound a bit prophetic, to be fair, but I figure there'll be Holy Water and maybe a cross shoved in my face if I try to get with the up close and friendly personals too soon.

  It takes Lowell all of five minutes to fill him in on what he knows, which is a big fat not-a-whole-lot coming from his piehole, and then another ten minutes of the shady glances in my direction as they "theorize" about what might possibly be going on.

  "Is she real?" James asks him.

  I pinch myself. Yep, still here.

  "She dated my brother back when she was, well, before she…" Lowell waves his hands like the answer will drop out of the sky. “It’s complicated.”

  "But she's a demon?"

  "You saw what I saw.” They both look me up and down like they think I'm about to bust it wide open, but I don't play that way. It's more Tabby's style.

  I sit here and they're talking about me like I blend with the podium. I glance behind me. Burgundy, the color of the staged backdrop, is so not my color. Besides, I'm dead, not deaf. In this day and age, a girl has got to take initiative or she'll be waiting ‘til she's old and gray before she's invited to the party.

  I jump down and hold my hands up when James looks like he's going to pull a runner.

  "Chill. I'm not here to screw with the Almighty's plan. I just want to fix the mess my co-worker made.” I think about it a minute and then grin. “Ok, so maybe I'm down to toy with the boy here for a bit. Heaven and Hell knows things need to get stirred up sometimes, right?"

  James doesn't look amused, but I manage a smirk from Lowell so I figure I'm in the clear to add my two cents.

  "Damien marked Lowell, not his brother, Zeke. When I showed up, I called him out on it, and being the smart-assed son of a-" Lowell jerks his head and I stumble over my words as I redirect the name calling. “Son of Satan, he thinks he's riding high and mighty on the decisions board and told me to bring him in. I didn't and now here we are, waiting for you to tell us how to get rid of the mark.” I point to Lowell's chest and James looks.

  "I don't see a mark.”

  I knew there was a reason I don’t get chummy with the humanity types. Dealing with them is so tedious sometimes.

  I turn to Lowell. “I thought you said this guy is smart?"

  "I'm sitting right here!" Professor Dudard stands and walks over.

  I'm curious to see if he'll back himself up a bit. I find men come in two categories. At least, all the ones I've ever dated. Either they talk a good game, but can't walk to back it up or they really are true to their word and can handle their business. Professor types have always seemed to live upstairs in their heads, but I've been wrong before.

  "Says the man who thinks demons can't hear when he is openly talking and ogling them.” I love issuing a challenge.

  "Give me a break, lady. It's not like I learn every day demons are real.” He crosses his arms and I shrug.

  "Then what are you doing teaching theology if you don't believe in it?" Lowell pinches his nose and James does a thing where I can practically see the little mo-fo hamster in his head trip over the wheel. I guess he's the headspace with a big mouth type. “Whatever man, can you help us or not?"

  "What kind of mark does Lowell have on him?"

  "I wasn't aware there were different kinds of marks.” What an interesting seg-way. It makes my little hamster summersault. Poor little guy. I shake my head, rattling the rodent of reason and try to make sense of the assumption there is more than one kind of mark. I’m the demon, how did I not know this? Auntie J has been holding out on me. Again.

  "You're a demon. How can you not know?" He looks at Lowell who's making big with the not helping.

  "Theology is your and Auntie J's bag of tricks, not mine.” I cross my arms. I might as well stand my ground, but own my ignorance.

  James looks confused like there is some fundamental belief humanity has about Christianity and the afterlife they all missed.

  I suddenly have a thought and ask Lowell, “You studied theology in college?”

  “Beer and bartending are a religion of their own.” Scout crosses his arms and I cede him his point when those ears turn as red as the home fires in indignation or possibly slight embarrassment. Hey, not judging still, to each their own God, but if Dionysus is kicking around at the Sloshed Sloth with his acolyte Lowell, I’ll have to raise a glass to him if I can ever return Lowell to his home.

  Speaking of shootouts from higher beings, I take my cell phone out of my pocket. Still no message. Damn, woman, where are you? Auntie J is making female prep time for date-night look like a New York minute compared to how long she is taking to return my call.

  "Who is Auntie J?" Lowell sits up, taking an interest in the little tidbit I just dropped a minute ago.

  There's my boy. His mama must have taught him right. No sitting back and watching a lady take on all the hard and heavy hitter questions from his teacher friend.

  "She's our handler in Purgatory. I suspect she can fix Damien's screw up, but she's not calling me back.”

  "By Damien, do you mean?" He can't bring himself to say it out loud.

  "Son of Satan, the very one.” I knew it was all a lot for this guy to take in, but it's like I'm waiting in the grocery store for his cart of disbelief to empty the Hell out and he's taking his sweet time about it, giving me a serious case of the road rage.

  "Well, that might be something.” Lowell rubs his chin.

  "Well, if Damien is marking on behalf of Satan, we could potentially mask the mark because it isn't Satan's.”

  My turn needing the roadmap. “I don't follow.”

  "Lucifer is a fallen angel. Damien is a Nephilim. Two different species with two sets of rules regarding theology.”

  Light bulb moment and then it fades. “Yeah, but we are still no closer to removing the mark.”

  "But we have a place to start. Let's go to my office.” Professor Dudard gathers some papers from the podium and drops them into a case and snaps it shut. He walks to the stairs leading off the stage as Lowell and I trail behind him. I start thinking about his theory regarding Damien and the Devil having two separate marks. Professor Dudard might be on to something after all.

  We make our way up the aisle of the lecture hall and down a long corridor with pictures of people of note who have contributed to the school. It's interesting
because I've seen some of them around Downtown, but here on these walls they are proclaimed as being invaluable to the school's resources and reputation.

  The pale glow of the sun is filtering in through the ceiling high windows and I catch a glimpse of the horizon for an instant. There are no ominous thunderclouds looming in the distance, which is a good thing for us because it means my plan did buy us some time at least. I cringe. It does mean when Damien finally catches up to us--I turn away from the window, not wanting to think about it anymore. Well that, and my face is covered in a film of dust making me desperate for a bath in the blood of my enemies, or a shower, whichever comes first. Who am I kidding though? I haven't been able to look at myself in the mirror long and hard in quite a while.

  Professor Dudard opens a door at the end of a hall I thought was going to go on forever. I get so preoccupied in my thoughts I run into the back of Lowell when he stops and waits for James. He jumps like I've scalded him with my touch when I put my palms out to steady myself and I check to make sure all my whiskers and claws aren't out. No need for wardrobe malfunctions today, thank you very much.

  "Easy, Trina.” He looks down at me. His face is coated in a thin film of red dust just like mine and an idea forms in my head. I love it when the light bulb flickers back on.

  "If we can't remove the mark, can we mask it?" I study Professor Dudard's profile as we walk in the room. It's so what I expected I almost want to cry. I walk around the desk as he begins pulling books from shelves and I kick my feet up on a teetering tower of files. I pop open the bottom drawer, figuring he has something in stock, and pull out the bottle of Scotch I find hidden there. I'd prefer whiskey, but sometimes a girl has to roll with the punches.

  “I just suggested that in the lecture hall.” I watch James mutter to himself as he pulls books from the shelf.