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A demon deal so nice, it killed me twice.
Well, technically three times. But math was never my strong suit. Otherwise I wouldn’t be back up to six hundred and seventy-nine souls to save and just about two years to do it in. I’m on my third and probably last meat suit and there’s one extra hunter in the truck than there should be. But Gary is as stubborn as his brother and twice as reckless for getting in the truck with me. Not even tracking down a summoning witch and her flying, poo-flinging monkeys can get him to cry mercy.
I thought I’d shake him off when we got a weather forecast about a ghoul in North Carolina, but no, he just had to cram himself in the cab of my ‘49 Ford pickup right alongside me. What we expected to find in North Carolina was an undead, dripping, clammy skinned ghoul, spoiling for a fight. The unexpected cherry on the top of the hunt was finding a history professor Indiana Jones wannabe that was a magnet for supernatural shenanigans.
Now, we’re up to our asses in blood hail, revenants, desecrated ground, and dry-humping Lutins, hoping we can figure out which way the fan is blowing before the shit hits it.
As usual, souls damned to hell are hanging in the balance, innocent lives are at stake, I’m low on ammo, but high on bullshit and sarcasm. One thing’s for sure, if those s.o.b.s get close enough to me to take me down, they better not miss. Because If they do, I’m gonna ring their bell.