He squinted down the crossbow and took aim. The pile
of bricks rumbled ominously and shifted slightly. Mortar and dust filled the
air, almost blinding him. But he didn’t have time to take off his glasses and
clean them. He doubted he even had a clean hankie on him right now.
It’d been an odd journey getting here and now here
he stood, half his hair burned off the side of his head and trying to avoid
putting any weight on his left leg. Who would’ve known that the crone had any
idea how to booby-trap her treasure chest?
All he’d wanted was the damned cards she’d stolen from the coven and
he’d have been a faint memory to her. She had been a hellacious she-devil
determined to take the world down with her rather than return that which she had
stolen. Pity she hadn’t really had the gift of foresight and known he would
have a dampening spell to counter the blast. Well, almost. Wes glanced down at
the smoking tattered remains of his trousers and wondered if he was mooning the
entire street. If he wasn’t focused on preventing himself form shaking with
fear he’d have blushed.
There was a clatter of rocks and the rubble of the
once imposing edifice of the mystical shop shifted as a clawed hand scrabbled
free. Its fingers the length of Wesley’s body, it didn’t bode well at all!
“Right.” Wesley tried not to faint on the spot;
it was enormous and smelled of fire and brimstone. The hulking shape was covered
in pale yellow scales and dripping ectoplasm, utterly revolting and smelled even
worse. The being that had been released by the witch’s final incantation was
slowly climbing free of the rubble and straightening up. It towered over him,
nearly two stories high and emitting a series of grunts and clicks that Wes
assumed meant “I am your god, puny mortal, bow down before me before I gut you
and wear your entrails as a party hat and use your eyeballs as earrings.”
“Are you sure we can take that down?”
“Christ, I thought you were dead!” Wesley
exclaimed. He managed not to take his eyes off his opponent and look around to
check that the young woman who’d attached herself to him over the last week
was okay. Instead he felt an invisible hand clean his lens and suddenly he
wished that she hadn’t magicked his glasses clean, the demon that the crone
Zorahia had summoned looked far more daunting now he could see it clearly.
Before either of them could say anything, the beast
Zorahia had called up emitted a loud wheezing noise.
“What the hell?”
Diana squeaked, the helium filling the air changing the register of her
voice to a higher octave.
“I have no idea!” Wesley shouted and then winced
at the sound of his voice. He hated helium and he hated the sodding bastard who
was now grinning down at him, well, he thought it was grinning. Either that or
it was showing off the impressive double set of razor sharp fangs to them.
Wesley sniffed the air disdainfully and to his horror his voice rose another
octave as he squeaked out, “I think the bastard farted.”
She shook her head at him, “No, look the gills
down the side of his neck, they’re letting out the gas. Wonder why?” She
pointed, her grimy fingers unwavering as she indicated the flapping gills.
“Now that is rather interesting.” Wesley frowned
and wondered if he could pull it off. He mentally winced that the squeak in his
voice, remembering the months of agonised embarrassment he’d gone through when
his voice had broken. The recent weeks of humiliation were now compounded with a
Mickey Mouse tones, he had reached his limit. He was angry and not in the mood
for squeaky vocals.
“It is?”
“Indeed, now if you could possibly do me a small
favour?” he cringed at the pitch of his voice and tightened his jaw, the
muscles ticking under the stubble.
“Sheesh, less with the formal requests. That thing
is licking its chops at us! And I for one don’t fancy being an aperitif,”
she grumbled, her dark grey eyes never leaving the massive demon. Diana coughed
and cleared her throat, wishing she sounded more like Betty Boop rather than one
of the chipmunks.
“In my quiver, quick!” Wesley stepped back as
the ground shook under the scaly webbed foot that pounded down.
“Hurry, he’s going to step on us!”
Diana scrabbled around as her hands shook with
nerves. “What am I—oh wicked!” she pulled out the arrow and quickly
switched it into the crossbow and then fumbled in her pockets for a lighter.
“Diana, hurry up it’s on the move,” Wes
warned.
“Yeah, yeah, as if I couldn’t notice that, with
the ground shaking all over the place,” she thrust her hand into her back
pocket and pulled out the small plastic lighter. “Got it!” she brandished it
and did a small jig of glee.
Wesley frowned and sighed impatiently at her,
“Wonderful. Now, rather than dance around like a cat on a hot tin roof, would
you mind?” he jerked the crossbow at her.
“What? Oh, whoa – sorry, my bad!” With that
she lit the petrol soaked end and stepped back clapping her hands over her ears.
“Let him have it,” she shouted.
Wesley took aim and then fired.
