Faith of the Divine Inferno - Leslie Thompson (best short novels of all time TXT) 📗

of her bosom exposed. Bridget gave me a pair of faded bell bottoms that smelled like they had been in a musty trunk since the seventies, and a calico blouse with a pattern that looked like it was designed by a schizophrenic tripping on LSD. Bridget was better endowed through the chest and she had narrower shoulders and hips than I, so the clothes stretched and gaped in all the wrong places.
“By the way,” Bridget said, fishing into the pocket of the long, paisley skirt she was wearing and bringing out the bronze medallion I had found under Shaw’s couch. I found this in with your things. You might want to find out what it is and what it’s used for.”
“Don’t you know?” I asked. Bridget scoffed and rolled her eyes at me. It was a perfectly reasonable question. The faerie was much older than me and she took part in all kinds of insanity. For all I knew, she instigated more than her fair share of it.
“I do. But I’m functioning under a couple of geas of my own.” She smiled brightly at me while she said it and I wanted to slap her.
“What kind of a geas?”
“The kind that leaves you shit out of luck. Now get going before the sisters get here and blast our Philip into a greasy smear on my carpets and send you off to play with some very unpleasant creatures.” Bridget shoved me out of the room as Shaw emerged from the bathroom with his clothes back in place. He gave a Bridget a dark look that made her beam brightly and clap her hands gleefully. The woman is nuts. It’s no wonder Shaw dumped her.
Her house was surprisingly small and ordinary and could have fit into any American suburb. It had a second bedroom and a spare bath down the narrow hallway. However, Bridget had installed every amenity she could cram into the small space. The carpets were thick and plush, and her appliances and fixtures were the best on the market. Her home was lovely, but it was also full of unhappy surprises. Far Dorocha emerged from the kitchen pantry with an irritated expression that turned to surprise when he saw me and Shaw. As usual, he did not speak, but lifted his brows in question at Bridget.
“Don’t you start with me,” Bridget snapped at him as she pushed us past him. He stepped aside to give us space to move and met Bridget’s ferocious gaze with a bland smile.
“Perhaps I shall start with you then.” A woman appeared out of a coat closet to menace us with her stark and terrible beauty. She had gone for the dominatrix look with a terrible vengeance, donning her slender curves with glossy, black vinyl and leather accented with studded jewelry. Her ebony hair was as glossy and sleek as the rest of her, and her white skin was stained with the thick, dark make up favored by those who want to lurk in the darkness or wished they were undead. Instead of appearing cheap and mean, she looked like she intended to garb herself in an elaborate warning label. I for one was grateful for it. There is nothing more convenient than a bad person letting you know they were bad before they opened their mouth to speak to you.
“Does Bres know that you’re playing with his toy?” The woman’s Irish voice was low and oily, like a snake slithering out of a bog. “He’ll lose his mind if he finds out.”
“I suppose that you’ll tell him unless I do something for you.” Bridget gave us a hard shove at the front door. “Isn’t that right Morrigan?”
“That’s usually how it goes.” Morrigan snagged Shaw by his shirt and dragged him back toward her. He seized her wrist and twisted it to make her let him go. She laughed in his face. “You better get this one clear before Nemain arrives. You know how she likes the spirited ones, especially when they’re pretty.”
Shaw had enough of Morrigan, and he twisted in her grasp and hit her chest hard with the heel of his hand. Morrigan staggered and snarled, grabbing Shaw’s arm and digging into his flesh with her long, black fingernails. They snarled into each other’s faces and I reached for a weapon I didn’t have anymore.
Morrigan’s face went slack with astonishment seconds before a shock of white light erupted between them, forcing them apart and knocking Shaw to the floor. Morrigan bent double, cradling her arm against her middle. Behind us, the Dark Man let out a cry of pure rage, and launched himself at Shaw.
Bridget was quite put out as she plucked the furious faerie out of the air and tossed him onto the floor and pinned him there with her foot. “Do you mind?”
Morrigan’s eyes were shining as she flexed her burnt and blistered hand. “I’ll trade you my man for yours.”
Morrigan’s offer sucked the fight out of her Dark Man and he lay still with his broken heart on display on his sleeves. His mouth moved wordlessly as he pleaded with his dark lady to keep him. But Morrigan’s eyes were for Shaw. The woman was practically drooling on him. I really wished for a gun loaded with thumb tacks and rock salt so I could leave my mark when I ran that bitch off.
“Piss off.” Bridget gave Far Dorocha a nudge with her foot and let him up. He sat up and buried his face in his hands and wept. The man was pitiful. “I don’t want your broken doll, and I’ll not hand another to you to destroy. That one will not serve you.”
“I could simply take him from you. I am one short since Bodach Glas was arrested by the FBI. This one would fill his place nicely.”
I shuddered at the mention of the Gray Man. Of all the fearsome things whispered of in Irish hovels as the peasants huddled close to their little fires, Bodach Glas was the most terrible. The stories claimed that he arrived with the heavy mists that cloaked the Emerald Isle, leaving death and dismemberment in his wake. No one was spared where the Gray Man tread; not women, children, or the scrawny family cow. Now he was in the custody of the FBI. I wondered how the mortals were going to deal with that when they figured out what they had caged.
“We both know that you will lose in a fight against me,” Bridget replied calmly.
“I am the Mother and the Mistress of Death!” Morrigan spat, challenging her.
“So what? I am Inspiration, Health, and the Arts of the Fire among many other things,” Bridget retorted haughtily. “As it so happens, I’m also a Saint among the Christians. Can you beat that?”
Morrigan stamped her foot and threw her hands up in defeat. “No.”
“Then don’t make threats until you learn new tricks.”
As the women were squaring off, Shaw slowly climbed to his feet and moved to my side. Pulling on my hand, he drew me back until we reached Bridget’s front door. I followed him closely, happy that Bridget had indulged in the finest carpets possible. It made it easy for us to sneak out before they could remember we were there.
The outside of the house was a different matter altogether. The pretty garden I had spotted from the bedroom was only one small part of the property. Everywhere I looked there was something big and green growing wildly out of control. And the smells! My nose was picking up things I hadn’t smelled since the Industrial Revolution took hold in Europe. It was rich and earthy and purely unlike anything I had known for centuries. I paused in the middle of the walk to close my eyes and enjoy the lost sensations and old memories that came with them.
“You might not want to linger too long,” Bridget was leaning on the frame with her arms crossed under her breasts, watching us go. “The Morrigan Mob has a hound they keep around for hunting and battle. I haven’t seen it around lately, and I’m missing my goat and a potbellied pig. My guess is that the dog got them and from the size of the beast, he’ll still be hungry. You might want to think about running for your car.”
Shaw gave her a comically horrified look then turned and started jogging. Realizing that this wasn’t a faerie prank, I hurried after him, keeping my eyes moving for some sign of something ugly to leap out at us. The dog exploded out of a bush in a shower of leaf and flower and bounded toward me with its slavering jaws open wide. It was as big as a horse with a matted black coat clotted with mud and eyes that burned with rage and hunger. It bayed and snarled as it hurtled toward me, its massive paws tearing at the earth and throwing it up in a shower of clumps behind it. I stared at it in terror for a second before I turned and ran, screaming my lungs out as I went. If I wasn’t already immortal, I would have been in absolute fear of my life instead of just my limbs.
Happily, the fearsome dog came to an abrupt halt as soon as it reached a bed of daffodils and lilacs, and barked at me in frustration. Bridget’s mocking laughter slid through the air and taunted me. “The bitch is out of her mind!”
“And my buddies told me I was nuts to dump her.” Shaw had parked the car nearby and left the doors open and the engine running. He grimaced at the slathering, yapping beast. “Bridget’s got some kind of invisible fence up to keep the dogs out of the flower beds. It won’t go past the lilacs. We should get going before it decides to start digging.”
“You know this thing?” I couldn’t bring myself to call it a dog. It was too big and feral to be anything so tame and loveable. The animal looked like a cross between a boar, a cat, and road kill.
“She had it when we were dating, but Bridget didn’t let it run loose when I was here.” Shaw spoke frankly, but his posture stiffened as if he expected a fight out of me. Some women didn’t like it when their men talked about past girlfriends, especially when the ex in question was more beautiful than they were. I’m not the type to get a hair up my butt over something so silly, but then I have a longer and more varied history than anyone. Who am I to cast stones? Besides, a few half completed rolls in some bedding didn’t mean I was going to keep they man. It definitely didn’t mean that I was going to feel jealous.
I jumped into the car, not caring that I was sitting on vinyl seats that were covered in my dried blood. Shaw threw the car into gear and pressed the gas to the floor. In minutes, the hound, house, and crazy faeries were out of sight and out of mind.
“Where