Honkytonk Hell: A Dark and Twisted Urban Fantasy (The Broken Bard Chronicles Book 1) by eden Hudson (ebook reader with highlight function .TXT) 📗

“Miss McCormick, if you’ll come with me?” Rian sounded like he was trying to impress somebody with his courtesy, respect, and professionalism.

“Yeah, okay.” Desty stood up and followed Rian to his modified crotch rocket. She looked back and I pushed myself up with only about thirty seconds of pain so intense that I wished I would black out.

Rian pointed the butt-end of his Maglite at me. “Soon as I get back to the mansion, I’m reporting you to the Tracker. Go anywhere tonight but the Kelley farm or back to town and you’re fucked.”

I watched them drive away before I tried getting back in the truck. I had to keep one arm tight around my side and pull myself up into the cab with the other. Back when I bought the truck off of Jax’s cousin, I’d had enough money left over to get chrome straight pipes or a lift kit, but Owen told me pipes would mess with the engine power. Dragging myself up onto the seat with a broken rib sure made the straight pipes look worth the power tradeoff. Hindsight and all that crap.

I took off my hat, wiped the sweat off my face with my shirt, and let my head drop back against the headrest.

Desty thought she could save her sister, but only if Tempie wasn’t already a familiar. I moved my upper body just enough to set off the rib and blow away every image the word familiar brought to mind. And since foot soldiers couldn’t make—couldn’t enthrall—anyone, Desty’s sister would be with Kathan.

My high beams reached far enough down the road to light up the turnoff to Dodge’s farm. There would be a couple coolers full of beer. Owen would’ve talked Rowdy out of a jar of his home cooked ‘shine. I could be passed out in the back of the truck in a few hours, get woke up around noon by Dodge’s coon dog, Clutch, and head home to sleep it off.

Or I could take the road opposite the turnoff to Dodge’s, head east a mile on gravel, then north on Old 63. That would dump me out at the Dark Mansion in about ten minutes.

The Kelley farm, back to town, or fucked.

I put the truck in gear. You’d think Rian would’ve been smarter than to give me a choice.

Desty

The midnight approach to the Dark Mansion combined the creepy suspense of a movie about kids stepping out of cornfields holding bloody cane knives with the supernatural paranoia of the Inquisition. But that’s what you get when you drop a demonic cathedral into the middle of rural Missouri. I tightened my grip on Moto-Cop’s uniform and focused on the way the wind pushed at the tar-stained feathers of his wings instead of ruffling them.

He stopped in front of the entrance and held the bike upright while I climbed off the back. Up close, with the quarter moon behind it and the light from inside trying to illuminate the front Hell Window—which I guess would technically be considered a Hell Oculus—the place made me want to turn and run screaming back to town. I slid my hands into the back pockets of my shorts and watched Moto-Cop put down the kickstand.

“So—” I tried to clear the shakiness from my throat. Tempie was in there. She was inside the Dark Mansion, and I had to go in there because this was the closest I’d been to her in months. “So, who is Tempie with? She’s with another foot soldier, right? We’re going in so you can report to Mayor Dark and then we’ll go to the barracks to see her?”

It helps sometimes to lie to yourself out loud.

“Right this way,” Moto-Cop deflected as he led the way up the steps.

Inside, I kept my eyes down and ignored the urge to look at the Hell Windows. I had all the skin-crawling I could stand without their help, thank you very much.

Another foot soldier in fatigue pants and an army-green wife beater came down the hall from what the tour guide had called the Permanent Residence wing.

“You found Temperance’s sister?” Fatigues asked.

Moto-Cop nodded, smiling the way gossips do when they have something juicy to blab. “Get this—with Tough Whitney.”

Fatigues smirked at me. I wished fallen angels wouldn’t look so freaking sexy while they talked about me like I wasn’t in the room. At least I wasn’t panting or saying things uncontrollably this time. Maybe I was building up an immunity to them.

“Well, I need to report Tough to the Tracker,” Moto-Cop said. “He claims he’s just headed out to the Kelley farm, but you know that kid.”

Fatigues snorted. “Probably across the county line by now. You should’ve run him in.”

Moto-Cop shrugged as he backed toward the door.

“I figured she trumped him,” he said.

They nodded goodbye to each other and Moto-Cop left.

“Modesty, I’ll be escorting you to Mayor Dark,” Fatigues said. His wings did an impatient shiver as he swung around and left me behind. I had to jog to catch up and speed walk to keep pace with his long legs.

In the Permanent Residence wing, stone-tile floors turned into thick carpet. I looked over my shoulder toward the door closing us off from the entrance hall.

“Why isn’t Tough allowed to leave Halo?” I asked.

“You’ve heard of Halo’s NP-human protection rules, haven’t you?”

“I thought residents could leave for a day as long as their protector doesn’t attack anyone while they’re gone.”

Fatigues looked sidelong at me as if he’d been hoping I hadn’t actually heard of them.

“Tough is considered a major flight risk,” Fatigues said. “He’s run away twice already. The last time, he tried to kill a guy.”

I watched our boots hit the carpet for a few steps. Fatigues and I were wearing the same brand, but his