Page 17 of Monstrous Travels as Wicked as Sin

No.

He had felt bad.

He had felt bad, then he had locked it away in the vault with all the other horrors. But that was very long ago, and now this oozing corpse in blue sequins only roused revulsion in him, both for what he had made Joe feel and for what he wore.

Percy would kill him again happily. Twice if he could.

Dropping another kiss on Joe’s temple, Percy said softly, “I don’t know if you realise, but that second bullet would have been it for me.”

Joe tilted his face up towards Percy, who was an unusual, unsettling shade of serious.

“He had it aimed right at my skull. You saved my life.”

Joe tightened his fingertips on Percy’s collar and pulled him a little closer, moving his gaze down to the wet ochre tiles. “I’m sorry. I almost got you killed.”

Percy took his hand and kissed it. “No. I almost got me killed. He almost got me killed. I completely underestimated him.”

“If I’d just let you kill him earlier?—”

“That’s not you.” Before he could say another word, Percy caught Joe’s chin with strong fingers and a gentle thumb across his lips. “And it doesn’t need to be.” He kissed Joe, three long, soft pecks. He ran a hand over his back and pulled him against his chest, sinking into his warmth, settling him against his neck.“If it hasn’t been too awful, I’d really like it if you’d keep doing crimes with me.”

He felt Joe’s laugh deep in his chest. “I did all right, then?”

“Mostly.” Percy turned his head languidly to assess Dubois. “Though, as he was about to kill me, I’m not sure that counts as murder. Which is a shame, because it would have been a good one.”

“What are you talking about?” Successfully provoked, Joe shoved him off and climbed to his feet. “That’s a fantastic murder.” A shot of lightning ripped through the sky, illuminating the grisly sight theatrically. Joe flung an arm out to illustrate his point. Unfortunately for him, Dubois’s body flinched at the sound of the thunder that followed.

“Dracula!” he screamed.

“Why does he keep blaming me?” Percy let Joe pull him to his feet, before directing his voice at the dying man. “Ignatius did it.”

Joe slapped his sore chest. “Stop calling me that!”

“Ouch!”

“Dracula!” Dubois screamed louder still.

“Joe.” Percy turned to Joe, so Joe turned to Percy, and Percy said, “I believe it might fall within your code of ethics for me to put him out of his misery right about now before he attracts anyone else up to the roof.”

“But…” Joe assessed Dubois, writhing on his metal skewer. “You know, maybe we should call an ambulance or something?”

“Handsome…” But with one look at Joe’s conflicted face, Percy knew it was a lost cause. He decided to save them both the trouble. He started forward, flipped Dubois’s legs up, wrenched him off the weathervane and onto his shoulder, screaming all the while. After a quick look below to make sure it was clear, Percy flung his body off the side of the building, where it splatted down onto the stone pavement, breaking the head apart, ripping a legoff, and generally leaving more of Dubois on the outside of his body than on the inside.

“What did you do!” Joe rasped out, already by his side and surveying the grisly mess.

Percy shrugged. “It was an accident.” Then to the furious scowl, “I was aiming for the pool.” Joe, he knew, was about to unleash a volley of reprimand, so Percy yelled, “Ignatius, come!” and dashed away into the dark stairwell.

With a great deal of swearing, Joe followed, and from there it was short work (relatively speaking), for the two to find a first-floor bedroom, lower the painting, then themselves, down to their waiting boat on the dark side of the mansion, and row their way back to the woods. A rope was fastened to the painting and hurled over the wall. Percy affixed his cape and his mask and the two wandered back through what was left of the party, out the front door, and, pausing only to pull their prize over the wall, they were away.

Had it been anyone but Percy, Joe might have considered it odd that he had chosen, in advance, such a location to burn the painting. Joe would have just destroyed it first chance he got. But considering how dangerous the entities were, the precautions made sense. Sense to do it in an abandoned shed on a lonely farm. Sense to put the painting aside for a second, outside, while he and Percy went in and lit the candles. Most of them. Percy disappeared for longer than expected to retrieve the painting, which, had it not been so dark, Joe might have noticedwas in a box that appeared to have suffered surprisingly little from such an ordeal.

It made perfect sense too for Percy to tip the thing out face down, and Joe was relieved he didn’t have to look at it then, or ever again.

In the flickering light, as the new day dawned, they splashed holy water on the back of the canvas. “Exorcizamus hanc bestiam in Nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.” They threw salt onto the surface. “Quaesumus, Sancte. Protege adversus spiritus nequitiam et tyrannidem diaboli.” They gave the lot a heavy spritz with lighter fluid. “Vade infernales invasores, putrescentiae mentis et omnes legiones diabolicae.” And Percy dropped the cigarette from his lips onto the painting, watching the lot go up in flames. “Expellimus te a nobis immundum spiritum. Pessima bestia, te ad Infernus projicio.”

Odd, the way nothing came out of there. No screams of the damned, no last-ditch attempts to murder them. But then, Joe had never exorcised a haunted painting before, and unlike Percy, he hadn’t known what to expect.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

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