Page 79 of Sinful Crimes for the Artistically Inclined
“I have no idea.” A flash of remembrance panicked Joe’s face. “Percy, is this why you had to kill those guys in the hotel room? Were they whatever this thing is?”
“Yes. Yes, I think so,” he lied smoothly, having completely forgotten his earlier doings until just then. “They smelled like death and they had to go.”
A whole new shade of worry clouded Joe’s features. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I had no idea you were in that kind of trouble.”
That twisting, twisting guilt. He tried to alleviate both Joe’s concern and his own in the same breath. “I told you, you don’t need to worry about me. Not ever.” And to lighten the mood further, he hurriedly added, “But I spared the humans. Did you see?”
“I did.” Joe beamed. Percy soaked up every bit of Joe’s ill-gotten approval as though he hadn't really committed thoughtless, cold-blooded murder that evening, which perhaps he hadn’t, considering the dead-alive thing in front of them.
Joe turned his concentration back to the hand and murmured earnestly, “Dormio.” It continued to writhe on the dagger.
A judgemental if adoring smirk lit Percy’s face. “You can’t just speak Latin to anything supernatural and expect it to obey.”
Joe scowled back at him. “You might be surprised how often that works.”
“What is it?” Althea repeated, with a hard emphasis on every word.
Percy stated the only thing he knew about it that was likely to be true. “The body this hand belongs to will have regenerated by now. And there’s every chance it will be after its hand. We’ve got to ditch it.”
“Burn it?” suggested Joe.
“Yes. Burn it. But… Is there a way we can stake it in case burning doesn’t work?”
“Your dagger?”
“It’s four hundred years old!” Percy shouted in disgust. “And it belonged to?—”
“Yes, Velazquez, I know.” Joe turned away to hide the latest eye roll.
Percy spun him back around by shoving the bedaggered hand at him. He rounded the car, looking it over for something to use as a stake.
Joe, guessing his aim, called across, “Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage?”
“Then what difference will a little more make?” He shoved his cigarette in his mouth and went about bending the windscreen wiper back and forth, back and forth, until it snapped. He tapped it across his open palm a few times, testing the strength. “This should do nicely.”
“Burning first?” suggested Joe.
“Yes. Burn it, then stab it. That’s always the best course of action.”
Althea, who’d been studying the pair in quiet puzzlement, said, “Have you done this before?”
“More or less,” said Percy.
“Lots of times,” added Joe.
“Ah,” said Althea. “That explains a lot. I might just wait in the car, then. For you to burn and stab dead things.”
“Undead,” Joe corrected.
“There are still some chips,” Percy offered.
“No thanks,” she called back, climbing into the bloody, glassy, bullet-ridden back seat.
Percy shrugged her away into the background of his mind. “What shall we use?”
After a brief search of the barren area, Joe’s gaze lit upon the trunk where their suitcases were. “Mouthwash?”
“Perfect.”
