Page 104 of Hopelessly Teavoted
The ghost looked from her to the fight again and nodded. She angled her body to block the flame.
“Very well. Perhaps it is better this way. Chet is arrogant. Greedy and overly privileged, but completely unwilling to acknowledge it. I paid his way in everything, but he still gloated like he’d earned it all. I am sad to say that I allowed him to go unchecked for far too long. I indulged him. Vouched for his goodness. Protected him. Excused his behavior.”
Vickie cocked her head slightly to the side, trying to ask the question without alerting Chet to her subterfuge or the presence of his father’s spirit.
“He’s a teacher, but a cruel one. A youth pastor, for the control, with nefarious intentions in his heart. Malice lies in the heart of the head pastor here too. They live for the power and money afforded to them by their congregation, oblivious to thehorrors their tithes and ignorance support. My son here”—the ghost gestured to him—“he preys on younger women. Legal, but young enough not to know better. Lonely and insecure enough not to see his red flags. Chet always makes sure they are willing, at least at first, but pushes them beyond what they feel comfortable with. It is a pattern I excused in life, but what excuse shall I make for the boy who killed me, who sacrificed his soul and his own father for the power to devour other souls? He plans to kill all of you, and to make himself untouchable, to sow even more discord in the world. He plans to force souls from people. He’s never understood consent.”
“How do I defeat him?” Vickie whispered. She could only hope that in death, the man would be more inclined to stop his offspring than he had been in life.
Azrael’s head turned slightly toward her, and he glanced at her hand, eyes opening wide with realization. Azrael lunged toward his colleague with renewed zeal, drawing the man’s attention and ire further away from Vickie.
“I’ll kill you, you fucking monster,” Az screamed at Chet, who threw his head back and laughed, his forehead glistening and red. His laugh was maniacal and cold, and he was oblivious to the imminent threat.
It was the laugh of a man who had never been met with the consequences of his own actions, and who had failed up for so long that he knew no other way to succeed. He was the sort of person who would tell you he could have been a millionaire, or a surgeon, or a jet pilot, if he had only applied himself. The sort of man who would meet any accomplishment in another with an excuse for why he himself hadn’t achieved such a thing. A pedantic, modern-day Mr. Collins in the flesh, but with far too much bite for Austen.
“When I’m gone, along with this lighter, Chet’s protection will fade. He traded my life for that shield, and used his own soul as collateral in exchange for the power to consume others’ souls. There’s a fancy pen in his pocket, which may be the only thing he loves. He considers himself god’s gift to creation,slicing necessary prose with a red pen, yet incapable of creating anything real. He’s a disgrace to good teachers, and to good people everywhere.”
The lighter burned now, and the ghost was fading.
“The pen. Get the pen. He signed his soul away with it. He’s bound to it, same as his protection is to this lighter.”
Vickie nodded, and with a startling crackle, the lighter disintegrated.
Well, fuck, that didn’t usually happen.
“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” Chet screamed, moving toward Vickie and dropping Prissy. “I sold my father, his body and soul, for that thing.”
The broken spell work of the lighter caught fire as it snapped, and Chet’s protective shield shattered, taking with it the secrecy of what Vickie was doing.
“And that makes you a coward,” she said, scowling at him. “You traded yourfather’ssoul instead of your own for the protection spell work. That still leaves your soul.Youstill have a soul to take. And I? I’m capable of taking it.”
Evelyn scooped up Priscilla’s limp form. Vickie tried not to focus on the other woman’s frantic casting as her posh voice lilted in soft magical whispers, her hands rubbing together in bursts of healing magic. Chet lunged toward Victoria, hands closing around her throat, squeezing and constricting. Vickie gasped in shock as her air ran out, her vision darkening at the edges as the world started to go static around her ears.
She felt a wave of magic, like nothing she’d known, push her backward. It was cold and empty, and it left a brassy taste in her mouth. Chet’s body fell on top of her, winding her further, fingers squeezing around her throat. Then she heard a loud crack, followed by the gasping relief of Chet’s hands releasing her and the rush of gulps of air she could pull in again.
“Vickie,” she heard Azrael mutter, blood covering the cross-shaped paperweight he held in a white-knuckle grip in his hand, kept at a careful distance away from her. Azrael kickedat Chet, whose body slumped off Vickie. Chet was breathing but unconscious, a fresh lump on the side of his head bleeding.
“I’m fine,” Vickie said; she could tell Az was scrambling, desperately wanting to comfort her, to make sure there wasn’t a scratch on her, but unable to touch her.
Vickie wrapped her arms around herself, taking comfort in the sweater she wore as she hugged herself instead. She wished for the cradle of his arms now more than ever.
“There’s a pen in Chet’s pocket that I need,” Vickie said.
Azrael grimaced, clearly not happy about needing to reach into the man’s chinos, still pressed into a sharp pleat at the front of each leg. After a small, uncomfortable moment of searching, Az pulled out a golden pen, making the man stir. Chet sat up, scrambling to his feet. They were running out of time.
“Throw it to me?” Victoria asked.
Az nodded, and she caught the pen.
“What the devil—” Chet began.
Then, with apop, they were no longer the only ones in the room.
Lex shook glittering gold dust from goddess knew what from his hair and took in the room. His black hair was mussed, his lips swollen. He strutted toward Az and Vickie, looking even more self-satisfied than usual, and clapped his hands together. Chet froze, mid-scowl.
“Very nicely done, pet!” Lex said, smiling at her in a way that made her furious. “You’ve caught one of Lucifer’s projects gone wrong.” He shook his head. “This is why I don’t care to take him up on any golfing invites, the ass.” His brows furrowed at that, as though their harrowing encounter in this youth pastor’s office was only a small inconvenience to the otherwise glorious day he was having. He smiled, as though noticing something else. He sniffed at the air once, and then again, wrinkling his nose and then nodding. “Yes, he’s the person who attacked the psychic. And the villain behind the ills of the megachurch. Ah, well done, Vickie. You’re so close to finalizing our contract, just as soon as you serve this fool his comeuppance. Bravo, pet.”
“Fuck you, Lex,” Vickie hissed, but she only meant it halfway. She was, after all, glad he had come to help dispose of this particular villain.
