Getting Black Eyes in Houston

Chapter 2 - Beer and breakfast

The immediate danger over, my mind goes into overdrive, processing the myriad details I noticed but didn't have time to put together. I was originally hired because of the wings. Nothing else terribly magical here. No fires of unexplained origin or weirdly shaped holes in things. I reach back to my slingshot. Don't mock. I've got a little gun, too, but most of the guns I can handle don't have enough stopping power for monsters.

I've often argued that guns are inherently sexist and unfair, but this is one of the few beliefs I have that all of my friends tell me I am wrong about, so this may be so. Anyway, I can't use big guns. Not enough hand, arm, or shoulder strength. I go over like a bowling pin, a short squat bowling pin. So, slingshot is my professional weapon. Different things in the balls are good against different 'monsters,' and thanks to my more studious friends, I have some ideas of what works and doesn't.

I had thought, because of the iridescent wings and the fact that "state law will not allow us to show you the video as we can not be liable for any emotional damage from witnessing a murder" that this was a faerie of some kind. So I brought the old slingshot and some of the traditional anti-faerie stuff - iron, silver, salt, blood. You know, standard anti-magic stuff. That huge monster is no faerie I'd ever heard of, the slingshot had just made it angry, but it's also gone. I should probably count my blessings.

It's nearly dawn, and I am hurt, beat up and a little wet. I can blame the broken sink for it, hopefully, but one way or another, I need to get home and shower. If I'm being honest with myself, I don't remember the last time I showered. Or changed clothes. Oh, god, I was with Beau last week. Did I smell like this?

I limp carefully to my car, easing myself into the seat, my lower back screaming at me. As I lean back, glass bottles shift behind me like tinkling music. What has shiny wings and hates smokers, I think to myself as I turn the engine over. I usually love riddles. Thank god it's still early enough to avoid traffic.

***

It was actually kind of a relief to be running for my life for once. I feel almost sober and that's nice for the few minutes I don't remember why I was drinking. Lately, the magical detective game has been all kinds of psychological horror, and while my body type may be more equipped for that, my mind would much prefer nice and normal fear of death over existential horror or crippling guilt.

 I shove that aside. Lately, most of my work has been demons. I'm not sure (capital-d) Demons actually exist, but demons are what most of the literature calls what I had been dealing with. These are not beautiful fallen angels or even the red skinned kind (generally). These are kind of... whispering homunculi. Small, human shaped things that encourage the worst of people. They have to be summoned, and usually it's for some petty wish fulfillment. They don't have much power, but most wishes don't take much except ignoring rules and not caring who gets hurt.

For some reason, there is an infestation in Houston. This is very good for my bank balance, but not exactly good for my opinion of human nature. Most are people who want to do a bad thing and are confused when their life changes, when they couldn't just do a bad thing and then have no consequences. 

Sometimes they find the strength of will to hire me themselves, sometimes it's a lover or family member. Either way, I need to find out how they are learning how to do it. It's too many to be random.

It's never too early for Houston traffic, I find. There's no avoiding Houston traffic, not really. Still, I manage to get a sumptuous, if delightfully greasy, breakfast less than a half hour later on an exit off of 610. It's my initial plan to take it home, but it smells too good, and I tear into it with the plastic utensils. The soda is gone too quick, so I rummage in the backseat for something else. finding a lone Shiner Bock floating in cool water in my mini cooler. Still a little hung over, I figure one more can't hurt. 

My mind soothed by the familiar taste and light buzz, I finish my breakfast. The thick corn syrup begins to work its sugary magic on me, and I feel awake enough to drive home. 

I'm almost home when the lights flash behind me. I'm not on the freeway anymore, but maybe they're trying to get around me. I slow down, and they do, too. Nope. They're after me. Fuck.