Fire and Brimstone and Cookies [The Misadventures of Theodosius - Book II]

Chapter XI

BIHATRA AND THEODOSIUS WERE NOT VERY GOOD ROOMMATES—but you, Dear Reader, could have predicted that.

"If you so much as think about snoring, I will smother you with a pillow and then eviscerate you with a toothbrush," Bihatra said. She sat on the bed nearest the heavily-curtained window, wearing a pair of rainbow pajamas that had come from nowhere. She slid her hooves under the covers and then held up a clawed finger. "No, wait: other way around."

Theo, wearing the same clothes he had worn to be nearly killed in—bloody scissor-hole and all—scooted to the far side of his bed, crawled underneath the covers, and tried to pretend that he did not exist. As he closed his eyes, he thought of Tansy, and the idea that he might somehow get his beloved wife back at the end of this torment was enough to keep him from dying of sheer misery.

In the corner of the room, lying where it had been tossed on the laminated hotel room table, was the towel, throbbing ominously with the energy it had absorbed from the life essence of Winslow W. Worthington, a 78-year-old retired life insurance salesman who had died without any supernatural intervention whatsoever, thank you very much. Winslow W. Worthington had simply been undergoing open heart surgery when the surgeon, in the midst of performing an exceptionally delicate maneuver, had been startled by the sound of a small girl coughing loudly.

"Oops!" the surgeon had said. "Time of death: 5:54 PM. Bless you."

Totally normal. This is a story about normal things.

***

Theo slept an unsettled and not particularly restful sleep. He awoke bleary-eyed the next morning when he landed on the musty hotel room carpet. He blinked, Bihatra's black hooves coming in and out of focus, and looked up...up...up at her.

"Get up," Bihatra said. "We're going to Pinkleton."

"Ow," said Theodosius, more or less in response.

It took the two of them very little time to pack up their meager collection of belongings into the plastic Discount Soopers shopping bags. When they had done this, Bihatra—in the guise of Sweetbriar—led the way to the lobby of the hotel. Theodosius was rather sad to see the last of the magic mirror with the little people inside, but he was not about to do anything that might slow their progress toward raising Paula Wolfe from the dead. Not only was every step toward the grisly resurrection a step toward his reunion with Tansy; every step toward the grisly resurrection was, he hoped, half a step away from Bihatra.

"We need a taxi," Bihatra announced to the attendant at the front desk. It was no longer the quailing man from the night before; it was now a teenager with her black hair in braids. The girl was frantically tapping away with her thumbs on a device that looked like a minuscule version of the magic mirror. Theo craned his neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of the tiny people inside, but the screen just presented some strange blocks of script.

"So call one," the girl said.

"Let me rephrase," Bihatra said. "Call us a taxi."

The girl looked up with a frown and reached for the front desk phone with an unamused quirk of her eyebrow. "'Kay," she muttered. "And where are you going in this taxi?"

"Pinkleton."

With a snort, the girl hung up the phone again. "A taxi ain't going to take you to Pinkleton."

"A taxi will be taking us to Pinkleton, now, or I will be upset," said Bihatra. Since she looked to be no more than ten years old, only someone who knew what lay behind those big doe eyes could be properly afraid.

Theo knew, and he was indeed properly afraid.

"Well, good luck," the girl replied with a shrug of her shoulder. She was focused on the phone again. "Bus doesn't run out that far, and a taxi won't, either. Maybe if you pay with your left arm and a human soul."