Soul Screamers, Volume 1

But the fiend surprised me. “As are we all,” he said wistfully, and I felt my brows arch almost off of my head. Yet that made sense. They were desperate for a hit of Demon’s Breath. Of course they were looking for a demon.

“Um, I mean we’re looking for a particular hellion.” This time, Tod squeezed my other hand, but I ignored him. If the fiend wanted to bite us, he could already have done it several times over. “Do you know a hellion of avarice?”

The fiend’s flashing yellow eyes gleamed brighter, and they may have moistened just a bit, as if with a fond memory. “Ah, avarice…” he breathed, squeaky voice piercing right to the center of my brain. “My favorite flavor.”

Excitement traced my veins, chasing out those last, healthy jolts of fear. He knew the hellion of avarice. Or at least, he knew a hellion of avarice.

I dared one step forward, fighting the urge to squat and look him in the eye, and Nash held tightly to my hand so I couldn’t go any farther. “Can you tell us where to find this hellion?”

“I can.” The creature nodded his bulbous, bald head, and in the reddish moonlight, I got a good look at the dark veins snaking over the top of it, bulging like a serious weight lifter’s. “But there is a price.”

I frowned. “I don’t have much money. Not quite fifty—”

“Kaylee…” Nash refused to relinquish my hand when I tried to dig in my pocket.

“I have no use for your worthless paper currency,” the fiend spat, gray lips turning down around razor-sharp teeth. “I will tell you where to find your hellion—for a portion of his breath. Payable in advance…”

“What?” Anger burned in my cheeks. The fiend’s nostrils flared again, as if my ire scented the air, and for all I know, it did.

“Let’s go....” Tod tugged on my other arm.

“No!” I turned back to the fiend, trying to get my voice under control. My anger clearly pleased him, and that wouldn’t help my case. “If we knew where to get a dose of his breath, we wouldn’t have to ask you where to find him!”

But the fiend only blinked up at me, tiny hands twitching, clearly unconcerned with how I came up with the payment. Did logic have no place in the Netherworld? How was I supposed to…

I stood straight as a sudden possibility occurred to me. “Is an hour soon enough?” My lips curled up into what felt like a sly smile.

The fiend nodded slowly. Eagerly. “I will wait here. One hour. My time,” he said, as if in afterthought.

“Deal.” My smile widened.

Nash and Tod frowned at me, but instead of explaining, I dismissed the creepy little monster and rushed across the lot with both guys on my heels, my focus on the ground ahead, on the lookout for anything that could poison, grab, or eat me.

Because the guys were right: If I wasn’t careful, I had no doubt this monstrous wonderland would swallow Alice whole…





Chapter 17





“Where are we going?” Nash asked from the driver’s seat as I propped my right foot on the dashboard, glad to be back on my own side of the looking glass, even if only temporarily.

“I don’t know yet. Here.” I twisted to toss my phone over the backseat to Tod. Unfortunately, he was no longer fully with us—non-corporeal due to stress, maybe?—and the phone dropped through his body to land on the seat, like it had fallen through a hologram. His rear and my phone now occupied the same space at the same time.

Wasn’t an event like that supposed to make the world explode, or something?

The reaper glanced down in surprise, then reached through himself to grab my phone from the seat—which had to be one of the weirdest things I’d ever seen. Even weirder than killer plants and little bald fiends with tails and needle-teeth.

Tod’s body solidified, and he stared at me blankly. “What’s this for?”

“Well, most people use it as a form of communication, but it would probably work as a projectile, in a pinch.”

Tod frowned. “Funny. Who am I supposed to call?”

“Addy. Find out where she is. I have an idea.” While he dialed, I turned my attention to the thorny coil of vine still wrapped tightly around my ankle. Nash had cut it close to the ground to get me loose, but there was still enough of the weed left to encircle my leg twice, long, thin thorns piercing both the denim and my skin. At two-inch intervals, thin four-leaf clusters dangled, dark green at the centers, bleeding to red on the serrated edges.

“Be careful with that,” Nash warned, glancing from the road to my ankle, then back. “I think that’s crimson creeper, and if it is, the thorns are poisonous.”