The Blind Bronco had never looked better to Chelsea as the cold, relentless wind blew her and Bentley through the door of the trailer. The bar stood immaculately clean, as always, and Florence smiled at her.
The teen aged beauty queen gestured to a stool. “Welcome back. I thought we’d seen the last of you.”
The last five months in the Dakotas had ground cattle-drive chic into her wardrobe, and these people were pure urban working class. It was all baggy denim and hoodies as far as the eye could see. Her fringed leather duster and matching black Stetson stood out to say the least.
Are you okay?” She hadn’t meant to ask, but the question slipped out.
He shook himself. “Yeah. Just. Stuff. You know.”
“Oh, believe me, I know about “just stuff.” I’m comprised of about ninety percent “just stuff”.”
Keegan paced in front of her, long, thin legs eating up the distance between the dark headlights. The other monster hunters stood around in shifting groups of denim, flannel, and leather. Nobody talked much, and all the laughter was short and sharp in the ever-blowing prairie wind.
Once they were outside the restaurant, she looped the leash around the faux-wood horse hitch and hung his sign around his neck. It read, “I’m waiting for my owner and love pets.” Bentley’s mouth opened in a smile as kids squealed and headed over.
The smoke swirled and moved, circling a body. The creature was hard to see, more impression than presence. Vaguely human and totally translucent, hidden as much by its nature as the dancing water droplets that danced on the wind, between the leaves and wisps of smoke.
Tall and thin, the brain leech’s only resemblance to humanity was being bipedal. But the silhouette offended her sense of proportion, being truly too thin to be human, and its face was utterly alien. The lack of a nose making it vaguely reptilian, but also a touch insectoid, with side mandibles.
How’s class going?”
Mr. Preppy rolled his eyes, fingers still buried in Bentley’s fur. “Crazy. And the headaches aren’t helping.”
*Bingo.*
This was her third college campus, and she finally got a nibble. Careful to stay casual, she forced herself not to fiddle with Bentley’s collar. “You probably need more sleep.”
He shook his head. “That’s just it. I’ve been sleeping constantly. I think I’m just burnt out.”
*No, you’re being poisoned.*
Chelsea flipped the wheel of the lighter. A single yellow flame burned in the growing twilight. It flickered in the ever-present wind but didn’t die.
Her breath arrived in a great shuddering gasp that she let out in something that streaked between sob and shriek. Frantic calls came from the house as she crushed the paper in her hands.
Words That Burn Like Fire 