Sneak Preview of Battle of Bones – Bumper Sticker Bessie Book Two

Illustration by N. M. Sirett (C)

Just a little sneak preview of the second book. Spoiler Alert. Don’t read on if you don’t want any spoilers.

Bessie is taken to a dimension of Hell by force. Currently Celia’s captive.

Blood oozed through the thickened cloud-sludge. Was it blood, though? Or, maybe, the Devil’s Fire? I was not sure what it was, exactly, that I was seeing. I remember feeling this way when I first saw Toybecka, the changeling child, in her true, congealed form. She was so twisted. So unequivocally fucked up. She did not make any sense to me. That little devil-child. I guess the gore of Hell is not so vividly recognisable as, let’s say, a massacre on Earth. It is stickier, bloodier, a zillion times more gruesome and not easily understood. It has the tendency to avoid your gaze. It is a jellified, lumpy puzzle which can only be fixed together by using the wrong pieces in a not-together sort of way. It makes sense in the jumble-sale section of your brain. You piece the reality of what you are seeing together, slowly and methodically, like a detective staring at a random shoe in an abattoir. Knowing full well that the enormity of what you are seeing is so bad, so terribly bad, that you are thankful for its spaghetti-knotted, topsy-turvy tangle of sheer elusiveness, because seeing it properly will only make you want to cut out your own brain with a blunt nail file – one cranial nerve at a time.

For want of a better expression, I’m calling it the Devil’s Fire. It was a contrail of Hell vapour. A branding-iron X, imprinted into the sky. Made by D’yarvol, I was betting. And judging from Celia’s expression, she wanted us to follow it.

The Devil’s fiery X flashed red in the distance, beyond the looming buildings, and hovered above the outskirts of the city. It vibrated in the space like a wasp overdosing on sherbet. D’yarvol’s beacon of doom.  

Celia grinned manically. The red of the X reflecting on her face, splashing her eyes with a shot of electric crimson and making them appear luminously bloodshot. She made a little ‘shall we?’ gesture, and headed off in the direction of the demonic symbol in the sky.

I hesitated. Glancing about at those big old buildings with a disconcerting feeling stirring in my gut. I did not trust those calculating brick Titans. Looming over the streets, ready to devour any poor soul unfortunate enough to wind up here. I mean, I’ve read Shirley Jackson. I get it: some buildings are evil, just because, and wickedly restless. Wanting to keep you on the inside and never let you go. They are like Titans devouring their prey. And who knows what happens if you enter their doors? What happens to a ghost when it dies?

Despite my reluctance to head towards the red cross, I didn’t particularly feel like lingering either. But, tragically, ‘something else’ swiftly had me on the move now: a pack of wolves… or, at least, that was my first impression. Travelling down one of those dark roads, baring saliva-dripping fangs, with shaggy coats as black as night, came a pack of… no, not wolves – hell hounds. The like I had not seen since my hallucination. Since that moment when I had imagined standing on the shores of Hell. Those hounds looked exactly like these beasts. Only these ones were most definitely the real thing.  

Celia mouthed something: ‘Ssh – fucks!’

‘Huh?’ I said, quirking an eyebrow.

Celia whispered: ‘Shucks!’

‘Shucks? What?’

Celia whisper-hissed: ‘Black Shucks! They’re bad news. Must leave now. No sudden movements. Walk away. Slowly.’

I wasn’t about to argue, so I nodded and followed her lead towards the outskirts of the city. Moving in silence. The only sound being the soft padding of paws behind us.