Midnight Rider

Hell's first work release program; killing monsters to save souls. Always read the fine print. Especially when you're making a deal with the devil. That's how they got me and my entire hometown. Luckily, those jokes about lawyers and Hell are pretty accurate. After a lengthy court case downstairs, I've been sent topside in Hell's very first work-release program. All I have to do is hunt down and kill things that go bump in the night; monsters, and demons, and cryptids, oh my! If I kill enough to meet my quota, the souls of the townsfolk will be set free. If I don't, we all stay downstairs ... permanently. On top of that, a tribe of cannibals are looking to put me on the menu, a pair of murderous fairies are taking people joy-riding, and I've got a teenage hitchhiker with 'Firestarter' vibes riding shotgun. Last but not least, a big daddy demon is hellbent on taking me back downstairs ahead of schedule. But I've got Peeps, whiskey, and a sawed-off shotgun. What more does a gal need?

After St. Louis, I knew it was time to seat the cannibal tribe in the "past tense" section of living. I mean, you just don't kidnap someone's demon accountant. That's just frickin' rude. Of course, now we're doing the chasing, like a couple of shotgun-toting girls hunting down our dates to the Sadie Hawkins' dance. Well ... except that Noah's not a girl ... and our dates are a cannibal tribe and yet another dickbag demon that wants to kill me. Oh, and the dance is death. Possibly of the eaten-alive, cannibal variety. At least if the cannibals get me first. If it's the demon, there's a good chance it will involve a reenactment of the scene from that Indiana Jones movie when the guy rips the poor sap's heart right out of his chest. So that's fun. Then there's the constant acid reflux of having Noah along for the ride. Apparently my handcart, hurtling towards Hell seats two. I'll do my best to keep him alive as we hunt Necrowitches, Pucas, bugbears, demons, and of course, Sister Smile and her tribe of cannibals. Raise the whiskey and pass the ammunition.

When there are half-masticated bodies popping up on the radar, any hunter worth their salt will sit up and take notice. So, when they started showing up in Oklahoma, Noah and I beat cheeks back down there to try to recover what we lost. But Fate isn't exactly a grandma holding out a piece of hard candy. More often, it's a playground bully dangling loogies over your face. So, after a little flamingo-necktie-assisted arson, a near-luxury car full of demons, some car trouble, and a game of human whack-a-mole, we were once again out of leads. Meanwhile, the demon tonguing a bullet with my name on it is closing in. Nya is on the case, sifting through her contacts in the supernatural underworld to find a way to stop him. But, the demon is not the only one holding a ladle and stirring up the pot. Migrating werewolves are leaving a trail of bodies like flower girls leave petals, there's a haunting in Kansas City, a Faoladh who wants to give me a haircut, a couple of Cynocephali on the scent of a cursed object and a murdering incubus who might have what we need...no, not like that. It's true what they say: You go to heaven for the scenery, but hell for the company.

To say I sometimes run hot under the collar is a gross understatement. After what happened in Triton, I was a pissed off five-hundred-pound gorilla with a pink fanny pack, a sawed-off, and a "can do or screw you" attitude. Now, I'm just looking for a visual aide to demonstrate my rage on and the demon that keeps standing me up is my top choice. On my way to get to him, of course, I stumbled over a demon cult that was in the process of signing people up for Hell. Add to that a run-in with competing demon factions, a haunted space pen, a snarky church janitor, Stacks' next-level paranoia, a seance here or there, three staged suicides and a bunch of creepy door-to-door missionaries and the whole exercise was shaping up to be a good dose of anger therapy. Now, if I can just keep my head while I help them lose theirs, we'll be just gravy. Of course, if they're still not sure how hot-blooded I am, they can just try me and see.

Well, when the universe slams a car door on your boob, somewhere a cannibal opens a window. Or ... something like that. After Messina, Noah, and I headed off to Chicago for a little TLC involving "stumping" some Vampires. While in the Windy City, the cannibals blew back into our path and everything started going downhill from there. A rest stop massacre, Stacks' penchant for getting his ass in a sling, a drunk witch armed with a tube of cookie dough, firebombing explosions, Tom Waits, a hunter dive bar, demonic kid hitchhikers, throwing bodies in dumpsters, and run-ins with two of my exes. Not to mention a demon party in Ohio that I'm just itching to crash. Well, if you're going to shoot, shoot to thrill.

When demons gather in their masses, it's time to put them on their asses. At least, that's what Noah and I decided after we finished up a whiskey-assisted hunt in Kentucky for one of the most ridiculous supers I've ever seen. And that's saying something considering I've hunted more than one Bonnacon. So when Walter sent out the on-air warning about Bellum, Pennsylvania, and the big baddy demon vacationing in the area, we were ready to rush in while other hunters were avoiding the place. At least, I was ready. Noah was less enthusiastic, but like the boy scout-in-denial he is, he saddled up right alongside me. We were locked and loaded, but we had not been expecting the sucker punch of surreal that we found when we hit town. Some light reconnaissance, stalking and then impersonating Federal officers, a main street brawl, a jaded Homeland Security agent, and a demon hiding in plain sight just about gave us a bingo in the town that would give anything to protect its newest industry. Oink, oink. I smell supernatural bacon.

Still reeling from everything that had happened in Pennsylvania, Noah and I headed back to Rosetta's for a regrouping session ... well, and some fried chicken. Unfortunately, part of this regrouping happened to be with Gabe. But he said he had a line on Old Dukey himself and besides what killing him would probably do for my total on the Price of Souls is Right, I was really looking forward to a demon-flavored game of Operation and making his nose light up when I removed vital parts of his anatomy. I had a feeling that he was the brains behind Ornias and if killing him would break my contract, all the better. Some blood rain, a little light fornication in front of Rosetta's sink, a handful of waking visions, and one state over, things are starting to get weird. You never really appreciate sanity and having a grip on reality until it's gone and you're left, butt cheeks flapping in the wind. Exposed. When that happens, you're just hoping that somewhere, someone will give you shelter. Even if it's in the last place you expected.

Alright. I'm done dicking around. If I learned one thing in that warehouse in Ohio, it's that time is short. Even shorter now, considering all the time I'd lost. With an occluded front promising a swarm of something on the horizon and armed with Rosetta's leftovers, Noah and I were just about ready for anything. Well, almost. I hadn't been expecting the swarm to be in Tiff's hometown or for the buttlickers to crash an eight-year-old's birthday party. But, considering how the previous few weeks had gone, I shouldn't have been surprised. Still, going a couple of rounds with some bro-wolves, smacking around a demonic pawnshop owner, watching a Cynocephali struggle with a car seat, and getting a lead on Sister Smile can do wonders for the spirit. She'd already slipped by me too many times. And the visions I'd been having, told me Joel was still with her. This ends now, Sister Smile. I'm on the hunt and I'm after you.

On a scale from 0 to Dumpster Fire, I tend to hang out at the far, trash-burning end, but lately, things have been going eerily well. In the immortal words of my dad, hick poet-extraordinaire, "Just cuz the tall grass is hiding the shit, doesn't mean it's not there, waiting for you to step in it." So when Festus showed up with a birthday cake and less blood on his suit than usual, I was a little more than skeptical. Add to that a scythe-wielding accountant that is wearing the carpet thin, a demonic soiree in Missouri, a murderous gang of Red Caps in cheese country, a lie-detecting seven-year-old and a snooty corporate cult, and I can smell the gas fumes on the trash heap at forty paces. And just when I think I have a hold of the rolling dumpster, set ablaze, that is my life, another one is coming right behind me, down the hill and picking up speed. Man, it's true what they say. You never hear the flaming dumpster with your name on it.

Ok. That wasn't what I was expecting. But, no one from that TV show Punk'd jumped out and told me they were just yanking my crank, so I guess I just have to go with it. Out of the frying pan and back into the hellfire. Figuratively, at the moment, but not for much longer and now I have a new layer of responsibility, just because the universe thought it would be hilarious. So now, I'm a professional babysitter of weapons and officially a "gopher" for the impending doom on the horizon. Not much of a change of pace, but at least it's a change of scenery. But now I understand the importance of work-life balance. So when I heard what sounded like a demon shindig happening down in the Big Easy, I was already one foot out the door. After all, all work and no play makes Bane a dull gal. Of course, I didn't expect the extra company on the hunt, but I also didn't expect the kidnapping, demon-squatting, or finding out that the baby's I'm sitting should have their own comic book franchises. All I know for sure is that there's trouble on the way, but I'm not quite prepared to die. Especially not when there's a bad moon on the rise.