Demon Jack by Patrick Donovan

rules they had. With vampires, for example, sunlight didn’t kill them. It just made them really sluggish, forcing them into a near death like state. Prolonged exposure to direct light would burn them, pretty badly, but it wouldn’t out-and-out cause them to erupt into towering pillars of flame. I knew about the rules that governed them, how a duel was the next best thing to trial lawyers to settle a dispute. I knew that the Fae were lying little fucks concerned with little more than their own naked self-interest, or that shifters didn't have to have a full moon to change and weren't limited to the classic wolf.
    What I didn’t get was how this thing was jumping back and forth from body to body. Or for that matter, why if was doing it.
    I tossed the folder on the desk, too frustrated and distracted to think and I settled back on the bed. I closed my eyes, crossing my arms under my head and tried to ignore the feeling of being gnawed apart by my own nerves.
    I woke up when Maggie came in. Her hair was damp and combed back from her face. She wore a pair of jeans, hiking boots, and a loose fitting t-shirt under a black leather jacket. She had a messenger bag over one shoulder and it bumped against her hip with each step.
    I sat up, wiping the sleep from my eyes and taking comfort in the ridges of scars beneath my fingertips. I was awake for maybe a second before the first stomach cramp hit me, an ice-cold knife turning in my guts. I curled up waiting for it to pass. After what felt like a literal ice age worth of time, it faded away enough for me to stand. I still felt sick, really sick.
    “What time is it?”
    “Eleven.”
    “AM?”
    She nodded. I estimated I’d gotten maybe four hours of sleep, give or take.
    “Come on. There’re clothes in a donation pile upstairs in the closet just off the kitchen. I’m sure you can find something there that will fit, and then we’re on the road. We’ll get breakfast.”
    “I’ll pass.”
    She shrugged and turned, vanishing down the hallway. I stood, my whole body shaking, ablaze and ice cold at the same time. Pressure built behind my temples, in the base of my skull with each heartbeat. Every muscle was cramped and my head felt like someone had packed my skull with napalm.
    It took a bit of effort to climb the stairs. The trip was full of pauses and leaning against the wall to muster up my strength. I wanted nothing more than to forget all about this whole damned mess and succumb to feeling like total shit. I would have preferred to just curl up, lie on the floor and give up. I forced myself to focus through the curtain of misery that had settled over me.
    I found an old pair of jeans and a gray hooded sweatshirt in a pile of clothes in the closet, just as Maggie had said. I pulled them on, stripping right there in the hall. I'd been to prison, modesty, even in a church, was something I didn't really concern myself with. I slid my worn black combat boots back over my tingling feet and made for the door.
    I met Maggie outside. She was leaning against a miniaturized sedan, some Japanese make. At the moment, I didn’t care. I just wanted to get as far away from Saint Cecilia’s as humanly possible.
    “T... Tell me you didn’t bless this too.”
    “No.”
    “Thank God.”
    Maggie opened the door and slid in. I climbed into the passenger seat and laid my head back, eyes closed. The interior was cramped, even for a guy my size. I’m not exactly huge, but it honestly felt like I was in a clown car. It sounded like a sewing machine when she started it, and I instantly reached out to turn off the obscenely loud punk music that came pouring out of the speakers. While I appreciated her taste in music, the timing was god-awful.
    We drove for maybe five minutes, ten tops when the craving, the weariness, the feeling of burning alive from the inside out simply vanished. Just like that, not a whisper or a shadow of it remaining. I sat up, my head focused and clear and looked around.