Hellboy: Unnatural Selection(41)

"Oh, no you don't!" he said, and pulled down sharply. He felt his feet leave the ground, and a sudden sense of panic shocked him. He did not know were it came from — he'd been dropped from heights before — but his hand snapped open, and he felt the tickle of the cloak passing across his palm. "Oh no you don't!" Hellboy squatted, bunching muscles, and jumped as high as he could. This time he grabbed hold of Liz's ankles, one in each hand, and his weight brought her back down. The banshee shrieked again, its voice changing from miserable to angry.

And then something in Liz gave way. Whatever dam she maintained, whatever pressure valve she had been able to apply to her curse over the years, finally broke. The flickering flames on her feet and hands bloomed into expanding balls of fire, crawling up her legs and down her arms. She still batted at the insane creature hanging on to her head, but the spirit was slippery and insubstantial, not something that could be simply punched away.

Hellboy let go and dropped to the ground. This was Liz's show now.

The banshee rose again, taking the burning Liz Sherman with it. Flames erupted all across the firestarter's body, engulfing the banshee with no apparent effect, and for the first time Hellboy truly feared for Liz. The higher she went, the harder she'd fall, and while her furious fires could aid her in some instances, in this case ...

The banshee breathed fire. Its cloak erupted in flames, its hair became a burning snake dance, and its eyes grew wide before popping and melting from its head.

"Oh, that's gotta hurt," Hellboy said. He shifted to the side, positioned himself below Liz, and seconds later caught her as she dropped from the banshee's grasp. Her flames wrapped themselves around him, scorching his skin and sizzling his goatee.

"Hey, put out the fire," he said. Liz's eyes sprang open — he saw the terror in them, the rich flame of panic — and it seemed to take several seconds before she recognized him.

"Someone's going to die!" she said. "The banshee ... it told me. Someone in my family is going to die!"

Hellboy sighed, kissed Liz on the forehead. There was nothing he could say.

"Bitch!" Liz spat. "That bitch! It knows, it knows about my family, and it's teasing me!"

Hellboy looked up at the flaming thing a few feet above them. The banshee spun in the air, twisting and thrashing as the flames ate into its ghostly self, and he could feel no pity. "Yeah, I think it was," he said. "But now it's time to ask it a question or two."

He set Liz down and delved into his belt pouches.

"What are you looking for?" Liz asked. She stayed close to Hellboy, reluctant to lose contact with him. He could feel her fingers around his arm, her skin hot against his.

"I've got it here somewhere." Hellboy did not need to check to see if the ghost was still there; he could hear its cry, see the flames flickering across the ground, and he could even smell it. He had never smelled a ghost before. That's one of the things he liked about his job: no two days were the same.

"Er ... HB?"

Liz's voice told him there was something terribly wrong. He looked up.

The banshee had stopped screaming and was now smiling. It was a grotesque expression; the grimace had suited it more. Its melted eyes were sliding down its cheeks, bloody sockets aflame, and fire curled from its ears and nostrils. The few teeth that remained in its mouth dripped flame like thick saliva.

"Oh crap," Hellboy said.

The banshee came at him. Air rushed into its mouth and through its hair, agitating the flames and giving it a whole new roar. Hellboy turned and ran away from Liz, hoping to lure the spirit after him. He still dug in his belt, looking for the binding charm given to him by the African witch doctor back in the '70s. He was sure he still had it — couldn't remember using it, at least — but each pocket he delved into gave him nothing.

He could still hear the banshee behind him, so he ran hard. He left the path and clomped across the damp grass, heading for a huddle of large rocks that shone with reflected moonlight. He was glad the park was abandoned. That meant he could do whatever he wanted to the spirit bitch.

"Come on," he whispered. "Come to Hellboy, come on, you flaming old hag, come — "

The banshee struck him between the shoulders, driving hot fingers into his skin. He felt nails puncture his flesh, pretty sharp for an apparition. He pretended to fall, cried out in false pain, and as he rolled across the grass he brought up his hand. The eyes were resting in his palm. The old witch doctor had told him they were from a river demon, gouged out a century ago and fossilized from being buried with the bodies of a mother and her stillborn child. They bound spirits, the witch doctor said, and they held that power between them, an overwhelming magnetism. Hellboy dropped one under his tongue and readied the other.