I Married the Third Horseman (Paranormal Romance and Divorce) by Michael Angel

group got
moving. With our arms locked together, it felt like we were all
playing some sort of hellacious, life-or-death game of Twister. No
sooner did we clear the front counter than the four sheydu shot
through the space we’d just occupied.
    A loud banging, followed by a spurt of flame
from the kitchen. Then the sounds of chewing, gobbling. The
scrabble of claws on tile and metal. A half-dozen more of the
damned creatures swarmed in through the windows. They too ignored
us and went for the crispy-char smell of the bacon.
    Dwayne got us to the door. He reached high up
above his head. Instead of pulling the door’s handle, he carefully
took down the string of bells.
    A single tinkle from the string, as he
set it aside.
    One of the sheydu looked up from its
feasting.
    My heart stopped.
    And then it went back to tearing at its side
of bacon.
    Dwayne pulled the door open and jammed a
doorstop under the edge. Outside, the fog had let up a little,
enough to see the cars in the lot. A swarm of sheydu came out of
the fog, a black and gray rainbow of the creatures, and plunged
into the diner, shredding its innards, just as we made it to the
lot.
    “Don’t look, honey, don’t look,” the husband
crooned to his wife, his family.
    “Everybody know where their cars are?” I
asked. Got the nods I hoped for in reply. “Okay, then. When I give
the word, make a break for your cars. Get in, floor it onto Highway
15, heading south.”
    “Why south?” Abigail asked.
    “Because I’m heading north. If they follow, I
don’t want anyone hurt because of me.”
    “Lady,” Dwayne said, with a cough, “I don’t
know what you’re mixed up in, but…thank you for savin’ our keisters
back there.”
    A murmur of agreement. Quickly blotted out as
an explosion rocked the diner’s kitchen. The swarm of sheydu must
have finally gotten to the building’s gas mains.
    “Good luck, everyone,” I said. Then, with a
breath, I shouted. “Now! Get going!”
    On cue, they broke and ran for each of their
cars.
    I remained still. Watched. Prayed.
    Prayed that the famine demons wouldn’t
mistake the starting of the car motors for a dinner bell.
     
     

Chapter Twenty

     
    I backed towards my car. I didn’t dare take
my eyes off the burning diner. Furry shapes clung like a carpet of
giant rats, to the building’s frame and frolicked in the flames of
the burning kitchen. The sound of teeth rasping against metal and
wood sent the flesh creeping along the back of my neck.
    I could only pray that the sheydu didn’t
change their collective demonic minds. That they’d take a pass on
coming after any of the people in the lot.
    Dwayne and Abigail jumped into an old jalopy
of a Ford and sped off. The family of four piled into a
dirt-stained SUV and took off in their wake.
    The breath I’d been holding finally whistled
out of my lungs. I managed to tear my eyes away from Dante’s
Drive-Thru and got to my Porsche. Flung open the door, all but
threw my handbag into the passenger seat. I jammed the key in the
car’s ignition and the motor caught on the first try.
    My tires squealed as they jounced onto the
highway asphalt. I winced, and kept looking in the rearview mirror,
fearful that the swarm would erupt out of the fog bank.
    Suddenly, as if someone had flicked on a
halogen bulb in a darkroom, my car shot out into brilliant
mid-morning sunshine. The sun’s blaze was a welcome heat on my
skin. I quickly jerked the steering wheel to one side to keep the
car in the upcoming exit lane.
    A quick check to make sure the road around me
was clear. Then I dug in my sunglass compartment, came up with my
trusty Ray-Bans. My thumb left a tacky smear of grease on the edge
of the frame as I slipped them on.
    I took the next exit onto Highway 89. Kept on
going. This time, I didn’t stop to pull over. No more shaking of
the hands, no more nerve-jangling freakouts. Maybe I was getting
tougher, at least in stages, or my brain was finally coming to
terms with a