Free Hellboy: Odd Jobs by Christopher Golden, Mike Mignola Page B

eyes drifted to Hellboy's own. Its blackened tongue arched, straining against the fragmented jaw as its torn lips vainly struggled to form the word.
    "Had your say, Moro," Hellboy grunted. "Don't care to hear any more."
    He brought his hoof down on the pathetic object. At the sound of it, Guy shrieked and slammed his own head against the wall.
    Moro leered up at Hellboy, his eyes still brimming with hunger. Moro could feel the cheated heat of centuries-past pyres building within his skull. Even as his skin began to blister and smoke, his essence was seeping into the rug. It could not end this way, his minions and armies forever stilled here, at the threshold of their rebirth. There was still a chance, if he could only find a way to Hellboy brought his hoof down again, and the jig-sawed sections of the head shattered apart, prompting another wail from Guy. Intent on his task, Hellboy ignored the man's cries and pulverized the damned thing, bringing his hoof down time and time again, smashing it into shards that smoked and began to spark.
    Still, the pulped orbs simmered in their baking brine, the seared lips stretched like worms on a hot brick.
    With every blow, Guy dashed his own skull against the wall.
    Something gave inside, and he felt his face go utterly numb. He slammed his head against the mirror Francine's mirror
    until it, too, shattered.
    His cries stopped after he'd broken his own jaw and his bleeding tongue had nearly swollen the back of his throat closed. He mewed like a kitten instead.
    Still, the hoof pounded down.
    When he could stand no longer, Guy slammed his face against the iron posts of the bed, the edge of the dresser, until he was on his knees grinding his ruined face against the chair, the bed frame, the floor. He crawled to the scattered remnants of the head and kissed them, though they were now glowering like coals.
    As Hellboy's hoof dealt the decisive blow, all that remained of Moro burst into flames.
    Groveling amid the shards, stuffing them in his mouth, Guy's hair and skin caught fire. Blind, he couldn't see the red demon as it turned from the detritus on the floor to seize a cistern of water and rush to Guy.
    Having rammed his ears against the knob of the bedpost, he couldn't hear the demon as it implored him to stop, though he felt the cooling splash of water.
    Softly banging his head against the floor still, he felt strong hands and arms slide beneath him. He felt the weight of his nights lift and drift off as he was cradled and carried by his savior, and for a moment, just a moment, he thought he heard the Sunday morning stirring of the Boulevard Richard'lenoir outside his window.
    He imagined he heard Francine's voice, felt her touch on his lips, his eyelashes, his brow.
    Francine came to call twice a week at the most unusual hours. She looked like an angel, but many feared her nonetheless.
    Her nursing credentials were impeccable, so it was said, and the hospice authorities never questioned her presence, whatever the time of night or day. There seemed to be some long-standing attachment between them, and the Monsieur le Directeur demonstrated an uncharacteristic reverence in her company. In fact, it seemed she had her own key, given the ease of her comings and goings in the pre- and post-dawn hours, usually calculated to coincide with the shift change.
    No surprise, then, that none of those who worked at the home seemed to know anything about her. One shift saw her coming, another saw her going, and she never lingered long enough for either to engage her attention, though she clearly galvanized theirs, like a phantom. She was unfailingly courteous, but she never fraternized with the staff, nor answered even the most tentative queries about herself or the center of her attention.
    The rumors circled but never clung. She was a pauper, it was whispered, pouring all she earned into her loved one's care. She was wealthy, it was said, through a recent marriage, and her husband tolerated her