Free Snake Handlin' Man by D. J. Butler Page B

sounded like mockery, but it lifted Eddie’s spirits a little. “Sin,” the fairy giggled, “is for humans.”
    “Yeah, it is,” Eddie agreed.
    Metal shutters had been dropped over the storefront windows of the Sears. It seemed a little extravagant for a box store in the middle of nowhere, but maybe that’s why the Apep worshippers had chosen it. As Eddie and the band stalked around the edges of the gravel parking lot, he saw a couple who looked like small ranchers, wearing boots, yoked shirts and blue jeans, walk in through the swinging glass doors. Eddie didn’t see any guards.
    That made him uncomfortable.
    “How trained are your mongooses?” he asked the preacher.
    Phineas Irving shrugged. “Like a dog, I guess,” he said. “Not as much as that, really. They fight snakes by instinct. Fortunately, they have really good instincts.”
    Eddie had hoped he might be able to send the animals in as scouts somehow. “I’d give a lot for a decent wizard right now,” he said, thinking of Adrian and wishing he could turn invisible.
    “Sorry,” Irving muttered.
    “Never mind.” Eddie spotted something at the side of the building. “Twitch,” he told the fairy, “I’m glad you can fly.” He pointed and then set out at a jog.
    It wouldn’t pay to forget that Overalls, Lady Legs and the other mutant snake-men were somewhere out behind them, and coming their way.
    The building’s shadow should have given Eddie relief from the heat as he rolled to a stop underneath a fire escape; instead, it added to his sensation that he was freezing to death. He gritted his teeth, forced himself not to shiver, and looked up. The iron ladder bolted to the side of the building as an emergency exit only ran halfway down its side, but then it had a second half on tracks, that could be unlatched and pushed down from above.
    Twitch hit the top of the fire escape in falcon shape and immediately became the spiked, leather-bar-garbed drummer. He skittered down the ladder like a monkey and kicked open the latch.
    “Easy!” Eddie hissed, but too late. The ladder bumped, rattled and squealed like a hinge that needed oiling, but it dropped. Jim stepped forward and caught it easily before it hit the bottom of its descent, cutting off what might otherwise have been a very loud noise.
    “Thanks,” Eddie said to the singer.
    Jim shrugged, slid the ladder easily down to its full extension, and started climbing up.
    “I’ll go last,” Eddie told them, and sent Irving and Mike up the ladder ahead of him. Mike climbed reasonably well, for a big guy, but Irving moved slow, humping the Nehushtan on one shoulder and the Enfield on the other as he went. Then Eddie climbed up the rungs. Halfway up, he grabbed a bit of rope that was knotted around the top rung of the sliding half and pulled it up after him, latching the ladder back into place and then joining the others on the gravel-strewn rooftop.
    There were air conditioning units, a small water tower and a gas generator on the rooftop. The way inside was a door at the top of a staircase. Eddie pulled at the handle and found it locked. “Mike?” he said.
    “Sure,” Mike said, no problem. The bass player had grown up running in gangs and had some useful skills. “I just need a credit card.”
    “Credit card?” Eddie snapped. “Do you think we’re here to go shopping ?”
    “ Chingón ,” Mike laughed. “I can open this door, but I need a credit card to do it.” He looked around at the band. “Nobody? Nobody’s got a credit card?”
    The band stared back dully. Eddie shrugged. “Bad risks,” he deadpanned. “I guess when Satan got my soul, he dinged my credit score, too.”
    Phineas Irving shoved the Nehushtan into the crook of his neck and shoulder and rummaged in his pockets. “How about this?” he asked, and held out a driver’s license.
    Mike took it. “It’s expired,” he noted. “Pennsylvania.”
    Irving nodded. “I’m kind of on the lam,” he said, and pointed at