The Hexborn brandished a gun, its muzzle sweeping across the room in threatening arcs. “Everybody down! Now!” he shrieked, his voice unnervingly high-pitched, sending a wave of fear through the diner’s patrons.

Suddenly, the human convulsed, his form blurring into something inhuman and terrifying—hadn't seen Spice do that before. Its eyes glowed with a sickly light as it lunged forward, fangs dripping venom. Devil Kissed, no doubt—made some desperate deal and now paying the price in blood and shadow. You almost had to pity these guys, selling their souls for a hit of power they’d never fully control. My heart pounded as I watched them lunge at the couple that were sharing a shake earlier in the night. In an instant, the diner’s calm shattered, peace spiraling into chaos as tables overturned and screams filled the air.

The gremlin’s eyes flickered with uncertainty. “Alright, everybody—wallets out! Put them on the table. Rings, jewelry, everything. My friend here will be collecting.”

The Devil Kissed goon lurched over to the cute couple who’d shared a milkshake earlier. They shrieked, fumbling out their wallets, but he wasn’t satisfied. He pointed at the woman’s engagement ring, fingers twitching with impatience.

“P-please, it was my mother’s,” she pleaded, her voice trembling as she tried to sound confident despite the faint stutter.

“P-p-pleeease,” he mocked. “Hand it over!”

Inside me, I felt the familiar surge of heat as Frank stirred, his voice whispering in my mind, dark and eager. Shall we?

“Let’s try not to kill them unless we have to,” I muttered under my breath.

Boring, Frank shot back.

The gremlin-touched thug’s sneer deepened as he swung his gun my way. “Got something to say, old man?”

Bart didn’t even flinch, just shook his head and took another unbothered bite of pie.

I stood up slowly, stepping toward the gremlin, my gaze hard as stone. “Stay back! I’ll shoot!” His voice cracked, hands shaking, but I had his attention now. The Devil Kissed was focused on me too, both of them running on bravado and adrenaline.

I took another deliberate step forward, my voice low, lethal. “You don’t want to do that. Pick a different night. It’s been a long few days.”

Desperation twisted into rage in the gremlin’s eyes. “I’ll kill you, you f-f-freak!”

Please, Frank murmured, his eagerness simmering.

Fine.

Finally, Frank scoffed. Thought I’d have to listen to you two jabber all night.

Adrenaline surged, my heart racing as Frank’s dark excitement thrummed in my mind. I saw the Hexborn’s finger twitch on the trigger and moved, sidestepping as a shot tore through the air, splintering the wooden table near Bart, who didn’t so much as blink, busy with his second slice of pie.

In a blur of motion, I closed the distance, twisting the gun from the gremlin’s grip with a practiced ease. I turned it on the Devil Kissed, who whipped out a knife, eyes wide with shock. The shot echoed, the bullet ripping through his hand and sending the blade clattering to the floor.

He howled, clutching his mangled hand. I glanced at the gun, then back at the gremlin, a smirk tugging at my lips. “Think I’ll keep this.”

Unfazed, Bart took another bite of his pie. “That was entertaining.”

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The diner fell into a hushed silence, the air thick with the aftermath of violence and the scent of fear. I stood in the midst of it all, my body tense, eyes sharp, surveying the scene. Broken tables and chairs littered the floor, evidence of the intense struggle that had just taken place.

The demon lay subdued on the ground, its twisted form now reduced to a pathetic, weakened state. The gremlin was pinned and disarmed, sweat glistening on his face as he struggled against his restraints. The patrons slowly began to breathe again, their terror fading but still lingering in the air.

As the immediate danger passed and the room settled into silence, I took a deep breath to steady myself. I glanced at the subdued demon, feeling a mix of triumph and pity for its diminished state.

“Well,” Bart grumbled, pushing himself up from the creaky diner seat. “Guess it’s time to haul these idiots back to the station. You mind giving me a hand with this one?” With a practiced flick, he snapped cuffs around the troublemakers, linking them together like some twisted chain gang. We steered them out to Bart’s battered patrol car, its dark frame glinting under the neon glow of the city lights.

“Thanks for the pie, Jack. Always a pleasure,” Bart said, sliding into the driver’s seat with that gruff nod of his.

We shared a moment, unspoken words hanging in the air like smoke. Then he nodded again.

“Don’t be a stranger, eh?”

“I’ll do my best,” I replied, giving him a wry smile before tapping a hand on his card. The engine roared to life, and the car peeled away, leaving a cloud of dust and the faint scent of cherry pie lingering in the air.

As I turned back, the neon signs cast jagged shadows across the cracked pavement. Standing there was a woman with piercing emerald eyes, fixed on me with a mix of curiosity and… something else—admiration, maybe. She had that bookish, stern air of someone who’d stepped out of a library and found herself lost in the gritty night. I remembered catching sight of her earlier, scribbling in a tiny black notebook in the corner of the diner.

She stepped forward, her short, fiery red hair catching the neon glow, and extended a hand with a small card that glinted in the dim light. Her blazer was fitted, stylishly paired with a vintage band tee and dark jeans tucked into heeled ankle boots. She looked polished but just edgy enough to pull off midnight encounters in alleys.

“That was incredible,” she said, voice brimming with enthusiasm. “Absolutely marvelous!”

I took the card, barely getting a word in before she launched into her pitch. “I work in Hollywoodland. I’m sure you’ve heard of Demon Hunters, the Real Deal?”

I tried not to grimace. “The pulps?”

“One and the same! But it’s so much more than pulps now—we’re up to eighteen episodes.”

I stared, and she must’ve figured I was too out of touch to know about the latest gadgets, because she added, “You know, on SpectraVision—enchanted little box everyone’s raving about. It's like going to the cinema, but at home.”

She looked at me expectantly.

“I’m aware of it,” I said.

She carried on, unfazed. “Anyway, there’s a whole line of toys and clothing on the way too. You must have seen Demon Hunters by now. An episode? One of the films? You’d have to be living under a rock to miss it!” She paused, evidently waiting for a response.

“Would have to be,” I replied flatly.

I didn’t have a Spectra at home, but I knew of the series. Unfortunately.

Her smile practically glowed with confidence and charm, the kind of look that suggested she was used to getting what she wanted. She leaned in, her eyes bright and undeterred. “Listen, what just happened back there—that was the real deal. Ever thought about selling your stories? You could make a tidy fortune with the right buyer.” The edges of her card shimmered faintly: Felicity Night, Talent Scout.

“I’d have to be pretty desperate,” I replied.

She didn’t blink. “Of course, of course. But think it over. Call me sometime.” She tapped the card with a long painted fingernail, that smile never faltering. She gave me a quick once over, and a question flickered behind her eyes—a question that she too polite to ask.

“Do call,” she repeated, her voice honeyed with charm. And with that, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the night, the sharp click of her heels echoing down the sidewalk.

I looked at the card and chuckled softly. What kind of sellout did she take me for? Me, hawking my life’s work to the greediest vampires in Fallen Angels just for a quick buck? Besides, who’d watch something about me? What would they even call it—Washed-Up Wonders? Halfway to Hell? Who wants to read about a dead guy… well, mostly dead, anyway.

I’d need to be desperate. And I mean really desperate. I shook my head, pocketing the card before heading back to the motel.