Night Call (Book 2): Demon Dei (10 page)

“That’s your motto?”

“More like a mantra. Mercy treat you okay last night?”

Erin nodded, then thought to give him some of his own mantra. “No. She was sulky and uncommunicative.”

“I would apologise for her, but then I would spend my entire day doing that if I started. In vampire terms, I think she’s a teenager.”

Enough said. “In that case, bury her in the ground up to her neck and come back in a couple of years.”

He laughed. “I’ll catch a shower and then take you back to your car.” Heading inside, he added, “There’s a shower upstairs if you want one. I can get you a towel.”

She agreed and followed him in. He got a towel from a stack in his en suite, promised it was fresh, and loaded her up with liquid soap. Then he went into Mercy’s room and emerged a moment later with shampoo and conditioner.

“She won’t mind?” Erin asked, not wanting a grumpy vampire hunting her down for something so trivial.

“Nah.”

She went upstairs, showered, shampooed, conditioned and made it back down before Matt emerged. When he did, he was wearing a
Wolfmother shirt, jeans and a support around his knee. A quick hunt later found his sneakers and they were good to go.

It felt strange to be in his car with him, intimate.  He was only a foot away and there was no escape. All of her worries flooded back in, overriding the decision to give him the benefit of the doubt.

He drove with casual confidence, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on his thigh. The black car swept in and out of traffic on the motorway, sitting on the speed limit most of the time.

“How have you been?”

His question caught her off guard. She knew what he meant.

“Okay.” It was easier to answer than to dodge.

Matt glanced at her. “I don’t think so.”

Erin pressed her lips together. This was part of why she hadn’t wanted him around.

“Erin, you went through hell with Veilchen. Have you talked to anyone about it?”

“Who could I talk to? No one would believe me.”

She thought he would immediately promote himself to the role her councillor.

“If you told Ivan everything, you two could have helped each other out.”

“Not you?” It came out caustic.

“I’m willing. I just didn’t think you would have accepted that.”

Teeth grinding, she said, “After last night, I’m not likely to change my mind.”

“Fair enough. But I have to ask. Are you always this stubborn or is it just me?” He sounded genuinely curious.

She let out a short, twisted laugh. “What do you expect from me, Matt? Do you honestly think that just because you know a bit about vampires and werewolves that you’re the answer to every problem there is?”

“No, of course not. And that’s not all I’m talking about. I don’t know what’s wrong with your husband, but I can see what you’re going through. I’ve seen it before. I can—”

“You can leave him out of this, for starters. He has nothing to do with any of your shit.” She hated the way her voice cracked.

“All right,” Matt said softly. “I don’t want to upset you.”

It was a couple of kilometres down the road before she felt she could talk again without bursting into tears. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped.”

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

Another distance along and Matt said, “So, am I going to have to move now that you know where I live?”

“Afraid I’ll give away your final secret?”

“More afraid of stalking, to be honest.”

She snorted, he grinned and the tension eased.

“Mind if we make a quick stop before going to your car? It’s on the way, sort of,” Matt asked as he took the motorway exit onto Kingsford Smith Drive.

“Go for it.” Feeling a touch more comfortable, she decided it was now or never to broach the subject sitting between them like an elephant. “You’re certain it was a demon?”

“I got the same sense off it as I get off imps and Mercy said it smelled like an imp. Imps are a form of demon, ergo, that thing last night was a demon.”

“Imps?”

“Yeah. Itty bitty demons. Cute if they’re not chowing down on prize winning Burmese cats.”

Her expression must have told him she wasn’t in the mood, so he elaborated.

“Lately, we seem to be suffering an infestation of imps. I don’t know where they came from. All I know is that most of my work the past couple of months has been catching the little bastards. Had no idea what they were at first, but one of Jacob’s contacts recognised them.”

“Jacob?”

“You’ll meet him. We’re going to his place now.”

An associate of Matt’s. Fantastic. How did she end up here? She was only just coming to reluctant grips with Matt; now here she was, in his car, on her way to meet someone who knew someone who knew about demons.

Why did everything associated with Hawkins feel like an avalanche?

“So,” she said, resigned to doing her best just to stay on top, “a demon. As in a fallen angel, Satan, opposing God, possessing poor little rich girls, demon. How do you manage to find all this trouble, Hawkins?”

“Talent?”

“How did you piss off a demon?”

“Talent?” he tried again, then relented. “I have no idea. Maybe it doesn’t like me killing off the imps. I’m hoping Jacob’s heard something, or can find something out.”

He pulled up at the east end of Edward Street.

“I won’t be long if you want to wait here.”

She just got out and waited for him to catch up. He grinned at her and lead the way into a shop called
Vogon Books. A balding, middle-aged man was at the counter. He was bent over a book but his head shot up and his gaze arrowed in on Erin with frightful intensity.

“Down boy,” Matt said, mockingly stern. “You know what a woman looks like.”

“Yeah, but I had to wonder if you did. You don’t ever come in here with one.” He looked her over. “Oh, hey, I know you. The intrepid PI. I’m Jacob.” He held out a hand.

He was nothing like she imagined an associate of Hawkins’ being. “Hello, Jacob. How do you know me?”

Matt slouched over the counter and picked up Jacob’s book.

“Saw you on the news in May, when Matt’s house was shot up.” Jacob tapped his head. “I never forget a pretty face.”

“When did this get in?” Matt demanded, shoving the book at Jacob. “You know I wanted to read it ASAP.”

Jacob snatched the book back. “It came in yesterday. I was going to call you today.”

“I bet you were. Where’s my copy?” Matt ducked around the counter, shoving Jacob out of the way as he searched the stacks of books piled on the floor.

“Um, Matt,” Erin said. “Will you have time to read?”

“That’s not the issue.” “I’m sure it is,” Jacob said, sneaking a book off the last pile and handing it to Erin behind his back.

Erin read the blurb. A hell-for-leather PI and trusty sidekick solving crimes. Nothing she shouldn’t have expected after seeing his study, but still. “Oh, please.”

Matt stopped his furious search and glared at Erin. “Hey. They’re good books.”

“I’m sure they are.” She tossed him the book.

Matt grumbled and shoved the book in his back pocket. “Put it on my account. And get out the ledger. Got a new nasty for you.”

Jacob went still, but his eyes flashed toward Erin meaningfully.

“It was a demon apparently,” she said.

“She’s in the know, Jacob,” Matt said. “Deal with it.”

The little man pulled out a black ledger and opened it. The pages were full of neat, small hand writing.

“Don’t tell me the Night Crawler here got you messed up in his troubles again?” Jacob asked her as he began writing.

“Jacob,” Matt said, quiet but warningly.

Jacob glanced at him and something a little scared went through his eyes. “Hey, just curious.”

“Don’t be.” Then Matt cocked an eyebrow. “Night Crawler? How long you been waiting to use that one?”

The moment was gone before Erin was certain it had even been there.

Jacob smirked and said, “Not long. Only thought of it yesterday. So, demon, huh? Imp? Familiar?”

Erin looked from one to the other, unsure of what to make of their relationship. They seemed friendly enough but there was history, something that made Jacob wary. The way Jacob had looked at Matt for an instant was how she’d looked at him a time or three. Had Matt’s berserker side touched everyone he knew?

Matt made a dismissive sound. “Nothing that small. Jeez. This was a full on winged beast that tossed Mercy around like so much limp spaghetti.”

“Winged beast?” Jacob asked sceptically.

“It had wings.”

“It did,” Erin said. The men were over the moment, so she may as well get over it too. “It looked angelic.”

“Yeah,” Matt said, grinning. “Female angelic.”

Jacob’s eyes lit up. “An angel? A fallen angel?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I have you, Jacob. Or more specifically, your contacts. Can Creighton tell us about this demon like he did the imps? Is it affected by salt? Does music put it to sleep?”

Jacob shrugged. “Not sure. Creighton said he only recognised the imp because he saw a picture of one killed in Mexico in the 1800s. He’s not a demonologist, you know.”

“Well, do you know a demonologist?”

“Nope.”

“Can you find one?”

Jacob made a praying gesture and bowed, all of it sarcastic. “I’ll see what I can do, my master.”

“Good. Call me when you get something.”

“He always treat you like that?” she asked Jacob as Matt headed out.

“Nah. Some days, he’s cranky.” He grinned to take the sting out of his words. Seriously, he added, “Matt’s a rare one. A lot of folk don’t like the way he operates, and by that I mean they don’t like Mercy. But they respect him. He does the dirty stuff they’re too scared to do.” With a self-depreciating nod, he amended it to, “We’re too scared to do. It’s one thing to know what’s going on out there at night. It’s another thing entirely to actually go out there and do something about it. What makes him scary to everyone else, makes him suitable for what he does, so we deal with it.”

Erin digested that with reluctant agreement.

“And you know,” Jacob added with an unabashed grin, “he’s a fun guy when he’s had a decent sleep.”

Erin smiled. “Thank you, Jacob. It was good to meet you.”

She went back to the car and got in, mollified by Jacob’s words and more determined to treat Matt fairly.

Erin slid back into the car and I took off the moment her door was closed.

“Got somewhere to be?” she asked.

“Have to find an internet café or go to a library or something. I didn’t get the number of the guy for the poltergeist job so I have to track it down.”

“What about your phone?”

Slowing for a light, I winced. “Well, see… Remember how we were talking about that lack of work earlier?”

She nodded, in that do-I-really-want-to-admit-this kind of way.

“Now, keep in mind that I can’t even work out how to change the ring tone on my phone.”

Erin sighed, in that oh-dear-I-think-I-see-where-this-is-going kind of way.

“So… I got a bit bored one day and thought to ‘improve’ the tracking program on the phone. You know, just tweak it a bit so I could keep a closer eye on Mercy. I’d been after Roberts to do it for ages and he kept putting it off. The upshot of it is I screwed up something to do with the data package or roaming or wi-fi or whatever. Roberts got the tracking program working, but either can’t or won’t fix anything else. He’s very protective of his techno-gizmos and gets his vengeance on when someone dares fiddle with them.”

“Vengeance?”

“Call me.”

“What?”

“Call me.”

Expression doubtful, Erin pulled out her phone and called mine.

The woeful strains of ‘Achy Breaky Heart’ filled the car. Chipmunk style.

Thankfully it was drowned out by Erin’s laughing. When she could breathe again without snorting on hilarity, she said, “Drop me at my car and then follow me to the office. You can use the computer there.”

“And you’re going to explain why you’re in the same clothes as last night how?”

That killed the humour at my expense issue. She frowned hard. “Good point. Any ideas?”

“Here’s a radical concept. They call it the truth.”

“Is this an extension of your ‘mantra’?”

“You could look at it that way. Or you could just view it as the best policy.”

In the end, we stopped by a little clothing store and Erin hurriedly bought a new blouse. I
tsked and tutted and she scowled at me and told me to mind my own business. The sales assistant looked on with a knowing smile. Then we went by Ivan’s apartment building and Erin left me for her white BMW. I trailed her to the office building, pulling up outside while she drove into the underground car park.

What it all amounted to in the end, was us still walking into the office at the same time.

Ivan frowned and I had the mad urge to make some little, intimate gesture toward Erin—a hand on the small of her back, an oh so casual brush of my hip against hers—anything to make Erin’s position on the truth a bit more impractical. For her part, Erin simply swept past Ivan’s curiosity with a barrage of suggestions about a report they were preparing and into her office.

“Matt, you can use my computer,” she continued. “I have some calls to make.”

“Morning,” I said to Ivan on my way into Erin’s office.

Ivan just stared at me.

I settled into Erin’s chair at her desk and called up her web browser. She took her cordless phone and sat on the couch. The first call she made was to the hospital. I didn’t eavesdrop on purpose. It’s just that it wasn’t a terribly large office. I knew her husband was very ill. She didn’t expect him to survive. Except that it seemed against all odds, he was pushing on. I deliberately didn’t think about what that meant for Erin. Not after the little altercation in the car.

So I searched for Nick Carson. Tobias had been right. Carson was some big wig in shark circles. Had the gift of the gab apparently and managed to con grant money out of all sorts of folks to fund his research into the great white. His latest venture, taking paying divers out on his ship while he tagged and monitored sharks was working wonders, if you ignored the minor inconvenience of losing a crew member overboard in shark infested waters. The media hadn’t made a great brouhaha about it, surprisingly. The few stories made no mention of the fact the ship’s cook was also Carson’s main squeeze.

There was an email address on Carson’s website, so I shot off a quick message and then went looking at sites about poltergeists. I’ve never seen a ghost though I’d like to—if they existed, that is. I would like to think they did, because that would just be cool.

I suppose most people would wonder why a psychic who hoons around with a vampire and battles demons doesn’t believe whole heartedly in ghosts, right?

Look at it this way. I didn’t believe in vampires until one tried to rip my throat out. Still, I’ve never seen a chupacabra and yet I’m pretty certain they exist. Hey, I never said I was consistent. There’s just this thing about ghosts. I’ve seen vampires do some freaky shit—I’ve done some freaky shit—that science just doesn’t explain. Those things, at least, came from physical beings. They have a source I can see and feel and, if necessary, kick in the balls. Ghosts don’t have that solid basis, so until I actually see one and believe that it is a ghost, I’ll have my healthy scepticism.

Reading about poltergeists, I found something I could believe in, though. Seemed a lot of recorded poltergeists weren’t your traditional ghosts. A lot of them have been manifestations of latent psychic abilities. Now that was something I could sink my teeth into. Though it seemed strange Carson would project a malevolent entity that drove him up the wall by watching his TV and leaving the lid off the Vegemite. And while some of them spoke and exhibited personality, I don’t think many of them had ever listened in on a phone conversation on the second handset.

I jotted down a list of things to ask Carson when he got back in touch with me. Didn’t really have much hope of him answering in any way that would settle my mind about the matter of his girlfriend being a ghost, though. The more I read about such things, the less assured I was that Amaya was really dead.

Of course, that just made her situation that much more peculiar.

“Matt,” Erin said, coming back to the desk.

“Yeah?”

She held the phone, one hand over the mouthpiece. “Seven thirty tonight okay?”

“For…?”

“The lab tour.” Erin enunciated each word as though English was my third, possibly fourth, language.

“Oh, yeah. Better make it eight.”

She nodded and walked away, talking quietly into the phone again.

I checked my email and there was a frantic response from Carson. He listed about twelve numbers I could contact him on. I dialled the top one. The phone maybe thought about ringing before he answered.

“She’s gone!”

Erin looked over. Yes, Carson’s opening words were that loud.

“What?” I held the phone away from my ear in anticipation.

All I got was a weary groan. “She vanished again. I saw it this time. She just, I don’t know, man. She just got beamed up.”

“Okay, when did this happen?”

“Yesterday afternoon. She was in the kitchen making a sandwich. I went in to say I was sorry–”

“Sorry? For what?”

“We had this fight. She was annoyed that I’d called you. She took it as a personal insult or something.”

I dropped my face into my hand. “Well, how else would she take it?”

“She’s not supposed to take it any way! She’s not supposed to be here.”

Fair enough. “You saw her vanish this time?”

“It was really weird. She just kind of faded and then it was like she was pulled into a black-hole.”

“Hmph.”

“
Hmph? What’s that mean?”

“Nothing. Just thinking. I have a couple of questions for you.”

We ran through my list of poltergeist making attributes. Amaya pretty much failed the requirements.

“So, she’s not a ghost?” Carson sounded disappointed.

“I don’t think so, mate.”

“Then what is she?”

I looked at the mass of negatives on the ghost list. “No idea. If she shows up again, let me know. In the meantime, I’m going to do some more research. Can you email a picture of her to me?”

“Why?”

“Just in case.”

I gave Carson my number with some hesitation. He struck me as the kind of fella who would be on the phone every half hour looking for updates. I’d no sooner hung up when the phone rang again. It was a private number and I considered not answering and then thought it might be a job. So I answered very professionally indeed.

“Night Call. How may I direct your enquiry?”

“I was hoping to talk with Matt Hawkins,” said a soft female voice. Nice.

“You got him. How can I help?”

“On the contrary, Mr Hawkins, I think it’s I who can help you. I understand you’re looking for a demonologist.”

“I was?”

“Weren’t you?”

“I guess.” My brain kick started and began throwing out suggestions. “Did Jacob give you my number?”

“Yes. I have time to meet with you today. For lunch in fact. Are you hungry?”

Hadn’t really thought about it, but now she mentioned it… “Sure. Where should we meet?”

“I’m already at the Japanese restaurant in the Queen Street mall. Are you able to join me?”

Sol Investigations was only a couple of blocks away. “No problem. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Good. I’ll be waiting.” And she hung up.

It was a couple of seconds before I realised she hadn’t told me her name.

Grumbling, I gathered up the information I’d printed and rushed out of Erin’s office.

“You’re done?” Ivan asked.

“Yeah, and now I’m late for a very important date.” I looked around. “Where did Erin go?”

“To get lunch.”

“Tell her I’ll call her later.”

“Sure. Matt?”

I skidded to a stop at the door. “Yeah?”

“Do you happen to know anything about what happened in the foyer of my apartment building last night?”

Damn Erin. She started this and then nicked off when the awkward questions started.

“What happened?” See that. I haven’t actually lied… yet.

“Someone smashed in the front windows and trashed the foyer.” He watched me very carefully.

“Wow. Cops have any idea who might have done it?”

“No. Nothing was stolen. The place was just trashed. And it happened right about the time you, Mercy and Erin left.”

“Peculiar.”

“Very.”

He wasn’t buying it. And why would he? Despite Erin’s best efforts, Ivan would find out sooner or later. Sooner if Geraldine Davis’ death turned out to be funky.

Screw it. Erin couldn’t stop me telling anyone anything I pleased.

“Ivan, listen –”

“I’m really glad you’re helping us with this, Matt,” Ivan said over me. “But I just want you to know that if you hurt Erin, you’ll regret it.”

I stared at him. How had we got onto Erin? “I’m not going to hurt Erin.” Not by conscious choice, at least, the memory of last night said in the back of my head.

“She left with you last night and you come in here with her this morning. She’s wearing the same jeans as last night and a brand new top.” He recited this with dull certainty. “She’s married, Matt. Maybe not happily, but lovingly. Don’t mess that up while she still has it.”

Ah. And strangely, it made me happy to be getting this threat from Ivan. Erin needed someone to care that deeply for her.

“It’s not my intention to hurt anyone,” I assured Ivan. “I’ll do my job and then be on my way.”

“Thank you.”

Of course, I then met Erin at the elevator. She had bags of gorgeously smelling Chinese. My mouth watered.

“Leaving?” she asked.

“Jacob found me a demonologist. I’m meeting her for lunch.” She had duck in there somewhere. Dear Lord, please hold me back.

“Want me to come?”

“Nah. I can handle this one alone. Is that duck?”

“And sweet and sour pork, chicken and cashews and –” she juggled a few bags “– extra prawn chips. You’re welcome to stay.”

I’m sure I could rearrange the meeting. Chinese over Japanese? No competition. Then I remembered Ivan’s little warning. But, in the midst of all those aromas from the food, there was no way I was thinking naughty things about anything other than the duck.

“I have to get to that meeting. I’ll call you later,” I said as I stepped into the elevator. “About tonight.”

Whatever she might have said was cut off by the doors closing. Sadly, the elevator still smelled of the Chinese. Damn sweet and sour torture.

I hot footed it over to the mall and made it to the designated restaurant about ten minutes late. Certain that the demonologist would be gone, I stood in the entrance and scanned the tables. There were only two people sitting alone and the little old man nodding over his plate could be cancelled out by his gender. Which left the elegant woman in silk. If this woman was the demonologist—and what I could see certainly matched the voice on the phone—than at least I wouldn’t mind so much that I hated Japanese food.