Stalked by Demons

by Trudi Jaye

  Or read on for an excerpt…

  Dancing with Demons Excerpt

  All in all, I’m having a bitch of a day.

  I’m limping down the dark corridor toward the lab, crutches pinching at my underarms. The tiny demon is buzzing around inside my stomach, giving me butterflies for no reason. My left hand on the rail of the crutch is glowing blue for all to see, and I’m still puffing from the effort of getting myself down the steep stairs to the basement with a knife wound in my thigh.

  Blade is hovering just behind me, his stern features tight. He offered five—or maybe six—times to help me on the way down the stairs, but I took perverse pleasure in saying no to him every time.

  I’m determined to get myself around without his help. It’s bad enough that Blade still has to live at my place and shadow me around like I’m a little kid.

  I’m not having him carry me as well.

  “You’ll probably have to help me tidy up,” I say as I near the entrance to the lab. The Professor hasn’t been answering my texts or my calls, and some part of me wonders what we’re going to find.

  “I’ve told you already, it’s fine.” Blade’s voice is shot with annoyance. He’s still pissed I wouldn’t let him carry me.

  But I’m not really paying attention to Blade. I’m peering into the darkness, wishing I didn’t feel like I was about to discover something terrible. I’ve been busy since the Professor rang about the burglary two nights ago—you know, absorbing demons and getting stabbed in the leg—surely nothing else has gone wrong since then?

  Surely the Professor isn’t…?

  I come to an abrupt halt when I see the main door to the lab is actually hanging open, barely attached to its hinges. The handle has been smashed and the wood at the lock is broken away.

  “I didn't think it would look so…,” I whisper.

  “Broken?” Blade is right behind me, and his voice is just as soft as mine.

  I swallow hard. “Desolate,” I say, hobbling through the open door into the basement lab. There’s no sign of the Professor anywhere. The lab is dark and empty, although the evidence of the break-in is still visible. It’s not like the lab was a welcoming space before. Everything is old and overmended, usually rescued from the trash just in time for us to put it to use. But now, it looks like some kind of dystopian novel. Nothing is in the right place, and everything is broken.

  I hit the switch for the fluorescent lights, and they flicker uncomfortably overhead, making it feel even more like a crime scene. I limp past the shelves and benches at the side of the lab, maneuvering my crutches around broken glass and scattered pieces of metal. The microscope and the high-pitch frequency meter are lying on the floor, smashed up and broken.

  “We should tidy it up a little before the Professor gets in,” I say, picking up a broom from the corner. I’m not entirely certain the Professor is even coming in.

  “Let me check out the whole space first, see if I can find anything that might give us a clue about who did this,” says Blade. He starts prowling through the main laboratory, his sharp green eyes taking in all the details.

  I nod distractedly, my gaze wandering around the room, trying to reconcile the devastation in front of me with the lab I know so well. It seems such a petty act; I don't know how to react to it. What’s bugging me the most is that I can't figure out why our research lab would be of interest to anyone. Most people think the Professor is a kook and that anything he keeps here is rubbish. What made someone change their mind? Is this some kind of prank being played on a crazy old professor? Did someone decide to teach him a lesson for believing in the paranormal?

  Blade disappears into the junk room and a few seconds later pokes his head around the corner of the door. “It's a bigger mess in here,” he says.

  It feels like a physical hit to my chest. The junk room is my office, my space. I clear my throat, trying to stay calm. “There’s more stuff in there, I guess. All the notes from the CIA,” I say. The Professor already told me the notes were all stolen. That kind of rules out the theory that this was just a prank. It seems deliberate, and for the purpose of getting the information in the CIA notes.

  The breath leaves my chest. What if it was the CIA?

  “Did you really not have it in digital format?” asks Blade.

  “That was one of my jobs in the next six months.”

  He grunts and disappears back into the room. I start slowly brushing the rubbish into the corner, clumsily trying to hold onto my crutches and the broom at the same time. I can’t bend over to use the brush and shovel, so I just leave the trash and dirt in a pile next to the trash can.

  It seems to take forever to get the floor into some semblance of tidiness, but soon I have no choice but to follow Blade into the junk room. It’s worse than I was expecting. Everything from the shelves has been chucked onto the floor, and the big boxes of notes are completely missing, along with several of my high-frequency, demon-calling devices.

  Anything that could be broken is on the floor, mostly in a million pieces.

  “It feels personal in some way. I can see boot marks on that pile of bottles, like they’ve ground them down,” says Blade thoughtfully.

  “What am I going to say to Connor? There’s nothing here to make anything from.” My voice ends on a squeak as I remember my last conversation with the erratic billionaire who’s financing the Professor’s research. A jumble of emotions spin through my head—grief over the destruction of my favorite space, anger that someone could do this so casually, and fear that Connor is going to cancel the grant as soon as he sees the violence that occurred here in this room.

  A noise at the door makes us both turn quickly, but I relax as soon as I see the familiar face of Professor Hasselblatt in the doorway. His expression is even more downcast than usual, and tears fill his eyes as he looks around the now-empty shelves.

  “Why would they do this?” he asks. His white hair is sticking up at all angles, and there are big black marks under his eyes. He looks terrible.

  “It’s probably just vandals,” I say bracingly, although I’m not very convincing. “We’ll fix it up just like new.” I hobble over to him and give him an awkward hug. He smells of day-old Doritos. My hand is still glowing blue, but the Professor doesn’t seem to notice.

  “Who would do this?” he asks mournfully. “We’ve never hurt anyone with our research.”

  Blade comes to stand behind me. “I know who,” he says.

  “What?” I say, turning to him in surprise.

  “I can refine it down to some suspects. It’s definitely someone you know. And I’m not sure it’s precisely to get the information. Maybe they want that. But it’s more about teaching you a lesson.”

  “You got all that from just looking around?” I ask, surprised.

  “Instinct. It’s why I’m such a good hunter.” His eyes gleam bright green for a moment, and I shiver. He might have to hunt me like that one day. My demon squirms inside me.

  “What else can you see?” I ask, trying not to let my thoughts show.

  Blade frowns. “It could be someone else doing the same kind of research as you.”

  “But no one else is doing research on demons,” I say. I know because I’ve looked.

  “They might not be calling it the same thing, but it’s someone who’s interested in your notes, in the CIA notes, and maybe wants to stop you from doing your work.”

  I look over at the professor. He appears to be thinking it over. “It’s possible, I suppose,” he says.

  “There are other researchers?” says Blade.

  “One or two doing similar paranormal-type research. Some underground, others working for private institutions. No one likes to come out and say what they're doing. They saw what happened to me.”

  Blade clears his throat. “I think we should also ask the digital researchers at the SIG to look into Connor.”

  “Connor?” I stare incredulously at Blade. “Why would he do it?”

  Blade hesit
ates. “There’s something strange about him.”

  “You suspect him because he’s strange? That’s half the country just added to our suspect list.”

  “He’s just a little too slick. And it feels like this break-in has been orchestrated just a little too easily.”

  I think through everything Connor's done since I first met him, the way he's acted and the things he's said. “Why would he bother? He’s rich, he can do anything.” I’m having a hard time believing it could be Connor. It feels like Blade is looking for a reason to be pissed off at him.

  “The fact that he asked for your grant back at first, and the way he's acting... We can't rule him out,” says Blade.

  “Whatever the reason, whoever it is, they’ve destroyed everything,” says the Professor. “I can’t do my work anymore. There are no machines. It’s over.”

  “Connor is continuing with the grant money,” I say carefully. “He said he would.”

  “But for how long?”

  “As long as necessary,” I say, clenching my hand around the rail of my crutches. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I’m not going to give up now. We’re too close. “I’m going to make him a new device. I mean, I think I understand in theory how a demon-energy-transfer device would work.” The thought of testing it on real demons makes my blood pound in my veins. I put one hand over my jeans-covered thigh where the wound on my leg is hidden. Despite supposedly being a chalice, I don’t want to have anything to do with demons. I’m still smarting from my last encounter.

  Blade raises his eyebrows at me. “In theory? It’s as easy as that?”

  I blink, trying to remind myself where we were at in the conversation. “I’ve been—” My mobile phone rings, the tone loud and insistent. I pull it out of my pocket and check the screen. “It’s Damien. I should take this.” Maybe he’s got some more information on the demon infestation. Or even an explanation for his radio silence.

  “Hey there,” I say, smiling into the phone. It feels like Damien is an old friend these days, even though I’ve known him less than two weeks.

  “This is SIG Director Holden speaking. Is this Hazel Rushton?” The unfamiliar voice is abrupt, the words clipped.

  My hand tightens on my phone. “Uh… Yes.”

  “I’m calling to inform you that your handler, SIG Agent Damien Walker, has gone rogue. I’m investigating all his recent cases and activities. I require your full cooperation in this matter.”

  “Gone rogue? What?” What does that even mean? I glance up at Blade to see if he’s listening in. His expression is like granite.

  “How long have you known Agent Walker?” the Director says.

  “I only just met him a week ago.” My sluggish brain is trying to keep up with what’s happening. “Is he okay?”

  “That’s classified. What is your relationship to Agent Walker?”

  “Uh… he’s my boss?”

  “What did he promise if you signed up with the SIG?”

  “Good dental?” I don’t know what this dude wants, but I already don’t like him. My brain kicks into gear. If Damien has left the SIG, then maybe I should too. “Listen, I’ll do you a deal. You can fire me right now, no hard feelings. We can all happily go our own separate ways.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” The Director’s voice is sharp. “You’re a SIG agent now. I’ll be flying out to the West Coast to investigate some of Agent Walker’s other interests in the area, and I’ll be visiting you as well. I expect a full report.”

  “Okay….” I try not to sound as unenthusiastic about his plans as I feel.

  “Excellent. And if you learn any information pertinent to Agent Walker’s current status, please call me on this number.”

  He hangs up.

  “I know where Damien got his phone habits,” I mutter, staring down at the now dead phone. I look up at Blade. “Why would Damien go rogue?”

  Blade shakes his head. “It makes zero sense to me. Something’s going on.” He paces around the room, coming back to stand in front of me and the Professor. “The last time we had contact with Damien, he said it was vitally important we check out those coordinates.”

  I nod. “He was pretty insistent, in fact.”

  “I think we need to go and investigate, find out what’s really happening.”

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  Hi, my name’s Trudi Jaye and I’m the author of Stalked by Demons.

  If you’re keen to read more from me, join my Readers Group to receive free books and short stories, as well as receive updates on my latest books.

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  Other Books by Trudi Jaye

  Dragon Rising Series

  Hidden Dragon

  Searching Dragon

  Fighting Dragon

  Cursed Dragon

  Elemental Witch Series

  The Trouble with Magic

  The Problem with Witches

  The Danger with Demons

  Demon Hunter in Hiding Series

  Stalked by Demons

  Dancing with Demons

  Firecaller Series

  Fire Mage

  Royal Mage (due out soon)

  Dark Carnival Series

  Ringmaster

  The Gift

  Tilly’s Secret (Free for people who join my mailing list)

  High Flyer

  Hidden Magic

  Shadow Prophecy

  Hi! I’m Trudi Jaye. I’m from New Zealand, where I currently live on a beautiful rural property surrounded by horses and cows (not mine!) with my lovely husband and my cheeky eight-year-old daughter.

  I’ve been writing since I was a kid, and for many years I worked as a magazine writer and editor, on topics ranging from hardware and electronics to holidays, recipes and university-level research projects.

  Now I write novels full time.

  I enjoy yoga, although I’m not very bendy, and karate, although I don’t like the idea of hitting anyone.