Night Call (Book 2): Demon Dei

by L. J. Hayward

  “I can’t believe you want to have me exorcised,” she muttered.

  He hunched his shoulders and leaned forward. His hair fell into his eyes. The only urge she had now was to rip his hair from his scalp. Arsehole. She’d disappeared for a couple of days and now he regarded her with disgust and fear.

  “This is all your fault,” she continued to his back. “I wouldn’t be here but for you. I had a life of my own before you, you know. I wasn’t a cook, that’s true, but I was my own person, that’s for sure. Went where I wanted, did what I wanted. Had sex when I wanted, not just when you felt like it.”

  That got a rise out of him. “Hey, we had sex all the time.”

  “Yes, because you wanted it.”

  He turned and stared at her from two yellow-rimmed eyes over a bruised nose. “I don’t remember you saying no.”

  “Once again, because you didn’t want me to say no.”

  “Oh my God. You think I’m some sort of slave master or something. I never forced you to do anything.”

  Amaya crossed her arms. “Didn’t you?”

  Nick waved his arms around, his right hand still heavily bandaged. She wished him an infection.

  “No, I didn’t. And if you think I did, then you’re the one with the problem. Hang on, what am I doing? I’m arguing with a ghost. I’m arguing with my memories of you. Great. I’m obviously fucked up from grief.”

  “Grief?” Amaya laughed. “You call this grief? You’ve done nothing but moan and complain about me being here, alive and well, and you expect me to believe this is how my death might affect you? If I ever did die, you better watch out, arsehole. What’s happening right now is nothing compared to how thoroughly and devastatingly I will haunt you if I do die.” She stalked into the kitchen. “At least then I really will be free to do whatever the hell I please.”

  He followed her in. “Did you ever stop to think that you’re not giving me any room to grieve properly? Huh? Maybe if you just nicked off I could get to missing you with all the pieces of my broken heart.”

  She pulled a banana from the bunch on the counter. “Is that a command, my lord? Do you command me to nick off?”

  “Jesus, Amaya. No. I don’t know.”

  The banana hit him on his still very tender nose.

  While he groaned and cradled his face, Amaya stalked past him and into the living room. Flopping down on the couch she turned on MasterChef. Not so long ago, she’d been addicted to the show. It was where she’d learned everything she knew about cooking. Nick assuming she knew it all didn’t actually mean she did.

  She flicked past it, found an old episode of MASH and wondered why she couldn’t be a feisty, slightly insane medic in some war a long way away from Nick Carson and his wants and desires.

  Nick clattered around in the kitchen for a while longer, swearing and cursing in a nasal twang. Good. Then he came out and sat warily on a chair as far away from her as possible and still be in the same room.

  “Can you turn that off?”

  “No. Hawkeye’s about rip into Frank for being a conceited, uptight, unmitigated twit. I need to learn how to do that with class.”

  “I never knew you were this bitter,” he said softly.

  She tried to ignore him. Hawkeye unleashed a beautiful string of insults on the flustered Frank and she missed every word of it. Nick sounded reasonable, like he might actually want to talk civilly. Not that she really wanted to, but if she could make him understand, then maybe he would let her go.

  “You never let me be bitter,” she answered.

  He sighed, then winced and touched his nose gingerly. “Amaya, I don’t understand this thing you’ve got going now. Why do you think I have this unparalleled control over you?”

  “Because you do. Or at least, you did. Now, you don’t so much control me as just have me trapped. My mind is free now, but my body isn’t. Otherwise, I’d be long gone.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re saying. Spell it out for me.”

  It was a command and last week, she would have patiently and methodically spelt out every word of the explanation for him. At least, as much as she could. He’d bound her about explanations as well.

  “Do you remember when we first met?” she asked instead.

  “Yeah. You visited my shark museum.”

  “And what did you say when you first saw me?”

  He tried for humour and got as far as sick trepidation. “Hubba hubba?”

  She glared at him.

  “Okay, I don’t remember the exact words. ‘Hello’ maybe?”

  “Not your first words to me, but the ones you said when you saw me. You were with Saul at the time.”

  “Saul? Um, well, it was probably rude then.”

  “Damn it. You said ‘I want that girl’.”

  “Those exact words?” Nick looked sceptical.

  “Those exact words,” she said between gritted teeth. “And guess what, you got me.”

  He sat back, jaw dropped. “You’re saying I made you come over and start talking to me?”

  “You made me come over, and you made me talk to you, and you made me go home with you. Have I gone anywhere you didn’t want me to go since?”

  Spluttering, it took him a while to get his brain and mouth working together. “Yes! The other day, on the ship. You went into the water when I didn’t want you to.”

  “But I was here when you got back, which you wanted.”

  He shot out of the chair, began pacing and flashing her scared looks again. “Yeah, I wanted it because I didn’t want to lose you. I will admit that I wished you would be here when I got home. But I never really expected it.” His voice rose. “Because you drowned off the Neptune Islands. Your body, lost at sea. You weren’t actually supposed to be here.”

  “Keep your voice down,” she hissed. “Do you want the neighbours to think you’re crazy and talking to your dead girlfriend?”

  “Aren’t I?”

  He had a point, and it wasn’t about the dead part.

  “Look, can you just tell me what happened on the ship?”

  They’d been down this road before, but he’d asked, so she had to answer. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I… I just can’t.”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “I remember.”

  “Then tell me!”

  “I can’t.”

  Nick’s hands curled as if they would fit around her neck, but he forcefully put them back by his sides. “Why can’t you?”

  “Because someone with more power over me than you told me I couldn’t.”

  He let loose a wild, inarticulate shout and stalked from the room. Amaya let him go and watched the end of MASH. It all ended happy and she was still hungry, so she went back to the kitchen and made a sandwich.

  Just as she was putting the salmon back in the fridge, she felt it.

  The drawing sensation of the call. It was the same summoner as last time and his call knew her better now it’d had direct contact. The hook hit faster than it had the first time and set deep into her belly. This time, the driving emotions were calm and calculated, but beneath the surface, seething with frustration.

  “Listen, Amaya,” Nick said as he walked into the kitchen.

  Then the hook pulled and she was swept out of the room. The look of stunned shock on Nick’s face stayed with her all the way. She was condensed down into a tight arrow of energy and shot along the beam of the summoning. It was a flight of a split second and then she was pouring out the far end, puddling on the floor before forming up without conscious thought.

  As she solidified, power was drawn out of her, siphoned from her spirit to mix with that of her summoner and create the barrier that would hold her prisoner. This summoner was good. Few people had the wherewithal to power a summoning circle, let alone know how to use one.

  It was her natural shape she’d formed upon entering the circle. Inside its power, she couldn’t do anything without a command, not even s
hape shift into another body. This body was her true form, but it felt alien now. She’d been Amaya, girlfriend to Nick Carson and Renata Rose’s cook—completely human—for two years. Her real body was too tall and muscular, the wings a weight on her back. Her hair flowed down to her knees and all she wore was a terribly brief kilt held on by a belt of glistening red, scaly leather. She’d made the belt from the skin of her first lover. Her own skin was a deep golden colour, her hair silver and her eyes, she knew, were a cold-burning blue.

  The room was bare of furniture and ornamentation and smelled faintly of fresh paint. It was the same place she’d been called to last week.

  Then, her summoner had been furious, almost speechless with anger. He’d been pacing when she appeared in the circle, his emotions whipping through the power of the circle, feeding into her. The gut deep pain of being ignored and betrayed had infected her and when he’d managed to explain what he’d wanted, she’d been all too eager, bound to do his will by command and passion.

  The physicist had cut the summoner deeply and from what Amaya had felt when she’d had her morphed hands around her neck, Geraldine Davis hadn’t even realised it.

  This time it was different. He wasn’t furious, wasn’t seething with emotional pain. There was no pacing, just a calm, dark-cloaked and hooded figure standing outside her circle. Externally, he was cool and collected but she felt the emotion feeding his contribution to the circle. There was anger, but it wasn’t a deep, passionate anger this time. It was frustrated anger.

  As before, his feelings bled into hers, mingled with her own frustrations with Nick and resulted in a very testy, “What now? I was in the middle of something.”

  “Patience, Amaymon. You know you have no power to question me.”

  Amaymon. Her true name. The easiest way for her to be summoned. There were other ways, but none quite so convenient. The emotional turmoil of her first summoning hadn’t allowed her the chance to find out how he’d discovered her name. It hadn’t allowed for much more than performing the task he’d given her.

  She scowled. “I can question. You just don’t have to answer.”

  “True.”

  “So, how did you discover my name? I’ve not made a spectacle of myself possessing poor nuns in the 1600s and I’ve not made bargains to find lost riches or give the summoner unparalleled sexual prowess. My name is unknown to the human realm.”

  He walked around her circle, slow and deliberate. She resisted the urge to watch him prowl. Nick had taught her how to dive and she’d been down in the cages with the sharks. She knew it was best, even with the steel bars between, to not take your focus off the gliding predators. You needed to know what they were doing, what their instincts made them do, in order to survive. Sharks very rarely came off second best in surprise encounters with humans. There was no way Amaya was going to afford this human the same respect she did the sharks.

  “You’re not the first demon I’ve summoned,” he said. “The first corporeal one, yes, but not the first by far. Some of those other spirits were very forthcoming with information and one in particular couldn’t say enough about Amaymon, the only demon to enter the human realm without the aid of a summoner. You’re famous in the demon realm. Or perhaps, infamous. I got the impression they’re none too happy with what you managed.”

  Amaya should have guessed. She hadn’t been well—‘loved’ was as far from the word she was looking for as it could get—respected before she left. For a demon, she’d been too thoughtful, too questioning. And if there was one thing a demon should not do it was question the order of things. If you dared to have those thoughts, and if you dared to act on them, then there were punishments.

  If she wasn’t in a completely different realm from her family, then she might have been more concerned. Drawing a corporeal body across the boundaries between realms was very difficult. Sending one back to where it came from was equally difficult. This human wouldn’t be able to exorcise her, thus avoiding those demons who might want to mete out punishment for her fleeing would be relatively easy.

  Of course, with her true name known in the mortal realm now, the chances of being summoned and commanded increased a thousand fold. Which brought her back to her current situation.

  A fist on one hip, she asked, “Why am I here again? Is this anything to do with the last task you had for me? Because I did everything you asked me to.”

  “I know you did.” He stopped and stared at her from the shadows of his hood. It was deep enough she could make out little of his face. Just the shape of his nose and that he was clean shaven. Cloaked, his body was as much an enigma—average height, average size. “And I was very impressed, but now there are complications.”

  He lifted a hand from inside his robe and showed her the screen of a mobile phone. On it was a picture of a human male; tall, slender but well-muscled across the shoulders and through his chest. Dark blond hair worn a little too long in back and a narrow, stubbled face. He stood beside a black car, talking on a phone.

  “What’s his name?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you know?”

  Her summoner withdrew the phone. He knew she’d committed the picture to memory.

  “He goes under the guise of the Night Caller. The supernatural population of Brisbane is scared of him. I don’t know why.”

  The Night Caller? As in the man Nick had contacted to exorcise her? The mysterious Matt Hawkins of Night Call? Well, well. This was getting interesting. But she didn’t want to let her summoner know she knew this guy. That was one secret she would keep to herself—unless he commanded it out of her, that was.

  “And what is he to you, my master?”

  “He’s a hindrance. I had suspected he would be brought in to help on the case, but had hoped I could stop it from happening.”

  “The case?”

  “The case of Geraldine Davis’ murder. Her family has brought him in to help them discover her murderer.”

  Amaya sighed in frustration. “I thought it was safely pinned on the husband.”

  “It seems he went to work that night. He has a fool proof alibi.”

  “Why bother with this other guy? Why not just take out the husband?”

  “That would be pointless. Chris Davis is only to be punished, not killed. This Night Caller though, is a different matter. He’s big news amongst the Old World creatures here. I’ve no doubt he’s been called in because they suspect supernatural means in Geraldine’s death.”

  Rustling her feathered wings, Amaya nodded. “I take him out before he can find you.”

  “Yes. And once that’s done, I’ll have another job for you.” His hood turned toward her with a distinct air of forbearance. “Unless of course you have somewhere else to be.”

  She glared at him. “Actually, I don’t.”

  “Good. For a demon, you seem reasonable, Amaymon. Maybe we could come to some agreement once all this is done. Child of Asmodeus.”

  Amaya’s shoulders slumped. Brilliant. Once his murderous intent was done, his nasty little mind was reverting back to a pubescent state.

  And here, she’d thought she’d escaped the succubus tag a long time ago.

  Chapter 8

  In the elevator to Ivan and Brad’s apartment, I drilled Mercy about not doing anything strange. She took it with a bored shrug and studied the silver fingernail polish she’d spent all evening applying. I knew she was taking it all in, though, so I wasn’t too worried.

  Ivan answered the door. He was still in his work clothes and seemed really nervous.

  “Problem?” I asked.

  He looked Mercy over. I’d had some luck in moderating her outfit. Hot pink shorts, black stockings with steel-capped work boots and a tight t-shirt proudly saying ‘I’d Kill for a Nobel Peace Prize’.

  A while back, Mercy had been pretty popular around the local club scene. She’d fronted a band called Nasty Kitten. A lot of people didn’t remember her or the band now. Ivan and Brad were among
the few who did and they’d recognised Mercy from a distance. I just hoped neither of them thought to bring up her past tonight. She remembered nothing of it, though I had told her once. It meant little to her. I didn’t know how she would react to someone asking her about it.

  “Hope not,” Ivan said, looking at me again. “Erin’s here.”

  Okay. I could deal with that. Again, not so sure about Mercy.

  “Give us a moment, please,” I said to Ivan and drew Mercy back down the hall a bit. “Merce, Erin’s in there. Are you going to be okay with that?”

  Back when I’d liked Erin, Mercy had felt my emotions and been jealous of Erin. Or overly protective of me. Not sure which. Anyway, the poor kid had panicked, thinking I’d leave her for Erin. If I was lucky—hah!—maybe Mercy would have forgotten about it all.

  “Erin?” She shrugged. “Whatever.”

  Aw. The Terrible Teens. I supposed I wouldn’t get much sense out of her for another couple of months.

  “All right. Come on. Remember, act normal.” I thought for a second, then clarified, “Human normal. Not vampire normal.”

  She just stamped up to Ivan. “Hi, I’m Mercy.”

  He hesitated, then said, “Ivan.”

  “May I come in?”

  The old myth about vampires not being able to come in uninvited was false. I’d just instilled some manners in my girl.

  “Sure.” Ivan stepped back and waved her in. I followed. “I’m glad you came,” Ivan said to me as we walked through the entry hall. “Brad and Chris are really hoping you can help.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Which was as much for me as it was for him. I was going give this investigating lark a red hot go. Fingers, toes, knees and eyes crossed.

  Ahead of us, Mercy disappeared into a room off the hall. I could hear her announcing herself to all and sundry. I hurried in, just in time to see two men introducing themselves.

  A guy about Ivan’s age, blond and worn looking, introduced himself as Brad. An older man, perhaps a handful of years older than me, turned out to be Chris Davis. He was a portly guy, with touches of grey in his hair, and a sad, round face.