Night Call (Book 2): Demon Dei

by L. J. Hayward

  “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.

  Chapter 11

  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 tim
e. 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.

  “Mr Hawkins?” the man at the front desk asked.

  “Yeah. I’m supposed to be meeting someone.”

  The man smiled. “The woman in the corner.”

  Well well. “Are you sure?”

  “She did tell me a Mr Hawkins would be joining her.” He glanced pointedly at his watch. “You’re late. It’s a wonder she’s still here.”

  “Just lucky, I guess.” I headed over to the lady’s table.

  The demonologist had her head bowed over the menu and a long, straight fall of black hair curtained off her face. Long legs in black stockings exposed by a short skirt were tucked under her seat, crossed at the ankles. Her silk blouse was deep burgundy, the colour repeated to the precise shade on her long fingernails.

  “Hi,” I announced myself. “I’m Matt Hawkins.”

  She looked up and smiled.

  And I fell in love.

  Chapter 12

  Okay, maybe not in love. Lust definitely. She was… beyond words to describe. Oh, I could wax lyrical about the pearly skin, the soft tilt to the edge of her eyes, the dark lashes that curled on forever, the cut-crystal blue of her irises, the sweet upward turn of the very end of her nose and the full, rose petal-pink lips and you’d get some idea of how she looked. But that didn’t explain her at all.

  Maybe it was the sheer grace in the way she lifted her hand and held it out to me. Or the way her lips wrapped around the sounds that made her name…

  “Lila Reyes.”

  Possibly it was the way she unwound herself from the chair and stood to
kiss my cheek.

  Whatever. There was this… this… je ne sais quoi about her, and you know that’s drastic because it’s not often I’m at a loss for words.

  “Sit,” she said and I did. A bit too hard to be considered cool, or even voluntary, but who cared about such things?

  “Would you like something to drink?” the waiter asked.

  Waiter? What waiter? Oh, that waiter. Wait. When had the waiter arrived?

  “I’ll have a glass of water,” Lila said. “Mr Hawkins?”

  Quick, brain. Think! “Ah, same.”

  “Two waters,” muttered the waiter as he left.

  “I’m glad you could make it” she said as she unfolded her napkin. That lucky bastard of a white linen was caressed by her slender fingers and then laid over her lap.

  “Mr Hawkins?”

  “Please,” I mumbled and then realised what I’d said. Shaking my head, I said, “Sorry. I was a million miles away. Yes, I’m glad I could make it too. I’m sorry for having kept you waiting.”

  She smiled and oh Lord. All the fog I’d just cleared from my head came rushing back in.

  “I was very intrigued to meet you. It’s not often I find someone with the same interests as myself.”

  I dredged the depths of my mind for some dignity. “I can imagine demonology is not a growth field.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  Our water arrived and the waiter asked if we were ready to order. I waved for Lila to order first. She skimmed the menu and then rattled off in perfect Japanese what she wanted.

  I reverted to single syllables again. “Same.”

  Lila smiled at me. “You speak Japanese?”

  “No. Well, a guy I went to school with taught me some swear words, but I’ve long since forgotten them.”

  Her laugh was a delightfully naughty giggle. “I could refresh your memory, if you wished, Mr Hawkins.”

  Parts of me were already refreshed. “I think we can skip the language lesson. And please, call me Matt.”

  “Lila,” she said again and again interesting things happened between her tongue and lips. “So, you’re interested in learning more about demons.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How much do you already know?”