Night Call (Book 2): Demon Dei Read Free Page A

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    I’m a big fan of music in general, and an ever bigger fan of good music in particular. And, as in everything in life, each to his own, right? Still, whoever had decided the world loved Irish folk songs enough to keep releasing them should never have sold the rights to whoever decided pan pipes were really cool.
    Haunting, breathy strains of ‘Danny Boy’ echoed in the crawl space. It was all at once a totally absurd and eerie sensation—like elevator music piped into your head after your brains have oozed out of your ears. Whatever I thought of it, it worked.
    Like a meerkat on look out, the imp sat up on its haunches and peered about. It saw me and tilted its head. Strings of livery flesh hung from its mouth, blood and gore splattered across its body. Slowly, it crept down from the mound of its meal and inched toward me. It came in hesitant bursts, rushing forward, stopping to look around for danger, then forward again, panicking and darting back.
    Music was the one thing guaranteed to hold an imp’s attention, other than its stomach, of course. The little demon scuttled forward, tail swishing, head cocked to locate the source of the music. It didn’t notice me putting down the torch. Heck, it probably didn’t even realise I was there at all.
    As soon as it got close enough, I made a grab for it. The imp realised too late and couldn’t evade me. I caught it around its scrawny neck and it squealed. The high pitched, eardrum-bursting cry drowned out the music. My teeth resonated in my head on a frequency set to crystal-shattering. The creature’s claws raked at my hand, its itty bitty teeth tried to dig in. Imps are stronger than their size would have you believe, and they’re fanatically ferocious, but the most they can down are your average household pets. It had no chance against me. Besides, I was wearing thick welding gloves.
    Wriggling backwards, I hauled my upper body and imp out of the hole. We came out in a burst of dust and cobwebs and fingernails-down-the-chalkboard wails. Mrs Arnold gave her own little scream, back peddled quickly, hit her floral-patterned recliner and sat down so hard the footrest popped out and shot her legs into the air. Eyeballs full of grit protected her from any impropriety on my part.
    Working blind, I groped about for the cat carrier I’d brought along. I found it and shoved the imp in and jerked my hand out a second before slamming the door and securing it. The demon cried some more, then stopped. A moment later, the sounds of eating emerged from the dark corner of the carrier.
    No, I hadn’t killed a poor defenceless animal for it to eat. It was cat food.
    “Oh my, oh my,” Mrs Arnold was saying when my ears recovered.
    “It’s okay, Mrs Arnold. I got it. It won’t be bothering you anymore.”
    She floundered for a moment, then managed to get the footrest down and the chair swung forward so she could look at me. Her eyes were wide and her hair pretty much stood on end. One hand fluttered at her chest.
    “Are you feeling okay?” I hauled myself to my feet and went to check her pulse.
    She slapped my hand away hard enough to make me yelp.
    “Don’t you touch me, you pervert!”
    “I’m not a pervert, Mrs Arnold. Honestly.” I stepped back and held my hands up in unconditional surrender. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I’m a trained paramedic.”
    Feisty old eyes narrowed. “And you sideline in pest control? I shouldn’t think so.”
    “Hardly pest control,” I muttered. I could show her the imp in the cage, and we could argue about it until the cows came home for a change of undies and went out again, but I had a face full of dust, an aching back and prickling foot. Arguing about whether or not demons existed probably wasn’t what someone in that position, with my history, should do with an octogenarian. For both our sakes. This once, I’d let it slide.
    “Now, did you see my Mr Wibbles down there? Is he all right?”
    “Ah, yes, Mr