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

Wibbles is down there.”
    “Then back you go. Bring him up.”
    I cringed. “You might not want to be here for that.”
    “Why ever not?” Even as she asked, she understood. “Oh. No, I think I should be here.”
    My mouth was open to protest, but she cut me off.
    “Now, young man, I’m eighty-two years old. I’ve been around the block a time or two and I’ve probably seen some things to make you wet your pants. Mr Wibbles stuck with me when Mr Arnold passed and through my hip replacement. The least I can do is be here for him now.”
    Ten minutes later, I was back in the hole, fishing around with an old hockey stick, dragging the bits and pieces of Mr Wibbles into range of the bucket I had to put him in. I mean, I couldn’t have left the carcass down there to rot and stink out Mrs Arnold.
    I was scooping the last of Mr Wibbles into the bucket when I heard something. A little mewling sound. From the outside world, there came an answering cry from the imp.
    What the…?
    They poured out of the shadows of the crawl space like a red tide. Tiny, tiny little imps, screaming tiny, tiny little supersonic war-cries. I gurgled a surprised scream of my own and hurried out of the hole. They came flocking out, wings buzzing like a swarm of killer wasps. The full grown imp in the cage set to caterwauling once more. The result was a cyclone of bone-rattling sound pitched at the very upper end of the human compatibility range.
    I lay flat on my back, staring in disbelief at the baby imps spinning around the room. They weren’t terribly coordinated and they flew into walls and furniture with little thumps of impact. The figurines scattered throughout the room didn’t survive so well either. There was a tinkling crescendo of shattering porcelain.
    Mrs Arnold was back in her chair and copped a fair few of the baby demons in her hair. They thrashed about and got hopelessly tangled. She sat in open mouthed shock. By good luck or sheer bad aiming, none of the imps flew into her mouth. I didn’t want to have to explain to anyone that I’d had to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre in order to dislodge a demon.
    Thanks to the poor directional skills of the imps, it didn’t take long for them to batter themselves into unconsciousness. The last buzzed around the ceiling for a bit longer and then in a fit of panic, flung itself at the window. It smacked the glass hard and tumbled to the sill, where it sat and swayed before toppling over.
    The adult imp was still kicking up a fuss in the cage, so I gave it sharp boot and knocked the cage into the wall. The imp crashed against the hard plastic and fell, splot, face first into the dish of cat food.
    Sitting up, I surveyed the damage. A hasty count later, I pulled out my receipt book and started writing.
    “Right, Mrs Arnold. That’s sixty-four—” A twitter under the China cabinet caught my eye. “Sixty-five… pests. My initial estimate may have been a bit short.”

Chapter 3
    Oh come on. Like I was actually going to charge her extra. I even threw in the removal of the unconscious imps for nothing. Of course, she had to give me Mr Wibbles’ old carrier to put the overflowing bodies in. All in all, it was a very tidy room I walked out of two hours later. A trifle bare of ornamentation, but demon free, and that’s always a plus.
    I shoved the two carriers full of slowly awakening imps into the boot of the Monaro and slammed it shut before they could deafen me. I selected some soothing music and the imps shut up for the trip home. It was heading toward sunset when I pulled into the driveway and clicked the garage door opener. I slid the black car in beside the Moto Guzzi and closed the garage.
    Inside, I set the carriers down beside the stereo, tuned them into a classical station and then checked messages.
    There were none. No missed calls, either. Not even a text.
    It had to be faulty. Why else wouldn’t it record the many, many messages left by all the calls I’d sent to messages