I could feel my tusks pressing against my gums, ready to split through the flesh. The tattoo of Mjolnir on my right hand flared into a blue light, but, to my surprise, sizzled and flickered out.
It’s warded against basic sorceries too, Maggie said.
You could have mentioned that!
I did say the wards were very good.
Olivia scrambled past me, diving into her living room and disappearing around the corner. “Careful of my alchemy table!” she yelled over her shoulder. “Just keep it busy for a minute!”
“Keep it …”
The demon leapt at me, legs open like an Alien facehugger. I sidestepped the leap and snagged a leg, feeling three others brush across my arm and shoulder, tearing through my skin with ease. Using its own momentum, I hurled it past me once more. Dried plant matter scattered, wood shattered, and the air filled with the scent of lavender. I barely noticed the blood running down my right arm. A haze settled over my vision, my jaw hurt from the tusks that had ripped involuntarily through my gums, and I glared at the stupid little pop-up demon trying to right itself in the wreckage of Olivia’s alchemy table.
Before the thing could recover, I ripped the door off Olivia’s oven and, like a professional wrestler leaping into the ring with a folded metal chair, took it to my opponent. I slammed the creature again and again, punctuating each blow with another word. “Why. Can’t. This. Shit. Ever. Be. Easy?”
“Alek!”
My name cut through the haze and I hesitated, oven door held over my head. I blinked a few times. Dried herbs filled the air, nearly choking me. The demon was little more than a paste in the corner. The oven door in my hands was barely recognizable as such. Olivia stood in the doorway, a silver crucifix in one hand, a lit candle in the other, and a look of fascinated horror on her face.
“I … guess I don’t need these,” she said.
I dropped the oven door. I breathed deeply for several long moments before I had the clarity of mind to retract my tusks. Was that thing poisonous? I asked Maggie.
Nah, you’ll be fine. Cut pretty deep, though, so you might want some stitches. And bind those wounds quick.
I felt a sudden, rather stupid embarrassment. The kitchen was completely trashed and Olivia’s alchemy station and collection of drying plants – no doubt representing dozens of hours’ worth of work – had been destroyed. The offending book was still on the table, sitting open to the first page. I stepped over and closed it, tucking it firmly under my left arm just in case it wanted to spit any more demons at me.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“Well. I, uh … I’m glad you’re the punchy kind of reaper after all.”
With my rage subsided, my right arm really hurt. I checked the drawers by the sink until I found the kitchen towels, took one, and waving off Olivia’s offered help, tied it one-handed around the trio of gashes. “I’ll get you a new towel set,” I promised. I wanted to offer a new kitchen too, but that wasn’t really within my budget.
“Don’t worry about it.” Olivia glanced with dismay at her kitchen, then fixed me with the same wary, grossed-out look I myself had given the pop-up demon a few moments ago. An awkward silence stretched on.
“I should go,” I finally said.
“Seems like a good idea,” Olivia agreed.
I went to my truck, fished a company polo out from underneath the passenger seat, and tied that around my arm as well so I wouldn’t bleed all over everything. I tried not to look back at Olivia, who was still watching me from her front door.
I thought that went well, Maggie said as I got in and started up my truck.
Oh, shut up.
She was very cute.
Yes, she was. And I just trashed her house.
Not really your fault. Grimoire Lending didn’t warn you about the pop-up demon.
What the hell was up with that, anyways? I followed the instructions.
It was, to be honest, a very tiny demon. Probably some kind of guard dog set to get around the bookmark you used.
Some days, I really hate the Other.
Maggie laughed again. I tried to ignore her as I called in my report to Ada. The phone rang twice before it was picked up.
“I got the book,” I told her without saying hi. “Grimoire didn’t bother to tell me about the pop-up demon hiding on the table of contents, so they get to pay for the hospital bill when I go get stitches. They should also pay Olivia Martin for a new kitchen.”
There was a moment of silence, then a long-suffering sigh. Ada answered me with her frog-like, sounds-like-a-smoker-but-doesn’t-smoke voice. “Did you follow their instructions?”
“To the letter.”
“Fine. File a report. Did you get the scheduling update that Nadine sent you?”
Per usual, Ada didn’t bother to ask if I was feeling okay or would like the rest of the day off. I took my eyes off the road just long enough to glance at my email inbox. A new appointment had been added to my calendar. It said I had a meeting with someone named Boris Novak at 4 p.m. I didn’t recognize the name. “Yeah,” I told Ada. “New client?”
“He is. Be polite. I’m told he can be abrasive.”
“Who is he?”
“You’ve got his file in your email. Take care of it.” Before I could ask anything else, Ada hung up. I frowned at my phone for a moment before returning my eyes to the road. Ada didn’t often leave new clients to me. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust me – it was just she preferred to do the business side of things herself. “This is weird,” I said aloud.
It kinda is, Maggie agreed. She sounded off to me.
“Oh yeah? I didn’t notice.”
Maybe? I don’t know. I could be wrong. She was definitely leaving something out of the conversation.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I muttered. I dropped by the office first, leaving the grimoire to be returned to my client, then headed to the closest urgent care where I could get some stitches. I pulled into the parking lot and went into the waiting room, where I showed the secretary my cut-up shoulder. I plopped down in one of the ratty waiting-room chairs and pulled up my email to check Boris Novak’s file. The file itself was pretty slim – very little information, even for a new client – but something stood out immediately.
“Son of a bitch,” I swore. “I hate working for vampires.”
Chapter 2
The meeting was in the parking lot of a crappy Days Inn in Brecksville, just off the freeway. I’d been to weirder – and certainly worse – meeting spots in my time as a reaper, but it was strange enough to immediately put me on edge. I pulled into the parking lot and cruised slowly, looking for a 2000 Toyota Camry, per the instructions that came with the file I’d been emailed. To worsen my day, a light drizzle had moved in without cooling off the summer heat, leaving everything humid and sticky.
I found the car, and my client, in the far corner of the parking lot.
Boris Novak looked like an old white man in his midseventies. He was thin and wiry, just a little shorter than me – six foot two according to his file – and he had short-cropped gray hair underneath a plaid flatcap. He wore a white and green checkered button-down. His face and hands had the wrinkled, sun-spotted look of any old person. As I drove up, he was struggling to fold a cluster of poster boards and a metal trifold stand into the trunk of his Camry. He stopped his work and leered at my truck as if I’d interrupted something.