I awoke to the sound of my alarm clock ringing. Irritated, I fumbled for
the "snooze" button unsuccessfully until I remembered that I didn't HAVE an
alarm clock. This realization was enough to bring me back to coherence,
mostly. It was the phone ringing; I had fallen asleep at my desk again.
"Devil May Cry," I growled into the receiver, voice rough. If this was another damned crank call, someone was gonna PAY…
"Um, hello?" The voice on the other end was nervous and male. "Is this Devil May Cry?"
"S'what I said," I mumbled, rubbing at my eyes. Fuck, my head hurt. Went a little too heavy on the beers last night, Dante, I reflected.
"I, um, I don't know much about this, but, well…"
I was losing my patience. Not that I have a lot to lose, mind you. "Look, we're closed. Sorry." I started to hang up.
"Wait!" said the nervous voice, going up a few notches until it was almost a squeak. "I have the password! They said you needed one."
I paused. "Go ahead," I said after a moment.
"Entropy," he said.
Well, hot damn! I immediately went into Business Mode. It'd been weeks since I'd seen any real action, and my trigger fingers were getting itchy in the worst way. I started to grin, and he could probably hear it in my voice as I said, "Well, what can I do for you, Mr.…?"
"Daykin," he said. "My name is Aldous Daykin, and I have a problem… with demons."
Well, duh. My grin widened further. It wasn't like people called me when their refrigerators broke down.
I leaned back in my chair, pulling Ebony out of its holster at my hip almost without thinking about it. I twirled the handgun around one finger absently. "Tell me all about it," I ordered, happy visions of flashing guns and slashing swords filling my mind.
***************************
The client, Mr. Aldous Daykin, was a housing developer with a lot of money on the line with his latest project, some condo out on the edge of town. Construction had been going swimmingly, he'd told me, until a few weeks ago, when workers had begun spotting shadowy somethings lurking around the site.
And then the attacks had begun.
Laborers were getting mauled in a bad way. At first everyone had assumed it was a mountain lion; there were still a few here and there, roaming the still undeveloped area around the construction site. Animal control had been called, but of course, they found nothing. And then attack survivors had started babbling about dark things with glowing eyes, and Mr. Daykin was beginning to have trouble keeping the mountain lion cover story intact. But he couldn't call the police; if word got out that supernatural nasties were eating his workers, he'd lose his funding and no one would want to move into the place. He'd be financially ruined.
So he'd started making inquiries, and spreading some money around got him my name and the password. What he needed was a nice, discreet person to handle his little PR problem.
Unfortunately, what he got was me. And "discreet" ain't exactly part of my modus operandi. But I was the best in this business, and he wanted this taken care of yesterday, so he was going to have to take a few risks.
I grinned to myself as I disassembled Ivory for a cleaning it didn't actually need. Ebony sat on the desk, gleaming darkly. "Hear that?" I asked them. "Looks like we're in for some fun. I know you guys were getting bored, cooped up in here for so long."
Yeah, I talk to my guns. Maybe that sounds a little crazy. Fuck you.
I glanced up at my walls, surveying the satisfying display of carnage that was the closest thing to interior decorating I wanted. Some people mounted deer and elk heads on their walls. Me, I had demons. Most of them had still been bleeding when I'd tacked them to the wood with whatever came in handy—swords, knives, crossbow bolts. One particularly vicious-looking horned thing was actually stuck to the wall with a couple of railroad spikes. Hey, you make do with what you've got.
I wondered if this job would give me a chance to add to my little trophy collection. I could only hope so. Nothing like bagging another prize to make a man feel like a man.
"Devil May Cry," I growled into the receiver, voice rough. If this was another damned crank call, someone was gonna PAY…
"Um, hello?" The voice on the other end was nervous and male. "Is this Devil May Cry?"
"S'what I said," I mumbled, rubbing at my eyes. Fuck, my head hurt. Went a little too heavy on the beers last night, Dante, I reflected.
"I, um, I don't know much about this, but, well…"
I was losing my patience. Not that I have a lot to lose, mind you. "Look, we're closed. Sorry." I started to hang up.
"Wait!" said the nervous voice, going up a few notches until it was almost a squeak. "I have the password! They said you needed one."
I paused. "Go ahead," I said after a moment.
"Entropy," he said.
Well, hot damn! I immediately went into Business Mode. It'd been weeks since I'd seen any real action, and my trigger fingers were getting itchy in the worst way. I started to grin, and he could probably hear it in my voice as I said, "Well, what can I do for you, Mr.…?"
"Daykin," he said. "My name is Aldous Daykin, and I have a problem… with demons."
Well, duh. My grin widened further. It wasn't like people called me when their refrigerators broke down.
I leaned back in my chair, pulling Ebony out of its holster at my hip almost without thinking about it. I twirled the handgun around one finger absently. "Tell me all about it," I ordered, happy visions of flashing guns and slashing swords filling my mind.
***************************
The client, Mr. Aldous Daykin, was a housing developer with a lot of money on the line with his latest project, some condo out on the edge of town. Construction had been going swimmingly, he'd told me, until a few weeks ago, when workers had begun spotting shadowy somethings lurking around the site.
And then the attacks had begun.
Laborers were getting mauled in a bad way. At first everyone had assumed it was a mountain lion; there were still a few here and there, roaming the still undeveloped area around the construction site. Animal control had been called, but of course, they found nothing. And then attack survivors had started babbling about dark things with glowing eyes, and Mr. Daykin was beginning to have trouble keeping the mountain lion cover story intact. But he couldn't call the police; if word got out that supernatural nasties were eating his workers, he'd lose his funding and no one would want to move into the place. He'd be financially ruined.
So he'd started making inquiries, and spreading some money around got him my name and the password. What he needed was a nice, discreet person to handle his little PR problem.
Unfortunately, what he got was me. And "discreet" ain't exactly part of my modus operandi. But I was the best in this business, and he wanted this taken care of yesterday, so he was going to have to take a few risks.
I grinned to myself as I disassembled Ivory for a cleaning it didn't actually need. Ebony sat on the desk, gleaming darkly. "Hear that?" I asked them. "Looks like we're in for some fun. I know you guys were getting bored, cooped up in here for so long."
Yeah, I talk to my guns. Maybe that sounds a little crazy. Fuck you.
I glanced up at my walls, surveying the satisfying display of carnage that was the closest thing to interior decorating I wanted. Some people mounted deer and elk heads on their walls. Me, I had demons. Most of them had still been bleeding when I'd tacked them to the wood with whatever came in handy—swords, knives, crossbow bolts. One particularly vicious-looking horned thing was actually stuck to the wall with a couple of railroad spikes. Hey, you make do with what you've got.
I wondered if this job would give me a chance to add to my little trophy collection. I could only hope so. Nothing like bagging another prize to make a man feel like a man.