Disclaimer: every character, setting, etc. that you recognise belong to their respective owners, not me. Or to the almighty god of clichés.
Author's note: this story is turning in my mind for some time now. And Emmanuel wanted to be in it. I agreed.
Prologue
Rrrring.
Emmanuel was snoring next to her. So human- and man-like it took some getting used to. If only she knew beforehand, right.
Rrrrring!
The incubus just snored on. The woman reached for her phone, admitting defeat.
"Victoria Nelson's apartment, damn you… Whoever you are."
Law-abiding tax-payers and supernatural entities alike didn't give social calls at ungodly hours when they merely wanted to chat about the weather.
She knew it, fumbling for her glasses in the dark and turning the light on as the snore tune continued to play in the background.
Oh no, blasted people, ghosts, whatever dared to call only if they needed something. Like a joke at the sleep-deprived victim's expense. Or some aid of any shape and form, or aid plus joke.
There came a bit of throat-clearing, and then…
"Hi, Vicki. Thanks for the offer, but I am damned as it is, remember?"
She stared into space. She dropped her newly-found glasses.
"Henry? 'That really you?.."
Her good old receiver laughed, bitter. Possibly bitter. Maybe just tired.
Emmanuel turned in his beauty sleep, producing yet another warble.
And has she heard a baby cry over there too or…
"I need a woman, Vicki. It's urgent."
She definitely heard the baby.
Again.