Grave Robber for Hire (20 page)

Chapter 18

I turned to Vig and scowled. I wasn’t leaving. I had to get that book, electrical booby-traps or not. I used the table to steady myself, pushed Vig away, and made another grab for the book. Purple light arced out of the desk, engulfed my hand, and sizzled up my arm. I hit the wall in bone jarring, back bruising speed, succumbed to gravity and slid to the floor. Legs spread, head lolling, eyes rolling, dribble pooled at the corner of my mouth, and overflowed.

“Jesus, Angel, that thing’s booby trapped.”

Huh.
I never would have guessed. In a whole range of tingles and aches and little twitches, feeling returned to my body. I told my arm to move, and it did. Good, body function is never overrated. I wiped my chin on my shoulder and managed not to faint from the pain.

Tyreal felt the back of my head and helped me sit up. “I need to get that sliding drawer further out. See what it’s wired to.”

Good luck. I doubted voodoo magic could be unplugged. “I don’t think it’s wired.”

“Has to be.”

“Tyreal there’s no power on at this house. What’s it wired to?”

“Battery?”

“No, too strong. It’s not wired, it’s …” How do you tell someone you think something is locked by some sort of monster magic? “I think it’s locked by some sort of monster magic.” Oh well that solved my dilemma, just blab it out.

Vig, face inches from mine, nodded. “Not moon-
ster, Dybbuk.” He pointed to the door. “Now leave.”

“Soon,” I muttered, disguising the word in a groan.

“Monster magic? Yeah right,” Tyreal said.

Tyreal had never remembered Josey’s alternative shark toothed form the night at Devil’s Whip. Lucky for him, I bet he slept better than I did.

He left me and slid under the desk, pushed, pulled, slid the drawer out, in, pulled it back out its full seven inch gap. A few minutes later and at last the drawer slid all the way out. The old ledger book sat on top of a surprisingly dust free shelf. With Vig’s help, I stood. We both peered at the book and sucked in loud holy moly breaths.

The book was wrapped in a large red-eyed misty leech. As it breathed, if that’s what those movements were, purple electricity pulsed out, surrounding the thing and the book.

Ah yes, look at the time, must be time to scram.

“I can’t see a wire? Or anything that could produce that sort of voltage.” Tyreal put his fingers on the book, and purple sizzling blasted him backwards till he hit the same wall I had and slid to the floor. Thank god I’d moved or he’d have crushed me.

I raced over to him. “Tyreal you okay?”

“Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck.”

“You know if you over use a word it loses all its impact.”

“Double fucking fuck.”

I turned to Vig and with well-used sign language, raised my brow, and looked at the book then at Vig. Indicating I wanted him to try and get the book.

He looked at the book, put his arms behind his back, pulled a no-way face, and shook his head. “Not chance.”

Damn.

I used the back of my hand to push the shelf into its hiding place and helped Tyreal to his now unsteady feet. “We need to leave and do some research on how to get that out.”

Tyreal glanced at the desk. “I have a bad feeling this is about to turn weird.”

“Weird? You mean this case has appeared in any way normal? This is my business, and I’m telling you it’s not. This,” I pointed to the desk, “and what happened in Sydney is super-freaking-weird.”

Tyreal put his hand out. “Let’s go home. While you fill me in, I have a feeling I’m going to need to wear my understanding face.”

“Yeah, bring that.”

“Great. Come on, Princess, let’s go home.” He hoisted the painting under one arm, and we made our way to the back door. Outside it was darker than I remembered.

“I need to feel the ground. For the boys.”

Tyreal’s stance tightened. “Now? Feel it up next time.”

“No. Now. While I have the guts.” I wanted it over, to know. At every tick of the clock, I was getting more and more
creeped out by the house and its surrounds.

His and Vig’s sighs rang in unison. Tyreal placed our parcel of possibly a multi-million dollar painting against a partially rotten house stump. I walked to the left side of the yard to where I’d seen Clyde burying the boys. No garden in sight these days. The night dew bathed the neglected lawn in cool drops.

“I have to lie on it.”

“Fully?”

“Yes, face down on the grave.”

“Hell.”

He should be the one who had to do this sixth sense touchy feely stuff.

Tyreal helped lower me to the ground. The wet grass was a bit over grown, dampening my trousers and top on instant contact. A cricket shrilled into the night. Grass sap, and the musk of dirt rose to my nose. Flat on my stomach, I dug my fingers into the soil.

It hit in an instant. Terror and fear. One boy watching his brother raped and his neck slashed, blood pumping as he died, knowing it would happen to him, and it did. I pulled my fingers out and rolled into a fetal position. I wanted to jump time, grab Clyde and castrate him with my bare hands before I tore out his heart.

Clyde’s mode of death was just and deserved torture that I approved of. If that made me a sick bitch, I’d deal.

Tears poured down my face. “He raped them over and over, slashed their throats. They were so frightened, hurt. Babies crying and begging for their mother.” If I ever had children I’d keep them glued to my side, literally with superglue to keep them safe.

Strong arms picked me up and held me. “Their suffering is done.”

“They were never found. Their mother never knew what happened to them.”

“No. Clyde managed to hide his truly evil side. But at least their mother never knew what their last hours were. She thought th
ey drowned. If they were my sons, I’d rather they drowned. Come on, Princess. Let’s get you and our stolen treasure home.”

I pulled away from Tyreal, and dry heaved a few times. Viggo brushed my hair off my face, his posture grim.

Tyreal collected our parcel and we started for Streak.

On the street, we heard,
pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop
, six street lights blew. My brain said electrical fault.

My sixth sense said run.

Vig screamed, “Run.”

The grassy verge was impossibly black. I gripped Tyreal’s arm tighter. “Something’s wrong, we need to get to the car fast.”

“You feel it too?”

I looked at the road. “Crap” My head spun. Darker lines slithered across the road, down the verge. Tiny red eyes glowed.

Oh joy. What life’s complete without a touch of Steven King to lighten the night?

I pointed across the road. “Tell me you don’t see that?”

“I see something.” Tyreal stopped walking to take a better look. He stumbled back, dragging me with him. “What the hell are they?”

“Don’t stop walking. And I’ve no idea what the freaking little slithering things are, but I know they’re bad and evil. I call them leech snakes from Hell.”

“Good name.”

Out of the asphalt of the road, a head with long hair appeared in a mist of black smoke. Satan, appearing just the way he blew up my appliances. I stepped back, tri
pped, and fell on my ass. A tall body followed the head, and slowly became corporeal. His face morphed and fleshed. The features became someone I thought I recognized, but not as the Dark Lord. Before I could pin a name on it, the body misted and sucked back down into the asphalt.

Jesus. “
For fuck’s sake, Tyreal, run
.” So my screech probably freaked out the entire neighborhood. My heart lodged in my throat and I started hyperventilating. I’d only ever seen Satan visit in smoking appliances. Misting out of the road and becoming corporeal was new. Very new. New wasn’t good.

“I can run faster than you.” Tyreal dumped the parcel, wrapped his left arm around my waist, lifted and tucked me under his arm like you would a toddler. He re-picked up the painting and ran, mashing the leech snakes under his yuppie slip on shoes.

Go-Tyreal-go. Thank god he ran way faster than I could but then he had over a foot in height on me. Longer legs equals, much longer strides.

At Streak’s passenger side, he propped me on the hood, unlocked Streak, hauled open her heavy metal door, and stuffed me into the seat.

I looked past his shoulder and screamed.

Tyreal spun. Josey in her best demon form slammed her hand into his shoulder, blasting him with her purple power charge. He dropped to the ground like a man shot in the head.

I screamed.

Vig jumped in front of me, slammed her with a bolt of gold that sizzled and sparked along her body and flashed in her face. She spat out black mist in a huge gushing stream. It hit Vig. His hand flew back, his body jerked, then he fell beside Tyreal.

“No,” I screeched, and fell out of the car beside the men.

Josey cackled as her face spread into a mockery of a shark toothed grin. A quick snarl at me, she grabbed the painting, and zipped up the road moving faster than Streak would have.

Chapter 19

I sat on the road, sobbing, and fumbled with Tyreal’s wrist trying to feel for a pulse.
Please, please don’t be dead
.

Snakey
leeches slithered toward us

Vig, rolled over, sat up and snarled. He looked at me then turned the way Josey had flashed her demon ass. “Dybbuk bitch.” He lurched to his feet and started running.

Tyreal twitched. I squeezed my eyes shut. Yes, yes he wasn’t dead. He rolled and started convulsing.

I shook his shoulder, probably not as gently as I should have. But hey, misty leeches were close, very close. “Tyreal. You’ve got to get off the road, those red eyed things are heading our way.”

“Glot ot,” his voice was slurred. Face pale, eyes glassy, he took my out stretched hand and sat up, leaning on Streak’s mudguard. “She stunned me. Stun guns are illegal.”

“Get into the car. And she didn’t use a stun gun. But she did steal our painting.”

“I know it wasn’t a stun gun. Just felt better thinking it was.” He shook his head and used Streak to help himself to his feet. Once up, he kept going around to the driver’s side while I climbed into my seat. Inside the car, Tyreal hit central lock and sat for a few seconds. Tiny red glowing dots rushed to surround the car. He hit the ignition and planted his foot on the accelerator. Streak’s tires left a hot rubber trail in a neat U through the leeches. Streak might look like she came from 1938, but under her hood was all late 1970’s V8 petrol sucking grunt.

I slapped my thigh. “Josey stole my painting.”

“
Our
painting, and that wasn’t Josey. No way, that aberration was a person.”

“She might be part human. But it was Josey.”

“I’m starting to think maybe I don’t need to know this stuff.” He picked up my hand and kissed it. “Hell, Princess, what are you into? Art thief mutant zapping monsters aren’t normal, and you’re just sitting there calm and collected, pissed they got the painting. How often does this happen? We need someone to find you a new career.”

“I’m not calm. Inside me everything is in raging-freaking-out-chaos. And this is my career. I have to find that bitch and get my painting back. Mutant transforming
domme bitches aside, I like my profession and normally I do it well.” I get to travel, both through time and normal avenues, and have home time for my animals.

“We’re stopping for alcohol.” I went to talk. He held up his hand. “Not yet. Tell me when I’m no longer driving. I figure I’ll need to be half pissed to hear this lot.”

“True.” And waiting until we got back to my place gave me time to work out what and how much I should tell him.

#

At midnight, Tyreal eased Streak into my carport and killed her lights. The outdoor sensor light flicker flicked then lit the area with halogen brightness. My front and screen doors yawned open to reveal the dark hallway. I may not lock my doors, but I always shut both when I leave and I knew Lucy would have closed up behind her.

I put my hand on Tyreal’s hard forearm. “Someone’s been here.”

“You sure?”

“Both doors are open. Someone who doesn’t care about letting out my animals has been here.” I scowled and looked out Streak’s window, my heart curling into the fetal position. “In fact why aren’t any greeting me?” I barely squeezed the last words out.

Like a warrior seeking danger, Tyreal assessed the area. “I’ll find out.” He reached for his ankle, lifted the leg of his jeans, and unsheathed a small pistol.

I goggled so hard I thought my eyes jumped out on a stalk. “You carry a gun?” That was illegal in so many ways I’d need two people’s digits to count them on. Pistol licenses are almost impossible to get. Carrying a concealed weapon a harsh, please pick up that soap sweet-heart, behind bars offence.

I was so telling.

A breeze blew and slammed the screen door shut. I eked out a girly squeal and jumped. Tyreal’s jaw flexed, his whole face became predator still, watchful, and a whole heap of chillingly scary.

Nah, maybe
not
telling.

“I rarely carry a gun, Princess. But after Sydney and seeing the mess Josey made of that man, and knowing how pissed she is at you, I decided to carry. But I’m legal, I hold a license.” He looked at me, winked. “And I’m a good shot.”

Okay, good to know a man has confidence in his deadly abilities.

He eased out of Streak. “Stay in the car, I’ll check inside.” He gave me a hard look. “And I mean stay. No, I have to pee, have to check my animals. Nothing. Stay.”

I fell back in my seat. Boy it boils my butt when people peg me accurately. Kind of insulting, bossy dude hadn’t known me long. I would have taken the pee option.

He moved like fog
across ice to the front door. Something about the dark emptiness of my front yard and the paddocks beyond alerted me that something bad had or was about to happen. With Tyreal out of sight, my scaredy-cat cells bred and overtook my brave cells. I normally possess a thriving population of scaredy-cat ones, so the uprising wasn’t overly astonishing.

My breathing
labored in and out hard and fast. The wind picked up, crackling the leaves of the palms and trees surrounding my house, giving it a desolate and eerie feel. I better not hyperventilate, having to calm myself by using the screwed up takeout bag I’d dumped on the floor earlier, would be embarrassing. Seconds ticked by and became an insanely long hair twisting minute. I shifted, and my neck muscles tensed until my head throbbed.

Where the hell were my animals?
Had the gates been opened?

What if someone hid inside and Tyreal walked into a death trap and lay, even now, on my timber floor in a pool of blood?

I should check. I went to move, but my body was frozen. To calm myself, I started counting backward from a hundred.

A further intense minute later Tyreal walked out of the door, his face dark and threatening.

Impressive, he could win competitions in forbidding. I drew in a deep breath, held it, and waited for the hammer of bad news to crash.

“No one’s around, Princess, but someone has been. Come and see. Don’t touch anything.”

I let my breath out and slunk down in my seat. I didn’t want to. Streak’s seat is plush, I could crank it back and sleep locked in my car and denial all night.

My door popped open. Tyreal
took my hand and tugged me out.
Or
I could go inside with Tyreal. I questioned him with my gaze. He shook his head then followed me into the house.

“Dining table, somebody’s left a … an err … message.”

His err didn’t sound good. I looked at my dining table, and toppled against Tyreal’s arm.

Sticking out of my table was my largest and most impressive carving knife. The knife also impaled a note.

“Yay, lucky me, I’ve got mail.” At least it wasn’t another snake.

I read out, “
Bitch Hayyel, Did you like my gifts?
Thanks for the address.
S
.” I reread it again. “Bitch Hayyel, such a pleasant salutation.”

Eyes coal black, Tyreal regarded me grimly. “The author put a lot of thought into their greeting. You’ve impressed someone.”

I’m sure my awesomeness impressed many, but hopefully not with these results. I followed the scrawled writing to the scribbled letter S ornamented with a forked tongue. Next to my note was the pad Tyreal had written the address of Clyde’s old residence on. Open and obviously moved, were the pages of notes I’d doodled while researching for the Rembrandt. Oh yes, this got better every second.

I contemplated the S and repressed memory split open. My brain fisted into a minor grand-mal seizure. My mouth popped open then shut. My vision fluttered as I fought dark lights and internal screams. Bile gushed into my throat. I gripped Tyreal’s forearm in such an inflexible grip I knew my nails’ indents would remain in his flesh.

I hadn’t seen that signature in fourteen wondrous fear free years. My knees acted as if I’d drunk two bottles of wine, and buckled. Tyreal grabbed my elbows.

“Whoa, Princess.”

The horrid truth cramped my stomach into a macramé of knots.

Holy shit.
It
was free. The monster was free.

I wanted to run, away from reality, back to Streak. “No-no-no-no-no-no.” I clawed at Tyreal’s arm to get a gri
p on my sanity. “Sasha. God. Oh-my-God. Oh-my-God. My animals.” I spun, racing to rescue my babies.

Tyreal grabbed my arms, stopping me from running. “Princess, what?”

I stared at him in frenzied pain and felt something flicker down my back that gave Tyreal a startled look. I went to spin but he pulled me closer and shook me until my teeth clacked. “Pull it together. What’s going on?”

I snatched my arms out of his. “What’s going on?” I pointed to the note. “Sasha escaped. The atrocity that’s my brother has escaped from prison. He kills things for fun.” I looked into Tyreal’s stunned expression and started to cry. “He’s killed my animals before. Oh. God.” My stomach knots shrank to the size of shriveled raisins and I retched.

Get a grip, Angel, suck it up. Freaking out isn’t helping. I straightened my shoulders and met Tyreal’s scowl. “I have to find my animals.” Whatever remained.

“They’ll be alright, Angel. He’s gone.”

“No, you don’t know Sasha. He’s wrong. He has the blackest soul on Earth.” I had to find my animals, and started praying I wouldn’t just find body parts—this time.

Tyreal grabbed two flashlights off the top of my refrigerator and passed me one. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “We’ll find them—together. I’m sure they’re safe. I don’t feel any horror.”

It took minutes of frantic searching to find my cats and dogs. They’d hidden themselves into crevices and outdoor hiding areas, where unless my horrid twin deliberately hunted them, he wouldn’t have found them. The horses and goats were in their far paddocks, chickens and ducks in their coop, huddled in one corner but unharmed.

A miracle.

The last animal accounted for, I called the dogs and cats inside before sagging against Tyreal. “I’m amazed. No blood, guts, tortured animal remains left outside, hanging in my room.” I swallowed another gob of bile. “Hidden in my bed.”

And thankfully, the thought I hadn’t been able to form in my freaked-
out, the monster’s free, mind, we hadn’t found Lucy raped, dead, and chopped into pieces. If that had happened, Sasha would have left her body as a calling card. He must have arrived after Lucy left from feeding the animals and I couldn’t thank enough deities for that blessing.

A night of spooks, freaks, and assorted horrors. Lucky us.

Tyreal held me tight, allowing me to soak some tough off his muscles. “I told you they’d be alright. I often sense distress, and I didn’t feel any.”

I saw he was serious. Who was I to scoff? “Tell me more.”

He looked away, “Another time.”

I nodded. I understood not sharing. Sharing might find you inside an asylum.

“Sasha must have felt rushed to not play torture. Cruelty of inconceivable concepts was teenage Sasha’s favorite toy.” I breathed in and savored Tyreal’s tea-tree, and oh so masculine scent. “Thank God my darlings hid.” I was proud my pets had the sense to hide.

Tyreal walked me to the couch.

“Sasha’s meant to be in prison. Who would release such an atrocity?” I gripped Tyreal’s bicep. “With him free, I’m not safe. I’ll never be safe until he’s once more behind bars—or dead. Shit. How can this happen? He was never to be released, considered beyond rehabilitation.” I put my head between my knees to hold back some of my rising nausea and hysteria. Tyreal put his hand on my back and rubbed.

“My brother killed and chopped up people, including children, a six week old baby. In court, he laughed, said he cleansed the Earth in the name of Lucifer.”

“Um, yeah, I found that info when I researched you. We need to call the police.”

“Yes. Do that. I need to throw up.” And I did, right there on the living room floor.

I hadn’t soaked up enough of Tyreal’s tough.

#

Wow, cops move fast when you report an escaped convict has popped in for a social call. Apparently Sasha escaped three weeks ago, but no one bothered to inform me, his only remaining family. And why would they? Would I want to know he was free to hunt me, considering his obvious police and medically recorded obsession to slaughter me for five years of his life? Until the blessed day he’d been put into juvie. The happiest day of my life.

Nah, let me live without fear so I’d leave my doors unlocked and breathe safe-feeling air.

He’d never come after me.

Morons.

And no, I had not seen the T.V. reports. I don’t watch the news. It’s depressing. Aunty Glynnis had always said the news was how the politicians kept the population depressed, scared, or insane. I know she carried big brother and conspiracy theory paranoia to an art, but some things kind of make sense. Okay, so even without news I was scared and depressed.

Now.

But I should have been scared. If I’d known the freak was free I’d have buried land mines around the house. Can you buy those off eBay?