At the Behest of the Dead (24 page)

A spell leapt in
to my mouth, but I didn’t utter it when the dog lifted one leg and bowed its head slightly. I stared at it and it stared back. Beady little eyes had a hint of intelligence. Dogs didn’t talk unless they were changers, and they couldn’t speak well because their vocal chords changed with their bodies.

“You’re not a changer.” I
tried not to jump out of my skin.

“Tis true. Fear not
, mortal. I no longer wish to kill you.”

“You must work for
Balkir with all that ‘mortal’ crap. Say, can Pomeranian’s wring their paws together?”

It’s called bravado
, and it was all I had at the moment. I was stuck in a truck without even a backseat and there was a demon inside a Pomeranian.

“Ah, very good. I commend your humor. Alas, I have no wish to harm you.”

I don’t know what was freaking me out more. The fact that the damned thing was talking or the fact that her mouth didn’t move. Was I supposed to pet her? Give her a cookie? Toss her back to a ward?

“Mind telling me how you got in there?”

“We fought. You won. Now I reside here.” It paused dramatically.

“Who and what resides here?

“And thus I clothe my naked villainy

With old odd ends, stol'n forth of holy writ;

And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.”

So that happened.

“Is my name so important? There is great power in the knowing of such things. My essence, you placed it in a bottle, and this vessel grew curious. Perhaps it was because I called in that special voice of the animals. I would share, but such things are wasted on mortals.”

“This
vessel? Oh I get it. The dog.”

“Thusly.”

“Thusly? That doesn’t even make sense.”

“From d
awn’s repast …”

“Here we go again.
” I sighed dramatically.

“Apologies. Such a prickly one.”

“I get it,” I said, and put the vehicle in reverse. “You’re not just a demon. You’re a cultured demon. How did you do it anyway? I’ve had the bottle with me the entire time.”

“It has a leak. Thus my essence was slow to escape and now I am whole.”

“So that vial is empty now?”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly? Does some part of you remain?”

“Thusly.”

I sighed and put both hands on the wheel to stop from punching something.

I had already come to the decision that I should hit the freeway, get up to speed, and then toss the dog out the window. There were a couple of things
holding me back. My conscience, and lack of upper body strength. Besides, it wasn’t like the dog had done anything wrong. It didn’t deserve to be mushed into gooey Pomeranian bits. Take away the demon and I was sure the mutt would be its normal canine self.

“You are correct
, sir. Long have I lived and many lives have I consumed. But I weary of the wards and wish to stay a time on Earth. Can we strike some sort of bargain?”

I hit a side road and roared toward the freeway. I was thinking about how much I didn’t want
anything like this in my life. A demon could not be trusted. At the first opportunity it would shred my soul. Rip my body to pieces. I might be laying in bed, late at night and BAM! I would be warlock bits ready for the stew pot.

“Uh huh. Live on Earth, sing
Kumbaya, hang with some mortals, maybe take in a nice doggy park?”

“And I shall be a great help in your own studies. I
sense your power but it is weak. I can also sense something else, something buried. I may be able to assist in bringing it forth.”

“Uh huh. Lots of power,
praise his unholy name and shit.” I nodded and hit the freeway, already accelerating past the speed limit. I had to get this beast home and into some kind of containment device. I would need time and a place to work. That meant I needed a distraction for my new companion.

I had a book of demons somewhere at home. Nothing you’d find in the possession of a true demonologist, but it had its uses since it listed major and minor inhabitants of the wards. It covered how to deal with them and how to hang on to your soul in the event you were actually confronted. I might as well just write d
own my plans in olde English and set them in front of the dog’s snout.

“You don’t trust me or my intentions. Canst say I blame you.”

“Uh huh, intentions.”

“
Bezophelondia Elus Dothraniumtortaskinum,” the demon said. My hair stood on end.

I slammed on the brakes and slid onto the shoulder. Cars shot by as I came to a screeching halt. The dog was thrown to the floor
, along with all the old newspapers, maps, Google direction print offs, and at least three empty coffee cups.

“What did you say?” I stared at the Pomeranian that was buried in all the crap that had been on my front seat.

“My name. Do you feel safer?”

I did, actually. Having the demon’s name meant I had power over it. I could control it if I so desired, to an extent
, but not as well as a true demonologist. With a name, they could make this demon dance, juggle, and sing show tunes. I was already burning a glyph in my mind that represented him. If I needed too I could bring forth the symbol at any time, and with it the demon.

“I felt safe before, demon,” I quipped, trying to regain some of my bravado.

“I was foolish before, unplanned. I should have waited, but the blood lust was so very strong. Were we to go again, I have no doubt I would come out the victor. Your soul would have been the spoils.”

“Wouldn’t that upset your master
, Balkir?” I checked my blind spot and roared back onto the freeway. I took it roughly to see if the little beast could stay on four paws. He did all right, but he staggered a little.

“
Balkir is strong. Very strong. Do well to remember that if you ever face him.”

“I did face him
, and sent him howling to the wards. Still so sure about that next bout?”

“You sent him to the wards?” Then the demon did something that chilled me to the bone. It laughed. The sound
, like a million pissed off bees, was suddenly coughed out of a giant mouth.

“Are you done yet?” I asked in indignation.

“Tis a fine game being played. A fine game.”

“So it was
Balkir that called you to destroy me?”

“No. Not he. Another whom I am forbidden to speak of.”

“What if I offer you unlimited doggie biscuits?” I patted her head.

Peaches howled with laughter as I roared toward home.

Chapter Twelve

M
y house was like a long lost friend. I walked in and wanted to hug every room. Bilbo left her hiding spot to greet me, but bolted across her gigantic web at the sight of my dog. Great. Now I had rival pets to deal with.

“Don’t eat my spider.”

“I would not dream of such a thing.”

“Hmm.”

The Pomeranian, I had decided to call her Peaches instead of her demonic name, studied the space the spider had occupied. Why Peaches? Because a possessed Pomeranian named Peaches had a great ring to it.

Peaches
didn’t growl, just looked. The stand off continued, but now the shoe was on the other furry foot.

I tossed my junk mail on the counter and hoped there weren’t too many late payment notifications buried in the mess. If I got really bored I might sort them into recycling bins
. Otherwise I planned to lay them down for Peaches to piss on. Did I have a fire extinguisher?

I popped on the television and
let the local news drone on. No more gory murders in Seattle, which reminded me about my payment. So I dug through the mail, but a check from the Seattle Police Department did not magically appear. I might have to resort to selling potions on craigslist if I didn’t get an actual paying job soon.

I should
’ve called Carlisle and gotten Thora’s number. Maybe I could dump Peaches in her lap “Here’s your puppy, good luck!” and run.

I didn’t feel like cooking
, so I tossed a couple pieces of non-suspicious bread in the toaster and set it for almost black. Not that a little green was bad for you.

My ratty couch had seen better days a decade ago
, and when Peaches the wonder demon decided to hop up on the cushion next to me I didn’t say a word. I should’ve called Glenda to remind her to keep her mouth shut about the secret room, but I knew it was just an excuse to hear her voice.

Then I thought about calling Ashley and asking her forgiveness for setting her business on fire
, but came to the same conclusion.

I wolfed down the bread. It had the barest of butter spread between the two slices because the tub of lard was down to a few side scraping. My stomach rumbled
, so I popped open a local microbrew.

The vial was still on the counter. I took it ba
ck to my seat and showed it to Peaches.

“Who’s a good doggy? W
ho’s a good doggy?”

Peaches did not look impressed.

I popped open the vial and let the rest out. Her essence was a grey mist that swirled out in a languid cloud. It formed a spiral then Peaches leaned in and snorted it like meth smoke.

“I am complete.”

“Wonderful.”

“I like beer,
” Peaches said from the seat next to me. She perched with one leg tucked under her chest, back leg extended. When she looked at me, her eyes glowed an unholy red, like someone popped a pair of Christmas lights in the back of her skull then attached glass eyes. It was downright creepy and I live for this kind of stuff.

“So go buy some. How did
the dog find you anyway?”

“Nay. You left me mixed amongst the contents of your pocket
, which consisted of a half-eaten piece of minty gum, a small ivory knife, keys, and a very tiny vial, all of which were placed on your dining table.”

“Oh shit.”

“It was the gum that drew her. She was hungry. I just whispered a few words.”

“So she ate the vial?”

“First she played with it, and that was quite humiliating.”

“There
, there,” I said and patted her head.

“She rolled on me and the lid was loosened.”

“Tricky demon.” I wiped my hand on my pant leg.

The doorbell chimed the opening bars of
Ozzy Osbourne’s Mr. Crowley.

“Company, at this hour?” Peaches
said.

“It’s not even six.”

“I was joking. Perhaps it’s Balkir come to finish the job. Should I hide?”

“I told you, he’s dead.
” I got up from the couch, sadly, because it had my butt imprint and my warmth.

“And the poor beetle that we tread upon,

In corpor
eal sufferance feels a pang as great

As when a giant dies.”

“Put a sock in it.”

“You are wrong about that one. He would not go to the abyss so easily.”

“He did. I saw him screaming as his soul was sucked out of a giant second ward demon.”

I was too tired to do anything like call up a spell of warding or ready a glyph of sleep. I stared at the door until the buzzer rang again and then opened it.

If I had expected to see Detective Andrews
, or the old woman here to finish the job, I was disappointed. What did bring a smile to my face was the person standing under my porch, hood held forward in one small hand, rain jacket dripping water.

“Hello Ashley.” I smiled.

“I asked the detective for your contact info. She said she couldn’t hand it out but to try Google. So I did Google, and do you know what Google had to say?”

“Nothing
, because Google is a web search engine that can’t talk?”

Her eyes darkened.

“It said I was a warlock.”

“Yeah. It said you were a
warlock. You told me that but I didn’t really believe it. But everything I read indicated that you could make potions and cast spells. The only thing missing from your online profile is a pointy hat with stars and a moon on it.”

“I think wizards wear those.”

“Then one with ‘dunce’ written on it.”

“Ashley. Not that I’m not thrilled to see you
, but what are you doing here?” I asked as I moved to a closet in the hallway and retrieved a towel. I handed it to her as she lowered her hood and unzipped her jacket. She was wearing a sweater and jeans. Damn, no penthouse letter writing tonight.

“You’re thrilled to see me?” She looked up at me.

“Well yeah. I wasn’t exactly at my best the other night.”