J. H. Sked Read online

  When Astrid got to that point in the proceedings, I tried to put a reassuring paw on Mike's knee.

  Mike stared down at it. "Billy the cat is also Billy the detective? As in the fairly large guy I met at your office a year ago?"

  I chirped helpfully, and thought about climbing into his lap again. If the stroker is not sneezing all over you, there is no better place for a cat.

  "Billy," Astrid said patiently. "Can we try not to freak out the nice medium any further please?"

  Since the nice medium had spent the previous twenty or so minutes fondling my ears and rubbing my belly, I wasn't sure that was possible.

  I had to give the guy credit for quick recovery though.

  Mike reached out and tugged the end of my tail gently. "How does a guy who is at least six foot tall and possibly hits 180 on the scale end up as a house cat? I mean, he's a fairly large cat, Astrid, but still?"

  Ruth drifted through from her bedroom, but stayed in the doorway of the living room. She tended to stay away when Mike was over.

  They made each other acutely uncomfortable, for some reason. "A better question, Mike, is how does a 25 pound house cat end up as a fairly large guy?"

  "You mean.."

  I started to leave the room. I didn't need to hear the end of the conversation.

  "He was born a cat," Astrid said. "Nobody knows what happened to cause the shifting."

  "His mother?"

  "Perfectly normally Main Coon cat," Ruth said. "Well, when I say normal, we've been sending her to a pet psychologist. She's been a bit stressed since Billy shifted the first time."

  As I slipped around the door jamb, I heard Mike whistle under his breath. "Man. I thought my mom had issues."

  Six

  Mom was waiting for me in my room.

  She chirped anxiously as I stalked in, then rubbed her face against me before looking pointedly at the clock.

  Perfectly normal? I have my doubts about that.

  Maine Coons are intelligent, and can live into their twenties with care. Mom was pushing twenty-seven, and showed no sign of slowing down.

  The girls had her fixed after I came on the scene - before my first shift.

  Astrid was in the room when it happened. Apparently, she pretty much swallowed a lit cigarette when the cute, wobbly legged kitten fell off the couch, and a confused looking baby landed on it's ass on the living room floor, looked up at her, and giggled.

  Mom had ended up on top of the curtain railing, yowling.

  I stayed in human form for nearly a week before the kitten re-appeared. By that stage, Astrid and Ruth had stocked up on diapers and baby formula, and Mom had made her first trip to the pet shrink.

  Twenty three years of tranquillisers is a long time, but it means that Mom can stay in the same room with me in human form without climbing to the nearest high point, and only has a break-down every couple of months, instead of weekly.

  Take it from me, this is a good thing.

  Don't get me wrong - she loves me, and I adore every part of her, from her tufted ears to the extra toes on her paws - but having a parent who shows signs of PTSD every time you enter the room is hard.

  Apparently she was skittish all the way through her pregnancy, but was getting pretty much back to normal after she had me. Then I had my first shift, and pop goes the weasel.

  Ruth thinks something happened with my father; that he did something to traumatize her during or just after they got together. I have my own theory on what that was, but don't like to think about it too much.

  I do, however, sincerely hope I meet my father someday. Just for five minutes.

  Anyway, I had a good four hours before my physical shift switch set in and I reverted back to human form. I jumped onto the bed, curled my tail around my nose, and let Mom fuss over me for a bit.

  Seven

  Two hours later, I was pacing outside the house again, Ruth beside me.

  Astrid and Mike had been in the basement for nearly thirty minutes. I had no idea how either one was staying in there with the stench emanating from the house; even more acute since I was still in cat form.

  Finally, the front door opened, and my partner came out, supporting Mike. She kicked the door shut behind her and carried him down to the car.

  "What happened?" Ruth opened the passenger door so Astrid could sit the semi-conscious medium in the seat.

  Astrid pulled a pair of tiny plugs from her nose, and squatted down next to Mike.

  "Not sure," she said, tapping him gently on the cheek. "Nothing happened for a while, then he just stiffened up and collapsed." She looked up at Ruth. "Can you check him for passengers?"

  Considering the attitude of whatever was in the basement, we didn't need it out in the world at large. Some spirits can hitch rides on a human host. I've never heard of one crazy enough to try it with a vamp, so we weren't worried about Astrid.

  Ruth tilted her head and stared at Mike for a moment, eyes slightly unfocused.

  "Just Mike," she said finally, and we relaxed a bit.

  Mike opened one eye. "I put shields up before we went in," he said mildly. "I'm not an idiot."

  "I don't think we can be too cautious with this thing," Astrid answered.

  "You're not kidding there," Mike said. "Is there a reason you didn't tell me your zombie friend ate a serial killer?"

  Eight

  "He was a serial killer?" Susan's voice squawked out of the speaker phone. "No wonder I threw up afterwards."

  We looked at each other. We were back at the flat, since Mike badly needed to eat something to ground himself, my shift was due to happen at any moment, and we urgently needed to speak to Susan.

  "Susan," Mike asked after a moment. "Where were you when you threw up?"

  "In the basement," she said. "I woke up and he was busy digging in the corner, and I was just so hungry.. everything blurred for a bit. And then I started to hurl, and I saw there were bits of him and - I threw up again. I couldn't stop."

  I could hear she was crying again, and looked over at Ruth. She nodded once, and vanished. A moment later, we could hear her voice through the speaker phone.

  "It's okay, hon. It's okay."

  "Oh, god, I wish this would end," Susan sobbed, and I reached out a paw and hit the mute button on the speaker. Pain like that doesn't need an audience.

  "He wants to kill again," Mike said to the two of us. "Keeping her out of the house is a temporary measure at best. The next female that lives there, if she hits his buttons, is going to end up under a bunch of outdated laundry equipment."

  "So what do we do?" Astrid asked. "Can you do an exorcism?"

  "No, not by myself." Mike shook his head. "But I know a good coven who could." He still looked worried.

  "But?" Astrid narrowed her eyes at him.

  "It's a dangerous thing to do at the best of times," Mike said quietly. "And there are no guarantees it'll work."

  "If it doesn't work, what's our next option?"

  "Salt and fire," Mike said. "Salt around the house to hold the spirit, and burn the whole damned place down."

  "Bit extreme," Astrid said, and lit a cigarette.

  Mike scowled. "If your client didn't need a place to stay, I'd go that route first. I touched that mind, Astrid. If he manages to get loose from the house, he'll turn this town into an abattoir. He'll find someone to ride and use them to butcher, and if they get caught he'll jump to someone else. He's more dangerous now than when he was alive."

  I fell off the couch.

  Nine

  It turned out the coven would need a week to prepare for the exorcism. Nobody was willing to rush the job, once Mike explained what it was, and apparently none of them were happy about doing it.

  That, more than anything else, told us how bad this was. Most covens welcome the chance for a bit of positive PR, and this particular group was very good at their work.

  We set the date for the following Saturday.

  Susan was not impressed when we told her she couldn
't attend the ceremony. But her state of decay had got to the point that there was no way we could hide what she was; Ruth told us that the neighbouring guests at the motel had started complaining of a dead mouse in the walls.

  We bought a bunch of air fresheners and incense sticks, turned the air-conditioner to Arctic, and hoped for Saturday to roll around faster than normal.

  Ruth spent a lot of her time with Susan. By this time, she'd stopped bathing - the hot water was accelerating the whole rotting business - and spent the daylight hours in the motel room. Late at night, she'd slap on extra thick make-up and walk around town.

  Ruth didn't go with her then. Susan needed to eat, and Ruth didn't feel she could stand to one side while that happened. So Susan went out alone, and the gang banger population in that part of town took a sudden nosedive.

  "At least she isn't eating anyone productive," I pointed out.

  "Not the point," Astrid said. "Anyone she eats loses the chance to become productive."

  I raised an eyebrow at her.

  "I haven't killed for food in three centuries, Billy boy," she told me. "She'll never be able to stop."

  Ruth looked thoughtful.

  "What?" I asked.

  "I don't think she's managed to keep one of them down yet," she answered. "When she comes in, she always has that look.."

  "There's a look?" I snorted.

  Astrid and Ruth looked at each other.

  "For girls," Astrid said, "There is definitely a look. Just watch any human with an eating disorder in a restaurant. Their eyes tell you everything when they come back to the table."

  Ruth nodded sadly.

  Great. The world's first bulimic zombie.

  Susan's eating disorder would have to wait until we got the house sorted, though. Some of the stuff the coven needed for their working cost serious money. Susan paid it over without a murmur of protest. In fact, she paid out more than she needed to, including our full fee, plus a bonus.

  Yes, I took it. I wasn't happy about it, but we had bills to pay. Rent for the office had just gone up, the apartment had a boiler that was working on not much more than hope and duct tape, and mom's shrink had kids to put through higher education.

  So I took the money. I kept the bonus on ice though. To me, we hadn't earned it yet. If we fixed Susan's problem and stopped the bad guy, fair enough. Until then... Let's just say karma can be a real bitch, and I wasn't prepared to piss on her battery just yet.

  The job money went into the bank (and out of it pretty fast) when Susan transferred it electronically, the cash bonus stayed locked away in the office safe.

  And then Saturday night rolled up, and all of our plans went to hell.

  Ten

  We got to the house late.

  Ruth had popped over to check on Susan, and she wasn't in the room. We spent an hour searching for her in the area without any luck.

  "She's at the house," Astrid said.

  I opened my eyes briefly. Astrid was driving, which meant we were going well over the speed limit, and if I watched it happen I'd end up shredding the upholstery from sheer nerves.

  "You think?" I growled. Of course she was at the house. If I was her, I'd have made damn sure I was there, and the hell with the danger. So would either one of my partners. Our client might be a zombie with an eating disorder and too much money, but she wasn't a coward.

  Ruth started flickering in the back seat. "If she gets him so riled up the coven can't do the working.."

  "Don't." Astrid said. "Just don't go there, okay?"

  She put her foot down even harder.

  I whimpered quietly and closed my eyes again.

  Mike was waiting at the house when we got there. The coven was not. He turned to face us we pulled and I saw his mouth moving. A second later I noticed the ear piece. One of those fancy Bluetooth headsets that make you wonder if a person is moderately insane and talking to themselves when they use them on the street. Technology just gets better and better, doesn't it?

  "Problem?" Astrid asked, as he strode over.

  "They can't get their cars to start."

  I unbuckled my seat belt and slid carefully out of my seat. My knees were still a bit shaky.

  "How many cars are we talking about here?"

  "Seven cars. Not one of them is currently running." He pulled something out of his jeans pocket and tossed it to me. "Neither was mine, until I found this."

  It was little clear zip-lock plastic bag, coated with some sort of white powder. Since I doubted Mike was throwing his drug stash at me, I was pretty sure the powder was salt.

  I re-opened the car door so I could see better with the interior light. Ruth and Astrid leaned over for a closer look. There was something lumpy under the salt.

  "Can we open the bag?" I asked Mike. This was really not a stupid question. We were dealing with some sort of spell, that was obvious. None of us practised magic, so we had no idea of what was in the bag. If in doubt, ask. It saves a whole world of pain.

  "Go ahead. I've neutralised it."

  I gingerly pried open the top of the bag, and tapped the bottom of the bag to shift the contents. I had no intention of putting my fingers in there, neutralised or not. I've had practitioners be wrong before. I'd rather not have something try to eat my face in the middle of suburbia.

  A minutes of careful jiggling brought a little black velvet bag to the surface. The three of us stared at it.

  "Hex bag," Astrid said. She looked at us. "What the hell?"

  I carefully sealed the bag again and gave it back to Mike. The bag was aimed at him specifically, so he'd need to dispose of it. Carefully.

  "I found something else with the bag," he said, once he'd tucked it away. "It's in my car." He looked miserable. "I don't want to touch it."

  I could smell it before we reached the car, and stopped. "Oh crap," I breathed.

  "Understatement much?" Astrid murmured.

  Ruth looked confused. "Guys - what?"

  Astrid took two long strides over to the car, which was standing open, pulled open the glove compartment, and plucked the offending object out.

  It looked like the top joint of a woman's forefinger. Black and withered, and painted a bold shade of red I'd previously seen on Susan Armstrong as she sat weeping in my office a week ago.

  What. The. Fuck.

  Eleven

  Ruth figured it out pretty quickly. She didn't say a word, just turned on her heel and sprinted for the house.

  She made it half-way across the lawn before bouncing off something and ricocheting to the edge of the pavement. We ran over to her, and she grabbed my arm.

  "Stop her. Billy, we have to stop her!" She was crying, and I still didn't get it.

  Mike walked over to she'd been stopped and squatted down, running his fingers along the ground.

  "Salt," he said. "There is a whole line of salt of the lawn."

  Astrid looked at him, then at the house. "Wait with Ruth," she said, and was gone.

  She was back in less than a minute.

  "It's not a line," she said. "She's put a circle of salt around the entire house."

  Ruth looked us, hopelessly. "We're out of time," she said. "Billy, please."

  The text alert went off on my phone. "It's Susan," I said, and held it up for them.

  This is the best way. Sorry.

  "Can anyone else smell gas?" Mike asked.

  And I finally got it.

  I can put on a fairly good turn of speed when I need to.

  I made it to the first step of the porch before the house exploded. As a large, warm hand slapped me into the air and back across the lawn I realized two things.

  The first was that I'd just lost my client, in a very bad way.

  The second was that the text message alert on my phone was incredibly annoying, and it was going off again.

  Twelve