Unquiet Souls: Project Demon Hunters: Book One Read online

  Great. Audrey sipped some more chamomile tea. “I thought poltergeists were usually associated with children in the house.”

  “They can be.” Michael put his mug of tea down on the coffee table. “Demons often try to work through children because their minds are more open, which is why so many people associate poltergeists with kids or young teenagers. But it’s not that these kids have suddenly developed telekinetic abilities, but that they’ve unwittingly allowed something to enter their homes.”

  It was warm enough, there in Michael’s living, room, but she still shivered. In the Exorcist case, that was exactly how the devil had supposedly gotten in — through a pre-pubescent girl playing with a Ouija board. Audrey’s parents had certainly never allowed one in their household, although she didn’t know how much of that was due to fear of demonic interference or how much of it was the simple belief that there were far better games to keep their daughter occupied.

  “There’s a child living at the B&B?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No, but there doesn’t need to be. A place like that, with people coming and going…it’s entirely possible one of their guests let it in.”

  Pretty bad luck, if that turned out to be the case. She supposed they’d find out the truth eventually…if they were lucky.

  For now, though, they had their own problems to focus on.

  Audrey yawned, and Michael, rather than being offended, said, “It looks like the chamomile tea is working. Let me show you the guest room.”

  Not bothering to protest, she set down her half-drunk mug of tea and got up out of the chair where she’d been sitting, felt the heaviness of her limbs. It had been a long, horrible day, and her body was telling her that it needed a chance to recover from all the strain.

  They went upstairs. Michael stopped at the first doorway on the right and said, “Here you are. My cleaning crew switches out the sheets every week, just in case I have company, so they’re clean. And the bathroom is right next door.”

  “You have a cleaning crew?” Audrey asked, amused for some reason.

  His lips quirked a little. “You think I can keep this house as clean as this without help?”

  He had a point. His house was probably about twice the size of hers, and even she felt overwhelmed sometimes, especially if she had a lot going on during the weekend and had to squeeze in the dusting and vacuuming and laundry on a weekday.

  “Well, I didn’t want to impugn your domestic talents.”

  His eyes glinted, looking almost gold in the light from the Tiffany-style fixtures overhead. “I have none, I assure you, unless you can count making a good cup of coffee.”

  “I think that qualifies as a domestic talent,” Audrey told him, and was glad to see him smile again. Worn and wrung-out as she was, she thought it would be a good thing to see as many of those smiles as possible.

  “You can weigh in tomorrow morning. But after that first cup of coffee, we should probably go out to breakfast.”

  “That sounds good.” And it did. Audrey honestly couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a real restaurant breakfast. Her aunt Deb had taken her out to brunch on her birthday, back in October, but brunch wasn’t quite the same thing as breakfast. Beyond all that, though, having breakfast sounded so normal, so mundane. Demon hunters didn’t go out for pancakes and bacon, did they?

  “Okay, then.” He hesitated, and the cheerful expression he wore disappeared, making Audrey wonder if she’d only imagined it. “This house is protected. You’re safe here. Don’t be afraid to sleep.”

  He didn’t add, You’re going to need that sleep, but the thought was understood. This was a quiet intermission, nothing else. As soon as he found a replacement for Chris, the cameraman, they’d be back at the Whitcomb mansion.

  Audrey said, “After the day I’ve had, I’m sure I’m going to crash. But thank you for the reassurance — and good night.”

  “Good night.”

  He gave her a little tilt of the head, as if that was his way of saying farewell, and then he turned and headed for the door at the end of the hall, presumably the entrance to the master bedroom. Audrey went into the guest room and closed the door, then put her weekender bag on the armchair tucked into one corner.

  It was a cozy room, with Mission-style furniture to match the house, and a quilt in cheerful colors of red and blue and yellow. More Tiffany lamps here, the shades warm cream with amber accents. Had Michael chosen all these things himself, or had he hired a decorator? He’d just admitted he wasn’t domestic, but the house certainly didn’t reflect that apparent lack.

  Well, it wasn’t really a concern of hers one way or another. Audrey hung up her shirts in the closet, then took her toiletry kit into the bathroom next door and prepped for bed. About all she had to do was brush her teeth again, since she’d already washed her face and applied moisturizer earlier that evening.

  In fact, as she looked at her reflection in the mirror, she realized for the first time that she was completely bare-faced, not a scrap of makeup on, unless you could count the lip balm she always applied before bed. It could have just been the lighting, but the circles under her eyes looked especially pronounced.

  Great.

  Like it matters, she told herself as she went back to the guest room and shut the door. Who’re you trying to impress?

  The answer was obvious, but Audrey pushed it away. She didn’t want to admit to herself that she actually cared what Michael thought of her looks. Because if she did that, she might also have to acknowledge that she found him attractive. He wasn’t supposed to be attractive. He was supposed to be her boss — sort of…she guessed it was Colin Turner who actually wrote the checks — and also, why was she allowing herself to be concerned with something as trivial as physical attraction when they were dealing with demons here?

  You’re just tired. Go to sleep. This will all make more sense in the morning.

  She wanted to believe that. She also wanted to believe she was safe here.

  And mercifully, just a few minutes after she pulled the crisp sheets up to her chin, she was asleep.

  Chapter 9

  The light was strange. Audrey opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling fan overhead.

  She didn’t have a ceiling fan in her bedroom.

  Then she blinked at her unfamiliar surroundings, and she remembered that she was lying in bed in the guest room at Michael Covenant’s house. If anyone had told her twenty-four hours ago that this was where she would end up, she sure as hell wouldn’t have believed them.

  But here she was. This room was much darker than her bedroom at home, probably because there were heavy drapes at the window instead of the cheap faux-wood blinds she’d put up when the previous sets of blinds finally gave up the ghost. Even so, she could see a few specks of bright sunlight beaming in through small gaps in the drapes.

  Knowing it was a sunny day made Audrey feel a little better about life. So did the realization that she’d apparently survived a night here without suffering any further demon attacks, or whatever it was that had happened to her Kindle. Luck, or simply the strength of the “protections” Michael had put in place here?

  Maybe a little of both.

  She got out of bed and made her way over to the closet. After selecting a plain, dark green button-up shirt, she draped it over her arm, collected the rest of the clothes she’d need, and quietly slipped into the guest bath. She’d noticed that Michael’s door was still shut, and she hadn’t heard any water running. A late sleeper? He didn’t seem like the type. She supposed it was possible that he was already up, although she hadn’t detected any sounds — or smells of coffee — coming from downstairs, either.

  Shrugging off the mystery, Audrey went to the shower and turned the taps. The water got hot almost immediately; the house must have had a good water heater.

  And dear lord, it felt so good to get in that shower, to wash off the stink of the Whitcomb house and her own fear — or at least it seemed that way, although in
reality, her deodorant had held up pretty well, all things considered. Because she’d washed her hair the day before, she clipped it up and out of the way, and was done with her shower in a little more than five minutes.

  Honestly, she’d wanted to stay in that shower enclosure, done in warm-hued tile like the kitchen downstairs, for about a hundred years. But since she didn’t have that option — and it would have played hell with Michael’s water bill — she tried to be more thoughtful.

  Teeth brushed, even though she knew she’d probably be drinking coffee in the near future. Light makeup applied, just enough that there wouldn’t be a repeat of her Night of the Living Dead impersonation of the evening before. She hadn’t thought to pack any jewelry, and she certainly hadn’t been wearing any when she ran out of the house in her sleeping attire, so there wasn’t much she could do about that. Still, she felt a lot better now that she thought she was slightly presentable.

  Audrey went back into the guest room, made the bed, and opened the drapes. The bedroom looked out over a backyard with a neatly mowed lawn and a brick-edged patio, complete with wrought-iron dining set and stainless gas grill. Really, the whole place seemed almost too serenely suburban, and not at all a match for its owner. At least, she really couldn’t imagine Michael barbecuing burgers out there while wearing a “Kiss the Cook” apron, but if her work as a psychologist had taught her anything, it was that people could be a bundle of contradictions.

  Downstairs, the wooden shutters were all still closed, so the overall impression was dark and heavy, a contrast to the bright morning outside. However, now that she was standing at the foot of the stairs, she could smell the rich, heavy aroma of coffee emanating from the kitchen. She headed in that direction and found Michael in the process of pouring himself a cup. A second mug, glazed a rich, earthy red and dark blue, sat on the tile counter.

  “Just in time,” he said. He looked cheerful enough this morning; in contrast to the dark clothes he’d been wearing the day before, he now had on a pair of faded jeans and a light gray T-shirt — a shirt that showed off muscles his jacket had hidden the day before. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please,” Audrey replied, doing her best not to stare at his biceps as he poured her a cup. Did he have a workout room hidden away somewhere in this house? He must, because he didn’t seem like the type to spend time at a gym. Taking the mug from him, she added, “Have you heard anything from Colin?”

  “No, but I didn’t expect to. He’s not really a morning person. Insomniac…I’ll get emails from him that are time-stamped three or four in the morning, and he can go for days on only a couple of hours of sleep, but when he does crash, he tends to be out of it until at least ten. I’ve suggested hypnotherapy, but he says he doesn’t believe in that stuff.”

  “It can be effective in certain cases,” Audrey allowed, privately amused that Colin Turner seemed to be just fine with TV shows about ghosts and chupacabras and God knows what, but wouldn’t see a hypnotherapist for what was, sadly, an all-too-common problem.

  “There’s milk in the fridge, if you want it,” Michael told her, apparently abandoning the topic of Colin’s sleep issues. “And sugar here in this bowl.” He gestured toward a squat little container with the same red and blue glaze as their mugs.

  “Thanks,” she said, then used the small spoon in the bowl to give her coffee the precise half-teaspoon she allowed herself.

  The coffee was good, strong but not bitter. French roast? Maybe. Audrey had to admit she wasn’t a connoisseur, and generally drank whatever was available, so she’d never been that good at identifying the different varieties.

  For a moment, they drank coffee in companionable silence. She liked that Michael didn’t ask her whether she’d slept well; it was probably easy enough to tell from a single glance, since she knew she looked vastly improved from the night before.

  “I was thinking of going to Andy’s Coffee Shop for breakfast,” he said next. “The food is good, especially if you just want something basic. And it’s only about ten minutes from here.”

  Right then, “basic” sounded great. Now that she was rested, Audrey could tell she needed some calories to replace everything she’d burned the day before. Who knew that demon encounters could be such a great workout?

  “That sounds fine,” she said. After she took another sip of coffee, she forced herself to ask, “Are we going to check out my house, now that it’s daytime?”

  For a second, his brows drew together in a frown, but then he replied, “If you want. Although I don’t think we’re going to find that much has changed. Like I said last night, until we handle the Whitcomb mansion, that energy is going to keep reaching out for you.”

  “Even though I’m here now?”

  “Yes. Unfortunately, there have been many documented cases where the demons followed their victims from place to place. Not that I’m going to allow that to happen to you,” he added quickly, obviously noting her expression of dismay. “If there’s any residue left in your home after we’re done with the Whitcomb place, then I’ll do a cleansing and banishment there as well. It’ll be perfectly safe for you.”

  Strangely, Audrey did feel somewhat comforted by his assurances, mostly because she’d just spent a night in his house, and so she knew that Michael Covenant wasn’t blowing smoke when it came to his own abilities in cleansing and protecting a property. “All right,” she said, figuring she would leave it at that. There wasn’t much she could do about the situation except wait and see what happened.

  Coffee finished, they headed out to the carport where Michael’s Land Cruiser waited. The morning air was brisk, and she wished she’d thought to bring a jacket. Well, with the sun shining brightly in a clear blue sky, the day should warm up quickly. Probably by the time they were done with breakfast, she’d be wishing she had put on a short-sleeved shirt.

  The coffee shop was crowded, even for a weekday morning. However, Audrey could tell the management was working hard to make sure that people were seated quickly, because even though she and Michael had five groups ahead of them, they were still guided over to a booth within ten minutes of getting their names on the wait list. Michael asked for more coffee, while Audrey decided to have water; more than one cup of coffee tended to make her jittery, and she was already on edge enough without having extra caffeine in her system.

  Once they’d placed their orders — huevos rancheros for him and an all-American breakfast of eggs, bacon, and pancakes for her — they were left to wait for the food to arrive. Audrey wondered what exactly Michael would bring up as a topic of conversation, since they couldn’t really discuss the problem of the Whitcomb mansion out here in public.

  But then his cell phone rang, and he shot her an apologetic glance before picking it up from where he’d placed it on the table just a few minutes earlier. “Hi, Colin,” he said, and sort of nodded in her direction. So much for Colin’s insomnia; it was only a little past nine o’clock. “Well, that’s good news,” he went on. She experienced a sinking feeling somewhere in her midsection, because that “good news” could only mean Colin had found a replacement camera person, which in turn meant they might be going back to the Whitcomb place a lot sooner than she’d expected. But then Michael paused, a scowl deepening the frown line between his brows. “Hazard pay?” he exclaimed, his tone one of outrage.

  The people in the booth next to theirs paused their conversation for a moment, curious glances coming Audrey and Michael’s way. Obviously noting the attention he’d just attracted, Michael let out an exasperated breath and continued, albeit with a lowered voice.

  “No one else on the show gets hazard pay,” he said, then was silent for a few seconds as he seemed to listen to Colin’s reply to that comment. “Yes, but — ” A pause, during which he sat there with his jaw set and the fingers of his free hand drumming on the Formica tabletop. “Right. I know. I know. Okay, then. If you’re sure they’ll be okay with it.” Another pause, longer this time. Then he said, “Four o’clock…sure. We might a
s well take advantage of the delay and get some night shots in. Okay. Done.”

  He ended the call, and Audrey sent him a curious glance. “What was all that about?”

  An irritated huff of breath before he reached for his cup of coffee. “Colin found a replacement camera guy. Which is great, except that word obviously has gotten out about the location, and so this guy wants extra hazard pay because of how dangerous the shoot could be.”

  That request didn’t sound terribly unreasonable. Actually, she wished she’d had the presence of mind to make a similar request. God knows she would have earned it. “Is that such a big problem?”

  “In the grand scheme of things, no, unless the other people on the crew find out about it and start demanding it as well.”

  “Can they do that?” she asked, genuinely curious. “I mean, we’ve all signed contracts that didn’t include hazard pay, didn’t we?”

  “Yes, but all it takes is one person calling their union rep and making a complaint, and we could be back to square one.” Michael pushed a hand through his jaw-length hair, which still looked slightly damp, as though he’d washed it that morning. For a second, Audrey wondered what it would be like to run her fingers through that hair; all the men she’d dated had had fairly standard short haircuts.

  And then she wondered if the strain was starting to get to her. She really needed to stop paying attention to Michael Covenant’s physical attributes, no matter how distracting they might be.

  She made a sympathetic sound, and he added, “Actually, we’d be worse than back to square one, because if we end up having to replace the whole crew, we’d probably have to give all the new people hazard pay, and it’s just not in the budget. We were supposed to be doing this as lean as possible.”

  “Well, maybe it won’t come to that,” Audrey told him. “I’m sure if Colin tells this new cameraman that he needs to be discreet, he’ll keep his contractual arrangements to himself.”