Unquiet Souls: Project Demon Hunters: Book One Page 3

  Neither did she…but she hadn’t been given any choice.

  * * *

  Monday rolled around, after a weekend in which Audrey quite ferociously did nothing of any importance at all. Usually, she would have tried to go hiking, or met up with Bettina to go to the movies or at least lunch and window shopping, but instead she got caught up with laundry and housework, pulled weeds in the garden, and finally hemmed that set of curtains she’d been meaning to get to for months.

  Possibly an outside observer would have commented that she was trying to get all those odds and ends done in case something really did happen to her during the filming of the first episode of Project Demon Hunters, but Audrey refused to look at it that way. These were all tasks that needed to be handled, and it wasn’t as though she could afford to hire someone to take care of them for her. The house was the one tangible thing she had to remind herself of her parents, and she wasn’t about to let anything happen to it…not even if it meant appearing on some half-baked reality show in order to prevent a tax lien. She’d already gotten one extension and knew she couldn’t ask for another. The show was her one chance to get her precarious finances in order.

  Michael had texted her that he would be out front at six-thirty Monday morning, which would have sounded early except that she knew they both had to go to hair and makeup before they could even set foot in the supposedly haunted — or infested — house where they would be filming. Pride prevented Audrey from leaving the house completely bare-faced, so she put on a little lip gloss before going out onto the front porch to wait for him.

  The morning was cool and foggy, the moisture-laden air making odd little circles of light around the orange-toned street lamps. Although she’d put on a sweater, Audrey still shivered. So much for sunny Southern California.

  A pair of headlights raked through the fog, and she saw an ancient Toyota Land Cruiser pull up and stop in front of the house. Looking at it, she couldn’t help but frown a little. So, even with all his appearances on the conference circuit and the books and the DVDs, he couldn’t afford anything better than that?

  Audrey told herself she shouldn’t be a snob. After all, she drove a seven-year-old Toyota Corolla. But….

  Pulling in a breath, she made herself go down the front walk and then open the Land Cruiser’s passenger door. Michael was sitting inside, his over-long hair looking more disheveled than ever, a scruff of beard on his cheeks and chin. A pair of Starbucks cups sat somewhat precariously in a cardboard carry-out container on the front seat, since of course a vehicle that old didn’t have anything as handy as a cupholder.

  “Thought you could use some coffee,” he said, his tone almost too casual. “It’s black, but there’s some sugar and cream in that bag.”

  “Black is fine,” Audrey replied, settling herself in the passenger seat so she could fasten the seatbelt. “Thanks — I didn’t have time to make some for myself this morning.”

  “These shooting schedules can be brutal,” he said as he pulled away from the curb.

  “Well, I did some work as an extra when I was in college, so I was ready for that part of the gig.”

  He turned his head to regard her briefly before returning his attention to the road. “Really? I didn’t know that.”

  Audrey shrugged. “It’s not like it was something I would have put on my CV. I had a friend in college whose mother was a set decorator, and they needed some college-age kids to fill in on a TV pilot they were shooting. It was a fun way to spend a couple of days, but — ”

  “But it wasn’t something you wanted to do full-time.” His mouth quirked a little. “And now you’re doing that very same thing.”

  “A six-week shoot isn’t exactly a full-time job,” she pointed out.

  “Maybe not exactly, but it’s full-time while you’re doing it.” Once again, he swiveled his head to take a quick look at her, and then turned back to keep an eye on their foggy surroundings. “How did you handle the schedule with your clients, anyway?”

  “I moved their appointments to the weekend,” Audrey replied. It hadn’t been something she’d really wanted to do, but it was better than trying to find new counselors for them for just a few weeks. In addition to her very real fear that they might not come back after the six weeks of shooting were done, she also worried that assigning them new therapists would reverse some of the progress they’d made, as the fragile trust they’d created would have to be rebuilt all over again with someone else. Luckily, all her clients had been accommodating — and also interested in what she would be doing with her weekdays. She hadn’t gone into too much detail, except to say she was helping with a show that would be out the following autumn. And really, she couldn’t have told them much more than that anyway, since she’d had to sign a nondisclosure agreement that stipulated she wouldn’t share the subjects or the locations of any of the shoots she’d be doing.

  “It’s going to be rough, not giving yourself any time off.”

  Was that a real note of concern in his voice, or was Michael simply worried that she’d be using energy better spent on the show? Audrey certainly didn’t know him well enough to tell for sure, although she had a feeling it was more the latter than the former.

  “It’ll be fine,” she said. “I’m used to long days. I had to work the whole time I was getting my counseling certification.”

  “Ah.”

  That was all he said, which could have meant anything. She realized then that she didn’t know much about his own bona fides. He’d sort of appeared on the scene out of nowhere about five or six years back, and something about his flamboyant style and brooding intensity had kept people from looking too closely at his background. She’d seen one conference program note that he had degrees in both theology and physics, which seemed like an odd combination, at least on the surface.

  They were heading north, toward the foothills above Glendora, and the road climbed gently with them. In general, Audrey didn’t spend much time in this part of town, since the houses here were far beyond her limited means — and beyond her parents’ means back in the day. The house she lived in was modest, a refurbished Craftsman-style cottage her parents had bought when she was just in kindergarten. Up here were houses that stretched into the millions.

  After crossing Sierra Madre Boulevard — whose sign she could just barely make out through the fog — Michael turned onto a secluded little street, and then into the driveway of an enormous house that seemed to suddenly loom up at her through the gloom. Here was an unexpected flurry of activity, with people moving portable lights from oversized vans and into the home, someone setting up a small pop-up tent to one side, probably for craft service, and a woman wheeling a rack of clothing into what looked like a second, smaller house on the property.

  Michael had apparently followed Audrey’s gaze, because he said, “The owners are letting us use the guest house for wardrobe and makeup. Come on — I’ll show you.”

  He undid his seatbelt and she followed suit, then got out of the Land Cruiser and went with him to the guest house…which didn’t look all that much smaller than her own home, which was a modest 1,500 square feet. If there had once been furniture here, it had all been moved out of the way. To one side were several low tables with mirrors bolted to them and canvas-backed director’s chairs placed in front. The other side of the room was where the rack of clothes had ended up; Audrey recognized Kathleen, the wardrobe supervisor, from her meeting with her the previous Friday.

  Kathleen came over as soon as she spotted Audrey standing next to Michael. “Morning, Audrey,” she said briskly. “We might as well get started.” A pause as she looked over at Audrey’s companion. “I suppose you’re wearing that.”

  “Yes, I am,” he said, unperturbed.

  Which didn’t surprise Audrey all that much. Today, just like the other days she’d seen him, he was wearing black trousers and a black jacket with a black T-shirt underneath. She wondered if he had multiple iterations of the same outfit. It would certainly c
ut down on the time he spent choosing his clothes every morning.

  Apparently, Kathleen wasn’t surprised, either. “As I thought,” she said, then returned her attention to Audrey. “It’s going to be a cool day, so I thought we’d go with a leather jacket and T-shirt, some jeans and boots. Casual but put together. Come along.”

  To her relief, while they were talking, someone had set up a couple of folding Japanese screens to hide one corner of the room and serve as a makeshift dressing area. Audrey took the clothes Kathleen handed her and went behind the screens to change into them. To her surprise, everything she’d been given fit perfectly, which meant that there really wasn’t any need for all the clothes Kathleen had brought along. Of course, Murphy’s Law being what it was, if she hadn’t provided a range for Audrey to wear, the one outfit she would have been given probably wouldn’t have fit.

  That task taken care of, she went over to the makeup and hair side of the room, and sat down in the empty chair. A pretty Hispanic woman about her own age was fussing with Michael’s hair, although Audrey couldn’t quite tell what she was hoping to accomplish. It still looked disheveled and windblown, and possibly as though he’d cut it himself. Then again, maybe that was the look he’d been going for all along. She didn’t like admitting it to herself, but the too-long hair brought more attention to his wide cheekbones and unusual eyes, made you want to look twice at him.

  Or maybe more than twice.

  Once the stylist was done, Michael got up out of his chair and went back outside, leaving her to transfer her attention to Audrey.

  “I’m Daniela,” she said as she wrapped Audrey’s hair around a big-barreled curling iron. “You’re Audrey, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, you’re in good hands with me,” Daniela said. “Gotta look your best while those demons are chasing you, right?”

  That remark made Audrey lift an eyebrow. “Do you really think there are demons?”

  Daniela shrugged. “I don’t know for sure, but I’m glad I’m in here and not up there.” With one shoulder, she gestured toward the mansion Audrey had spied through the fog. All the while, though, Daniela’s deft fingers were busy, setting big waves in Audrey’s hair with a speed and economy of movement she knew she’d never be able to copy, no matter how hard she tried. “And I’ve got my crucifix in my pocket, just in case.”

  Maybe Audrey should have chuckled at her superstition, but again she experienced one of those chills down her spine. She told herself it was only the damp, gloomy morning, especially since it didn’t seem as though anyone had turned on a heater in here, and the little house felt as dank as the air outside.

  “I’m sure it will be fine,” Audrey assured her. “This is just a TV show. There aren’t any demons.”

  Daniela’s shoulders lifted slightly. “If you say so, chica.”

  Audrey’s hair done, Daniela set down the curling iron, went over to a rolling cart laden with several large cases, and retrieved an impressive set of makeup brushes, along with an even more impressive kit containing more makeup than Audrey had probably owned in her entire life. She held herself still as Daniela applied foundation and blush and contour, eyeshadow and liner and mascara, dark powder on her brows and semi-gloss lipstick on her mouth. When she stepped away, she gave a satisfied nod. “What do you think?”

  To be honest, Audrey wasn’t sure what to think, except that she knew she hadn’t worn this much makeup since her senior prom, now more than ten years in the past. “Well, it’s….”

  “It feels like a lot, I know,” Daniela said, bending in to brush more highlighter on Audrey’s brow line. “But you need it, or you’ll disappear under those lights.” She stepped back a pace and eyed her critically. “You look great. Natural, but done.”

  Natural? Audrey wanted to laugh but realized Daniela wasn’t joking. Possibly under the lighting they were using for the show, it would appear natural and not like the makeup of a girl who’d gone crazy with her mother’s cosmetics when she wasn’t looking.

  “You have a great face,” Daniela went on. “You’re really not an actress?”

  Audrey shook her head. “No, just a psychologist.”

  “Well, Ms. Psychologist, you’re good to go. One of the P.A.s will show you where Michael is waiting for you.”

  Audrey thanked her and got out of the makeup chair, then went outside. The day had brightened a bit; the sun must have come up while she was getting groomed, but the morning was still gray and foggy, feeling as though it might not clear up at all.

  As Daniela had promised, a production assistant — a girl who barely looked old enough to drink, her fair hair pulled back in a messy ponytail — came up to Audrey as soon as she emerged from the guest house/cum makeup trailer. “Ms. Barrett? Come this way, and I’ll take you to Mr. Covenant.”

  So formal. She wasn’t really used to that; her counseling clients addressed her by her first name. Still, Audrey didn’t bother to protest, but followed the girl as she led her along the brick walkway to a side door that opened into a sort of conservatory room all made of glass. Michael was waiting there, his back to the two of them as he stared into the interior of the house.

  “Mr. Covenant?” said the P.A. “She’s ready.”

  He turned. If he noticed the difference in Audrey’s appearance, he didn’t give any evidence of it. “Thanks, Brooke. You can tell Chris and Susan that we’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

  “This is an impressive place,” Audrey said, since she wasn’t sure what kind of comment she should make. “What’s the story?”

  Now Michael smiled, and she noticed how the shift in expression lit up the gold-gray of his eyes, relaxed the usually tense set of his features. Although he was probably only a few years older than she was, he already had a permanent frown line engraved into the skin between his brows. “The house was built in 1911. It’s gone through a number of different owners, as you can imagine. In fact, it’s had quite a bit of turnover for a property with its price point. No one wants to stay for very long.”

  “Because it’s haunted,” Audrey ventured.

  “I think we’ve gone beyond haunting here,” he replied, the smile vanishing as if it had never been. “As you’ll soon see. The current owners are desperate, which was why they were willing to have us film here. Anything to protect their investment.”

  “Which was…?” Maybe it was crass to ask, but curiosity had gotten the better of her.

  “Three and a half million dollars,” he replied. “So you can see why they’re eager to get the house cleared. Right now, the owners are staying at their condo at the Escena Golf Club in Palm Springs, but of course that solution can’t be a permanent one.”

  Of course not. After all, who would want to rough it in a luxury condo on a golf course any longer than they absolutely had to?

  Since she had the feeling that a comment along those lines wouldn’t go over very well with him, Audrey decided it would be better if she just nodded. And really, her thoughts hadn’t been very charitable ones. It had to be upsetting to feel as though you couldn’t live in your own house, millionaire or not.

  “What we’re going to do is walk through the house,” Michael went on, suddenly brisk. “I’ve already shot some intro stuff over the weekend — basically what I just told you — so now it’s more about reaching out to feel what’s here, and communicating those feelings to the camera. But if you feel anything yourself, make sure you let me know. Just talk to me, not the camera. Pretend it’s not there. I want this to feel genuine.”

  She wanted to tell him that she’d been in plenty of houses where supposed “supernatural” phenomena was taking place and hadn’t felt a thing, but she knew that wasn’t the complete truth. There had been that one odd experience in New Orleans….

  Right now, though, Audrey felt as if something was missing from the equation. “What about EMF meters?” she said. She didn’t profess to be an expert ghost hunter, but she knew enough about the basic tools of the trade to realize M
ichael hadn’t mentioned them at all.

  “No point,” he replied. “We’re not tracking ghosts. Demons don’t register in the electromagnetic frequencies the way spirits do.”

  He sounded completely matter-of-fact. Was he right? Not having studied the finer points of difference between ghostly manifestations and demon infestations, Audrey couldn’t say for sure. While she didn’t like to admit her ignorance, she had to realize he was the expert here.

  “All right, what if we both feel something?” she asked.

  “Then the next step is to determine what it is. The easiest way to dispel a demon is to know its name, but of course it won’t be eager to give up that information. You have to trick it into giving it to you. Failing that, there are a number of prayers and charms that can be used to drive them off.”

  “Of course,” Audrey said, deciding she’d better leave her reply at that. They didn’t have time to get into an argument over whether demons were really just a manifestation of human psychoses, and therefore not real at all.

  Michael shot her a sideways look, as if he knew she wasn’t really buying into his commentary about demonology. “I know your opinion on the subject of demons, Audrey,” he said. “But I’m also asking you to keep an open mind. I’ve dealt with this sort of thing before.”

  “Successfully?”

  “Yes.” He hesitated, then went on, “I don’t generally advertise this, but I’m an ordained minister in addition to being a sensitive. I have the toolbox to handle the situation, as long as you don’t get in the way.”

  Get in the way? “So I’m just window dressing?” she asked. She didn’t make much effort to keep the irritation out of her tone.

  “No,” he said, apparently not offended by her question. “More like…the control in a scientific experiment.”