Grave Robber for Hire (9 page)

“Mmm. The one to find the real Rembrandt will be bathed in power beyond human imagination. It makes mundanes Mara, and unleashes a Mara’s power beyond imagination.”

“What’s a Mara?” Come to think of it, what the hell was a mundane?

“Nothing of concern to you. You’re not clairvoyant … are you?” A sinister edge softened her voice.

“No.” Well I didn’t think I was. It certainly wasn’t what I called myself. God, did she have the painting and was afraid I’d find out?

She stared at me for a scary minute. “I hunger for that painting. Would kill for it.” Her words stroked a vibration that radiated from the apex of the back of my neck until my entire body shuddered.

She titled her head, the dark fall of her sharply bobbed hair covering one eye, making the one regarding me colder and far eerier. “I can feel power coming from you. You’re something-something very special, but what?” She sat straight again. “Not to worry I’ll soon work it out. Funny you came here looking for the Rembrandt. Two weeks ago I had a guy knock on the door h
unting for info on the painting as well. Tall, lean, pretty, lots of chestnut hair said his name was Amon. I invited him in for tea. Heard of him?”

I blanched, hoped I hadn’t just drained of all color. Amon was the same name Vig had used after I’d been trapped in that journal. Was there a link? “I know nothing about any Rembrandt, or why I should know this guy.”

“Umph,” Josey turned. “At least he was a good fuck.” The brand stitched on her ass, Roberto Cavalli, said being a dominatrix paid well. And the hand that smoothed her jet black bobbed hair, dripped in gold and glittered with large diamonds and rubies.

I might just have found my new career. I rock leather
ette, and could do bad girl. But I didn’t want to cut my hair. I’d look shocking in a black bob.

I waited for Josey to collect the journals. Sitting on her pristine straight out of the Home and the Rich leather couch, I crossed my legs, uncrossed them, and crossed them again. I’d kill for a sip of water.

The skin down my spine vibrated and the hair at the top tingled. I looked around and frowned. A sensation almost identical of being watched feathered my psyche. But this felt more focused and waaaaaay creepier.

“Hayyel,” a voice deep and rich in texture, whispered from beside me.

I spun. Nobody was there. My heart did a little
doof-doof
-jolt.

“Hayyel, leave.” The voice had breath that tickled my ear.

I lurched forward. The force of the blood created by the hard pounding of my heart made my ears ache.

“Hayyel, run.”

Something shoved me from behind propelling me toward the door. “Eeee.” I yelped and fell knees first, cracking onto the hard wood floor. Shaking like a leaf in an autumn wind, I stood. What a fucking day. What a fucking case. What a fucking family.

The scent of rotting flesh filled the air.

Arms held from my body ready for action or to run like shit, I spun in a full circle and opened my sixth sense to seek what shoved me.

A ghost stood glowering at me. His chest rose and fell as if panicked or after a long run. Each breath emphasized the OMG of his physique. He wore tight tan suede pants, laced at the side-seams and fly, and an open vest. A necklace of large polished Lapis Lazuli circled his thick corded neck. I swallowed. I wasn’t sure if I felt fear, shock, lust, or that favorite of mine, D, all of the above. His coal colored gaze held mine, his hair touched his shoulders in a
jet satin curtain. Mother of the gods, he was magnificent.

A Conan the Barbarian version of Tyreal.

Muscles rippled in anticipation of action. His voice, so like Tyreal’s, vibrated the airwaves. “Run, Hayyel. Run.”

I frowned. Run from him? He looked pissed, whatever he was, but not at me.

A whispering babble of high eerie hisses sounded behind me. I turned. Black mist in stubby fingers drifted through the floorboard cracks. The fingers lengthened and stretched into thin wisps, snaking upwards before drifting across the floor in a snake like slither toward me.

Oh, run
—run from that
.

I fell back on the couch and lifted my feet. If I was scared enough, could I manage to jump from furniture item to furniture item, to escape this place? I looked for potential pieces, and started to plot my route.

Metal chains rattled and clinked and a moan of deep pain drifted up from below. The mournful agonized sound an injured animal makes, when they hold no hope. I shuddered and wanted to help, but I didn’t know how to get under the floorboards. The mist tendrils ghosted across the floor, the front end forming into snake shaped heads with red eyes.
Oh shit.

Yeah getting underneath the floor with that black evil stuff wasn’t an option. Neither was leaving an animal in pain.

I’d have to come back and save it. Awesome. My day couldn’t get worse.

“Here are the journals. I have to get ready for my evening’s performance. Please see yourself out.”

Focused on the floor and trying not to die of black mist induced fright, I jolted at the sound of Josey’s voice. The tendrils flicked their heads and fixated on her. Good, better her than me. In unison, they slithered to Josey, ran over her shoes, under her jeans and from what I could see slipped into her skin. She twitched, and a warm creepy smile formed on her cold face.

The Tyreal ghost appeared between Josey and me. He turned to me “Leave. Now.”

I bit back a scream and vomit and every other body function I owned. Gosh is that the time? Places to run to, screaming out my lungs.

The Tyreal ghost was right. I needed to leave—really fast. When it came to fight and flight instincts, I was big on flight.

Chickens live for another day.

Chapter 9

Still seated on Josey’s couch, I numbly reached forward, past the Tyreal Ghost and accepted the books and mistakenly touched her. That same black ooze as before leapt up my arm. Evil, the woman was evil. And she sucked it out of the floor—or something. I snatched my hands away. No wonder she was a famous dominatrix. All that malevolent mist swirling around in her, she was made to inflict pain.

Be the Queen of Pain. The Queen of Agony. Queen of—oh who cared.

My words garbled out in a piled up wordy blather. “I’ll-return-these-at-about-nine-on-Wednesday-morning.” Maybe I’d send a courier. Yeah courier was good as long as Josey wasn’t a succubus and the courier didn’t enter her house. I might stipulate that on the send to document. Do not enter succubus’ house or face hideous evil. And see Angel get taken to the psych ward and wear ugly jackets.

Josey looked as if she aimed her icy smile at the Tyreal Conan ghost.

Tyreal’s ghost drifted closer to her. Viggo poofed in. Face implacable, he eyed Josey then me and looked at the spot the Tyreal ghost stood and pointed to the door. I headed out as fast as I could, without bolting, vaguely remembering to mumble thanks to whatever Josey was, closed the door and ran for the tree beside my car and hid behind it—and shook. My legs were rubbery, and my mind buzzed.

The drizzling rain didn’t faze me this time. The cold impact let me know I was alive as I rested my hand on the papery bark of the tree.

Viggo, having followed me, covered my hands with his and appeared to concentrate deeply. A tingling sensation started high up in my arms, travelled down my fingers and drifted away. He coughed and black mist left his mouth. He shook his head and glanced at the house. “Go.”

I threw my arms around him and hugged. He pulled away, kissed my forehead, and pushed me toward the car and he morphed out.

In
Frogger, I cranked the heat to help me dry out and stop my shivering, which wasn’t from cold, and headed for my hotel in Darling Harbor. Once enmeshed in my nice room I’d have a really hot and eco-unfriendly long shower.

I’d never met anything like Josey Richards before. I gripped the steering wheel and held it for reassurance that the world was as I knew it and always believed. But I knew I was sitting in a pile of
bullcrap. Josey Richards had something other than human in her.

But what?

I hoped I wouldn’t find out.

#

In the hotel, I showered, dressed then strode to the Victoria Building’s mall. I wouldn’t buy anything. This was for therapy. Window shopping is almost as satisfying as the real thing and cheaper.

Three hours later and starving, I lugged and dumped
ten shopping bags on the bed. Window shopping’s for delusional idiots. Buying’s far more therapeutic. Now I’d need a bigger travel bag, preferably with wheels, to hump this lot home.

I dug out a nineteen forties revival navy dress and the white court high heels to match. Changed, I slapped on makeup and headed for the restaurant. I followed behind my waiter to my table set for one.

Viggo poofed into one of the spare chairs and looked longingly at the menu. He pointed to the words, Rib Fillet. “That be good.”

“No meat.”

He sighed and pushed the menu away. “You boring.”

I poked out my tongue and perused the menu and was pleased that I ate some seafood on rare occasions. I ordered a seafood platter and side salad. Once I’d eaten and drank a couple of, find courage, any courage, drinks, I’d catch a taxi to Josey’s house of slithering horror. Once there I’d try to break in to save that animal. I felt my chicken neck growing yellow, so I ordered I’m a tough chick cocktail.

I mulled the time away by drinking a mud-slide and looking out at the restaurant’s garden. A tall man appeared at my arm.

“Like the straight-laced dress. With your curves it’s seriously hot.”

I looked up and blinked. Today’s Conan ghost had re-appeared only with much shorter hair, and he wasn’t quite as steroid-ultra-buff as his ghostly twin. Plus this guy was dressed in a tieless charcoal suit, no suede or Lapis Lazuli beads anywhere in sight. The dark suit added a harder edge to his looks. Good if you liked your men hit-man crossed with model. I did.

“Tyreal, what are you doing here?”

“Got this peculiar feeling this afternoon that you were in danger. I called you at least twenty times, but your phone just went straight to voicemail. So I packed my bag and hit the airport. I thought I’d start looking for you at the hotel. I’m pleased to see you’re in one piece.” He motioned the waiter over. Full of smiles, the man raced towards us. Probably gay and Tyreal hit his yum spot.

I looked at Tyreal and his Conan resemblance and wondered what time he’d felt I was in danger.

The waiter arrived. “I’ll be joining Miss Meyers for dinner.” Tyreal pulled out Vig’s chair, sat and looked under his butt. “God, what’s cold?”

Vig slid out and came to stand beside me, rubbing his hands down himself as if flicking off water. “
Ferking ferker.” He sidled to my side and gave Tyreal a dirty look.

I hid my grin behind my cocktail. Vig hated being sat on or walked through.

The waiter gave Tyreal’s seated ass a quick assessment. “Probably the air conditioning vent. I will have someone set a place for you. Would you like to order a pre-dinner drink before I go for a menu?”

“What are you having, Princess Angel?”

“Seafood platter and salad.”

“You eat seafood?”

“Rarely, but there’s nothing vegetarian on the menu I liked.” And I couldn’t have been bothered to order a
special
meal and cop all the usual eye rolls.

He turned to the waiter. “Make it a seafood platter for two. And I’ll …” He looked at the chocolate creamy sludge I loudly sucked through my straw, and grimaced. “Have a Crown Lager and another one of those.” He pointed to my now empty glass.

My vision started glazing and my cheeks felt a bit numb, but I’d happily slurp another one. “What time did you get that bad feeling?”

“At about three-twenty. I went cold, and something screamed I had to get to you. I drove straight to the airport and took the first flight out. You need to keep your phone on.”

I dug my phone out of my purse. “It is on, but I’ve got no missed calls.”

Weird and weirder, that was about when I’d seen his look-a-like ghost. “Ever wear suede?” Kinky tight with lace up sides bulging and with muscles and junk. Good junk. God, where was that drink?

“Only leather I wear is for my bike.”

I swallowed. Not the right type of leather. “How
come you don’t ride a Harley?”

“Not old enough. They’re for old farts who think they look cool. My Honda flies past Harleys. I’ll take you for a ride one day.”

“Pass. Bikes scare me. Had a friend decapitated when he and his bike slid under a bus on the Gold Coast. There’s no coming back from that.”

“Gotta agree. Sorry about your friend.”

The drinks arrived. I drank half my sweet rich concoction in one big suck and grinned at Tyreal. “When I finish this, I’m going to be pissed.”

He sipped his beer. “Pass out on me again and I’ll carry you to your room, strip you naked and fond
le you till you wake.” Vig tensed, growled and sat in one of the table’s side chairs.

“And the incentive not to pass out is?”

Tyreal snorted, “Jesus, Princess, I want you—bad. You stroke my beast and I’ll strike.”

That sounded so good I might fake a coma. God, I
’m so bad at being good.

Vig shuffled in his seat, but I ignored him.

I must have had a considering light in my eyes because Tyreal’s pupils and nostrils flared. His stare held mine for several heated seconds. “So what were
you
doing at three-twenty this afternoon?”

“I was at Josey Richards’ house and I have to go back for a rescue job tonight.” I licked my lips and tasted alcohol, chocolate, and fear. “She’s evil and I’m pretty sure she has an animal under her house she’s torturing. She said she’ll be out tonight. I’m guessing until late considering her profession.” I had no problem with the rescue part, but breaking in was a skill I lacked, avoidance of black snake things a skill I desperately desired.

“What makes you think she’s evil?”

“Felt it when I touched her. Ooze like I experienced at Clyde’s grave and with his journals. Might be hereditary.”

“Hereditary evil. Nice thought. Did she threaten you?”

“No. But something was in her house.” And it slithered across the floor and sucked into Josey’s skin. I pulled a breath, then another and another. Oh God was I hyperventilating?

His hand covered mine on the table. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t need to go. I’ll call someone I know in the local police force, say you heard a person in pain and have him check out the house.”

Tempting. Avoid the yucky stuff. “No. I need to go. I have a way with animals even when they’re terrified. I—I soothe them.” Plus she may know something about the Rembrandt’s whereabouts. I wanted to find something written by her so I could touch and time read it.

Viggo, leaned over, tapped his nail on my cast and nodded at Tyreal. “Him go, not Hayyel. He Hayyel shield.”

“I need to go,” I told both men, living and dead.

Tyreal looked at my cast. “I thought something tapped on your cast.” He reached over and tapped his nail on the red fiberglass. “Umph, that’s the sound.”

I glanced at Vig. He really needed to be more careful. “I tapped it—thinking.”

Tyreal’s look told me he saw me standing in pile of bull made mushroom fertilizer. He squeezed my hand. “
I’m
holding your right hand.”

Oops
. I gave him a watery smile because I had nothing. There’s no escaping a total lie.

He shook his head. “Forget it, here’s our meal.” Tyreal let go of my hand. A platter the size of a small bathtub was placed between us. Vig groaned.

“There’s enough food there for six.” Which was probably good since there were only a few things on it I’d eat.

Tyreal surveyed the selection. “Looks and smells great.” Tyreal picked an oyster, fresh split, squeezed a little lime juice on it and sucked it down. “Super fresh. Have one.”

My mouth sucked in, and my spit fled in morbid horror. “How can you eat that? They look like boogers.”

“Bet you ate them as a kid.”

“Oysters? Never.”

“Boogers, Princess. But Fine, I’ll eat yours too.”

Now I was confused. Did he want my share of oysters or was he offering to pick my nose? I stared at him.

“Oysters.”

“How did …?”

“You have a very expressive face. And you flared your nostrils then sucked them in tight.”

Vig burst out laughing and so did I.

We chewed and slurped and crunched our way through king prawns, scallops, and calamari. I left the crab, lobster, oyster
s and fish for him. Prawns were the closest I came to shellfish, and fish were never on my menu. I sucked down my drink, but then decided it was a bit rich and ordered a lemon, lime, and brandy, much more refreshing.

“You know you’re really hunky.” My cheeks were now totally numb. Tyreal’s fine facial features appeared softer, making him
uber touchable. Should I fake a pass out so he’d fondle me?

“Even if it took a gallon of alcohol, I’m glad you think so. But go easy on those drinks. You need to be able to stand at the Richards’ house. Pass out
after
we rescue your animal. We should get going. The house is at Paddington isn’t it?”

“Yeah it’s not far, and I have
Frogger.”

“
Frogger?”

“My hire car. You’ll see.”

After the meal, we headed for my room so we could change into clothes more appropriate for criminal activity. The elevator pinged, and the doors opened. We stepped in and the doors shut and shot us skyward. I trod on Tyreal’s foot, and giggled. At the seventh floor the elevator jerked to a stop. My stomach leaped into the air, plummeted through my pelvis and wedged in my groin.
Weeeee
—major head spin. Good thing Tyreal was sober.

I slipped my card through the lock slot and pushed the door open. Everything I’d bought that afternoon was dumped on the floor, my travel bag emptied. The journals were opened at random pages.
Wow.
I was pissed, I was sure my room had been trashed.

Vig dashed around us and darted into the room first. “No one here. Safe.” Tyreal and I walked into a room that looked like a whirlwind had hit it.

“Couldn’t decide what to wear?” Tyreal called as I weaved my way into the bathroom.

I walked out and looked at the mess. “I’d never treat clothes this way. Someone’s been here.” I started picking up clothes and laying them on the king sized bed. Tyreal helped. Vig went to pick up a blouse but I shook my head. I didn’t want Tyreal to see red silk float through the air. Arms crossed, Vig leaned against the wall and watched.