Page 6 of Dead Vengeance

Which surely is my cue to leave. So I take a few steps backwards.

“Wait!” comes the harshly uttered instruction from Ted.

I freeze, feeling like I’m the one in trouble with the cops, which I guess I will be if Ted lets on he knows I’m covering for Gerald. But he doesn’t at all. He strides back into Gerald’s room, snatches the case folder from the desk and holds it up. “Is this you?”

“Y-yep. It was. I thought.”

“Then you’ll need the address.” He brings it out, grabbing a chunky spiral-bound booklet off his desk on the way, then he presses them against my chest too. “Don’t be late, no, we don’t cover travel costs, no, we’re not liable for any damages to people or belongings, and don’t even think about calling me before I’ve had my eleven a.m. coffee.” He gives me one final push out the door and to the top of the stairs, then adds, “Oh, and try not to die.”

“Thank—” The door slams in my face.

I’m not slow to leg it out of there. Whatever the fuck’s going on, it’s nothing to do with me, and I don’t need the cops having my name in association with any of it.

I’m down the shadowy staircase and out on the street in about thirty seconds, the light spit-spit of autumn rain tingling my cheeks as I make my way towards the Tube station. I’ve still got the folder, the booklet, and the uniform with me. Still got Gerald’s one hundred pounds burning a hole in my pocket.

It’s actually kind of odd he trusts me with it. Maybe he has more money than that office makes it seem like? Maybe there’s something vaguely legit about all this after all? Maybe…

Maybe things are finally starting to look up for me.

I’ve got a job. I’ve already made money from it. And tomorrow, I’m taking a nice trip to the Cotswolds to help some elderly gentleman feel a bit more comfortable in his home.

That’s meaningful. That’s important.

I’ve got a meaningful and important job that pays me real money.

And this is the proudest I’ve felt in a long time.

Just as I’m about to take the stairs down into the station, a smile and a nice warm feeling take me, and I can’t help but send one last, fond look up the street and back at ExorSquad HQ.

And there, lit by a bright shaft of sunshine cutting through storm clouds, stands Gerald Pickett. His brown suit is soaked through, his back leans against the crumbling stone of the first-floor exterior above a pizza shop. He looks over at me, smiles so wide the light reflects sharply off his golden tooth, and gives me a big double thumbs up.

My stomach does a weird flip-flop.

I return his thumbs up, then let the escalator carry me down and away, to whatever fate is coming for me.

two

Fish Pie

Liam

Rule #325: Consider Making the Entity Angry

If you piss a powerful spirit off, it’s far more likely present in its corporeal form. That’s when you zap it with the X5000 Turbo Pro Plasma Accelerator ™. Throwing out insults, damaging their worldly goods, stepping on their murder site (if you can find it) are all great tools in the fight against the undead. And remember, time is money. The sooner you zap, the higher your commission.

Commission? What commission? That’s on top of the hourly rate, surely…

My left ear pulls slightly, and I’m snapped back into reality when my earbud slips free.

“Good day?”

“Ma!”

The earbud lands in my lap with a soft tap, and her hand ruffles through my hair. I didn’t even hear her come in. She’s stooping to grab the shopping bags, so I throw down the ExorSquad training manual I’ve spent the last hour studying and try to take them for her.

“I’ve got it.” She snatches the bags up like I’m a toddler, like I might spill everything onto the floor. Or more like she’s someone who finds it easier to control every single thing than to risk giving the smallest bit of control over to someone else. Especially me.

“What’s that smell?” she asks as I follow her through to the kitchen, still trying and failing to take a bag. “It smells good in here.”