Darker Days (The Darker Agency #1)(35)

She nodded and hobbled from the hall into the kitchen.

“My cousin suggested I call you. She said you helped her once with—” he swallowed and leaned forward, peanut butter laced breath puffing out across my face, “—a ghost.”

Since we obviously didn’t advertise our supernatural cases, most of our Otherworlder clients came to us through referral. Luckily, my family had been doing this a long time so there was no shortage of them—which was a good thing.

“Where is—” I took a deep breath and forced the words out, “Mr. Winkie?”

The man pointed down the hall.

Setting down my bag, I pulled out the Fairy Dust. Next came an empty spray bottle, which I handed to the man. “Fill this halfway with warm water. Not hot, not cold.”

He nodded and dashed from the room as a horrible wail split the air.

If I had to guess, Mr. Winkie wasn’t happy to see us.

Lastly, I pulled a set of spongy earplugs from a small satin pouch. Normally, I would have flipped on my iPod and cranked up the volume. I usually went with Beethoven for exorcisms, Bach for ghosts, and Sick Puppies for information digs. But since I’d rushed this morning, the player was still sitting on my nightstand.

The man returned with the water and pointed to the door at the end of the hall. “It’s in the last room on the left.”

“I have to warn you that the chances of saving the dog are slim.” It was much harder—nearly impossible—to salvage a possessed animal compared to a human. People had more to hold on to. Families, friends, material things… Animal minds were simpler and therefore far more frail. It sucked, but barely one in ten animal possessions had a happy ending. “How long has he been this way?”

The man hesitated, then looked back toward the door. “My father died a few weeks ago. We noticed a change shortly after.” He looked uncomfortable, fiddling with the coins in his right front pocket. “It’s—it’s okay if you can’t save him. The dog will just remind her of Dad anyway. Make things harder, ya know?”

Wow. What a humanitarian. I turned away from him and looked to Lukas. He wasn’t going to be fascinated with this in a few minutes. Motioning for him to follow, I started toward the room. When we came to the door, I put the ear plugs in and said, “You’re gonna want to cover your ears.”

I turned the knob and pushed it open. Disaster. That was the only word that came to mind. A twin-sized mattress laid overturned and shredded in the far corner of the room, springs poking obscenely through the top. The curtains hung in tatters, their edges blackened and smoldering. I took a step forward and something crunched beneath my feet. Glass. On the far side of the room, a full-length antique mirror laid in pieces on the floor.

Playtime was over.

Pulling the vial of Fairy Dust from my pocket, I tipped it into the spray bottle full of water. It fizzed and sizzled for a moment before turning the appropriate shade of violet. Cap tightly back in place, I looked around the room.

Nothing.

“Are you sure it’s in here?” Lukas scanned the room with a disappointed expression. He let his hands slip from his ears and took another step inside. When nothing jumped out at him, he picked up the edge of the mattress and peered underneath.

I took a deep breath and tried not to gag. “Smell that? Sulfur. It’s in here.”

As if on cue, a low growl rose from the wreckage. A moment later, in a puff of inky black smoke, the dog popped into view. Squat legs and tall, pointy ears, the dog was beige and white with a stubby tail.

A corgi. The demon had possessed a corgi.

“Here puppy, puppy,” I said, waving the spray bottle. “Time to go home.” Pressing the lever down, the quartz mixture spritzed toward the dog. Winkie was fast, though. He snarled and leapt out of the stream with time to spare. “Dammit!”

In a beige and white blur, the corgi streaked across the room. When I caught sight of him again, he was crouched on top of a small wooden dresser by the door.

“Absum ex meus os potissimus abyssus.” Spray bottle ready, I took a step forward.

The dog jumped from the dresser and shot across to the other side of the room.

“Stand still or I’m going to neuter you!”

He responded by letting out a hair curling growl—and disappeared in a puff of black smoke.

“It’s gone!” Lukas breathed, darting to where the dog had vanished. He nudged a pile of sheets with the toe of his shoe.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” I tossed my bag to him. Holding the bottle out, I pressed the handle and started spinning in a circle, blanketing everything in a wash of water. “Per putus sal salis of orbis terrarum, EGO transporto vos tergum ut diabolus regnum.”

Another growl. Then a very undog-like yelp.

“Absum ex meus os potissimus abyssus.”

With a hiss, Winkie reappeared on the ruined mattress, lips pulled back to reveal several rows of black, razor teeth. Hackles up, it charged.

I didn’t have time to react. One minute it was on the mattress, the next it was flying through the air—straight at my head.

With more force than you’d think possible, the little demon dog hit me, sending us both to the ground. The spray bottle flew from my hand and rolled out of reach, skittering to a stop when it hit the wall. I was on my back, the dog perched on my chest, just staring. Neither of us moved.