Grave Robber for Hire (21 page)

Before he turned ten, Sasha had been a sweet, loving, protective brother. Then one day he’s knocking over the school bully who’d hurt me and the next he was the one hurting me. From that day he’d beaten me, hit me with objects, broken numerous bones of mine, stabbed me four times. At thirteen he upped his game, pushing me in front of cars, buses, trucks, that luckily all missed
his
target.

Until Sasha went to
juvie at fifteen and then prison at seventeen, and I knew he could never return, I had deadlocks and bolts on my bedroom door and bars on my windows.

Detective Dane Peters, who’d arrived with three cop cars and two Queensland Special Emergency Response Team vehicles, sipped a cup of coffee. Detective Dane was a nice middle aged man who appeared truly sorry for my obvious slobbering terror of my sibling.

On arrival, the cops did a big, sniffer dog, gun totting run around my property. Afterwards, the response units drove off up the road to check and most assuredly freak out my neighbors. The detectives remaining had taken fingerprints to confirm Sasha’s identity. But I held no doubt.

I couldn’t drink any coffee. My body buzzing with a dump truck load of adrenaline didn’t need a fuel tanker tossed onto the fire. I hummed with vibrations, but it wasn’t just adrenaline. Hunched over, I sat in misery. After cleaning up my own vomit, I’d found myself craving sugar—big time sugar and remembered the chocolate I had stashed at the back of the fridge. While standing in front of the fridge door, I’d delicately gorged an e
ntire family block in about three minutes.

But I was alright, no weight gain, bulimia must have kicked in because I spewed that lot too.

Shit-scared, the best diet in the universe.

Detective Dane pointed with a pencil at Sasha’s loving note safely secured in a plastic evidence bag. “Are
you sure this is Sasha Meyers’ signature, Miss Meyers?”

Do kangaroos crap in the outback? “Yes, please call me, Angel. Sasha always signed his name that way and he alone called me Hayyel.”

Tyreal pushed forward the notepad. “Angel and I conducted a house inspection of a property today in St. Lucia. That’s the address he took, he could be around that area even now.”

“We’ve already contacted Brisbane Central. They’ll have patrols looking.”

“Good. Find him.” Kill him. With my brother free, I and all I loved would constantly live in danger.

Chapter 20

It was well past two in the morning when the last police vehicle left. Tyreal and I still hadn’t had our little I think-we-saw-monsters,
tête
-
à
-
tête. I wasn’t particularly up to leech, monsters, dimension, and other explanations. Catch was, I hadn’t pinky promised to tell him, but I had promised.

Tyreal leaned forward in his chair, took my chin in his fingers. “Scotch or coffee?”

My inner lush who’d hidden for twenty-nine years, just kept rapping on the bar for more. “Not coffee. I need sleep.” Sleep was of course
code
for scotch.

“Be back.” Tyreal walked outside. A minute later he waved the bottle of scotch we’d purchased earlier at me. He half-filled two tumblers and added coke to mine. Tyreal understood code.

Back at the couch, he passed over the drink. “It’s been a shit of a night. I understand you’re not up to talking about our earlier run in.”

I slurped down a good half inch of sugary scotch, gave it a minute to do its job, sucked some more. “I’ll give you the condensed Reader’s Digest version. I’ll flesh the details out tomorrow.”

“Brief is good. Then we can crash. I’ll stay here until you’re safe from your brother.”

“That’s hardly fair on you.” Politeness made me feel I had to say that even though I wanted him to bodily guard the doors and call in a vigilante army.

“I stay here, or you can stay at my house. At my place, you’ll be safer. As an enticement, I’d like to mention I have a pool.” He put his hand on my thigh. “Bring your bikinis.”

I rock bikinis. And a pool?
Mmm, weather was hot, temptation, temptation. “I can’t. I have to stay to protect my animals. Do you know where I can buy an Uzi?”

I’ve never seen a face truly go deadpan. It was intriguing. Obviously he hadn’t expected something so small. “Maybe a rocket launcher?” Or stealth bomber.

He clamped his lips together. “Do you know how to use one?”

“No, they didn’t offer weaponry at school. Point and shoot should do it. They’re big enough I should be able to do some damage.”

Tyreal leaned back, gave me a look I’d started to recognize as condescending disbelief mixed with, this girls a nut-job. He stretched his legs out and gave me that smile that warmed me to the depths of my hoo-hoo.

“Sasha’s on the run. The cops will keep an eye on this place. So no Uzi for you.”

Damn, I’d formed at least one high hope when he’d blasted my libido with that smile. Or it might have been smutty optimism.

“I need a gun to feel safe. Bi
g ass one.” How hard would it be to get a black-market machine gun and a few grenades? Oh no, stick that, one of those Tommy guns they used in movies about the 1920’s.
Rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat
. I’d look cool holding one of those. And with multiple bullets flying, I might even hit my target.

Cool and deadly would do the trick.

“I’ll get you a small pistol from my house tomorrow when I pack a few clothes.” He showed a gap between his two hands, indicating a gun about the size of a heavy day tampon. Something that size didn’t seem very cool. “My house can look after itself. You have what I need other than a change of clothes. In fact, your T.V. is bigger.”

“Good to know my television is such a man magnet.” I’d remember that when I met hot guys. Hey, wait till you see the size of my T.V.

Tyreal lifted my feet and put them in his lap. “Right—drink up and give me those dot-points. But first, who do I keep seeing with you? Male, blond, well built, ghostly. I’ve seen you smile at and talk to him, so no denying. I saw him at the Devil’s Whip too, highlighted by flames, and you fought Josey to save him.”

Crap he
could
see Vig. I waited a couple of disco beats to get my neurons to meet, hold a party and fathom the fact. I sipped more scotch, eyed Tyreal and focused on the most important aspect. “That was my first chick fight. Was it hot?”

Tyreal grinned. “Yes very, but I don’t think that’s the issue.”

“How awesome was I kicking girl butt?” I kicked the air with my leg,
ka-powing
imaginary Josey, and just missed Tyreal’s nose.

“Princess, I was nothing more than a blathering hard hormone, and you were in really sexy gear. Awesome doesn’t cover the feelings that were rushing through my mind that night.” His brows rose, his pupils dilated, and he blew out a fast breath. “Those red boots, just so you know, I’ve had a few hot dreams staring you dressed in those—and just those. Now who’s the guy?”

“Did you see Josey change into some other creature that night or the purple mist?”

“No. Why?”

I looked into my glass, swirling the dark liquid. What the hell, I’d give him the truth, up to him whether he believed me or not. “Remember you asked, so keep an open mind. You’ve been seeing Viggo, my guardian angel. When he is around, too me, he’s as corporeal as you.”

Tyreal popped his mouth open, shut it, slugged a belt of scotch and looked longingly at the bottle. “Guardian … yeah sure, oh fuck what am I saying, I’ve seen him. So definitely not a ghost?”

“No.”

“Nothing is normal with you. Where is he from?”

“I think Viggo died maybe a thousand years ago-ish.”

“
Ish?”

“He doesn’t speak much English. I’ve guessed by a bit of research of his original mode of dress that he’s from medieval times and of Nordic blood.”

“How do you know he’s not just a ghost?”

“I don’t see ghosts unless I’m in another dimension, plus I can touch him like I touch you, and he me.”

“Solid?”

I nodded, “He told me he was my guardian when he first arrived in my life.”

“And this Viggo tripped me the other night?”

Vig was so busted. But what he had done to Tyreal was nothing compared to his reign of terror on Luke or other guys I’d hung with, but I wasn’t having sex with Tyreal. The ambush would increase a hundred fold if I did. “Maybe.”

“Right.”

“You have to understand
—Vig’s protective.”

Tyreal poured himself another scotch, slurped a lessor hit. “How protective?”

“He prevented Sasha from killing me multiple times. But when around guys you know … um ….”

Tyreal shot up straight on the couch, and his brows flew north. “
He watches
?
That’s disgusting.”

I laughed. “No. He’s not a pervert. He poofs out at those times” Tyreal scowled a fraction. “Disappears into the ether or time or whatever guardian angels do. What I meant was he doesn’t like guys getting close to me. I think he has old fashioned values.”

He contemplated his amber liquid in his tumbler. “Can he understand you?”

“Luckily yes, and
he senses when I’m in danger. When I am, he usually appears.”

“Right, I might need a little time to digest that guardian angel revelation. Let’s move on. The afternoon I talked to Tony, what injured you when you dove into the journal, and how did you heal almost immediately.”

Oh yeah that was a big one. “You might need a dose of belief with that scotch.” I told him about the snakes, Clyde morphing, Vig saving my ass, Josey and her smoke lust and snakes, and the Conan ghost. But I refrained from telling Tyreal that Conan and he looked alike. The rest he saw and lived through to scare his grandchildren with.

“And this has never happened to you before?”

“No.” What a mess my life had become in just a couple of weeks. Shit was enough to make me drain my drink and wiggle it under Tyreal’s nose so he’d pour me some more. “Make that one scotch heavy.”

“Okay. So back to tonight’s journal stealing attempt. How do we retrieve it now?”

“If I knew, we’d have it. We could try holy water? I’ll ask Vig what he thinks might work, but he didn’t seem to know when I asked.”

“He was there, I didn’t see him?”

“I’d say you only see him sometimes.”

“Is he here now?”

“No. But he’ll go medieval when he finds out Sasha’s escaped and came calling.” Actually it was funny he wasn’t with me. Usually he’d have felt my terror earlier. Was he still chasing Josey? If he was, I hoped he was safe.

Tyreal sipped his scotch, and absently rubbed my feet with his free hand. A man who massaged feet without a woman begging, one who massaged with no hope of sexual payment, the man was a dark haired, dark eyed god.

“I want that Rubens Josey stole. We need to go to Sydney to get it back. I’ll need a house sitter to watch out for my animals.” Shit. “Could Sasha be working with Josey? No, I’m being silly. He’s been in prison for more than ten years, he wouldn’t have the connections.”

“Evil always finds evil. Maybe they were connected before his incarceration. Or he came here to see his old home, found your notes so carefully hidden on your notepads and computer, and decided he’d search for a Rembrandt.”

“I hardly expected the ghost of horrors past to escape a high security prison. And he can’t do what I do, so the address is useless to him.”

I yawned and snuggled into the couch’s softness. “The scotch has done its job. I’ve had it, I’m off to bed.” Just had to hope I didn’t have nightmares. Sasha nightmares.

Tyreal finished his drink. Nodded. “Good idea. Want a hand to shower?”

“
Phffft, no. See you in the morning. At least in its pruned state Aunty Glynnis’ potted plant won’t upset you.”

“I’m starting to think zero around you should or could, shock me anymore.”

Chapter 21

Four days later nothing else had occurred from the horror zone at home and Sasha had not been either found or seen. Vig had gotten over not being there when I needed him, but he’d pretty much not left my side since I told him about Sasha’s escape. He’d been chasing Josey and had not felt my angst at the time.

So here it was Friday night and I had a hot date with a be-spelled book, a protection and anti-evil spell, and a whole pile of voodoo woo-woo hope. For the occasion I’d dressed in tight, highlight my curves black.

After some break and enter, Tyreal, Vig, and I once more stood in Clyde’s old den.

Tyreal wore black cargo pants and a tight long sleeved black T-shirt to tingling in my girl bits, hot. Though, I barely noticed since he’s my
colleague
. In many ways, Tyreal knocking me back that evening in the hotel had been my savior. A much needed dash of icy water in my face. It would have been the first toll of the final bell of our working association, and I like how we gel work wise.

Tyreal waiting for his turn at playing witch, or was that warlock, held a sage smudge stick as I finished pouring a large ring of pink rock salt.

I believe magic worked when conducted by someone with magical gifts. Tonight, however, Tyreal and I and Vig were on our magically giftless—Wiccan own. To compensate for being magic virgins, I’d hired the most revered witch in all the land, the witchiest witch, the …. Okay someone not too far away who I’d heard could cast and remove spells.

For the spells I clutched in my hand, I’d choked up a wad of cash to the Wiccan Witch from Byron Bay who dabbled in other magical practices. She’d written the magic with the sap of sage on some sort of handmade parchment that resembled the paper the local zoo volunteers made, and sold, out of elephant dung. I didn’t care as long as this mumbo-jumbo zapped red-eyed misty leeches.

The last of the salt tumbled out of the bag and joined the ring. I scrunched and tossed the empty bag onto Clyde’s stiff backed antique chair, looked down at the crystals and shrugged. “Well I feel like I’ve followed witch Bettina’s instructions. Hopefully there isn’t a witchy decorating prerequisite for white salt, but the health food store you stopped at only had pink in a large bag.”

“I’m sure pink salt is trendy in witch land.” Tyreal took my hand and gave it a squeeze.

Antique desk’s hidden shelf open, the nasty guard serpent with its beady red eyes fixated on our movements, constantly pulsating its purple electrical pall.

Viggo stepped forward, looked at me with a cocky grin, made a gun shape with his fingers, pointed it at the mist shrouded beastie and shot out a golden ray of fire. A purple flash met and danced with Vig’s gold, then zipped up his hand to crackle in a pretty aura. Vig growled and ripped his hand away and started flicking it as if it stung. The leech lifted and shook his head, and I swear it sniggered.

A leech monster with a sense of sick humor?

Tyreal stared wide eyed at Vig. “I can see Viggo.”

“You can?” Vig and I said in unison.

Vig nodded. “Bout time.”

Tyreal sucked in a breath. “Holy shit, I can hear him too.”

“
You can?
” Was it because I’d told him about Vig? But then he knew Vig existed before that. “You must have some sort of extra sense to see him?” And it had suddenly grown stronger.

Vig shook his head as if to say dickhead. “He sort of same as you. But he closed before.”

Ha, I was so right. Tyreal did have something extra about him. It might be why I felt safer with him than I ever had with any man.

Tyreal didn’t seem to know who to look at, me or Vig. “Same as you in what way?”

Vig crossed his arms. “You find out, when ready.” He pointed to the snake. “We do this?”

I licked my lips. “Let’s smoke this baby out.”

Tyreal faced the table and jerked his head back. “What the fuck is that?”

“A big bastard version of the things on the road the other night. I think.”

“Great. Reckon I could have lived without seeing
that
. Let’s get this gig over.” Tyreal let go of my hand and lit the huge sage smudge stick and started slowly waving his arm to dissipate the smoke over the table, the shelf, the book and our red-eyed friend. The leech lashed his tail and flicked out a little black forked tongue and hissed. .I think snake suited him more than leech, maybe Vig had the species wrong.

Take that oh-creepy-one. “
Ooo, it’s pissing him off. Do it again, smoke him baby.”

Tyreal wafted more smoke in the leech’s direction and grinned as it cringed. “I’m kind of freaked I can see this thing, but I like smoking him.” He swung his arm again. “That’s for blasting Angel.” Another waft. “And that’s for blasting me, you ugly little shit.”

“Feeling tetchy?”

“Yep. Alright
, Princess, let’s start.”

Viggo positioned himself behind me, close enough I felt his body heat on my back. Tyreal glanced at him and scowled.

Vig put his hand on my shoulder. “I protect.” He tensed ready to haul me to safety. I scratched under my cast. What made him think I needed protecting? I so had this in the spell bag.

“You ready?” Tyreal asked.

I nodded to the outstanding man in black. Vig’s fingers dug into my shoulders.

I bowed North, East, South, West, and crossed my hands over my chest. Vig held the elephant poo like paper in front of me so I could recite the protection spell for Tyreal and myself. I spoke the words, hoping they were broad spectrum and also covered guardian angels. Vig being blasted by purple light had started to get old. This whole, find the Rembrandt and be harassed by evil, stunk worse than a homeless person with a weak bladder in summer.

Tonight I needed to blast this evil leech back to hell and convert myself into Super-Wiccan-Witch-Angel. I hadn’t bought a wand or made my cape yet, so mentally I’d dressed in a red and gold cape, and held the most wicked-wand in the west. The
western
suburbs of Brisbane that is.

Protection spell conducted, Vig shuffled the handmade, I’m sure it’s poo parchment, and I started to recite the anti-evil spell Bettina provided. I read and garbled and made pentagram symbols in the air with my hands. This was one long convoluted pile of make no sense words. I said, good, light, and all powerful, at least ten times each. The recital ended in, “I demand that good overpower all negative forces.” My eyes shut, I bowed. The air surrounding us throbbed.

I prayed I hadn’t just blown seven hundred dollars.

The smell of smoking sage filling the room became overwhelmed by the scent of old fashioned roses.

I opened my eyes to find the cardboard covered ledger, sans leech-snake. “We are the shit.”

“It smells like you in here, Angel.”

I ignored the fact that I smelled like an old woman and reached for the book. Vig grabbed my wrist, leaned past me and touched the book with his finger and smiled. “Safe, Hayyel. Take book.”

“He calls you Hayyel. I thought no one called you Hayyel?”

“Ancient guardian privileges. Don’t copy it.” I leaned forward and touched the outside of the old account book with my red painted finger nail. No ooze, no zap. Good. Still shaking in my soft soled boots, I applied what I guess amounted to be about two skin cells of the tip of my finger. No ooze, no zap. Double good. Feeling my ovaries enlarge, I inched my finger forward and applied an estimated six cells. I am so brave.

I laughed and took the book and gave the air a huge up-yours sign. “Stick that Josey and Clyde. Ah-ha, ah-ha, I so freaking won.” I did a three-sixty turn swinging my hips.

“She still has the Rubens.”

I stopped my victory dance and glared at the big party pooper. “Don’t blow my high dude.” With my cast, I pushed the shelf in the desk shut. “Let’s hit the road.”

I turned to Vig. “We safe? No creatures from the bog outside waiting for us? No, Josey or leeches waiting to eat us, blast us, or freaking steal from us?”

He appeared to concentrate for a minute then shook his head. “Safe.”

I turned to Tyreal. “I’m celebrating. Dinner is on me. Fancy Chinese? We can ring in the order, pick it up on the way or eat in.” Viggo nodded and grinned. He liked watching me eat Chinese. Partly because of the mess I make of myself.

Tyreal looked at Vig.
“Can he eat?”

“No. Vig just likes to watch
.

Tyreal blew out what little remained of the smudge stick, scraped up the salt and stuffed both into a bag.

I spread the few remaining crystals with a shuffle of boots and Vig helped. “Let’s blow.”

Tyreal nodded and we made our way out of the house. In the yard, I couldn’t help but stare at the burial site of the two boys. “Wish I could find a way to have those bodies found so they could get a real burial.” It ate at me that they weren’t with their parents. That nobody knew Clyde had murdered them so callously.

“One thing at a time, Princess. I want to be present tomorrow at the auction. You want to attend?”

“Yeah, why not? I can bid twenty grand, think that’s enough?” Actually, I only had eighteen.

“Find fifty or sixty more of those twenties and it might be.”

“Man, you’re such a downer. I hate people who blow my fantasies.”

#

We were home by eleven. Tyreal and Vig, who was taking the whole keep Angle safe from Sasha thing very seriously, checked the house for intruders before I entere
d and took a seat at the table.

Studiously ignoring the stab mark in the table’s surface I flicked open Clyde’s ledger.

Tyreal put his hands on my shoulders and rubbed. Vig’s hands fisted.

Tyreal’s fingers hit just the right spot. I moaned and leaned into the pressure. “You look beat. Face Clyde’s memories in the morning.”

“Too much effort, pain, and money has gone into getting this pile of ink and cellulose. I want to know what it holds before it turns into a pumpkin or something comes out of the pages and sets it on fire. Whatever is inside this baby has to be important to be protected by a monster for a century and a half. Someone didn’t want it touched.”

“You think Clyde did the spell before he died or only after he felt your presence?”

“When you think about it, that’s the same. The book better tell me where that frigging painting is, or I’m telling Claudia the search came to an end.” But I’d still be hunting that bitch Josey for
my
Rubens.

“And the Rubens?”

There was that awful mind reading thing again. “Will be retrieved.” Vig shook his head and muttered but I ignored him. I didn’t know how, but I would. I yawned and started turning pages of listed assets until I spied the word
paintings
. I read the line out.

“Here, look at this line. ‘A naked lady stepping out of the bath.’ That’s it, it’s described just the way he’d thought of it the last time I found a Rembrandt reference.” Smile huge, I looked at Tyreal then Vig. My heart went
pitter-pitter-pat
, and it might have yelled
yippee
.

I slapped the page, freeing a fine waft of dust that tickled my nose “I’m going
in.” I almost squealed.

The hot dry winds of space and time buffeted my hair and face. The date of the page shimmered in between the dimensions. Excited, I opened the panel and flicked the page to the floor. Clyde, seated at his desk in classic blue striped pajamas and velvet robe, turned to lance me with his eerie stare, lifted his lip and flashed me a small strip of shark teeth. I gave him my best, oh-shit-I’m-outta-here bugged eyed look and slammed the dimension back to nothing. I
forced myself to calm down, then tugged the dimension down to quarter mast so I could only peek in.

So I should wear yellow underwear. I’d rather hack off a limb, preferably his, than willingly face monster Clyde and his trained circus leech snakes again.

With the time window at a quarter mast, Clyde, quill dipped in blue ink, held it poised above the page for a second before he started to write. He wrote a line and my sphincter puckered in anticipation. Another line, it tightened, another line and not even gas would escape. Just as my bowel started to knot, I saw the Rembrandt.

The painting had never been displayed in Australia. He’d left it crated from its travels from England. I saw a
dusty dark area that smelled stale and hot. Rafters and beams appeared above and below. In the dark void, I thought I saw it hidden behind a wall or partition. Several small insectivorous bats hung nearby. I waited, but he kept penning, his mind drifting to a time when he’d waited for another one to be painted. The one he displayed in his house.

I blew out a heavy sigh and relaxed my tight knotted body.

I pulled back to our time and even though I’d time jumped for only ten minutes, my muscles barely allowed me to lift my hands. Book closed, I stretched through a fly catching cavernous yawn and thought fondly of mattresses and hot showers. But no matter how weak and drained I felt, bed was hours away.

“He had a copy painted. Somewhere there is the original and a forgery.”