Sharon Ashwood - Unchained

“Good God, Ms. Carver!” Bannerman exclaimed, falling back in his chair with a look of disgust mingled with fear. His eyes traveled up and down her body again and again, as if staring hard enough would make her disappear.

The other guy just looked confused. “This is your client?”

Ashe advanced on Bannerman like a Valkyrie coming in for the kill. “You know, if you’re going to hide from a demon, it’s going to take more than changing floors in the same building.”

“What are you talking about?” Bannerman cried, looking wildly around.

“You’re up to your ’nads in doo-doo, dude. I went in on a ghostbusting job and, lo and behold, I ended up giving your demon a migraine. The spell wasn’t powerful enough to send it packing, but it got real pissed off.”

“My demon?” Bannerman scoffed.

Okay, so he was going to deny the whole biz in front his colleague. Idiot.

Ashe planted herself on the other side of the table, leaning across it to get in Bannerman’s face. “Yeah, whatcha do, sell it a haunted bookshop? Old Mr. Cowan’s place? Demons really hate ghosts, by the way, one of the few types of entities they can’t control, even if they are a thousand times more powerful. Like mice and elephants. Ghosts make them crazy. Ghostbusting gives them a headache. I bet old Tony didn’t know that when he called for someone to despook his new store. My guess is that he’s not that old, as demons go.”

Bannerman said nothing, but his expression went from shocked to calculating.

Ashe leaned in another inch. “He’s our bad guy, isn’t he? Demons always look so nice when they’re playing human. They’re almost impossible to detect at first.”

“I don’t do business with demons.”

“Of course not,” said the other lawyer. “That would be illegal.”

Ashe detected a note of irony in the other man’s voice. He was young and modishly dressed, with the latest in tech toys arranged before him. “Brent Hashimoto,” he said. “I’m here representing the de Larrochas. Excuse me if I don’t shake. You—um—stink.”

“ ’S okay. I got up close and personal with hellspawn. It’s a smelly business.”

Ashe inched yet closer to Bannerman, who bellowed, “Miss McCormick, call security!”

“She’s tied up,” Ashe said grimly. “Or else she’s begging for it by now.”

Hashimoto sniggered, reaching for his camera phone. Ashe raised the stake, and watched him back off with a shrug.

“Good decision.” She smiled.

She turned back to Bannerman. “Now. You promised me that my custody case would get top-drawer treatment if I got rid of your demon.”

She heard Hashimoto inhale. Good. “I said I’d do my best, but demons aren’t easy to find and they’re very, very hard to kill. Normally they kill you first. But hey, I was willing to at least check it out and see what could be done, for the sake of my daughter.”

She rested the tip of the stake against Bannerman’s chest, making him gasp. “But you, Chuckles, already knew who it was and where it was. All it took was a rummage in the database of the land titles office. It wasn’t hard from there to find out who handled the sale of the estate for Mr. Cowan’s heirs: Bannerman, Wishart, and Yee, Barristers and Solicitors. The place was sold to one Anthony Yarndice. Tony.”

“So?”

Pushing a little on the stake, she leaned over. “Did you think a demon wouldn’t care about a little spook action? Figured he wouldn’t complain, because demons can’t legally hold property to begin with? Figured he’d take the crap property and be grateful?”

Bannerman’s eyelids fluttered, and then he broke as easily as the yoke of a half-cooked egg. “He—it—wanted a store. He got one.”

Hashimoto’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? You cut a deal with a demon? I didn’t even know you did real estate.”

Bannerman twitched. “Just a bit of a sideline from wills, divorce settlements, that sort of thing.”

Ashe gave the stake a shove, just enough to dent his skin. “Why, Mr. Bannerman, did you put me needlessly at risk?”

“Risk? Everyone knows how powerful a hunter you are. Your sister killed a demon queen, after all. You have everyone afraid.”

“Who is everyone?”

Bannerman didn’t answer.

Impatient, Ashe tried again. “Why not ask me to simply go exorcise the bookstore owner at Fort and Main?”

Her prey was sweating, rivulets running down his temples. “I couldn’t. I wanted to. I want him gone. I just . . . couldn’t.”

“Easygoing Tony has you running scared, eh?”

“He—it—made it so that I can’t say more.”

“It put you under a compulsion?”

“Yes!”

Ashe swore. Probably the moment Bannerman had started to deal with the demon, old Tony had made the lawyer his unwilling flunky.

Hashimoto looked fascinated. “Did you sell it any other properties?”

Bannerman was turning red. “I can’t say!”

Which meant he had. A negative answer would have been straightforward.

“Where?” Ashe demanded.

Bannerman made a sound between a choke and a quack.

“That’s too obvious,” Hashimoto said, coming out of his seat and around the table. “The demon would have thought of where.” He rubbed his nose, a nervous gesture, but his eyes were alight with an almost gleeful interest. Ashe could picture him in the courtroom, winding up to question a witness.

Hashimoto leaned over Bannerman, his face inches from Ashe’s. “What kind of places did the demon want?”

Bannerman’s eyes flicked from face to face, fear rolling off him like a fog. “A place for its collections.”

Ashe fell back a step, jolted by his words. “Collections?”

Hashimoto looked up. “That mean something to you?”

“Yeah.” The lawyer’s demon, Holly’s client, and the thief who took Reynard’s urn were all the same creature. Reynard was right. Everything was connected, but they were only starting to see the big picture.

Another thought lit up like a neon sign: Hadn’t Holly said collector demons were hoarders? That would explain the congested mess the bookshop had been in.

She fell back another step. But if the demon has more than one property, where’s the urn?

Sound burst from the front office, including the shrill complaint of the receptionist. The door slammed open, Reynard’s shoulders filling the doorway. “Mr. Bannerman’s associates have questions. I thought you would prefer that I didn’t actually maim them.”

The moment Ashe looked away from Bannerman, he launched himself from the chair, knocking Hashimoto aside. He wasn’t a fighter, but he was heavy. Distracted, Ashe didn’t see the tackle until he grabbed her. She dropped the stake to avoid driving it into his gut. After all, she hadn’t really meant to kill him.

But he bowled her over until her head smacked on the edge of the desk. She went down, ears ringing. Then, for a split second, everything went black.

Damn!

Bannerman’s weight shifted away and she heard Reynard ordering people around. He had that tone that made people pay attention. After a struggle, Ashe blinked her eyes open, feeling queasy. Bannerman’s voice drifted from the front office, full of anger, but she couldn’t focus on the words.

She sat up carefully. She wondered how much time had passed, because now she was alone in the office except for Hashimoto. He held out a paper cup, the type that came from a watercooler. His dark eyes looked worried. “Drink this.”

What does hitting your head have to do with being thirsty? She drank the water anyway and gave him back the cup. Gripping the edge of the desk, she got to her feet.

Reynard came back in and closed the office door to shut out the noise. He put a hand on her arm. “Are you all right?”