Hell to Pay (The Harry Russo Diaries Book 4)

by Lisa Emme

  “What? No! Mofo, wait!” I whispered loudly at him to come back, throwing a little will behind my words. Mofo popped back into view, looking antsy. “Don’t take off yet. Tell me what has you so afraid. Why are you here instead of the hospital?”

  “I need protection, Harry. I can’t risk getting caught by the Collector.”

  “The who? What are you talking about?”

  “It’s bad, Harry. Spooks are going missing all over town. They disappear and never come back.”

  “Maybe they’re just finally passing over,” I said, thinking it was obvious.

  Mofo shook his head vigorously. “No, Harry. They aren’t passing over. They’ve been snatched.” His spectral body visibly shuddered. “Father Mike will protect us. That’s why we’re all here.”

  “Do you know who this Collector is? What does he look like?”

  “He’s bad, Harry. Eee-vil. A soul-stealer.” He wrung his hands again. “I ain’t ever seen him, and I don’t ever intend to change that.”

  “Do you know anyone who has? Can you send them my way?”

  Mofo nodded. “I’ll get Junie for you, Harry. I think she’s seen him.”

  He faded again, and I quickly added, “Listen, Mofo, you should head back to the hospital. Father Mike’s prayers are potent enough to speed you on your way, so unless you want to cross over, you’d better make yourself scarce. Hang out in the hospital chapel if you need to feel safe.” I added that last bit, thinking of Tosh and her idea that any hallowed ground would do.

  “Okay, thanks, Harry.” Mofo tipped his hat and disappeared.

  “That was phenomenal,” Max whispered. “Can you have conversations like that all the time?”

  I shrugged. “Sort of, depending on the ghost. They aren’t all as…interactive as that.”

  The service was in full swing by the time Junie arrived. Aptly named (she was a ringer for a younger version of June Cleaver), she was the epitome of a fifties teenage girl. Dressed in a bright-pink poodle skirt with a wide black belt and a white button-down shirt with butterfly sleeves, she could have been a standin on the set of a Gidget remake, except for the whole being-dead part.

  “Far out! It really is the famous Harry Russo. Isn’t that the ginchiest? And here I thought Mofo was lighting up the tilt sign.” Junie looked at me and simpered.

  I shook my head, trying to decipher the lingo. “Hi. You must be Junie?”

  “In the flesh…” she paused, a mischievous smile hovering on her lips. “…so to speak. What can I do you for? Mofo said you needed some information.”

  “I do. What can you tell me about the Collector?”

  Junie faded out momentarily and then popped back into view, a scared look on her face. “Now why do you want to know about him? He’s the reason this joint is antsville.”

  Antsville? Ha! That was a good way of describing all the ghosts floating around I guess. “That’s why I need to know. Why are all of you afraid of him?”

  “I’m not sure I want to be talking about him, even here.” She glanced around nervously.

  “Tell me what you can. Please? It’s important.”

  Junie crossed her ghostly arms over her chest. “Well, I’ve never seen the Collector. You see him, it’s already too late. What you have to worry about are his henchmen. You never know where or when they’re going to jump out and get you. Suck you right up and you’re gone.” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that.”

  “Can you describe these henchmen?”

  “They could be anyone!” Junie floated around the room, agitated. “Just the other day I saw it happen.”

  “What exactly did you see?” Junie was ready to bolt, but I pressed on. “What happened?”

  “I was out and about at my usual spot down by the old radio hall and the Earl of Sandwich was there, also as usual.”

  I nodded to let her know I was following her. The old radio hall was a dance studio from the fifties that had been converted into trendy condos. The Earl of Sandwich was a repeater ghost who spent all his time reenacting eating a hoagie in the courtyard just outside the hall. “And then what happened?” I coaxed.

  “Well, the Earl was just minding his own business, eating his sandwich as he does, when this fella comes walking along all jittery. The next thing I know this, this thing jumps up out of nowhere and grabs the Earl and sucks him up like a Hoover. Just like that, no more Earl. Well, I burned rubber getting out there, let me tell you.”

  “What did this henchman look like?”

  Junie shivered. “Like nothing I’ve ever seen. I don’t know where to begin to describe him.”

  “Was he short and round with wrinkled, grey skin and spindly arms and legs?” Max asked, speaking for the first time since Junie’s appearance.

  Junie smiled at him. “Why yes, Daddy-O, that’s him to a T. How did you know?” She narrowed her eyes in thought. “Hey, wait a minute. You can see me too? There’s two of you?”

  “It’s just temporary,” Max replied, but it was too late. Junie was gone.

  “Crap! I bet she’s gone to blab to all the others. We should try and get out of here.” I stuck my head out to see what part of the service they were at. “Perfect timing! They’re at the crackers and wine part. Let’s duck out and wait for Father Mike at the back of the church.”

  We slipped out of the chapel and made our way through the few stragglers still getting out of their seats to go and get in the Communion line that had formed down the centre aisle of the church. As we went, the air around us filled with ghosts, swooping down from the rafters.

  “Hey! It really is her!”

  “Junie said he can see us too.”

  “Harry! Harry, I have to ask—”

  “Hey, new guy—”

  The ghosts hovered around us, vying for our—mostly my—attention. I fought through them, my skin tingling the whole way.

  “Harry!”

  “Harry!”

  “Harry!”

  “Argh!” I whisper-shouted the moment we were out of the nave and into the narthex. “Will you all just can it!”

  “But, Harry!”

  “I want—”

  “Could you just—”

  “Harry, I—”

  They circled around us, closing in. It was like being at the centre of a snowstorm. I was surrounded by a swirling mass of white that blocked my view of anything else. My skin felt like pins and needles from the electric buzz they were creating around me. I glanced at Max beside me. His eyes were wide in wonder, but it didn’t look like he was feeling the same effects I was.

  “Harry, can’t you—”

  “I need you to—”

  “No!” I yelled, and then checked myself. Several people in the pews closest to the back of the church turned to frown at us. “No,” I said again more quietly. “Be gone! Your time on this plane is over. Leave, I compel you.” I pushed the ghosts away with my power. I didn’t want them near me any longer.

  Father Mike’s voice echoed through the church. “Go in peace. Amen,” he said, just as a blinding flash of light burst out of the narthex, rippling across the church to the sanctuary. The lights hanging above swung slightly back and forth as if a great wind had rushed by. As quickly as it appeared, the light was gone, the swirling host of ghosts with it.

  The silence in the foyer was deafening, and then everyone in the church started to speak at once. I looked at Max across the newly cleared void. His eyebrows arched, and he gave me a wide-eyed stare.

  “Be gone?” He quirked a smile.

  I shrugged. “I sort of got caught up in the moment.” Not to mention I’d seen The Exorcist one too many times.

  ***

  Despite the cold, I needed to get some fresh air after my unintentional banishment of the ghosts taking refuge in the church, so Max and I headed out to the parking lot to wait for Father Mike. As you can imagine, the congregation was all abuzz over the explosive finale they thought the priest had provided.

  “It will be standing-room-onl
y next service,” Max joked.

  “Yeah, I guess. They’ll be disappointed though,” I replied, shaking my head. “I don’t plan on a repeat performance.”

  Father Mike seemed to be taking it all in stride, oblivious to his new rock star status. He stood by the doors, clasping hands and patting backs, bidding everyone goodbye.

  Suddenly, a chorus of shouts rang out across the parking lot.

  “Now what?” I muttered, turning to see what was causing the commotion.

  A group of men were escorting (more like dragging) a man towards Father Mike. The man was thrashing and yelling, refusing to enter the church, but there were enough burly men in the group to force their reluctant captive along.

  Father Mike stepped towards the man who started to wail, the sound changing to a terrified shriek when the padre reached into his cassock and pulled out a familiar little bottle (the guy must carry that stuff around everywhere). When the holy water touched the man’s forehead he gasped, his body going rigid.

  I gasped too, not because of the man, but because of what I saw crawling out of him.

  “What the—?” I blinked, not believing my eyes, but it was still there. I turned to Max. “Do you see that?”

  “See what?” He squinted towards the mob and the man who had started to convulse. “I don’t see anything, other than the obvious.”

  I frowned at him and turned back to the scene before me. The group had lowered the man to the ground, unsure what to do during their captive’s seizure. They were completely oblivious to the small, grey creature clawing its way out of the man’s body. I don’t mean like in the movie Alien when the monster exploded out of the guy’s chest, it was more subtle than that, of a metaphysical nature, like the creature had been wearing the man like a suit and was now trying to wiggle out of him like a pair of wet jeans.

  “Harry?” Max’s voice sounded alarmed. “Harry, you’re glowing.”

  “What?” I looked over my shoulder and started in surprise. My katana was glowing, the light escaping out the top of the sheath. Shocked, I turned back to watch as the little grey man, it must be a daemon of some kind, finally worked himself clear and hopped a few steps away from the crowd that had surrounded the fallen man’s body.

  “Harry?” Max asked again, concern in his voice. “What’s going on?”

  The creature, as if hearing Max, turned and looked at me. He cackled gleefully, and then spun around, running away across the parking lot.

  I shook my head, rousing from my shock. “C’mon! We have to try and catch him.” Not waiting for Max, I dashed down the steps after the daemon, but I was too late. He had disappeared.

  ***

  It took some explaining, but we brought Father Mike up to speed. He was pretty open-minded for a norm. I guess if you spend your life preaching the word of a god that claims to have created the earth in seven days it helps to be open-minded. Funny, though, many of the people I meet who are religious seem to lack that quality. Lucky for us, Father Mike had it in spades.

  “The little grey man was an imp,” Max was saying. “They’re considered minor creatures in the hierarchy and generally are slaves to the more powerful daemons and demons.

  Father Mike nodded, and sipped his tea, taking a moment to process everything we had told him. We were sitting in his office. As you can imagine, after the grand finale I inadvertently provided for Mass, it took quite a bit of time to get the congregation to disperse, so Father Mike had offered us some refreshment in his study while we talked.

  “Demons only exist to create chaos and harm,” the priest said. He rose from his seat and walked across the room to a bookshelf. He perused the titles for a minute or two then pulled out an old book with a tattered cover. “What did you say the demon told you his name was, Harry?” He thumbed through the pages of the book carefully.

  “Seth,” I replied.

  “Oh yes, Seth.” His finger scanned up and down the pages until he found what he was looking for. “Yes, here it is. It’s in Latin, so I’ll translate.” He skimmed the page, silently reading, his lips moving as he translated the text for himself. “Yes, yes, I remember now. Seth, or Set as he is often known, was the Egyptian storm god. He was said to be the son of Nut and Geb, and the brother of Osiris.”

  “Osiris!” Well, that couldn’t be a coincidence.

  I gave Father Mike an apologetic look and then waved at him to continue.

  “Yes, where was I? Oh, here we go. Set was jealous of his brother Osiris and had him killed. When Isis, Osiris’s wife, found out, she searched until his body was found. Afraid that Isis would raise Osiris from the dead, Set stole the body and had it cut into pieces and spread across Egypt.”

  “Wow, sounds like a really nice guy. How did he end up a demon of hell though?”

  Father Mike continued to read from the book. “It says here that Set was defeated by Horus, the son of Isis and Osiris, and condemned by the other gods. He serves in hell as a lieutenant of Asmodeus and also goes by the name Zaebos.” He flipped the pages back towards the front of the book and started translating again. “Asmodeus is one of the seven princes of hell under its king, Lucifer. According to this, Asmodeus has seventy-two legions of demons that serve him.”

  “I guess old Seth is making a power play to move up in the ranks.”

  Max held out a hand to Father Mike. “May I?” he asked, indicating the book.

  “Do you read Latin, Mr. Hart?”

  “Sed ego modicum patiuntur.”

  Ha! The show off. I rolled my eyes at him.

  I hadn’t a clue what Max said, but Father Mike understood and, chuckling, handed over the book. “You may borrow that for a while, if you’d like.”

  “Thanks, I’ll take good care of it.” Max smiled and held the book reverently against his chest. I rolled my eyes again. He was as big of a book nerd as Tess. I’d have to make sure to tell her that.

  “All right then,” said Father Mike, clapping his hands together. “Let me see that sword of yours.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Thanks for the ride, Max. You sure you don’t want to come in for something to eat?” I hopped out of Max’s Lexus in front of the coffee shop and reached in to grab my katana. I hadn’t bothered to put it back on after Father Mike examined it. It hadn’t glowed again, but the Father didn’t seem all that surprised about it—it was a sign that I was doing “God’s work,” according to him. He even carried my sword back out to the font in the sanctuary of the church and blessed it with holy water.

  “Take a rain check? I’ve got somewhere I need to be.”

  “Sure, no problem.” I waggled my eyebrows at him. “Gotta hot date or something?”

  “What? No! I…” Max blushed and he looked a little flustered. “No, I’m just going to the gym. I have my first sparring session with Tess.”

  Well, well, well. Wasn’t that interesting? The signs were all there that Max was crushing on Tess as much as she was crushing on him. I smiled at him, but then my thoughts turned to Tess’s close call from the other night and I began to worry. “Do you think she’s up for that after what happened at the nightclub?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t over do it.” His face warmed again.

  Oh yeah, he’d keep an eye on her all right.

  ***

  “I’ve got my eye on you, old wolf,” I said, narrowing my eyes at Nash. “That’s my butter tart. You already ate yours.”

  We were snuggled up in front of the TV for another movie (Kingdom of Heaven, Nash’s pick, but one I could definitely support). Our bellies were full of Christina’s homemade chili and cornbread that she had dropped off earlier and a tray full of baking I had commandeered from the coffee shop.

  “How do you get that? I counted four tarts on the plate to start.”

  “Yeah, one for you and three for me,” I replied, giving him a look that said it made perfect sense to me.

  His eyebrows arched and he opened his mouth to speak just as
his phone rang. “Damn,” he growled, grabbing the offending device and thumbing it on. “Yeah, Nash here.”

  As Nash sat up to listen to his call, I scrambled to my feet and stole the tart from the plate, skipping to the other side of the coffee table. I held my prize up and smirked at him as I brought it to my lips to take a little nibble. “Mmmmm,” I moaned.

  Nash glowered, still listening to his phone. It appeared to be a rather one-sided conversation, or else Nash wasn’t able to get a word in edgewise. He narrowed his eyes when he saw the tart in my hand, and pointed his finger at me.

  I shook my head, the smirk turning into a full-blown smile. I licked my lips, and then took a big bite out of the tart, moaning again in satisfaction as I savoured the sweet, ooey goodness. Sure, I was playing it up a bit to tease Nash, but Isaac really does make butter tarts that are to-die-for. Trust me on this.

  “Yes, sir. Of course. I’ll see you in an hour, sir.” Nash ended his call and tossed his phone on the sofa beside him. “Minx, you are in so much trouble,” he growled, springing to his feet and stepping around the table towards me.

  Yikes! I scrambled backwards, shoving another bite of tart into my mouth, trying to eat without laughing as I put myself on the far side of the kitchen table, keeping it between me and the now-grinning Nash. He pursed his lips and mock-glared at me, trying to keep the smile off his face, and then began to stalk me, looking positively predatory.

  I feinted left and right, holding the last piece of tart, the syrupy middle dripping down my fingers. “You want it? Come and get it,” I challenged.

  I expected Nash to round the table and come at me, but I should have known better than to challenge an alpha. His eyes flashed, and with a leap he was over the table and on me before I could even blink. His momentum took us both to the floor, Nash’s arm cradling my head to protect me. With a grunt of satisfaction, he straddled my hips and captured my hand, eating the last of the butter tart (that I had somehow miraculously managed to hold on to), licking my fingers clean in the process.