by Ryan Attard
I snatched it up. The paper was old and crumpled, with a Chinese character scribbled all over it.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Amaymon yelled from behind me.
The male Jiang-shi was already coming at me, when the ground snatched at him and slammed him down. Partially submerged in the concrete, the Jiang-shi was dragged towards an awaiting Amaymon.
I picked up the broken chopstick from the ground, and was about to offer it to Amaymon, when the demon grabbed the Jiang-shi by the neck.
“I see, now,” he said. “It wasn’t so much teamwork as it was protecting your own asses, huh? When one of you dies, the other gets real weak.” To prove his point he grabbed one of the Jiang-shi’s serrated arms and plucked it out like a flower petal. “That’s one shit condition you gotta live under. But don’t worry, it won’t be a problem for long.”
He wrenched the monster’s head off, dug both hands into the cavity and literally tore the Jiang-shi open like a freaking fortune cookie. Amaymon plucked the talisman off the monster’s rotten flesh and dropped the corpse on the ground just as it disappeared into a rank-smelling cloud.
“Whew,” Amaymon said, using the talisman as a fan. “Talk about your stinkers.”
He looked at the talisman. “There’s still some juice left in this one. Not so much in that one,” he said, nodding at the paper I was holding.
“Maybe it’s ‘cause you gave that guy a Tim Burton-style autopsy.”
He grinned. “Yeah, that was cool, right?”
I shook my head, just as my phone went off. “What the hell is it now?” I said fishing it out of my pocket.
It wasn’t a text or call, but a reminder that I had my date with Sarah tonight.
I smiled. “Let’s go home. I wanna finish this up before tonight.”
Amaymon raised his eyebrows. “Why? You got a date?”
I grinned and showed him the phone. He rolled his eyes.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “I tell you, the world is coming to an end soon.”
“Shut up, Amaymon.”
Chapter 8
Back at the office, I had just finished relaying the events of the past few hours to Abi.
“I need you to whip up a tracking spell for these,” I said, handing her both talismans.
“Mine is better,” Amaymon chimed in.
I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Yes, it is,” I said with a long sigh. “Either way, Abi, you should be able to do this easy.”
She frowned at the paper.
“Sure, but it’ll take a few hours,” she said. “In fact, this right here is the definition of an all-nighter.”
“Not my definition,” Amaymon said.
“That’s it,” I snapped. “You get a time-out. Go to your corner.”
Amaymon flipped me off as he transformed into a cat and hopped on the couch.
“What about him?” Abi asked, nodding towards Arnold.
Floating on the opposite side of my office was Arnold the ghost boy. He was fascinated by all the trinkets I had around, flitting from one to the other. When he heard Abi mention him, he floated closer.
“Arnold, I’m gonna need you to stay here for a few more hours,” I said.
The ghost nodded. “I like it here.”
“I have more questions for you,” I said, “but right now I have something more pressing. A date.”
Abi cocked her head. “Oh right. With the girl from the meeting.”
I nodded. “You got any advice?”
Her eyebrows shot higher. “Advice about what?”
Amaymon snorted.
“About the date,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “I haven’t been out on a date in…” I did some mental calculations. “Never.”
“That is so sad,” she said.
“And since you’re the only person I know with something even remotely close to a social life,” I continued, ignoring her jibe, “I thought you might wanna share a tip or two.”
“You may wanna give her a tip or two,” Amaymon interjected.
“Time out!” I yelled at the cat. I turned to Abi. “Anything?”
“Wow, you must really like this girl, huh?” She sighed. “Okay, rule number one: stop stressing. This girl picked you up, remember? She likes you, so stop shaking.”
I exhaled, self-conscious that I was holding my breath.
“Secondly,” she continued. “I know every dating blog in the world tells you that women don’t need you to open doors for them, but trust me, we like it. And I know you’re a gentleman, Erik, so you got nothing to worry about. Now, food.”
“Just order the roast beef,” Amaymon said.
We both looked at him — was the cat actually dispensing valid advice?
He cocked his head. “Then give her your beef.”
“There it is,” I muttered.
“Ignore him,” Abi said. “Or don’t, that’s really up to you.”
“Oh, wait, wait,” Amaymon added. “Order the chicken breast, and then slather her breasts.”
“Weak, dude,” I said.
“Hang on, I think I have one with ‘pork’,” he said.
“That’s easy,” Abi said. “He could pork her.”
Amaymon looked at her. “I’ve never loved you more.”
“Don’t encourage him,” I told her.
Abi shrugged. “You’ll be fine, Erik. Just go take a shower, put on some nice clothes, and breathe.”
I nodded. “Shower, clothes, breathe,” I repeated. Yeah, that sounded easy enough.
I winced at Abi. “Can’t I just take her vampire hunting or something?”
“Go!” she ordered. “I’ll watch over the shop, babysit the demon, and the ghost, and conjure up a tracking spell from these vampire talismans.” She cocked her head and pursed her lips. “Now there’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.”
“Welcome to my world,” I said, climbing the stairs towards the bathroom on the second floor.
We were supposed to meet at a place called Michelle’s.
Now, I don’t go out much, less so for dates, but I’ve watched enough sitcoms to know that when a girl invites you to dinner, the place is going to be fancy. I expected suits and ties, prim and proper servers, and foods I couldn’t pronounce.
Instead, Michelle’s was a diner. Not your run-of-the-mill diner, mind you: it was very neat and pretty, with nice atmospheric lighting and a hint of elegance.
But still a diner.
“Huh,” I muttered from a block away. “Not what I expected.”
“Me neither.”
The voice made me jump. I resisted the urge to yell out and turned, finding myself face to face with Arnold the ghost boy — the same ghost boy I specifically asked to stay at home.
“The hell are you doing here?” I hissed.
People were walking past me, giving me weird looks — nothing I wasn’t used to — and I walked into a small alleyway.
The ghost followed me. “I wanted to come,” he said.
“Are you freakin’ kidding me?” I spat through hissed teeth. “My first date in god-knows-how-long, and I get chaperoned by a freakin’ ghost.”
Arnold looked at the ground and his eyes welled up.
Well done, Erik. You made a dead child cry.
“Ah, come on,” I said, instantly feeling like shit.
“I feel a strong connection to you,” he said, sniffing loudly. “I have to stay with you.”
“A connection?” I frowned at him. “You mean, like an anchor?”
He shook his head. “No, silly. Anchors are found on ships. This is a feeling.”
I scratched my head.
“Arnold, why do you feel that connection to me?” I asked.
Ghosts don’t feel connected — hell, they don’t feel at all, unless the cause of their demise was a brutal murder and those feelings lingered on.
But that type of energy was usually tethered to one location, and Arnold here seemed to be free as a bird.
> Which made no freakin’ sense unless…
Unless I was his connection.
Arnold shook his head again.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I have to stay by your side. I won’t disturb you, I promise. The lady you are seeing won’t be able to see me either, so it should be all right.”
No, this shit was far from all right, but the kid had a point and I sure as hell wasn’t going to cancel on Sarah.
“Screw it,” I muttered. I sighed and looked at him sternly. “When we go in, you behave yourself. Don’t touch anything, don’t make any noise. Just find a corner somewhere and stay put.”
Arnold looked like he was about to cry again before he nodded. “I’ll be a good boy, Mr. Ashendale, I swear.”
I sighed again. This was going to be a long night and not for the reasons I was hoping for.
“Okay, Arnold. Let’s go.”
I walked back towards the restaurant slash diner, and saw Sarah standing by the front door, clearly waiting for somebody. I smiled as I saw her: she was wearing a pretty dress, nothing too fancy but one she looked damn fine in nonetheless, with her ebony hair hanging around her shoulders.
She gave me a smile that melted my cynical heart when she saw me approach, and her dimples were highlighted under the light of the restaurant.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey back.”
We spent two seconds looking at each other before I felt the need to break the sexually charged silence.
“So this is it?” I asked motioning Michelle’s.
She cocked her head. “Yep. Opened up recently, and I thought, what better way to check out a new place than a first date?”
“The name sounded fancy,” I said, suddenly self-conscious that I may have overdressed in my neat shirt and sport coat. “Is this a diner?”
She grinned. “More of a hybrid. I get nervous around fancy restaurants.”
Girl after my own heart.
“Don’t worry,” she continued. “You clean up rather well.”
“You look amazing as well.”
“I think she likes you, Mr. Ashendale,” Arnold pitched in.
I shot him a quick glare, which was thankfully covered up by a car zooming by. Hopefully, Sarah will think I don’t like loud cars and not that I was having a bout of schizophrenia.
Arnold realized his transgression and put his hand on his mouth. “Sorry, sorry.”
“Shall we go in? I’m starving,” Sarah said.
“Uh huh,” I said with a nod.
And so we went in, sat down, and proceeded to have the most awkward five minutes in human history. She picked up the menu and pretended to read it, but I knew she must have been planning her escape route.
She had to — she was on a date with me.
“So,” she finally said. “What are you in the mood for?”
I read a statistic somewhere that guys think about sex every twelve seconds. I know that’s not true, but when you’re sitting opposite a sexy woman whose every syllable is a turn on, you think about sex a lot.
Now, I watch a lot of noir movies — because art imitates life, I guess — and I’ve always envied the dialogue between the characters. I had a whole repertoire of Bogart lines to choose from but instead, my sex-addled brain only managed one syllable.
“Huh?”
Art can suck it.
Sarah pointed at the laminated menu she was holding.
“The food,” she said. Then, “What did you think I was talking about?”
She must have noticed my body language because she batted her eyes and grinned.
“I think you’re in trouble, Mr. Ashendale,” Arnold quipped in my ear.
I tried to put on my best please-don’t-leave-I’m-not-as-bad-as-you-think face. “Sorry, I was a little distracted,” I said.
“Oh?” She put down the menu. “Were you on some exciting case?”
“I was,” I replied. “My office is investigating a missing persons case. Which then led to a cold case about five decades old.”
“Really? Fascinating.” She raised her eyebrows. “Anyone famous?”
I cocked my head ever so slightly. “Sorry. Can’t divulge any details,” I said. “I mean, I can, but then I’d have to kill you.”
You know when you hear yourself say something and realize halfway through that it’s a bad idea, and yet you just cannot stop talking?
Luckily, Sarah had a twisted sense of humor that appreciated my line.
“Oh, we can’t have that,” she said with a half smile. “I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble. And besides, I’m way too pretty to die.”
I sighed and laughed. “I fully agree,” I said.
She raised an eyebrow. “Do you now?”
Ah, crap. What happened? What did I do? What did I say?
Think, dammit. How can I fix this?
Sarah let out a giggle. “Sorry, sorry,” she said. “It’s just… You’re-” She giggled again. “You look so nervous, and I couldn’t help myself.”
“You’re enjoying this!” I accused.
“Sorry!” She smiled and laughed, and I found myself imitating her. Her hand dropped from tucking a strand of hair behind her ear to the top of my hand.
I felt a weight lift off my shoulders.
“It’s okay,” I said. “All is forgiven.”
She beamed and her dimples made my heart skip a beat.
“As long as you pay,” I added.
Sarah actually burst out laughing.
“You know what? I asked you out, so it’s only fair,” she said, before leaning forwards. “Or is this part of some elaborate plan to get me to go out on a second date with you, just so I can get back my money’s worth?”
“Genius, am I right?” I said.
She laughed again. “So tell me about this case,” she said.
“You’re that interested?”
“I’m talking to a real-life Sherlock Holmes,” she said. “Of course I’m interested.”
“Don’t tell her about the zombies,” Arnold said urgently.
I slightly tilted my head, and watched as the ghost boy stared at me with real fear in his eyes.
“Girls don’t like yucky stuff,” he added.
I couldn’t express much, so I ignored the kid and focused on the girl.
“I’m investigating the Bentley case,” I said. “Something came up with it. Probably just some conspiracy nut, but the cops think it sounds legit because they want me to take a look.”
“Why not look themselves?” she asked.
“Because then I’d be out of a job,” I replied. “And because they’re too busy investigating some sycophant who likes killing animals.”
Her expression darkened. “I saw it on the news.”
“Oh god, it’s already on the news?” I asked.
“Online,” she replied.
I really hated the internet sometimes.
“So, yeah,” I went on, “I spent most of the day looking at old case files and trying to find leads.”
Her trimmed eyebrows shot up. “Did you?”
I smiled and tried my best not to point out that there was a literal ghost floating less than two feet away from her.
“Yeah. The past has a way of clinging to us.”
She nodded. “Amen to that.”
Fortunately, Arnold the ghost took the hint as well. “I’ll be over there,” he said, before disappearing towards the opposite end of the restaurant, just as the waiter showed up.
“Are you ready to order?” he asked.
“Um…” Sarah began, looking at me. I hadn’t had time to look at the menu, but then I just had an idea.
“Yeah,” I said, looking at my date. “You seem to have good taste. Surprise me.”
She smiled and ordered the both of us a double cheeseburger.
I might have to marry this girl.
The food eventually showed up and we ate. At that point, we were both starving and we felt comfortable with one another enough t
o go medieval on the burgers. Gotta hand it to Michelle’s: they know how to grill their beef.
About an hour later, we were walking outside. Sarah insisted on paying but I left the tip since I was raised a gentleman. Arnold followed us out but stayed well behind, flitting from one shiny thing to the other.
“Well,” she said when we arrived in front of a shiny grey Mercedes. “This is me.”
“Damn,” I said looking at the car. “Impressive.”
“Not as impressive as a red Mustang,” she replied.
I smiled. “I think this went well,” I said.
“I concur.”
I slowly leaned in. I said I was a gentleman, not a prude. And a gentleman always gives his lady a goodnight kiss.
Her hand pressed against my chest and stopped me two inches from meeting her lips. I backed away slightly, looking into her eyes.
“Not tonight,” she said.
I fully pulled back. “Oh.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I like you… I really like you.” She sighed. “But I’ve rushed into things before and got myself hurt.”
“I get it,” I said.
Sarah nodded. “Tell you what: I’ll kiss you the next time I see you,” she said with a smile. “That way you’ll have an incentive to show up.”
“I would have anyway,” I said. “I had a great time.”
“Me too.” Her car beeped open. “I’ll text you when I’m free next weekend.”
I watched her get into her car and drive off.
“Are you okay, Mr. Ashendale?” Arnold was back.
“Yeah.”
And I meant it. What’s a missed kiss compared to the best date ever?
I began walking towards my car when I heard the screeching of tires.
“What the hell?” I began.
A black unmarked van turned the corner at breakneck speed, nearly running me over, then braked abruptly.
“Hey! Watch where you’re-”
Something bit into my neck and I immediately felt woozy. I reached up and pulled a tranquilizer dart from my neck. I felt my magic already taking effect, pushing away whatever poison was coursing through my veins.