Ghosts All Night Pt. 1 - ebook

Chapter 1

The crossover between the day and night shifts at DeRosa's always left Pen frazzled. What should take five-ten minutes top, took over an hour. Every damn time. It was cramped and uncomfortable standing still for that long, behind the counter between her grandmother and great-uncle while they bickered over the change missing from the register. Never mind that the difference was the same as the day before because, thanks to her, the bodega was on EvNPay and no longer took cash.

"Basta Modesta!" Tio Julio shouted, "I don't have time for this craziness!"

Pen zoned back into the argument, only picking up a few words here and there as the Spanish became too rapid for her to understand completely. She checked the clock on the EvNPay dock and guesstimated another minute or two of unfounded accusations before Tio Julio's alarm went off, reminding him that his favorite telenovela Las Estrellas En Tus Ojos would be starting soon. Her grandmother must have also seen the time because she finally began organizing her massive handbag, hauling it on top of the counter with a thud and filling it with the red and white peppermint balls from the cloudy glass jar by the San Lazaro candle.

"Julio, anda. Go watch your novela. Dile a Estrella I said hi."

"It's not a novela! It's a dramatic mini-series!"

"Ay si, tu con tu mini-series. Whatever you say viejo."

"If I'm an old man, then you are an old -" A series of off-key notes emanated from Tio Julio's wrist, growing louder as he struggled to find the right button to shut off the alarm. "Coño! This stupid watch."

Pen watched the twins maneuver their diminutive frames like mini tornados from one end of the counter to the other. Finally, her grandmother managed to take Tio Julio's watch off to fix it as Tio Julio filled in the empty gaps of the chips display while discarding his deli whites for his favorite faded flannel.

"Si Penelope, we know -" her grandmother started, "we take forever to leave -"

"-but you have everything under control," her great uncle finished with a loud zip of his overcoat.

"You'll be okay, mi vida." Her grandmother said, fluffing and then stuffing her mass of wiry hair under a black wool hat, "Remember to turn on the cameras -"

"- and keep Rambo close by." Tio Julio said, earning him a smack on the shoulder as he not so subtly wriggled his eyebrows toward the narrow tan locker behind her. A machete and a shotgun held places of honor in that dented locker. Though Pen would like to believe Abuelita Modesta was considering her safety when it came to having dangerous objects in such proximity, she knew the smack was because she wanted Pen to choose Jason the Machete first if she needed protection. The bodega hadn't been robbed in at least five years, and even then, it was a half-hearted effort - a rock through the glass door resulting in a hole only big enough to snag a couple of magazines and packets of gum that were in reaching distance. She felt safe working the overnights, but she acknowledged that before Della's Tea Room, Sunset Crepe House, and the twenty-four-hour Om Meditation Center came to the block, the bodega had been a prime target for those looking to scare up some quick cash. Rambo and Jason, for many years, were necessities.

Pen made a show of flicking on all of the small CCTV monitors knowing they wouldn't leave until they saw the army of green lights on the control panel reflecting off the lens of her glasses.

"Okay," she said, resisting the urge to rub her arm in front of them, "I'm good. Go home. Have Oswaldo bring me a bowl. At least try, okay?" She added when both of her grandmother's eyebrows popped up. Tio Julio chuckled, "It's leftovers tonight, nena, so you know..." he shrugged his shoulders and looked at her with a pitying smile, "Ajiaco a day later is the best, and it's everyone's favorite."

Pen rolled her eyes, "Fine. I can order something, I guess."

They both gave her quick kisses goodbye, her uncle muttering about bird food and her grandmother reminding him as the door closed behind them that Pen was "bien delicada."

She wasn't delicate; she was picky, which she'd always been, even before the incident. She loved her grandmother's food, and if she couldn't have it, then she opted for healthful. Which, if she was being honest with herself, wasn't conducive to her current schedule. Pen rechecked the time. It was a little after ten p.m., so she opted for a bag of pita chips from the stand by the door and picked up the smallest bag of ice from the freezer.

She placed the ice on a stack of paper towels and gingerly rested the back of her arm on top, hissing a little as the first bite of wet cold seeped through the layers of fleece and cotton protecting her latest tattoo.

Chapter 2

Meanwhile…

The call had been short, no specifics were provided, and the order was clear. Break time was over, and duty called. Windshield wipers and tone-deaf beats of rain provided the soundtrack for the short drive downtown. Dyse parked in his assigned space and spent exactly twelve minutes trying to find peace in the silence of his dark car before he pulled the Auger badge from his dashboard and headed into the glass and steel fortress of the Artem Society's headquarters. He quickly stopped at the cafe and then went to the observation room. Dyse glanced down at one of the computer monitors while trying to make himself comfortable in the cramped space and noted the time.

"Tell me again why I'm here at three o'clock in the morning?"

"Because you have a personal relationship with the subject." Mitch, the supervisor on duty, offered. "Look, you weren't my first choice being out of the loop, but the Dominus liaison firmly suggested that you would be the best option regarding questioning him." Mitch frowned while he danced a coin across his knuckles. "And she's above my pay grade, so there you have it." He stopped to scroll through some of the forms on the tablet, "But I'm not sure why he's here, considering his background."

Dyse sipped his tea and contemplated the slumped figure of Ben DeGraw. The metal chair was too low for the very tall bookseller. Arms folded, long legs crossed, the man in the interrogation room resembled a well-dressed scarecrow, not the dapper, meticulous form Ben preferred to present. Dyse indicated for Mitch to pass the tablet over.

A parking ticket and a couple of DWIs from college. Excluding some of Ben's more dubious familial relations, his record was clean as a whistle. Dyse tabbed back to the data creation page. No updates to the primary listing, but G. MacNamis moved Ben's file from the CI source list to the active Criminalus database.

"Exactly what kind of demon strain is he?"

Dyse swiped back to the first entry in the file. "Says he's an Exitus, but he's never specified variety."

Quiet filled the room as they both rifled through their mental notes. Exitus, or departure demons, ran the gamut on threat level, their mixed offspring having random offshoots of power that ranged from conning people out of their money with ease to ordering the blood in a living body to drain at the snap of their fingers. Ben was only a quarter Exitus and never seemed bloodthirsty to Dyse. But then again, Dyse hadn't seen or spoken to Ben in months.

Annoyed, Dyse tossed the tablet back to Mitch and stood up. "My code isn't authorized for Criminalus case access. See what you can find in MacNamis's docket, and I'll start working on DeGraw."

Mitch grabbed a case from the storage shelf and popped it open. "Earpiece or jaw comm?"

Dyse chugged his tea and then chose the small onyx case. He pulled the silver cap out and snapped it into place over a molar. He waited until Mitch gave him the thumbs up, indicating the jaw-comm was online, before he pressed his hand against the flat black panel to the side of the mirror. Air tinged with the cold press of witch hazel caressed his face and hair as the wall split and snicked back into place once he stepped through.

"Well, if it isn't Daisuke Braga, as I live and breathe. Kind of. Don't you look...rustic."

Ben's voice sounded like silk across velvet, immediately setting Dyse on edge. In Dyse's recollection, Ben's deep voice was usually hoarse with a persistent wheeze that bordered on charming when he got excited about a new book. He was a wiry ball of tension that only relaxed when he was behind the shelves of his shop. Smooth he was not.

Dyse hooked a leg of one of the chairs in front of the table, dragged it towards him, and sat on the edge of the seat. He stared at Ben and ran through several scenarios with which his former CI could have gotten involved. He discounted all of them. Ben just wasn't the type. "Okay," he said, "what did you do?"

Ben's eyes widened, "Me? I haven't done anything. I was walking to my shop, as I do, minding my own business, when I was attacked by two goons who manhandled me inside a disgusting white van." He raised his hands and wiggled his fingers, causing the delicate chains to clink against the table. "And here I am.

Dyse released a deep breath and leaned back into his chair. He angled his head towards the mirror behind him. "You drink too much coffee, outside of books, have an unhealthy obsession with rocks, and have been in a long-term, semi-secret relationship with your landlady for just under a decade." He let that tidbit settle in, watching Ben's dark skin turn to ash at the mention of his lover. "That is what I know about you, Ben." He continued, his voice going hard, "Why don't you tell me what I don't know, and maybe I can get you out of this place before breakfast."

Ben studied him, his face no longer attempting any play at emotion. The shine on the silver chains around his wrists dulled to a dark gray, an indication of magic stirring within the confines of the barrier. "You know me, Daisuke." he whispered, "You know I would never hurt anyone."

Mitch responded immediately, his low voice running through the featherlight vibrations of the jaw comm, "MacManis authorized your code. A file is uploading now. Dyse, it's tagged. Gray status."

Dyse tensed. Gray cases meant violent crimes.

The chair creaked as Ben leaned forward, "I didn't do it. Whatever they are telling you, I didn't do it."

"Oh shit," Mitch crackled through, "it's a murder. A Magus, Alexander Troye, was found dead in the master archives. Ask him -"

"What type of Exitus are you, Ben?

Ben's leg started jiggling, and the links of the silver chains bounced against the plastic zip ties. "It wasn't me. I don't use my talent -"

"Tell me."

Ben tucked his chin into his chest. "Umbra. I'm an Umbra."

Umbra, the demon name. Also known as a Shade, a soul thief. A goddamn soul thief.