Darker Days

Mom had a checklist she went through at the end of each job. I was known for taking almost as much damage as I inflicted. Thinking of damage, it was time to come clean.

“Oh, and you’re probably going to get a call from the client. I sorta smashed her fence in the process.”

Mom groaned. “I told you to be more careful.”

“It’s not like I tried to break anything.”

“Something tells me you didn’t try hard enough not to break anything, either.”

“In my defense, it wasn’t a simple trap and slap…”

“We can’t afford this.” She reached down and pulled a white envelope out from under a stack of papers. “This is the bill for that Mercedes you smashed.”

“Oh! So not my fault. How was I supposed to know that Spring Heel was gonna land on the car? If it makes you feel any better, I think he was aiming for my head…”

“If you keep this up, we won’t even be able to afford the rent.”

She was right, of course, and it made me feel horrible. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m a wrecking ball wrapped in blue jeans. Take my cut of this job and put it toward the repairs. Keep my paycheck for the next month, too.” A good start, but it didn’t feel like enough. Sure, it would cover the damages—I hoped—but I felt guilty about upsetting her. The bills that were piling up kept her awake at night. This was only going to make things worse. We got a fair amount of business, but the overhead in our line of work was sky high.

As much as I hated the idea, I knew what would cheer her up. “I’ll even throw in pet possessions for the next month.”

Mom raised an eyebrow. Aha! I had her.

“I swear. Any that come in, I’ll go. No arguments.”

“Deal.” She said, fighting back a smile. “I wish the biggest thing I had to worry about with you was teen drinking and pregnancy.”

“Hey, show me a guy who can take down a dirt demon without pissing himself and I’ll smack his ass and let him take me to prom.”

She rolled her eyes. “On that happy note, the phone’s been ringing off the hook again today.”

“Anything good?” Though Mom’s idea of good rarely matched mine. Hers was artifact theft and conspiracy. Mine was more rampaging spirits and demon possession.

The urban odd couple of the occult—that was us.

“Four cheating spouses, two inheritance scams, a missing child, and a missing sister.”

“Bah,” I gave an offhanded wave. “All normal cases. Boo-ring.”

As far as the good people of Penance were concerned—most of them, anyway—the Darker Agency did the standard detective thing. We solved all sorts of cases. Stolen inheritances, missing loves ones, we even spied on a cheating spouse or two, but what we specialized in was far from common knowledge.

What we specialized in was just a bit…darker.

Demonic possessions, angry ghosts, all the things going bump in the night that the general population had no idea existed, we did it all. They were what Mom referred to as our alternative cases. My favorite kind. We were like the A-Team of the Otherworld, only with a permanent address and laminated business cards.

“Oh. And I managed to get some information out of officer Barnes about that break in at Saint Vincent’s last week.”

Managed to get some information… That could mean a million different things coming from my mom. “I don’t know why you’re so interested. It’s a crumbling church. There’s nothing of value except the building itself.”

“Exactly. Why break into a landmark like Saint Vincent’s? There has to be a reason.”

“Maybe someone needed to pray really bad?” And she said I went digging for trouble? It was just a stupid old church. “Eh. Occultist maybe? What’d you drag out of Binkie Barnes?”

That earned me Mom’s patented look-of-death. “I wish you wouldn’t call him that.”

Was it my fault the guy’s parents named him Bindle Key Barnes? With a name like that, you’re begging for a nickname like Binkie. “He’s the Penance version of Deputy Dewey right down to his fanboy crush on Gale Weathers. He literally turns into a blubbering mass of schoolboy-goo whenever you’re around. That’s kind of hard to respect.”

More glaring.

I threw up my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Fine. What did you find out from our illustrious and manly Sheriff Barnes?”

“It wasn’t much. No one was there at the time, but witnesses say they saw a young girl leaving the building around dawn.”

“A young girl, huh? Very specific. Just the kind of Mayberry detective work I’d expect from the Penance PD.”

Mom rolled her eyes as the phone started to ring. “It’s your turn. I’ve dealt with it all day.”

“I have homework,” I complained. “If I don’t focus on my studies, how ever will I get into a good college?”

She ignored me and went back to filing. The phone kept ringing.

I tapped the receiver. “It could be Ed McMahon. You might have won a million dollars.”

She waved a paper at me, grinning. “Then crack out the quartz, baby-girl, because Ed McMahon is dead.”

Huh. She had a point. Sighing, I picked up the cordless and slipped into secretary mode. “Darker Agency, how can I help you?”

“I’d like to speak with Klaire Darker, please.”

“Who can I tell her is calling?” The guy sounded young, but it was hard to tell on the phone.

“My name is Lukas Scott. I’m interested in hiring Ms. Darker.”

I sank into the chair and cringed when my butt hit the cushion. Slosh. Oops. “I can schedule a consultation for you. What day is convenient?”

“It needs to be right away. I can come now.”

Wow. Pushy. Pushy meant desperate. Desperate usually meant money. And money was good. I flicked a pen across the room. It sailed through the air and smacked into Mom’s leg before bouncing to the floor and rolling under the mini fridge. “Consult now?” I mouthed. She nodded and went back to the filing. “How soon can you be here, Mr. Scott?”

“Now,” his voice said as the front door swung open, letting a blast of chilly October air inside. That chilly air stole the breath from my lungs and sent goose bumps prickling along my skin.

Or it might have been him.

Dark, shaggy hair that might’ve been in desperate need of a trim—if it didn’t work so damn well for him. Piercing, liquid brown eyes that radiated trouble—and I loved trouble. He wore a leather jacket over a tight black T-shirt and worn jeans that were just a bit too baggy. Oh yeah. Bad-boy-vibe was off the charts.

“Holy house of hogs getting blasted by the blue birdie brigade…”

“Excuse me?” he said as the door slammed closed behind him. Head tilted sideways, he was staring at me like I had two heads, a forked tongue, and neon spikes growing out of my back.

I swallowed and gripped the edge of Mom’s desk, hoping to God that my cheeks weren’t fire engine red. “Um, I mean, can we help you with something?”

“Klaire Darker?”

“I am,” Mom said, stepping forward. She set the folder down and extended her hand. “And you are?”

He took her hand and gave what my dad would have referred to as a proper shake. “Lukas Scott. I just spoke with your daughter about a consultation.”

Daughter, huh? How had he put two and two together? I studied Mom. We were day and night. She was