Destiny Blues

CHAPTER 2

  My left eyelid began to twitch. Not only did this thing smell bad enough to strip the chrome off a hub cap, but the stare it gave me absolutely gave me the creeps. I’d never actually seen one before, but along with all her other problems, my mother had been plagued by a series of demon spirits for most of her inebriated and abbreviated life. Or djemons, as they’re called, before they materialize. Her doctors thought they contributed to her mental decline and eventual suicide.

  Of course everybody knows Shore Haven, New York is the spirit capital of the northeast. Located some forty miles east of Rochester, along the lake Ontario shoreline, the neighboring towns of Picston and Shore Haven sprawl around the base of Sentinel Hill, one of North America’s few demon portals. Legend has it that a horde of djemons were imprisoned beneath the hill in ancient times, and that the local Senequois tribal magic keeps them there. Every once in a while, though, one of them gets out and attaches itself to a human. They’re invisible to everyone but their new host at first, but readily identifiable by their ugly appearance, glowing yellow eyes, and putrid smell.

  I glanced around, but nobody seemed to be watching me. I threw my ticket pad at it, and it went right through the thing. It didn’t even move. Yup. It was a djemon, all right. The only thing I knew about un-materialized demons is, you have to get rid of them. Fast. Before they attach themselves to you and become materialized demons. Because once they materialize, they’re with you forever. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, after 9/11, the government required all demon masters to register their demons for tracking purposes. Say good-bye to your passport, airline travel, or your government job. And that includes Parking Control.

  Sweating now, I picked up my ticket pad, and waved it in the direction of the demonic mirage. The apparition slowly dissipated. Gone for now, but he’d be back. I glanced at my watch. It was a tad early for lunch, but there was an extermination company just a couple blocks from here. Visitors from all over the world come Shore Haven every August to be blessed by the ancient spirits and healed at the Spirit Festival. They come to get their auras read, their chakras cleansed, and their fortunes told. It’s also one of the few festivals in North America where you can get your demons banished.

  With any luck, I’d be rid of this thing in less than an hour.

  Five minutes later, I turned down Empress Street and was stopped by a police barricade. My heart sank when I saw four sheriff’s cars and the county coroner’s black van parked outside Four-Starr Pest Abatement. A crowd of onlookers from the neighborhood gathered on the sidewalk, watching the proceedings. From the weighty silence in the air, I knew it must be bad.

  I motioned to the sheriff’s deputy assigned to crowd control. Picston has their own Police Department, but Shore Haven has a contract with the Monroe Country Sheriff’s Department.

  “What’s going on, Lenny?” I asked. Lenny Dawson was the Sheriff Department’s best bowler.

  “It’s the owner’s wife, Mrs. Starr.”

  “Heart attack?”

  He glanced around. “More like shark attack.”

  A shiver ran up my spine, in spite of the heat. Not another one. I shook my head. The local press had christened him ‘The Night Shark’; as the wounds were described as generally similar to that of a great white. No traces of DNA had been found at the crime scenes, and the murder weapon hadn’t been identified yet. Mrs. Starr would be the fourth victim in four weeks; the first in Shore Haven. Whoever it was, the guy was extending his territory.

  Lenny asked me a question.

  “Sorry, what?”

  “I said what are you doing here, Blackman? Why aren’t you patrolling the streets like all the other little meter maids?”

  As I pondered my snappy comeback, the aroma of baby demon washed over me. Most likely, this place would be shut down for days for the investigation. I’d have to find another exterminator. And soon. The stink was so strong, I could barely draw a breath. I choked out a flimsy excuse to Lenny and got out of there.