Damn. Talk about a dysfunctional family.
I opted for the only sane response when you know you’re about to pick a fight with a demon. I stepped up to our bar, poured myself another shot of whiskey, and knocked it back in one quick swig.
The alcohol sizzled down my throat again but this time, it failed to calm my ragged nerves.
CHAPTER FIVE
I WAS ON my way to meet with Celeste Solos. Skulick had told Celeste to come to Aroma Mocha, a trendy coffee house in the heart of the city that doubled as our conference room when meeting potential clients. Aiming to be bohemian, mom-and-pop counterprogramming to Starbucks, the shop served up affordable fare in an artsy, chill environment.
The delicious smell of roasting beans and a faint whiff of butter greeted my senses. Hunting demons burned its fair share of calories, and my stomach was growling. I ordered a bagel loaded with cream cheese and an Americano.
Carbs and caffeine in hand, I settled in at a table in the corner of the shop. A surreal painting by some local artist looked down on me as I waited.
There was no sign of Celeste, but I’d arrived about fifteen minutes before our scheduled appointment. I used the extra time to indulge in one of my other favorite pastimes—people watching.
The coffee shop attracted customers from all walks of life. Bearded hipsters and girls in steampunk finery rubbed elbows with professionals in sharp business suits. For a moment I wondered what their lives might be like. What would it be like to have a normal job, a normal life? How did it feel to not have to worry about demons and monsters on a daily basis?
My musings came to an abrupt halt when my client walked through the door. Every man—and a few of the women—perked up as she entered the coffee shop. There was a defiant quality about her beauty that made people take notice. Her attempt at downplaying her sex appeal only enhanced it.
Celeste’s eyes combed the shop and spotted me. There was a flicker of a smile as she strode toward me. As in her photo, her makeup was extravagant, yet artfully applied. However, the purple eyeliner and fiery red lipstick failed to mask her haunted expression.
“Mr. Raven?”
I nodded and offered her my hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Solos.”
“Please, call me Celeste.”
“Hi, Celeste. Would you like me to get you a cup of coffee? Or maybe something to munch on?”
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I’ve been up for days, and I’m pretty jittery as is. Coffee might push me over the edge.”
As Celeste took a seat, I noticed that her makeup couldn’t quite conceal the heavy bags under her eyes. Knowing that you were about to spend eternity in Hell had a way of messing with one’s sleep cycle. The piercings, the leather jacket, the combat boots—they were all part of her armor, an illusion of strength meant to distract from the scared young woman now seated across from me. I opted for some small talk to begin the meeting. Frankly, I was worried that if I pushed this girl too hard, she would bolt.
“How did you find out about what we do? We don’t exactly advertise.”
“Mr. Raven, once I became aware of my particular problem, I started looking into my options. You and your partner have developed a bit of a reputation around these parts.”
Celeste was referring to a number of recent, high-profile occult murder cases, which the press had followed with sensationalistic glee. A number of these stories mentioned my role as a special consultant.
Most of the mundane world viewed people like me as charlatans who wasted time and taxpayer money by claiming to have insight into the paranormal. Even though some of the articles acknowledged the rise of strange cases in our city, none considered the possibility that genuine demonic forces might be at work. Somehow Celeste, in her desperation, had figured out that there might be more to “R & S Paranormal Investigations” than the press would lead one to believe.
The public’s ignorance of the supernatural emboldened the forces of darkness, but it also made my job a lot easier. I firmly believed the city was better off without knowing the truth. The resulting panic and terror wouldn’t be pretty, and even more demons would take the opportunity to feed off the city’s fear. Better for society to keep clinging to its comforting illusions. Celeste fiddled with one of her piercings. “Just out of curiosity, do you get a lot of cases like mine?”
“Each case is different,” I said. I was telling the truth. The imagination of our enemies seemed without limits.
“How did you-”
“Let’s talk about your situation,” I said firmly. I didn’t want this meeting to become about me. “My partner told me about it, but it would be better if you tell me everything from the beginning. How did you discover-”
“That my immortal soul was on its way to Hell?” Her smile vanished. “It all started when I decided to find my real father.”