Page 18 of Death Raiser

He held his hand up to silence me.

“I will make it safe. No one will harm you. No one will scare you. I will kill anyone who tries.”

I walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He vibrated with anger. “Thank you, but I’m still going out. I’m not helpless and I have a job to do.”

He flashed his teeth like a wild animal warning off other animals. “You better take your boot knife.”

“I have my boot knife, my ceremonial knife, my super-duper secret pant-sheathed knife, and my purse knife. I’ve got all my knives.”

He jerked his chin up and down, appearing somewhat placated.

I spun away and walked quickly toward the door before he found more steam to renew the argument. Slinging my purse over my shoulder and grabbing my phone off the small table, I shouted a goodbye to the boys and headed out the door. Thankfully, no roses lay in the hallway.

My phone flashed, reminding me I had an unchecked voicemail. Peter had called me twice while I’d been in the veil, and I didn’t need to hear the new voicemail to know he was worried about me. I’d straight up disappeared.

When I returned from the veil, Peter and the client had already left. I saw the missed calls and sent a quick text to let Peter know I was okay, but also knew that short response wouldn’t be enough to appease his questions and need for an explanation. He was a lawyer after all.

Too bad I didn’t have any answers—or at least none that I was willing to provide.

Instead, I attempted to keep my mind off all things Leviathan-related by staying busy.

* * *

I stood outside the apartment building on the corner of a busy intersection. In a typical city neighbourhood, the street bustled with traffic and a number of pedestrians walked along the sidewalk. The smell of vendor food filled the air.

I rang the buzzer for the client’s apartment and waited. The sun heated my back and birds chirped in the nearby ornamental trees that lined the sidewalk. It was a beautiful day, but I was in a foul mood. After waking up to that rose, I really didn’t have the patience to deal with a house call today.

“H…Hello?” A woman’s nervous voice crackled through the speaker.

I leaned forward to speak into the intercom. “Hello, my name is Lark Morgan. I’m from Raisers.”

“Come in. Turn right down the first hallway. I’m on the main floor.”

The door buzzed and I reached forward to pull it open before it relocked. The glass door swung open with ease, and I walked through the lobby with shiny floor tiles and followed the woman’s directions.

I normally met clients in cemeteries or in the office, but this client insisted on a home visit. These weren’t unheard of, but I preferred to avoid them. If Denise hadn’t bribed me with a chocolate bar and travel pay, I would be comfortably sitting in my office right now.

Still, home visits represented unknown factors and an elevated risk. I reached into my pocket to hold onto the can of bear spray. Sure, I had a number of knives strapped to my body, but wielding a sharp weapon always carried a risk. I might unnecessarily injure the other person or myself in an altercation. That was why I often brought bear spray to home visits.

Mace might be illegal in Canada but thank goodness for hunters.

I stood outside the door and knocked. It swung open right away to reveal a petite woman with brown hair and eyes. She wore a loose white T-shirt and shorts. Not long board shorts, or shorts so short I’d have to look away if she turned around. Just regular, well-fitting shorts. “I’m Cathy.”

“Hi, Cathy.” I stood awkwardly at the apartment's entrance and released the bear spray in my pocket. My work clothes always came with that awful feeling of being overdressed.

“Please come in.” Cathy waved her arm at the interior of her apartment.

I stepped into the apartment and let my magic flow down the hallway ahead of me. The power bounced off the walls, echoing back with disinterest. “There’s no death in this home.”

“Not yet.” Cathy shivered as she stepped past me and led the way to the living room. Two large windows looked out to the street corners outside. Because the windows were on two adjoining walls, Cathy had a view of both streets and where they met at the intersection.

Solid iron bars lined the windows for security but somehow looked stylish instead of coming across like we were in a jail cell. A magnetic gray couch sat under one of the windows while a matching armchair was positioned under the other. A small table had been placed in the corner, and a book rested open on its smooth wooden surface, spine up.

“Would you like something to drink? Coffee, perhaps?” Cathy twisted her fingers together.

“No, thank you.” I waved at the giant windows. “Nice view.”

Cathy turned to consider the windows. “That’s why you’re here.”

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