Page 55 of Housesitter

Shepherd sat up. “Dio?”

“Original,” Ben repeated, audibly exaggerating each syllable. “Think crossword, Seven-down, phrase finisher ‘crossroads blank,’ six letters.”

“...five letters,” Shepherd said.

There was a pause and then an irritated sigh. “You knew what I meant.”

“I did,” Shepherd agreed. He rubbed his neck absently, fingers tracing the old scar. “Why not just—”

“Oh, legal is all up my ass about it,” Ben said. “Apparently we have to be very measured in our wording since it’s a bit of a grey area right now due to the whole house business. So he doesn’t…technically, in the strictest sense of the word…follow under our client remit. But he’s assured us that he’ll have possession again shortly. Since I’m the client manager for the area, I just wanted to touch base with you to make sure—”

“Harlow,” Shepherd said. He stood up. “Was he going for hollow or hallowed, do you know?”

“I…no…I don’t,” Ben admitted. He sounded baffled. “Does it matter?”

“No.”

Shepherd cut the call.

He stared at the phone in his hand for a second as his brain tripped over that for a moment. Was that enough to get him blacklisted? Or was there a tier lower than ‘ghoul’ that he could be assigned to?

“I guess I’ll find out,” he muttered as he scrubbed his hand through his hair. He glanced at the bed and gave Shithead a tight grin. “Maybe we could start our own business?”

It was a possibility. Renfield’s wasn’t the only company focused on servicing the undead/unholy community. It was just the biggest. There was probably a market for a more boutique approach.

Half-formed ideas floated around Shepherd’s head as he grabbed the bits and pieces he’d actually unpacked. The Danielle Steel that was not going to be fit for a quarantine shelf again, his jacket, and Shithead.

He stuffed the doll into his holdall and dropped the Danielle Steel on top of her. It had definitely not been called The House on HELL Street when he’d gotten it in the thrift store. Shithead glared at him from under it.

“Hey,” he said. “You wanted to go back. We’re going back.”

He flicked the lights out and headed out. Halfway up the stairs, he had second thoughts and went back to get the sandwiches. He wrapped them up, tucking the greasy brown paper in at the edges, as he jogged down the dark tunnel.

“Hey,” he said as he got to the clumsily welded sewer grate in the floor that sealed off the cell. “Change of plan.”

Something breathed raggedly in the corner. “You came…back…”

“Oh, yeah, sorta,” Shepherd said. “Look, I have to go, but there’s only four days left on the contract, so…just try and make these last. OK?”

He dropped both sandwiches into the cell and then headed out, ducking his head so he could cross the strap of his bag over his chest. Shithead made aggrieved, busted voice box wheezes from under the Danielle Steel as he loped up the steps.

The sound of whatever was in the cell throwing itself, screaming, against the grate echoed up after him as he struggled with the door. It cut off abruptly as he finally got it closed.

Shepherd braced both hands against it, his shoulders aching, and took a second to catch his breath. He finally straightened up, wiped a drop of sweat off his nose, and turned to head out of the alley.

“...you said you didn’t want it,” he pointed out as he fished in his pockets for his keys. He paused for a moment to listen and rolled his eyes. “I know it’s a long drive, but you didn’t want it. I’m not leaving it for the client to find when he gets back. It’s not like I’ll be getting tipped on this one, so I’m not putting in that sort of effort.”

Shepherd stepped into the garage and looked around. His gaze caught on the Mustang, half-hidden under a stained tarp, and then flicked over to an old red truck. A pair of long legs in drab, olive green trousers stuck out from under it.

“Um…” Shepherd cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Kel?”

There was a sharp metal crack and then a muttered “fuck”. Before Shepherd could apologise, Kel braced his heels on the ground and slid out from under the truck. He sat up and rubbed one hand as he looked up at Shepherd.

“Did you get the milk?” Kel asked dryly.

Shepherd frowned and cocked his head to the side in confusion. “What?”

“It’s a joke,” Kel said. “Somebody’s husband or wife or dad would say they were going to get milk and then fuck off.”