Page 12 of Dead Vengeance

“Does not,” Raul argues, stubbornly.

“What about the laws of physics?” Archer prods.

“The laws of…” Raul breaks off, and when Archer’s eyes cut across to mine, I could swear there’s a twinkle in them.

It’s only a millisecond, then his face drops straight back to normal to listen to Raul’s flustered, “Any laws. All laws apply to spirits, as they do the living. Just because it’s easier for them to break those laws doesn’t mean we’re going to let them get away with it.”

He lifts up the toy-like gun he’s still holding, opens a little cartridge on the side, then snaps it closed again before I can see what’s inside. “Locked and loaded.”

That grin’s playing at the corner of Archer’s lips again, but my mind’s reeling. What the hell is that thing? “What the hell is that thing?”

He tsks his tongue so loudly I want to punch him. “Didn’t you read your manual?”

“I did. I did, but there wasn’t anything in there about that… whatever that is.”

“That,” he says exhaustedly, as if he’s not actually supposed to be training me on the job, “is the Plasma Pulser Pro-Performance Polter Pocket Pistol. It’s your basic model, bottom of the line stuff. Good for dealing with your pesky lower-level entities.” His head twitches back towards his car. “Clearly, I keep the big guns, so to speak,” here he drops an annoying, smug laugh, “for the bad boys. Assuming you have any. Generally, we find most household hauntings are around your Level One or Two entity disturbances. They might seem scary, but trust me, I’ve dealt with worse.”

He takes a step towards the front door, but slow and controlled, Archer’s arm stretches out, holding Raul across the front of his shoulder. “I don’t recommend you go in there just yet.”

A laugh cracks out of Raul. “No need to be frightened, Mr Gravely. I know what I’m doing.”

He tries to take another step, but Gravely’s arm doesn’t budge. There’s the slightest shift in the tendons of his handsome hand, that I obviously barely notice, as Gravely applies pressure to keep him back. “I’d like to discuss the matter a little more before we approach the house. Make sure we’re both on the same page.”

“All due respect, sir—” Raul turns towards him with what might be the least respectful expression of superior contempt ever “—the professionals are here now. Please keep calm and allow me to do my work.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Archer says, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him look a little flustered since we arrived, which is kind of odd for a man who thinks his house is haunted, come to think of it. He moves fast, elegant, coming to stand between Raul and the still-open front door of the property. “What’s in there is something I’ve—I mean, you’ve almost certainly never dealt with before.”

“I assure you, sir—” Raul begins, but Archer’s hands land on his shoulders, and he stops talking as Archer leans in close.

“It’s not a ‘Level One entity,’ and it’s not a ‘Level Two entity.’ It’s not even a Level Five, and if your entities went up to Level Seven or Eight, I still don’t think you’d hit it. What’s in there is dark and dangerous, and if you go inside half-cocked and arrogant, you’re going to end up smeared all across the wall, and I just had my hand-painted, golden silk, Georgian reproduction peacock wallpaper put up, so I would really prefer you don’t do that just now.”

The intensity of his manner, and his words, drop my stomach down through my shoes, burying it six feet under. I don’t believe in this stuff, any of it, I never have. But Archer clearly does. And I can see it’s affecting Raul too, because for the first time since I met him, a touch of that repugnant smugness that seems to be his entire personality slips with his smile.

“Kraa!” The weird raven cuts in.

Archer’s head turns sharply, and “Sshh!” he hisses at the bird.

“Kraa!” the bird responds, twice as loudly, its reddish-black eyes weirdly intent on Archer, whose lips press tight.

“Is that your bird?” I can’t help but ask.

“No, that’s not my bird!” he throws back, sounding like I’ve offended him.

“Kraa!” the bird insists.

“How about these ghosts?” asks Raul, eyeing the bird.

“Kraa!” says the raven.

“Quiet!” Archer snaps at it. “And you, quiet!” He points a finger at Raul. “Quiet!” he says, sending that same finger towards me. “Just… just let me think.”

He turns and paces back towards his door, then back towards us, and back and forth again, hands on his hips. His lips move as if he’s talking to himself, but there’s no sound.

Okay, so maybe he is mad.

And, well, I guess this is why I’m here. A person can be rich, well-dressed, own the sort of place I’m hardly good enough to clean the floors of, and still need help.

“Mr Gravely?”