Free Dread Night (The Legacy Series) by Ryan Attard

 
     
     
    Halloween.
    I fucking hate that holiday. Scratch that – I hate the entire week.
    In my line of work, most of your potential clients are either superstitious scar edy-cats or a couple of douche-bags looking for a laugh. On Halloween week, those guys quadruplicate. All of a sudden, every ghost in town is out to get them, and everyone makes shit up to try and prove just how big a fraud I am.
    So , after two bust jobs in the span of three days, I was incredibly tempted to hang the ‘closed’ sign and tell everyone to go fuck straight off. It took the combined efforts of my cat and my empty bank account to make me rethink my strategy. The cat suggested a money-up-front policy, which makes a lot of sense once you think about it.
    The damn cat is smarter than me.
    I’m Erik Ashendale; wizard, monster hunter, solver of weird conundrums. Basically, when someone’s got a problem that modern science can’t explain or solve, they turn to me.
    I run a little office in Eureka, California in a small , isolated district called La Fortunata.
    I know – I get the irony.
    But it’s a nice place to be if you like small and cozy. I honestly have no idea how people find me. My guess would be word of mouth. It’s not like I advertize in the book or anything. I heard one guy in Chicago does that, although he’s probably just some poser.
    Most of my income comes from the police , since I know a detective who hires me when something goes bump in the night. But occasionally, I do get a genuine client knocking on my front door. This case is one of those times.
     
    *****
     
    Amaymon, my demonic cat-slash-familiar, had busted up the doorbell in an act of mindless violence, so the guy behind the door was left standing outside, knocking furiously and glancing upwards at grey clouds which threatened rainfall.
    I opened the door and let him in.
    He was about fifteen or sixteen, with ginger hair and freckles. He wore a sweater vest and crisp blue jeans with a pair of polished brown shoes. And to top it all off, he had a pair of large, black spectacles on.
    In short, the kid looked like the stereotypical nerd to the stars.
    He walked in and met my eyes.
    “Hello,” he said curtly. He lifted his right arm and pulled back his sleeve. On the top of his forearm was a black symbol which looked self-drawn. It looked too smudgy and une ven to have been properly tattooed on. The symbol itself looked like a triangle made with three interlocking loops:  a Triquerta. It was associated with old nature magic or something, although I had no idea why the kid was flashing me the ink. He looked at me like he expected me to do something.
    “ Erm. Hi,” I said stupidly.
    The kid’s eyes narrowed from behind his thick glasses.
    “You’re supposed to show me your mark,” he said irritably.
    That earned him a blank stare . “What mark? I don’t have a mark. I don’t even have a magic marker.”
    The kid frowned at me. “I was told that you were . . . one of us.”
    What the hell is this, a zombie movie?
    It was my turn to become irritated. “Look , kid, I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you’re tryin’ to pull something, there’s the door.”
    My little outburst caused him to back away. “I’m sorry , Sir. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He pushed back his glasses. “Are you the wizard who helps people?”
    Finally , a question I could answer.
    “Yes, I am,” I replied.
    “Then, I am in the right place,” said the kid. He sighed, and I could almost hear him steel himself mentally.
    “My name is Isaac,” he said as he extended his arm.
    I blinked at him. “Bullshit.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “People tend to say their full name when introducing themselves,” I explained. “The fact that you didn’t means your mind is too preoccupied thinking up a fake name and trying to hide something.”
    I got closer to him − my five, nine height towering over him. “So, let’s try this again, shall we? Who, and what, are