Homecoming (A Finn McCoy Paranormal Thriller #1), Page 3

  Chapter Two

  It was late afternoon when McCoy arrived home. His small bungalow, out of place among the nicer homes which lined the street, was located near the dead-end of the road. Most of his neighbors were elderly couples, and the neighborhood was usually quiet. Unless it was mid-morning, when they all seemed determined to drown out the sound of each other’s mower.

  The grass in McCoy’s yard was considerably higher than that of his neighbors. Lawn maintenance was not high on his list of priorities, ranking somewhere between cleaning the gutters and a trip to the dentist. Up until this summer, he had employed a teenager from the next block over to mow, but the little fart had up and gone off to college, leaving McCoy to fend for himself. He supposed he could work something out with one of the old guys on his street, but somehow it just seemed wrong to pay Grandpa to mow his yard for him.

  He guessed he would have to break down and do it himself. It wasn’t, after all, a large yard, and there were no ornamental trees or bushes to mow around. McCoy liked it that way. The fewer hiding places between him and his front door, the better. He kept the interior of the house the same way—sparsely furnished, nowhere to hide. It made things a lot easier for a man in his line of work. You never knew when something bad might follow you home, and a small, well-lit home with few furnishings was preferable to a large, dark, and cluttered one.

  He left Boo sitting at the curb and went to the door. He carried only two keys on his keychain: one for the truck, the other for his front door. That way, if it was dark or if he was in a hurry, it was not difficult to locate the right key. He unlocked the door, glancing down at the red brick dust under the threshold as he did so. It didn’t appear to have been disturbed. The dust was an old Hoodoo trick used to keep out unwanted spirits, and it worked without fail. But since there were other things besides spirits which would gladly strip him of his hide and use it for a throw rug, he also carried a 9mm pistol under his shirt.

  McCoy went inside and shut and locked the door behind him. He removed the gun and placed it on the desk beside his computer. When doing research, he used the computer more often than not. When accuracy was critical, however, he turned to the two overstuffed bookcases which flanked the computer desk. He couldn’t trust everything he read on the internet, but the books were far more reliable.

  He wasn’t interested in research at the moment. He wanted a beer. Ron had frustrated him; the demon had alarmed him. And the call from Sheriff Lyle had disturbed him to no small degree. On top of all that, he would soon be making his second trip to Shallow Springs in less than a year. When the fun got started, it just kept a-rollin’.

  He went to the fridge, grabbed a beer and popped it open. He took a long swallow, relishing the coldness and taste. The back door in the kitchen led to a small porch, and he opened it and went outside. The rocking chair on the porch was his favorite seat in the house. He plopped down into it, removed his worn straw cowboy hat, and placed it on the small table beside the rocker.

  There was a connection between the demon’s warning and the call from Lyle; it would be foolish to think otherwise. The demon had taken the form of a Sluagh, and the only place within thousands of miles where a Sluagh could be found was the Springs. You didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to see the connection.

  The Sluagh might be responsible for one or two of the disappearances in the Springs, but McCoy couldn’t fathom the creatures being behind all of them. More than likely, other members of the Fey were at work here, also.

  Damned fairies.

  The Fey, or fairykind, were more concentrated in Shallow Springs than anywhere else this side of the Atlantic. Contrary to popular belief, they were not cute little creatures that flitted about on butterfly wings. They were mean, nasty beings, and they despised humans and reveled in their suffering.

  The Sluagh were possibly the nastiest of the lot. They were the Hosts of the Unforgiven Dead, vile creatures which housed the souls of the evil and unrepentant. They travelled in packs like wild dogs and were known to prey on small children and people travelling alone. They usually tore their adult victims to shreds, but the children were abducted, never to be seen again.

  McCoy wondered about the child whose form the demon had taken. Had she been kidnapped by the Sluagh? For a moment there was almost something, a bit of a memory, but then it was gone. He shook his head. His powers of recall weren’t what they used to be; age was, in truth, like a thief in the night. He was only forty-six, but he felt decades older. His body wasn’t what it used to be, either. Some mornings, it was a struggle just to get out of bed.

  He finished the beer and decided it had been good enough to warrant another. He’d made it halfway to the fridge when his cell rang. He took it out of his shirt pocket, handling it the way a bachelor might handle a shitty diaper. He really hoped it wasn’t Lyle.

  It wasn’t. With a sigh of relief, he clicked the talk button.

  “We still on for tonight?” asked Amanda Porter.

  “You bet. Might have to make an early evening of it, though.”

  “Why? You got another date after me?” she teased.

  “Tomorrow. Early. But he’s a sight uglier than you, I promise.”

  “A client?”

  “Bob Lyle, over in the Springs,” McCoy said. Amanda said nothing, an indication that she didn’t exactly approve. “Some people are missing,” he went on. “May be something, may be nothing.”

  “Bullshit. We are talking about Shallow Springs.”

  “Yeah, well. Let’s not talk about that now. We’ve got a Chinese buffet to terrorize.”

  “You’re going to get yourself into trouble over there,” Amanda pouted.

  “Already did. I met you there, didn’t I?”

  “Not looking to score tonight?”

  “Okay, okay. I’m shutting up. Be ready at six?” he asked.

  “Yeah. But we’re taking my car. I’m not riding in that deathtrap.”

  “Shhhh! Boo’s really sensitive.”

  “I’m serious. My car.”

  “If you insist. See you in a few hours.”

  He hung up and checked the time. After four. Time to hit the shower and wash the smell of demon off. That, and the lavender powder. He shambled off to the bathroom, burying thoughts of Shallow Springs, determined to have a good evening.