The biting wind blew across Jake Conroyâs back as he sat waiting on the wooden bench. He pulled up the collar on his leather jacket but it wasnât doing much good. It was damn cold in Calgary in November. He shouldâve been more prepared for the hunt than wearing only his thin leather jacket, leather gloves and boots. Thankfully he was wearing wool socks, so at least his feet werenât freezing.
He turned as his Canadian contact, Ryan, sat down beside him, handing him a tall, steaming cup. âHere. Timmies. Itâll warm you up.â
Jake took the offered drink. âWhatâs Timmies?â
âBest coffee ever.â
Jake took a grateful sip and sighed. It was good. He didnât know if it was the best coffee heâd ever tasted, but on this chilly night, it very well mightâve been. At least it was piping hot. It burned his tongue, but he didnât care as long as it warmed up his insides.
âAny movement?â Ryan asked.
Jake shook his head, not taking his eyes off the third-floor window of the building across the street. The light was still on and there hadnât been any change. As far as he could tell the demon son-of-a-bitch was still inside the building.
Heâd been sitting on the bench on Stephen Avenue for three hours now, waiting for the demon to make a move. According to his contact, the demon had morphed into the body of one Brian Rose, an accountant, who worked until six, then walked down the block to the pub to have a few drinks and scout out his next victim. Jake had been in the pub and checked it out for exits just in case.
Jake glanced at his watch. It was now six thirty. âYou said this guy leaves at six.â
Ryan shrugged. âMaybe heâs working late.â
âTrust me, the demon is not working in there. Do you really think heâs going to assimilate this accountantâs life so he can do taxes all freaking day?â
âWhatâs he doing then?â
âPlanning his next move.â
Jake had made the long trip from San Francisco up to Calgary to hunt this demon. He wanted to say he was doing it for the morality of it, but the fact was he was being paid. Demon hunting wasnât a lucrative vocation, so once in a while he had to take paying jobs. Sometimes he did bodyguard work, other times he located missing people, but this time heâd been hired by a wealthy family member of one of the demonâs last victims to track it down and kill it. The assignment was right up his alley.
âDo you think he made us?â Ryan asked.
Jake stood and adjusted the harness around his shoulder. He had a 9 mm Beretta holstered there, as well as two silver daggers blessed by a priest with holy water and salt. âIs there a back entrance to the building?â
Ryan shrugged. âThereâs an alley.â
âDamn it.â Not waiting for Ryan, Jack jogged down the avenue to the corner, turned it and followed the street until he hit the mouth of the alley.
He peered down the dark lane and saw a shadowy shape walking swiftly away from him. Ryan came up behind Jake. âIs that him?â
âDonât know, but Iâm going to find out.â
Jake started at a slow jog, but as soon as he was halfway down the alleyway, the shadowed shape began to run. He guessed he had his answer.
He chased the spectre down the lane. The demon was fast, faster than a normal human. But Jake was in great shape and had trained for years for this type of activity. He was able to stay up to speed. Heâd never outrun the demon, but he could at least see where it was running to.
The demon in the accountant suit, rounded the corner to the left and dashed down the sidewalk. As Jake came around, he nearly ran into an old woman with a walker. She yelled at him but he didnât have time to stop and make sure she was okay. By the ire in her cracked voice, he didnât think she was in any immediate danger or pain.
He watched as the demon dashed across the street, jumping over the cars and on top of them. There were honks and tires screeching, but no accidents. Jake had to wait a bit before he could follow. After the last car raced away, he ran across the road and picked up the demonâs trail.
It wasnât hard to find, since the demon was swinging from the white metal decorative structures that lined either side of the trendy shopping district. Like Spiderman, the demon swung from one to the other, but there was no webbing holding him up, just sheer supernatural strength.
Incredulously, Jake ran after him, careful of running into anyone. A bum sitting on one of the benches watched as the demon swung over top of him.
As Jake sprinted by, he yelled, âAre you guys making a movie?â
âWe sure are,â Jake responded, hoping to keep this strangeness out of morning papers. He also didnât need the police around either. Theyâd just want to arrest the man, when Jake needed to kill him. Theyâd probably arrest Jake as well. There were laws against carrying concealed weapons in Canada.