Read Night & Demons for Free Online Page A

number—it had to be. Nobody’d be calling seriously on a Sunday morning.
    Dynamic twenty-five-year-old executive . . . . Howard sucked in his gut as he typed, not that there was much gut to worry about. Ready to take on adventurous new challenges . . . .
    The phone continued to ring. It could be the manager of one of the Middle Eastern outlets where they kept a Friday-Saturday weekend, with a problem that only a bold—a swashbuckling —marketing professional like Howard Jones could take on. Did Strangeco have a branch in the Casbah of Algiers?
    The company slogan circled the ceiling in shimmering neon letters: It’s not a sandwich—it’s a Strangewich! Slices of kangaroo, cassowary, and elk in a secret dressing! Strangewich—the healthy alternative!
    The phone still rang. Howard’s image staring from the resume on the screen had a stern look. Was he missing his big chance? The caller could be a headhunter who needed the hard-charging determination of a man willing to work all the hours on the clock.
    Howard grabbed the phone and punched line one. “Strangeco Inc!” he said in what he hoped was a stalwart tone. “Howard Jones, Assistant Marketing Associate speaking. How may I help you?”
    “Oh!” said the male voice on the other end of the line. “Oh, I’m very sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb anybody important.”
    Sure, a wrong number. Well, Howard had known that there wouldn’t really be a summons to a life of dizzying adventure when he—
    “I’m at Mr. Strange’s house,” the voice continued, “and I was hoping somebody could come over to help me word an advertisement. I’m sorry to have—”
    “Wait!” Howard said. He knew the call couldn’t be what it sounded like, but it was sure the most interesting thing going this Sunday morning. It sounded like the most interesting thing of a lifetime for Howard Albing Jones.
    “Ah, sir,” he continued, hoping that the fellow wasn’t offended that Howard had bellowed at him a moment ago. “ You say you’re calling from Mr. Strange’s house. That would be, ah, which house?”
    “Oh, dear, he probably does have a lot of them, doesn’t he?” the voice said. “I mean the one right next door, though. Do you think that you could send somebody not too important over to help me, sir?”
    Howard cleared his throat. “ Well, as a matter of fact, I wouldn’t mind visiting the Strange Mansion myself. But, ah, Strangeco staff isn’t ordinarily allowed across the skyway, you know.”
    “Oh, that’s all right,” the voice said in obvious relief. “Mr. Strange said I could call on any of his people for whatever I wished. But I really don’t like to disturb you, Mr. Jones.”
    “Quite all right, Mister . . .” Howard said. “Ah, I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name?”
    “Oh, I’m Wally Popple,” the voice said. “Just come over whenever you’re ready to, Mr. Jones. I’ll tell the guards to send you down.”
    He hung up. Howard replaced his handset and stared at the resume photograph. That Howard Jones looked very professional in blue suit, blue shirt, and a tie with an insouciant slash of red. Whereas today—Sunday—Assistant Marketing Associate Jones wore jeans and a Fuqua School of Business sweatshirt.
    Howard rose to his feet. Daring, swashbuckling Howard Jones was going to risk entering the Strange Mansion in casual clothes.

    A transparent tube arched between the third floors of the Strange Mansion and Strangeco Headquarters to connect the two sprawling buildings. When Strange occasionally called an executive to the mansion, the rest of the staff lined the windows to watch the chosen person shuffle through open air in fear of what waited on the other side.
    Shortly thereafter, sometimes only minutes later, the summoned parties returned. A few of them moved at once to larger offices; most began to clean out their desks.
    Only executives were known to use the skyway, though rumor had it that sometimes Robert Strange himself crossed