The Crowsbrook Demons

Chapter 1

There was something odd about the two men who had just entered Adam Carpenter's office, and he couldn't put his finger on what it was. They looked normal enough. Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones—Adam's executive assistant Felicity had shown them in and introduced them—were immaculately dressed in elegant and expensive suits with brightly polished silver cufflinks. Adam usually appreciated things that were elegant and expensive. He had collected a number of them since he went into business for himself. A Mont Blanc pen gleamed discreetly on his desk, and his shirt cuffs covered a mid-range Movado watch, though it haunted his credit card bill every month. He had watched Smith and Jones carefully when they came into his office and was pleased that they didn't seem to notice the props. He liked people who were not easily impressed.

That wasn't what unsettled him. And it wasn't their demeanour. They smiled politely when they each shook his hand in turn. Firm handshakes. Quick, formal. He pushed the thought away. Maybe he was imagining it. Maybe it was a fear of success trying to manifest. Self-sabotage. He'd read about that kind of thing in the business psychology paperbacks they sold at the airport. Not that he really needed to travel—property development, at his level (he gritted his teeth), didn't really demand it—but Julia insisted that they "get away from it all" a couple of times a year. He didn't know what she wanted to get away from. As far as he was concerned, they lived in the middle of nowhere.

All that was about to change, though. Thanks to Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones.

They worked for a company called Asilida, and the firm was an exclusive one. They didn't work with just anybody. Adam was already successful, but his career needed a boost to take him to the level he felt he deserved, and contracting with Smith and Jones—

Well, that would do it, at least if Carrington, his city-boy mate, was to be believed. But Adam still had to make this work.

"Mr. Carpenter," said Mr. Jones in a voice as smooth and even as a slab of granite. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," said Adam. They were both older than he was—he guessed that they were in their mid-forties. Old enough to know what they were doing, and young enough not to dismiss new thinking out of hand. He prided himself on his ability to assess people accurately—that was how he'd closed his first big deals, and how he'd avoided a couple of projects that turned out to be utter duds.

"Have a seat." Adam gestured to the dark-brown leather chairs on the other side of his desk. They nodded thanks and sat.

Mr. Smith opened his briefcase and took out a burgundy leather portfolio. He closed the briefcase with a snap. "As you requested," he said, "we have prepared a summary of the project our organization has developed to fit your needs."

Adam opened the dossier. He flipped through the sheets—budgets, plans, schedules—and snorted involuntarily. "You're joking, right?"

Mr. Smith inclined his head a couple of degrees.

"Not at all," he said. "We never joke about business, Mr. Carpenter."

"This is ridiculous." The timelines on the project were completely unfeasible for a start. Carrington would have a ball with this. And his father would—rightly enough in this case—make worried noises about his son getting into a business he knew nothing about. He hated proving his father right.

"Please be assured, Mr. Carpenter," said Mr. Jones, "that the manager who will be handling this project has a great deal of experience in these matters. It is, of course, of fundamental importance to us that our clients are satisfied with the bargain they receive. However, you must trust our judgment. For your own satisfaction."

Adam could feel his irritation rising.

"I'm not interested," he snapped. "Mr. Jones. I'm a property developer, not a factory owner." The development they were proposing was entirely outside of his area of expertise. He couldn't manage—