then kept going.
He made the side porch.
Deja vu, he decided.
He bent to inspect the lock. It looked fresh. Darius had had the locks replaced today. A sturdier deadbolt barred his way now. It might keep out a lot of partially determined burglars.
But unfortunately for Darius, Curran was a lot more dedicated than most. He would get into the house and end everything that Darius intended to do here tonight.Curran brought out his lock picks and set to work.
There were more pins in this lock. Curran kept glancing up from his work, expecting someone at any moment to walk by and spot him, start screaming, and then ruin any chance he had of surprise.
But no one walked by.
No cars drove by.
The entire street seemed deserted. Perhaps subconsciously, all the inhabitants knew something evil was afoot.
Maybe they weren’t home from work yet.
Curran resumed picking the lock. Slowly, the pins fell into place. After the sixth pin, Curran applied tension and heard the sound he was waiting for.
He slowly turned the doorknob.
The door clicked opened.
Curran replaced his lock picks in his jacket. He withdrew his gun.
Staying low, he eased the door open, praying it wouldn’t squeak.
It didn’t.
An inkier darkness bled out of the house flooding the porch. Curran looked inside and could see nothing. He’d have to go by memory alone if he didn’t want to bang into furniture and let the demon know he’d arrived.
He stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him. No sense locking it, he decided. If he and Lauren needed to get out in a hurry, it would be better to have it unlocked. Plus, he doubted Darius would care much about it. He’d hopefully be too absorbed in bringing his Dark Lord on to this plane.
Curran crept through the hall toward the kitchen. His thigh muscles ached from stooping low.
Curran heard his own breathing and slowed it down, trying to relax into the moment, feeling adrenaline drip steadily into his bloodstream.
His stomach growled.
Loudly.
Should have had something to eat, he thought with a small tight grin. No good chasing demons on an empty stomach.
The kitchen was almost as dark as the rest of the house, although the windows here were open and some of the tiny remaining light from outside bounced in and off the stainless steel faucets and pots hanging over the center island.
Curran felt his feet grip the tile floor and he moved over toward the cellar door.
And stopped.
A voice.
He heard it. But the walls muffled the details of what it said.
Had Darius already started? That didn’t make much sense. Not with the full moon not yet high in the sky. Hadn’t midnight always been the witching hour? Must not apply to demons, he decided.
He leaned close to the door, straining to hear the voice.
He could make out only one.
Then reached up and tried the cellar door. The doorknob turned and the frame swung open.
Curran eased himself down onto the top step. Still crouched, his legs cried out for relief. Sweat had formed around his forehead. The grip of his pistol grew slippery from his moist palms.
I should just charge right down there with gun blazing and be done with it, part of him said. He shook his head. Foolish. You couldn’t go barging in kicking ass without knowing what the place looked like. Lauren could get killed that way.
And Curran didn’t want her killed.
He eased himself down to another step, slowly transferring his weight to the inside edge of the tread closest to the wall, hoping it wouldn’t creak.
He kept moving, trying not to let his growing fear impede his progress.
Somewhere down there, Darius was trying to resurrect the Devil.
The purest form of evil incarnate.
And Lauren was down there as well.
The voice grew louder as Curran descended. He could hear the slight pauses and breaks in the sentence structure, but the language wasn’t one he recognized. Was this the same speech Lauren had heard the other night when she supposedly visited him here?
But from his vantage point on the stairs, he couldn’t see anything happening. Where was Darius? Where was Lauren. He strained his ears and detected something he hadn’t before: a muffled characteristic to the voices.
Almost like they were in another room.
Had Darius built a concealed room within the basement? That had to be it. Some sort of temporary wall perhaps. There’d be a door someplace in the cellar.
Sweat dribbled down Curran’s neck and he almost reflexively brushed it away.
His left foot came down harder on the stair below him.
Creak.
He froze.
Brought the gun up, waiting for Darius to break through the secret wall and see him. But the voice kept going. It didn’t stop.
Curran exhaled.
Jesus.
He moved down another step. One at a time. One at a time. Each step brought another hefty surge of adrenaline.
He was getting closer to the bottom now.
His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and could see only vague shapes. The cardboard boxes he’d seen yesterday probably. Maybe they concealed the secret door through the wall.
But which ones?
Curran felt his foot touch stone.
The bottom.
At last.
He sighed and took a moment to gather himself. His breathing felt labored and his legs ached. But he’d reached the bottom. And he was closer than he’d expected to be able to get without Darius noticing him.
Curran used one of his hands to begin searching the cardboard boxes but then stopped.
He had to look at this from a smart angle or else he’d spend all his energy searching for nothing. He backed up to the cellar stairs and looked up toward the ceiling.
The lines of the room ran around him. From his vantage point, he could see left, all the way to the end. Trying to visualize where it would end if he was outside, Curran knew it would have broken into the sewer system if the room lay that way.
If the room lay ahead of him, it would jut into his neighbor’s house.
That meant the room must be to his right. Closest to the stairs leading up.
And one wall of cardboard boxes was easier to search than four.
Curran crept midway to the boxes and began slowly opening them and trying to move them.
The first few he could move.
The next few remained in place. As if they were glued there.
Was this the doorway?
Curran felt the back of the boxes, pressing in with his weight. If the wall had been a true one, it would have been harder. As it was, it gave somewhat under his weight. And Curran recognized the feel of wallboard rather than
