Gunn walked over from the window and paced back and forth in front of them like a caged lion. Her nerves danced. Gunn gave her the hard stare, the one that expressed his impatience to get Henry out of the house, and, for once, she agreed with him.
“Listen, Henry.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “How about you go pack an overnight bag for you and your wife, and I’ll do another sweep of the house, then I’ll search the neighborhood? The house has a menacing spirit. I saw it in the attic. If you and your wife remain, you’re both at risk.”
Henry twisted in his seat to face her, constricting a cushion in his hands. “Of dying?”
“It’s a high possibility.” She smiled to ease his pain a little, and that prompted him to climb to his feet.
“Well, then, I’ll help you do another check of the house. First, we must find Nora. What if she’s in trouble?”
Before Cyra could respond, Henry trekked out of the room and down the hallway.
Gunn sighed and darted right after him.
Okay, this wasn’t going to be so easy and, in all honesty, she feared if she left it up to Gunn, he’d throw the old man out of his home. Sure, it was for his own safety, but in truth, only Gunn and Cyra understood the full extent of the terror harbored upstairs.
She hightailed it after them, determined to track down Nora.
Down the hall, past the bathroom, she followed the voices toward an enormous TV room the size of her entire apartment. God, if she owned such a house, she’d turn the area into her own personal cinema. Up ahead, the pair were in the doorway, Gunn’s arms flailing about. “Listen. Upstairs, you’ve got a gateway to Hell.”
Cyra gasped and rushed closer, plastering on a fake smile. She nudged Gunn in the ribs with her elbow and edged herself between the men, focused on Henry. “What he means is that it feels like Hell exists upstairs, and—”
“No, don’t change my words, Cyra. He needs to know the truth.”
The breaking point of her patience neared. She grappled with Gunn’s arm and dragged him aside, whispering, “Are you trying to give him a stroke? Use tact… if you have any.” She arched an eyebrow on purpose, gritting her teeth. What was wrong with him? Seriously, if blunt directness worked on demons, Gunn would have the whole city of Detroit cleaned in a day.
Gunn scoffed, his chest rising and falling quickly.
But when a loud moan rolled through the corridor, they both jerked toward the sound.
Nora was slinking her back along the wall, her cardigan and flowery blouse hanging off a thin shoulder, revealing a white bra strap.
Cyra gasped at the woman’s sudden sexual show, the complete opposite of what she’d been like before. But no demonic aura surrounded her.
“Henry, dear.” Her voice was satin soft. “Come to me.”
Her husband stumbled forward as if controlled by puppet strings, but Gunn shot his arm out across his chest, holding him back. “Don’t go near her.”
Cyra moved to Henry’s side, clasping his arm to keep him in place as Gunn stormed toward his wife, collecting the lasso from his belt.
“Gunn, she’s got no aura.”
He didn’t respond, raising his weapon and looping it around the woman’s outstretched arm that reached for her husband.
“Nora,” said Henry, “I’m sorry I never took you to Australia and didn’t believe you about the spirit you saw.”
“Henry.” She looked past Gunn’s large form, her fingers reaching for her husband. “I need you.”
Six seconds. That was all it took to exorcise a fiend out of a human. Three, two, one. Nothing. No convulsing, fumes, or swearing.
“Parasite?” Cyra offered, convinced she was wrong the moment the word left her mouth. Demonic infections would show up in a person’s aura.
“Kiss me, Henry,” Nora cooed. “Kiss me under the mistletoe.”
Cyra’s head shot up, as did Gunn’s, their eyes locked on the green vine with wide leaves and clumps of white berries sitting in the crevice where the ceiling met the wall. Ten inches of mistletoe dangled directly above Nora’s head.
Okay, she hadn’t seen that before, and to say the situation was strange was an exaggeration.
Cyra followed the greenery that crossed the bathroom entrance and appeared to have originated from the front part of the house. Henry squirmed free from her hold, moving around Gunn, and swept to his wife’s side, taking her into his arms.
Nora giggled when he leaned her into a slight backbend, kissing her with a passion Cyra had only seen in those dramatic old black and white movies. Sweet and intense. But the awkward situation heated Cyra’s cheeks as she felt like she was watching her grandparents kiss.
A sudden loud slam of the front door resonated as if thunder had clapped directly above the home.
Cyra flinched and dashed toward the front part of the house to find the door shut. Was it the demon? Except her gaze lifted to three more tentacles of mistletoe wriggling inside through a tiny gap between the door and frame, fanning across the ceiling.
“What the hell is that?” she croaked, unsure what she was looking at.
Gunn shook his head, watching the extending vines. Then, all at once, dimness fell over the hallway. The sunlight from the windows faded, and darkness filled the void. The crackling fireplace threw orange hues and shadows across the dimming rooms.
Her breaths raced and her head hurt trying to make sense of the situation. She burst into the main living room, to find hundreds of mistletoe vines crowding across the windows from outside.
Her heart slammed against the back of her throat because she had zero idea what was going on, so she darted to the front door again and yanked it open.
A wall of mistletoe blocked the doorway, each vine threading around the next, like a pit of snakes crawling over one another. The last gaps of sunlight vanished.
Cyra’s feet cemented on the spot. She couldn’t comprehend what was happening, let
