Cyra placed the spoon down on the coffee table. “It’s dead, but we think a spirit is controlling it.”
He wiped his neck and came back with blood on his fingers. He needed two seconds to clean himself up, but for now he wiped his cuts and would have to live with a bit of blood dribble.
Henry was on his feet, squaring his shoulders, as if preparing himself for the worst. “Why is the house wrapped in mistletoe? What is happening to our home? We only had a small spirit problem, and now everything is wrapped in vines. And what is this talk about an undead goose, and why are you bleeding so much? Are we really in danger?”
Nora sniffled and hugged a cushion to her chest, but the terror scribbled over her face said it all.
Gunn frowned. God, if he had access to his bike sitting outside, he’d grab the spare lasso and holy water vials, along with a couple of blessed knives. But that wasn’t possible. One thing was irrevocably true: they were fucked until they worked out how to leave the property.
Cyra approached Henry. “To make sense of this, first we need to know about anything you’ve brought into the house in the last few months. Furniture, artwork”—she counted them on her fingers—“creepy dolls, rocking chairs, old boxes found at archaeological digs. That kind of stuff.”
Henry and Nora exchanged looks and then shook their heads. “Nothing. We’ve been trying to de-clutter,” Henry said. “We’ve been selling a lot of our belongings.”
Okay, it was worth asking again, but they must have missed something. Gunn stared over his shoulder, expecting the bird to attack again. He wiped his brow and came back with a bloody hand. Shit. He needed to get bandaged up, too.
A loud bang erupted upstairs, and everyone glanced up to the vibrating chandelier.
He turned to Cyra. “Stay here with them.” Before she could respond, he turned on his heels and rushed out of the room. With his lasso in hand, he was ready to hunt, and he was targeting the upper floor first, betting his life that was where the speck demon had gone.
Chapter 8
Cyra
“It’ll be okay,” Cyra insisted. She had zero ideas how any of them would escape the house, but she couldn’t show her dread, and instead decided to pretend they’d find a way through this. She clasped Nora’s clammy palm while Henry trudged from the couch to the window, frowning.
The couple reminded her of her grandparents when Chase had broken the rules and driven their car while under sixteen and on a learner’s permit. He’d had an accident and had fallen into a coma for a week. They’d never left his side at the hospital. They’d barely spoken, eaten, or slept. Terror had been a permanent expression on their faces, knowing that whatever happened to Chase was completely and utterly out of their control.
Henry and Nora wore that same look of defeat. Guilt iced Cyra’s chest because her mistake had caged them in the house. She wanted to fix the problem so bad to prove herself to Argos, but, instead, everything had gone to crap. Despite the urge to run and hide for eternity, she plastered a fake smile on her face because that was what everyone needed. Right?
“How will it be okay?” Henry faced her, his arms stiff by his side, and that earlier iciness spread through her body. “You just told us we’re trapped inside our home with a demon, a portal to Hell is upstairs, and an undead goose is stalking the house.” His face paled and Nora released a cry. They weren’t taking the news well, but there was nothing to put them at ease when their souls were in danger.
“I’m not sure I even believe you,” Henry continued, his voice rising. “But I have no explanation for that.” He pointed to the vine-covered window. “The phones don’t work, so how can we call for help? Lord, please let someone in the neighborhood see our house and come to our rescue.”
Cyra stood, convinced no one could rescue them. If Gunn couldn’t cut through the vines, what would others do? But, worse yet, if anyone else saw the mistletoe re-growing before their eyes, the whole incident would turn into a circus, plastered all over the news, and people would poke fun at Henry and Nora for living in a haunted house. And forget her job with Argos. They’d fire her for drawing attention to their work.
“Gunn is an experienced demon hunter,” she explained. “We’re in good hands.”
“Like an exorcist?” Nora asked, her voice high-pitched and ready to snap. “He doesn’t look like a priest.”
Cyra drew a lock of her hair over one shoulder and curled it around her finger. “He’s a different type of demon specialist, but we’re all in good hands.” The smile on her face grew strained. She loathed lying. But she couldn’t scare these folks anymore.
Priority one was stopping the demon. It had shown itself to her twice now, and Nora had confirmed she’d seen it, so that meant the fiend was toying with them, but considering it only showed itself downstairs, while it attacked her in the attic told her something crucial. Perhaps it holds power upstairs. Whatever it was connected to must be up there, so in theory, Nora and her husband should be safe here. As long as the goose was upstairs too. She studied the staircase. How long had Gunn been gone? Ten minutes? Fifteen? Why hadn’t he returned yet? What if the demon had defeated Gunn or, worse yet, tossed him into the Underworld? Her thoughts flew to the fleshy ground she’d crash landed onto in Hell, and shivers raked down her arms.
She got up. “I’ll be back. I’m going to check on Gunn.”
Nora snatched her wrist, her fingers cold against Cyra’s skin. “Please don’t go.” Reducing
