He clicked open the lasso and laid the loop against the woman’s forearm. No flinching or hissing. Yep, she had no demons inside her.
“Who are you?” Her voice quivered, the creases at the edges of her eyes deepening.
The old man nudged past Gunn and took Nora into his arms. “It’s all right, dear. He’s here to help. They both are, I think.” He guided her to the couch, and they sat close together like doves perched on a branch. He felt for the pair. The husband rubbed Nora’s hands, reminding him of his foster parents when he was growing up—always hugging, always smiling at each other. He couldn’t have asked for more caring guardians. Until they’d died in a home invasion, and Gunn’s life had turned to hell. With a deep breath, he shoved those memories back to the recesses of his mind where they belonged.
Gunn sat on an adjacent sofa. Cyra stood nearby. “What happened?” she asked.
Nora lifted her head. “I saw…” She paused and laid a hand on her chest. “I must be hallucinating. This has never happened before. We’ve lived in this house for thirty-four years.”
“What did you see?” Cyra persisted.
“A silhouette rushing down the hallway toward the kitchen. It moved extremely fast, but it was like a large man and dark. Then the TV and lights flicked on and off.” Her breaths caught in her throat and she curled into her husband’s arms.
“How many times did they flick?” Gunn asked.
Nora didn’t respond at first. “It was six, I think.”
Six was the devil’s number. Each possessed host had six days before their soul was claimed by Hell. Six seconds was all the freedom demons got outside a host body before being dragged back into the underworld. Argos hammered in these facts at every training session to their crew of hunters, trackers, and magic users, and Gunn had never seen anything to the contrary. So, could this be just a haunting, another poltergeist stirring shit up?
“Are you sure, dear?” Henry asked his wife. “You’ve been jumpy as of late. Could have been a shadow from outdoors. This man did drive his motorcycle into our house.” He narrowed his gaze over at Gunn.
Too late to undo that mistake.
Nora wrenched free from Henry’s hold. “I know what I saw. You never believe me, like that time I swore I spotted a shark fin out in the harbor.”
He had his hands up. “Okay, okay. I believe you.”
An awkward hush fell over the room, leaving Gunn feeling like the fifth wheel. He stared down at his boots, tipped with tiny piles of snow. Probably should have taken them off before running into the home.
Cyra broke the stilted silence. “All righty. I’ll check the kitchen then.”
Gunn was on his feet, joining her in a long hallway drenched in sunlight pouring in from the back door. He was glad to leave the heaviness in the living room behind.
“Good thinking,” he whispered and smirked. “Nothing like escaping when a couple argues.”
She didn’t respond. Together, they passed a side table topped with a fancy vase and fresh flowers next to a phone and a Morgana box. Those things tapped into the internet and answered any question a person asked. They also switched on certain appliances. This couple had money.
“What do you think is happening here?” Cyra stared at him, her expression frozen in business mode. A wrinkle captured her nose, and her lips thinned. Fine, serious mode it was.
“My bet’s on a speck demon,” he suggested. The bastards attached themselves to all kinds of inanimate objects, from a haunted doll seeming to move on its own to a treasure box enticing kids inside so it could lock them in and suffocate them. He’d seen it all before. It all came down to the same outcome—monsters taunting innocents and stealing their souls.
“I know you’re a super important hunter and all that, but not everything is demon-related. This could be a spirit in the house. Besides, not every speck is malevolent. Could be a non-malevolent one.” She held his stare.
“Maybe. Or something bad was already in the home and the owners unleashed it by undertaking refurbishments or finding a secret door in a wall. It’s happened.”
Her shoulders squared as she huffed. “The Argos trackers confirmed it was a haunting. Strange footsteps. Apparitions. I’m thinking it’s a lost soul needing to reach the light.”
He didn’t buy the soft cutesy approach of a phantom teasing the family. That was how demonic possessions started. False pretenses. “I don’t agree.” Sure, Argos had trackers spending every hour pouring over unusual crimes, speaking with churches, following any leads hunters handed them, but it didn’t make them always correct. They made mistakes, too.
Cyra halted and faced him. “No one is in danger here. If the woman saw an apparition, then it isn’t a speck demon, as they’d be locked into an inanimate item. It can’t be a jumper demon, as they only possess people and no one is affected. It has to be a ghost. And, yes, I know my demonic lingo.”
“Never said you didn’t. Why are you still so mad?” He ran his fingers through his hair, still spotted with snow. Wiping his palm along his jeans, he continued, lowering his voice. “The more likely scenario is that they bought an object, and it came with a stowaway.”
“So how did it make itself visible to the woman? Specks can’t leave the items they’re in unless they draw energy from somewhere. Neither Henry nor Nora appear drained. I’m certain this is only a haunting, maybe by some nasty individual who used to torture animals when they were alive, so they want to scare Henry and Nora now.”
He hummed and stuffed his fists into the front pockets of his jeans. “Not sure I buy that. And I still haven’t worked out how it showed itself yet. It’s rare for a ghost to have enough strength to turn on the TV and lights while taking form.”
After a few
