“Love you, too. I hope this trip of yours is worth it, that we have the answers we need to stop these …
She still had a hard time talking about demons.
“So do I.”
He reluctantly cut off the call. John approached. Anthony hugged his brother-in-arms. At forty-three, John was the oldest living demon hunter out of St. Michael’s. He’d backed off most assignments and acted more like a bodyguard than a hunter, but he still worked in the field when needed. He said little, and his loyalty was legendary. He’d risked his life to save both his comrades and innocent strangers, and never once complained or questioned his duty.
“Good to see you,” Anthony said.
John stepped back, his expression grim. “Dr. Lieber is dead.”
SEVENTEEN
Rafe drove by Wendy Donovan’s house in the Hollywood Hills and there was no activity. They drove far around the hillside, then turned around and came back. Still no activity.
“Maybe they’re at the club,” Jackson said.
“Wendy left early,” Rafe said.
“Oh yeah, right about the time their good friend Nadine had a fatal accident with a demon.” Moira rolled her eyes.
Rafe parked down the hill, out of sight from the house. The three of them walked along the edge of the road and stopped in a cluster of trees across from Wendy’s driveway to inspect the property. The house looked deceptively small from the front as the entrance was on the top floor and the structure went down three stories, terraced to complement the cliffside. It was after midnight. The house was quiet, but not completely dark. Dim lights on each floor-the subtlety of a nightlight-highlighted each curtained window. No movement or sounds came from the house.
Rafe didn’t like the risk they were taking, but waiting until Wendy Donovan went to work tomorrow ran the risk of there being another innocent victim. And considering what had happened when the demon left Nadine Anson’s body, whoever hosted the demon would be at similar risk.
Moira had been unusually quiet and physically tense as they waited, and Rafe gave her some breathing room, keeping his eyes and ears open, concerned for her safety. She was exhausted, and if they had any other choice, he would have taken her back to the hotel to sleep.
“They protected the house from evil spirits,” Moira whispered. “The spells grew as we got closer, but right here it’s stronger. They must have left an opening for the demon. We find that opening and that’ll be the room where they have the altar and spirit trap.”
“And the chalice.”
“Right.” She shivered. “They’ve been doing this for years; they have it down. The spells are strong. But they have settled in the house.”
“Settled?” Rafe asked.
She frowned. “I–I don’t know. It feels heavier at the bottom than the top. I wish I could explain it better.”
Jackson said, “This is the top story-there are two more beneath it. Does that mean their altar is on the bottom floor?”
Moira didn’t say anything for a minute. Then, “Wait here.”
She started across the street before Rafe could stop her.
“Moira!” he whispered loudly.
She put her finger up in the air behind her and disappeared in the roadside shrubs that framed the front of the house.
“Dammit,” Rafe said. He wanted to go after her, but he knew-he
Moira wasn’t reckless, even though she repeatedly risked her life. He had to count on that now.
Time passed slowly as he waited, and Jackson said, “Should we follow her?”
Rafe glanced at his watch. He was getting antsy as well, but it had been only two minutes. “Give her another minute.”
Moira came back in less than that. “The altar is on the bottom floor. That entire space is like a psychic fortress. But there is definitely a hole in the far corner. That has to be where their demon trap is.”
“We should go down the cliff and in through the bottom,” Jackson said.
Moira shook her head. “They’ll know. There’s no easy way to get to the bottom-floor balcony without more equipment than we have, or making a shitload of noise. And breaching that fortress could very well alert them. We go in from the top, work our way down.”
“But doesn’t that put us more at risk?” Jackson said. “Greater chance of encountering someone?”
“I didn’t sense any movement inside. There are no bright lights anywhere in the house. If they have an alarm, we’re screwed.”
“Not necessarily,” Rafe said.
She raised her eyebrow. “Oh? Holding out on me?”
“I have a bit of skill in that area. I’m about as good with security systems as you are at picking locks.”
“That good, really?”
Rafe liked that Moira was bantering with him again and not deadly serious. She would perform better-and safer-if she relaxed.
Moira picked the lock on Wendy’s front door quickly, and Rafe inspected the entry for evidence of an alarm. No sensors, no pads, no wires to indicate an alarm system.
“Clear,” he whispered.
He closed the door soundlessly and surveyed the space. Their eyes were already adjusted to the absence of light and they listened intently. An antique clock-several of them, by the sound-tick-tocked in a room to the left. The entry itself opened into a large square gathering room. To the left was a grand dining room that sat at least a dozen, with pillars instead of walls separating it from the entry and the hall.
To the rear was a vast kitchen and great room, and a wall full of windows looking out into the dark valley dotted with lights from other people’s grand houses. To the right was a hall with several dark, closed rooms.
Without speaking, Moira pointed down the hall. There was a staircase that led downstairs, and Rafe nodded.
As they descended, Moira tensed again, but she kept moving, leading the way. Jackson took up the rear.
They didn’t stop on the second level, but continued silently down. At the base of the stairs was an office of sorts, only ten feet wide but twice that in length, the far-side sliding doors leading to the balcony. It looked as though it had been divided off from the rest of the floor. Two desks, bookshelves, and a few chairs filled the space. Double doors led to another room.
They stopped at the base of the landing and listened.
Silence.
Moira pointed to Jackson with her dagger and motioned for him to stay and watch the stairs, then gestured toward the closed doors. Rafe understood. They stood on either side of the doors and Rafe cautiously opened the knob on his side. Moira opened the other door. Incense wafted through the open door-myrrh and sandalwood and something else Rafe couldn’t identify right off. He peered through the crack. It was pitch black in there.
A memory rushed into his head and he froze.
