The demon returned his full attention to Horne. The message was clear. Morgal would spare me today, but I sensed he wouldn’t extend the same courtesy to me the next time around. I’d spared Morgal from a fate worse than death, and apparently there was some honor among demons. Or perhaps Morgal wanted to conserve his energy for the blood-caked old man on the altar.
Either way, there was a knowing smugness in the demon’s gaze. Perhaps letting me live for now with my own demons was the greater hell. I had saved my parents’ killer. That wasn’t going to be easy to live with—and how was I going to tell Skulick?
There would be a rematch in the future, I was certain of that. I’d better be prepared for when our paths crossed again.
Turning away from the temple, I climbed the stairs, my muscles aching with each step, as Horne’s death screams receded behind me.
My pace had picked up considerably by the time I reached the library. Outside the mansion, I heard wailing sirens. The cops were closing in on the property. Great. If Detective Archer showed up now, she might not believe I’d been an innocent bystander for these murders.
I passed Eric Horne and the dead bodyguards, who’d finally been allowed to rest. Eric was slumped in his chair, his blank gaze directed at the wall of books as if searching for an explanation for what had gone wrong here today. With Celeste’s death, the animation spell stopped working.
Once outside the library, I stumbled through one hallway after another, the knowledge I’d gained from the Noh mask forgotten. The place felt even more oppressive and decadent than when I first set foot inside. The oil paintings, the marble sculptures—I found no beauty in these expensive objects. To me, they served as sharp reminders of Horne’s insatiable greed.
Scanning the hallway ahead, I detected no signs of any guards. Horne’s security team must’ve fled when the supernatural fog enveloped the property. At least I hoped they’d fled. A machine pistol makes for a poor choice of weapon against a demon.
The sound of approaching footsteps made me freeze. The police were here. I hid behind the main staircase that dominated the lavishly appointed front lobby. A beat later, the heavy oak door was rammed open and police officers swarmed the lobby.
I slipped on the Noh mask and focused on one of the incoming cops. As the officer passed my hiding spot, I emerged from the space beneath the staircase, now just another cop combing the scene.
No one paid me any attention as I slipped out the front door. I never looked back as I descended a set of stone stairs to the grounds below. I passed immaculate stretches of grass and perfectly trimmed hedges. Up ahead, a collection of police cruisers formed a barrier around the mansion. Sirens painted the night red and blue.
Archer was just getting out of her car. She met my gaze, and for a beat, I thought she could recognize me despite my magical disguise.
The moment ended as she rushed toward the mansion, not paying me any mind. Just wishful thinking of my part, I guess. After what happened in the temple, I wanted to fall into her arms, feel her heat against me. I craved human contact and connection, anything to release this maelstrom of emotions.
You chose the lesser of two evils, I told myself. Morgal was just the blunt instrument that had delivered the deathblow. It was madness to seek revenge against the weapon instead of the murderer. Horne was the one who had signed my parents’ death sentence. Allowing him gain a foothold in Hell would have been worse than sparing Morgal. Or at least that’s what I tried to convince myself of as I walked away from the estate.
Numbed by the events of the evening, I stumbled through the woods and somehow managed to locate my ride.
I got into the car, fired up the engine, and drove back to the cursed city in silence. I was in no mood for music. My hands shook, clinging to the steering wheel like a life raft.
Once back at the loft, I headed straight for the bar area. Instead of pouring myself a drink, I took a deep pull straight from the bottle.
As always, Skulick sat hunched before his bank of monitors, busy monitoring the web and media outlets for our next potential case.
“So, how did it go?”
I wanted to tell him the whole story but something held me back. Why reopen this old wound unless I could offer closure?
“It was Horne who ordered the hit on your parents, wasn’t it?”
I stared at Skulick, stunned by my partner’s uncanny insight.
“How did you know?” I asked.
“Used to be a detective, kid. Once you told me that Horne made a deal with the demon who killed your dad, I started doing some digging.”
I nodded and took another swig. “Horne felt you and Dad were closing in on his cult activities and figured that breaking up your partnership would make you back off.”
I filled him in on the rest of the story, and Skulick listened quietly, his face betraying zero emotion. When I was done, he nodded at the bottle of Johnny Walker, and I poured him a generous drink.
He usually sipped his whiskey, but now he knocked it back in one swig. His voice quivered as he said, “I’m sorry, kid. I wish I could’ve been there with you when you faced these monsters. I’m so sorry you had to go through this on your own.”