Blood of the Demon (The Silver Legacy Book 3) (16 page)

“Is there another way?”

Valeria sighed. “Yes, but that involves throwing the person or people responsible into the void. If I understand it correctly, the rift would close like a star collapsing on itself, but again that would be a rift opened by Wiccan magic.”

“Whoa, wait a second here,” Denny replied. “You’re saying we have to
kill
those kids?”

Peyton nodded. “When they performed the spell to call out the Dybbuk, they probably opened a source they obviously can’t close. Can’t or won’t. It’s all the same. They probably can’t do it now because with every demon that passes through it, the source gets stronger. Feeding it the very energy that created it might close the rift, but like V said, that’s Wiccan magic. It could be an entirely different animal since it’s Voodoo.”

“I have a call into a local coven to get more information on the closing of a rift that was not created by Wiccan magic.” Valeria glanced down at her phone. “They’ll get back to me shortly.”

“It’s possible killing them is also the way for the Vodouisants. It would certainly be easier than trying to perform a ritual surrounded by demons.”

Denny slowly shook her head. “Jesus, you two, how can you talk so casually about killing other humans?”

“It doesn’t matter a cold shit to me that the Vodouisants are human. It was
their
choice to summon a demon, and the city of New Orleans is gonna pay the price until we close the source. The needs of the many, Rookie. Demon Hunting 101.” Peyton pushed her tray aside and addressed Valeria. “I told you she was too soft for the job. Help me get dressed and—”

“Sit back, Hunter,” Valeria ordered before setting the tray back on Peyton’s lap. “While it is true Denny is a new hunter, her demon is not. We can ill afford to alienate her simply because you don’t believe she is up to the job.”

Denny stepped closer to the bed. “If the
job
, Valeria, is to kill humans—kids—then I’m out. I didn’t sign up for that. Peyton is right. I am too soft to be a murderer.” Denny took her tray and started for the door. “And I’m okay with that.”

Denny descended the stairs and set her tray on the kitchen counter, Iris joining her.

“Come take a walk with me, DH.” Iris exited through the back door guarded by two beefy security guards wearing black t-shirts with white lettering that read EVENT SECURITY.

They walked in silence for the first few minutes. The sun barely peeked over trees and the hum of cicadas had yet to begin.

“Killing humans isn’t what I signed up for,” Denny said softly.

“I know.”

“Even if I could, getting into the village and out alive would be nearly impossible.”

“Well now, that’s debatable. There
are
ways to get in and out undetected.”

“And then what? We kill those kids
in the hope
that closes the rift? That’s insane.”

“It’s okay if you walk away, DH. Really. You came to make sure Peyton was okay, right? Well she is. You can go home now.”

“Can I? You saw how slowly she is moving. It could take her days to get back on her feet. In the meantime, NOLA and the surrounding cities will flood with demons. Who is going to stop that? It’s only a matter of time before they head to our home. What then?”

“We’ll think of something,” Iris said softly. “I have faith in you.”

Denny smiled softly. “You know, for the past six months, I’ve followed Peyton’s activities as a legacy hunter, admiring her work and her dedication, never really knowing what an ass clown she really is.”

“Don’t judge her too harshly. From what I understand, there are reasons—sad reasons—behind her reclusiveness.”

Denny stopped walking. The towering oaks cast elongated shadows across the worn road. “I’ve heard a tale or two. What has your side heard?”

“Two lovers, a witch, and a best friend murdered by demons early on in her career.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah. One brother paralyzed from the waist down and the utter destruction of two family homes. It has not been an easy life for her. She is bitter for a reason.” Iris took Denny’s hand and continued walking.

“Early on? She looks all of twelve. How old is she?”

“Thirty-four. Started even younger than you with virtually no training.”

“And you know all this because...”

“Because, Valeria has taken Peyton under her wing, and she wanted me to understand why she has such sharp edges. You had those same edges when we first met, remember? You could very well have suffered some of the same losses as she did, but you didn’t. Why didn’t you?
You
had help. You have people you trust, people who love you. Peyton has nothing.”

“Maybe if she wasn’t such a hard-ass, people would want to help her. You’ve heard her. She would be judge, jury, and executioner over those kids.”

“I imagine it would be easy for a hunter to lose his or her humanity, DH. It’s the reason you all need a witch. We maintain a balance. We keep the hunter connected to the natural world when the supernatural one threatens to take over.”

“Did Valeria say how she lost a witch?”

“Just that Peyton got arrogant. Cocky. She made a wrong decision and it cost her a witch’s life. They weren’t bonded or anything. I think they were just friends. But the witches blamed Peyton for her death. That was when she slowly became reclusive. She really has nobody, DH. I find that terribly sad.”

Denny wondered if the witch and the warlock were one and the same. “It may be sad, but it’s her choice you know? No wonder the witches here have nothing nice to say about her.”

“Exactly. And so it’s not that she doesn’t like you. She obviously doesn’t even
know
you. It just makes her nervous to put others at risk because she’s already lost so much. I understand her now a little better. She’s had a rough go of it, DH. Really rough. Being an ass back to her is easier than being kind and understanding. I prefer we try to be kind and understanding.”

Denny stopped in the shade of one enormous oak tree whose roots looked like something from a fantasy painting...like enormous snakes bursting from the ground. “Fine. I can try to be kinder to her, but I won’t kill the Vodouisants, Iris. I just can’t. Once I start killing human beings, I may as well let the Hanta take over and call it a day.”

“Agreed. So what’s your plan?”

“We need to see if any of the priestesses in the swamp are willing to help us.”

“Well then, that’s as good a start as any. How can I help?”

“We have to get to that Haitian village. See if the coven has anyone who will help us. You. They are more likely to talk to one of their own.”

“Possibly, though they don’t seem to be very forthcoming with Valeria, and she’s their regional head banana.”

“Maybe there’s a reason for that. I’ll go back to my contacts and see what I can find out. I’ll do some research on this source thing. Ames should be able to provide some insight. So will Lauren.”

Iris smiled. “See? You have a plan already. That’s how you operate, DH. You plan. You gather intel. Peyton’s first response might always be one of violence or killing, but
you’re
not
her.
You have to do this
your
way, and there’s nothing wrong with that. She might think killing is the only answer for closing the rift, but that doesn’t mean she’s right.”

Inhaling deeply, Denny started back to the plantation. “Thank you, Iris. I guess I have to stop acting like this is some kind of competition and just do my best to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.”

Iris squeezed her hand, her gray eyes sparkling. “And so far, DH, your best is pretty damn awesome.”

***

D
enny returned to town to leave messages for everyone she considered a viable contact. Then she spoke to Lauren about demonic rifts, Ames about the Dybbuk, Sterling about returning home, and Wynn about Annalee’s ETA.

She found out that Dybbuks run in packs, that Sterling was praying for her, and that Annalee, the legacy hunter Ames had contacted, was due from Florida any moment.

After all her legwork, she ate at the Oyster House and crashed until nightfall, when she headed to the dark alleyways to find the
only
person who had really helped her.

Louis.

Alley after dark alley, Denny prowled, not even stopping to assist those plagued by thugs and hoodlums. The Hanta was well fed. It cared even less if humans were taken advantage of or abused. As far as it was concerned, they got what they deserved. That was its way.

Narcissistic motherfucker.

Finally, she found a bum drinking from a brown paper bag and wearing the same kind of Army jacket and beanie Louis had been sporting.

“I’m looking for Louis.”

The bum looked up, glassy-eyed. “No idear who you talkin’ ‘bout.”

Denny described Louis, all the while feeling the Hanta getting twitchy.

Twitchy. The feeling the Hanta got when it felt danger was near.

“Oh...you mean Sarge?”

Denny thought back to the worn Army jacket. Sergeant stripes had adorned the arm of one sleeve. “Yes. Sarge. Where can I find him?”

“He poplar tonight. Two other fellas was lookin’ fer him earlier.”

Denny felt her gut tighten and the Hanta moved from twitchy to wide awake. “Did they find him?”

“Dunno. What day’s it?”

“Friday.”

He took a swig. “Ah then, I tol’ ’em he be down the alley behin’ Vern’s liquor store. They’s a kid who delivers who always gives him freebies. I dunno if—”

But Denny didn’t stay for the rest. Whoever had been looking for Louis could very well have found him, and that meant he was possibly dead.

When she got back to the urine-scented alley of the liquor store, she stood at the mouth of the narrow street and gazed in at the yawning darkness.

The Hanta was wide awake now.

Denny slowly withdrew Epée from her vest and checked her watch face to make sure Scudo, her shield, was on tap.

Denny slowly inched her way down the disgusting street, her breath catching when she saw two booted feet sticking out from behind a dumpster. Only her Hanta’s heightened senses allowed her to see the boots through the darkness.

Looking behind her, Denny cautiously approached the booted feet, knowing full well there was no life in them. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

As she peered around the dumpster, her breath caught once more. Sitting on his chest was Louis’s decapitated head—still wearing its beanie.

“Oh, Jesus.” Squatting on her haunches, Denny stared into Louis’s unseeing eyes. “Oh man, I am so, so sorry.”

That was when she saw it.

A phone stuffed in his mouth.

“What the fuck?”

The Hanta was livid and pushing hard to gain control. Denny scanned the alley to make sure she was alone in case she couldn’t keep it under wraps.

She slid the phone out between his rotting teeth and wiped it off on his jacket.

The smartphone came to life in her hand, but it wasn’t ringing.

A text message.

Not just a text, a photo.

“Shit.”

Of Iris bound and gagged.

“God damn mother fuckers.”

The message in the photo read:
Blue boat at the dock waiting. Her life depends on your speed
.

The Hanta rose within her like never before. She pocketed the phone and sprinted to the dock, her arms and legs churning. Denny leapt over park benches, bowled people over, and dashed to the dock, where a twenty foot, blue motorboat waited.

Denny did not break stride as she went airborne and landed in the middle of the boat, practically tipping it over. Epée out and raised over her head, she glared through red eyes at the three men in the boat. “Where. Is. She?” The voice was all Hanta: mean, low, deep, and threatening. It felt like it was going to burst through her chest.

The three men in the boat all held their hands up in surrender.

“We will take you there, but put your weapon away and back the fuck off my men. All I have to do is press one button and your witch is dead.”

Denny retracted Epée but did not put the cylinder away. “If she dies, so do you—so will all the rest of your fucked-up village.”

The leader, a dark skinned man with slicked back hair and pock marked face held a phone in his hand. “Don’t be stupid, hunter. Sit. Relax, Follow my directions and your witch will live to see dawn. We do not wish to harm her.”

Denny did not sit, but towered over the shorter man. “Who collected her?”

“That’s not important.”

“I beg to differ, little man. Whoever was foolish enough to take my witch should know they just grabbed a demon by the tail.” Denny did not move. “So if I were you, I’d save my men, you douchebag and just tell me what I want to know before I slice you all into tiny shit-bag pieces.”

The younger man ran his hand through his hair and did his best to act unafraid. “I collected her. I made sure no harm came to her, as were my orders.”

Denny gritted her teeth. “I wish I could say the same for you.”

“You need to chill, man. This isn’t what you think.”

“You have no fucking clue what I think.” Denny felt the Hanta’s eagerness to take over.

“No, I do not, so let me tell you what
I
think. I think you need to take a breath, have a seat, and reel it in. All that anger is no good for you, and if your demon harms us, the witch is a dead woman.”

Denny slowly backed away. “If she’s been harmed at all, even a fucking splinter, you’re the first one I’ll cut into pieces and feed to the fucking fish.”

“Easy. I told you, she is unharmed. Now let me get you to her so you can see for yourself.”

Denny sat in silence as the boat left the dock and wound its way through the narrow pathways of the bayou. Denny couldn’t see a damn thing and was impressed by how well these yahoos navigated in the darkness.

Clearly, this was not the first time.

After several minutes, they pulled up to a rickety dock that had boards hanging on by a thread. Four armed men stood waiting. Denny guessed they were Haitians.

“Goodness, a welcoming committee.”

“They’ll take you to her. One word of advice—”