Darcy glanced at the hunter, a member of the Bentry family. She’d always thought him lazy and slow. Looked like he wasn’t going to disappoint.
“We’ll fix it,” she replied, her tone biting. “Or we’ll adapt. This is not the end of us.”
“Blondie, you do whatever the hell you want,” Rod said. “I’m moving south.”
She despised his cowardice. “You think if we’re overrun the spirits won’t find you no matter where you go? We’re the first line of defense here. If Kerilyn is or was responsible, the tear to the spirit world will be somewhere in town, right? So we do what we do best. Fight.”
Some of the men and women before her nodded their agreement. Others looked less certain. Darcy understood the hesitation. Fighting demons was hard enough without doubling their workload with equally vicious creatures. There were only so many hunters, after all, and the Netherworld was infinite.
“We find out if there is any way to reverse what has been done,” Blake said quietly, the voice of reason. “And we track any spirits who have already crossed over. There can’t be too many or we’d have come up against them before now. It’s late and we’ve been at this long enough. Let’s get some sleep to clear our heads and reconvene tomorrow. If any of you don’t show up, we’ll know why. No hard feelings.”
Rod smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. Darcy fingered the dagger at her waist as she eyed him.
One by one, the hunters in the room stood and made their goodbyes. She watched them go, knowing when they met tomorrow their numbers would be smaller. She tried not to blame them but found she just wasn’t that big a person.
Blake closed the door on the last of them before returning to her side. Darcy stared into the amber scotch in her glass and sighed. “Do you think Kerilyn really had something to do with it?”
“I think it’s a good place to start.”
She nodded before tossing back the last of her drink. “Okay.”
She stood, adjusting her wrist sheaths to make sure they were secure. She felt Blake watching her as she grabbed her coat.
“I’d tell you not to go but I know better.”
Grinning, she dropped a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be back before dawn.”
“Be careful.”
“Always,” she called as she slipped through the door.
The cold winter night hit her as she hurried down the porch steps. She hated this season. Cold fingers made for slow reactions and bulky jackets hindered her ability to get to her weapons quickly.
She jogged to her car, keys already in hand. If Kerilyn was behind this, then the logical place to start was her house. Here’s hoping the hunter had left behind a clue or two.
* * *
Jaral gripped the white picket fence before him with both hands. Something wet slid down his neck and he knew without brushing it off that it was blood. The mortal clothes he despised were ripped in more places than humans would overlook without scrutiny. Cracked fingernails gouged into the wood beneath his hands. The journey to this realm had been harder than anticipated. It was almost as if the universe was balancing itself out—spirits had more leeway and demons had less.
“Kerilyn Whitney,” he growled, staring at her house. His new aunt, all things considered. The thought brought a crooked smile to his lips. A mortal in the family. How humiliating.
He pushed through the little white gate before striding up the stone walkway. The house, the last one on the edge of town, looked empty. Forest rimmed the backyard, kept at bay by the white fence running the perimeter of the property.
When he approached the door the lock slid back with a wave of his hand. He hoped her house held some clues.
Jaral stepped into the dark home, not bothering to try the light switch. He saw as well in the dark as he did in the light. Better, perhaps.
The house sat untouched and he wondered why. Surely the mortals would have been eager to strip it in their greed. If there was one thing he’d learned to count on over the years, it was the greed of humans. In that one way, they were extremely reliable. And easily controllable.
He strode through the downstairs on silent feet. The living room was tidy if small. Photos of smiling children and a happy family lined the walls. He leaned closer to the glossy frames, wondering which of the smiling women had captured his uncle’s cold heart.
Moving away from the pictures he wandered into the kitchen. A quick perusal showed the perishable items had been disposed of. Obviously someone had been here but hadn’t boxed up the woman’s belongings. Odd, but it made his job easier.
Satisfied the downstairs was as ordinary and dull as he’d expected, he climbed the stairs to the second floor. Several bedrooms opened into the hall but only one looked as if it’d been inhabited recently.