Hunted

- 1 - FIRST CONTACT

“The boys were amazing tonight,” Antony Mancuso said in a regretful voice, referring to the punk group he promoted.

“There’s no reason why they can’t continue touring,” Bran said.

Mancuso shook his head. “No, we had a good run. I don’t care what you said. No one plays around with his soul and gets away with it.” He puffed on a cigar, smoke drifting toward the ceiling.

Mancuso was a heavyset man with heavy jowls and sad, beady eyes. He didn’t offer us seats despite the comfortable leather sofas scattered around the room. That was okay. We didn’t want to sit anyway. Our presence made the damned uncomfortable. We, on the other hand, despised them for selling their souls for material gain and fame, but we needed their cooperation.

“What do you want me to do?” Mancuso asked.

Bran pulled a rolled-up scroll from the inside pocket of his trench coat, and a dagger from the belt around his hip. The scroll was dark-brown and thin like animal skin, the edges darker and uneven as though cut by fire. He unrolled it to reveal a list of names. The letters glowed fiery orange against the dark background.

“Antony J. Mancuso,” Bran read.

A contract appeared out of thin air. Square and made from the same material as the bigger scroll, the words written on it were in the ancient language of Nephilim and angels. The only recognizable words were Mancuso’s name.

Mancuso watched Bran with shiny eyes as though he was fighting tears. He snuffed off the smoldering tip of the cigar on an ashtray. “How long do I have after I cancel the contract?”

“You’ll get your soul back right away,” Bran explained.

“I meant my health, the reason I gave up my soul.”

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” Remy said impatiently from where he stood by the door. “Because of us, you are about to cheat hell.”

“No one cheats hell.” Mancuso picked up his cigar and placed it between his lips with shaking hands. “Or death.”

“Stop puffing on that garbage and you’ll add ten more years to your life,” Kim added bluntly, blue eyes flashing.

That was Kim for you. She spoke her mind, damn the consequences. Mancuso didn’t even look at her despite her nasty tone. Instead, his gaze kept swinging between Bran’s face and the contract.

“Give me your finger,” Bran said, gesturing to Mancuso.

Mancuso heaved forward and extended a chubby finger. No one spoke as Bran pricked his finger and blood pooled from the punctured hole then dropped onto the parchment. It smoldered at the wet spot then burst into flame, leaving behind nothing.

“Why don’t I feel different?” Mancuso asked.

“You had a massive stroke, Mr. Mancuso,” Bran said. “You couldn’t talk, eat, and walk before you signed with me. You are talking to us.”

Mancuso stretched his arms and wiggled his fingers, a smile flitting across his round face. “Yes, I am. So David Lee’s voice…?”

“Will be okay even after he cancels his contract,” Bran finished patiently. “We’ll be back after he’s done with his last song.”

Mancuso was the promoter at Zone, the hottest new club on Union Square in New York City. He was famous for plucking garage bands out of obscurity and turning them into overnight teen sensations. But his most successful band, a punk rock group called Hellboys, weren’t young. They had had their time in the limelight in the late nineties. Then their lead singer, David Lee, lost his voice to drugs, until two years ago when he ‘found it’ and the group had an amazing comeback.

No one knew how David Lee’s voice recovered. Doctors called it a miracle. Fans didn’t care. The truth was known to a select few. Us. The Cardinal Guardians, children of the Nephilim, whose sole existence was to rid the world of demons.

David Lee had sold his soul to Bran when Bran used to collect souls for a demon queen. Mancuso had introduced them to each other.

We filed out of Mancuso’s office and headed upstairs to the VIP lounge. We had a clear view of the dance floor and the stage, where David Lee was singing his heart out while sweaty bodies writhed and arms flailed in a rhythmic daze.

I felt the urge to sway to the pulsing beat, but we weren’t here to dance. All of us—Izzy, Kim, Sykes, Remy, Bran and I—were dressed in black hunting clothes, which blended well with the Gothic outfits most of the clubbers wore. Anonymity was everything in our line of business. No one was supposed to know we existed.

Across the table, Sykes turned his chair and started whispering in the ear of a giggling human girl. Next thing, the girl slid her fingers through his blond hair, gripped his head and whispered something back. Somehow he always found time to flirt or make out with some girl even in the middle of a mission.

Remy, seated next to him, drummed his fingers on the table, oblivious to everything and everyone, his gray eyes staring into space. He’d been acting weird the last couple of months. Sykes insisted Remy needed to get laid. I think dealing with humans on a daily basis was getting to him.

The “girls”, as I often called Kim and Izzy, wore bored expressions though the two were critiquing the outfits the women at the neighboring tables wore. Kim, golden blonde hair professionally styled and makeup impeccable, and Izzy, with skin a shade of brown that attracted light in ways that defied description and a dark curly mane, lived and breathed fashion. Unfortunately, they could be so catty sometimes. Even though they wore black shirts and trench coats like the rest of us, their black leggings and designer thigh-high boots were not standard Cardinal Guardian issued. But the boots were very handy when hiding the special weapons we used when hunting demons—knives, daggers, and sickles.

Bored with eavesdropping on their conversation, I went back to studying the dancers. Dry-ice smoke rose like the Lazari from the stage as the band started their next number, an old favorite that sent the predominantly teen and twenties crowd screaming. I tried to block the noise, their thoughts, which were loud, and their emotions, which were varied, but couldn’t completely do it.

How long do we have to wait? I asked Bran. The club was too loud to have a normal conversation.

An hour or so, he answered calmly as if we had all the time in the world and the clock wasn’t ticking on his soul.

Bran’s story was complicated, but then he was a complicated guy. Coronis, the most powerful demoness of all time, had kidnapped his grandparents and forced their only son, Bran’s father, to marry an alpha demoness. As a result Bran had grown up among the demons and like every faithful follower, he’d moved into the soul-collecting business when his powers appeared at the age of sixteen. A year ago, he found us, the Guardians, his grandfather’s people, and switched sides. To save his soul, he had to cancel every contract he’d ever enticed a human to sign.

Three months ago, we’d acquired a list of Damned Humans who’d sold their souls to demons in the last several millennia, Bran’s included. As a result, we’d given up beach time to chase Damned Humans. Looking at Bran, you couldn’t tell he was worried. He was cool like that. Being the oldest in our group might have something to do with it. He’d just turned twenty. The other Cardinals were nineteen—they all had summer birthdays—and I would turn seventeen in three weeks.

Like most Nephilim, Bran was startlingly handsome, with an angular face, wavy, shoulder-length black hair, broad shoulders and a tall, masculine body. His most striking features were his emerald green eyes, which now reflected the strobe light flashing around us. I caught the gaze of a girl at our neighboring table and smiled. She glanced away but within seconds, she was back staring. Even though Bran never seemed aware of it, he attracted more attention than the rest of us wherever we went. Something about the way he carried himself was mesmerizing, like he could chew you up and spit you out without losing sleep over it. He was a badass when badassness was called for.

You are tired, he telepathed, giving me a probing glance, then he tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear. Such a simple gesture, yet it showed his gentler side.

I shrugged. It’s almost midnight and we still have one more stop to go.

Then go to sleep. I’ll wake you when it’s time to leave. He angled his solid body and pulled me closer.

I couldn’t sleep if I tried, not with the noise level. Still, I rested my head against his broad chest and closed my eyes. Despite being seated upstairs above the bar, the rotating strobe lights still reached us. I hated strobe lights. They messed with my mental focus. As a Psi Guardian, having a calm mind was everything.

Bran’s psi energy gently brushed mine, and I sighed. He always knew what to do to relax me. Smiling, I drifted away from the noise and the lights.

It’s time, Bran telepathed later, pulling me out of a pleasant dream of a world with no demons.

We got up, left the balcony and headed for the stairs, which led to the back of the club and Mancuso’s office. The security guards saw us coming and stepped aside. Mancuso offered us seats this time, but no one wanted to sit down. The sooner we were done, the faster we’d head to our next target.

The door burst open and we all reached for our weapons. The security guard froze. I was sure facing six teens dressed like Val Helsing and carrying deadly, medieval-looking weapons wasn’t something he did every day. We had removed our glamour when we entered the room because we weren’t supposed to hide our identities from the humans we dealt with.

“What is it, Joey?” Mancuso asked.

The security guard dragged his gaze away from us. “David Lee is gone.”

“What do you mean ‘gone’?” Mancuso bellowed, heaving to his feet.

“He slipped out for a smoke and took off.”

Mancuso’s face grew red. “Didn’t someone go with him? What am I paying you for? Find him and bring him to me or you are all fired.” He dropped back on his seat, his chest heaving. He shot us an apologetic look. “I explained everything to David Lee after you talked to him earlier, and he seemed okay with canceling his contract even though he believes he’ll lose everything. You know, the money…his voice… I just never thought he’d run.”

Cowards! I hated Runners. One would think we were handing them death sentences instead of their souls.

“We’ll find him,” Bran vowed then shoved his knives in the sheaths around his thigh and glanced at me. “Finish it.”

As the Cardinal Psi in our group, it was my job to erase memories after each cancellation. Mancuso watched me curiously as I walked toward him. Human Psi energy was easy to breach, but changing human perception of past events was a bit tricky. We didn’t want them dreaming about demons and Guardians, or having déjá vu sneak up on them to remind them of the past. Some tended to see a shrink to learn the root cause of their unexplained feelings and dreams, so I had to give them something to find.

“What’s going on?” Mancuso demanded as I stopped beside him.

“I’m going to make you forget you ever gave up your soul or dealt with a demon, Mr. Mancuso. Would you like that?”

He nodded, his jowls shaking. “Oh yes.”

“Good. Look at me.”

I had gotten better at mind-blending. The first time I tried it, I’d gone a little crazy. I got inside Mancuso’s head and went to the beginning—his first meeting with Bran. They’d met at a concert of one of his other clients. We always discussed the fake memories before leaving HQ. Instead of a collector, Bran could be a young, talented singer Mancuso had tried to represent and whose career tanked. Thoughts of Bran and the feeling of doom accompanying them would become regret. Last, our presence in his office and the purpose of our meeting wasn’t to cancel a contract. We were Hellboys’ number-one fans and had backstage passes to meet with David Lee. I went over the new memories and his perception of each image, then broke the mind-blend.

Mancuso blinked as though prodded into awareness. His eyes narrowed as he heaved to his feet. “Damn groupies. Out of my office.”

“Chill, old man,” Sykes said. Bran was already out the door. “We just wanted David Lee’s autograph.”

“Do you see him in here? Out…out.” He waved his pudgy arms. “Security!”

We were laughing by the time the door closed behind us. We exited the building through a side door and entered the alley.

“Let’s get some lattes and frappes before we head to our next stop,” Kim suggested.

“I’m in, but let’s not forget we’ve added another Runner to our list,” Izzy said. “That makes…what?”

“Fifteen,” Bran said.

“How can you be so calm about it? We want to help and they run, damned cowards,” Kim grumbled. “Why aren’t there consequences to selling a soul anyway?”

“Because Master Haziel said there weren’t, and he’s the wisest and oldest Guardian,” I said. He was also our master trainer. “I’m more worried about what Mancuso is going to say when David Lee returns and brings up the subject of damned souls and us. I did what I could, but we’ve never canceled one soul when two humans signed together.”

“I’m sure they’ll consider it a miscommunication. You know how humans get. ‘I’m sorry I bailed out on you, old man,’” Izzy imitated Lee’s raspy voice. “‘Oh, that’s okay, Lee my boy. It’s all forgotten. Just head back to the stage and sing your heart out. You’ll have them eating out of the palm of your hand again,’” she added in Mancuso’s deep baritone. “‘Are you sure, Mancuso? I thought they’d be mad and come after you.’ ‘They love you, David Lee. Just don’t ever run away again in the middle of a concert.’”

Perfect improv. We were laughing by the time she finished.

“I don’t care whether Lee brings it up or not as long as another name disappears off our list,” Sykes said. “It’s been a long, boring summer.”

Bran chuckled. “I agree.”

“No way.” Sykes moved closer to Bran and dropped an arm around his shoulders. “Finally, we agreed on something.”

“Let’s also agree to keep personal space.” Bran pushed Sykes’ arm from his shoulder.

“Why?” Sykes pretended to sniff his armpit. “I showered before we left.”

Bran just shook his head. Sykes’ antics used to bother him, but not anymore.

“You have issues, Llyr.” Sykes jabbed a finger in his direction and smirked as we exited the alley.

The alley opened onto the Union Square, an oasis in the middle of the concrete jungle that was New York. Lovers strolled hand-in-hand near the green center of the Square, and late-night bingers nibbled on snacks from a nearby coffee shop.

A chilling scream came from the back of the building. The people on the Square didn’t appear to have heard it. I scanned psi energies.

“It’s a human,” I said, already turning.

“Oh no, you don’t.” Kim grabbed my arm.

“He’s terrified and in pain, Kim.” I tried to free my arm, but her grip tightened.

“I’m sure he is a hobo. It’s not our job to heal and help every suffering human that crosses our path. Where are you going?” Kim asked when Izzy took off.

“Going to see if we need to call an ambulance, Ms. Anti-hero,” Izzy retorted.

Like me, Izzy could never walk away from a suffering human being. She was the healer of our group, a rare ability which was handy when our wounds were too serious to self-heal. Healing humans was easy for her, but she needed me to make them forget the incident.

I wrestled my arm free from Kim and followed. Curses came from behind us, but I knew the others would come. The guys might complain, but they always came through. Kim was the typical anti-hero, a Guardian who couldn’t stand people depending on her.

“It’s David Lee,” Izzy called out from beside a blue dumpster. “He’s strung out on something.”

I ran to join them. David Lee was on the ground, arms punching an invisible enemy, legs kicking and spittle shooting from his mouth to his beard.

“Go away…leave me alone…leave…me…alone…” he screamed.

Calm down, I tried to use my power of persuasion, but he only kicked harder. He was going to hurt himself. I lifted my hand above him. Freeze.

He froze with his arms and legs curled up like a child throwing a tantrum. The others joined us and we studied the frozen rock star in silence. Up close he looked smaller and older. His sleeveless jacket, as well as the jewelry on his wrist, neck, and pants, were all studded. What I’d believed was a long-sleeved shirt was actually tattoos.

“Unfreeze him,” Bran said then squatted beside David Lee, who’d gone back to battling his imaginary foe. “Hey, Lee!” Bran reached for his arms. “Snap out of it, man.” He pinned David Lee’s arms while Sykes grabbed his legs.

Lee bucked and twisted until he realized he couldn’t escape. He went still, opened his eyes and studied us with unfocused eyes.

“Where…where’s the thing that attacked me?” His eyes darted around.

“What thing?” Bran asked, letting Lee’s arm go while Sykes released his legs.

David Lee shook his head and winced. “I don’t know. There was a bright light and thick smoke, then terrible sounds and pain inside my head. I was in hell, man. There was fire everywhere, people crying and begging for mercy.” He looked up and shuddered. “It came from up there.”

Maybe he’d imagined a meteor. August was meteor month, and New York was one place you’d expect a spectacular display. We followed his glance and reached for our weapons. Instead of streaming lights shooting across the sky, a large, fluffy cloud blocked our view, lightning churning in its core as though struggling to burst through.

“What in Tartarus is that?” Sykes mumbled.

“It looks like a volcanic plume,” I said.

“There are no active volcanoes within a thousand miles from here,” Izzy said. “It looks like a Lazarus demon, but I’ve thoroughly studied demonic books and there’s nothing about Lazari using their abilities while in smoke form.”

“Okay, so it’s another new fiend,” Sykes murmured. “Big deal. Let’s nuke it.”

“Not so fast,” Izzy added. “I think we should trap it and identify it first.” She pulled out six crystals from her coat pocket.

The crystals, smooth and colorless, usually released light and formed a cage around a demon. Ever since we’d defeated Coronis, demons of mixed breed kept appearing and blindsiding us. Some weren’t bad. Like the Souled Demons and Neutrals we knew and left alone because they had no interest in hurting humans or collecting souls. This one was obviously one of the bad ones since it had attacked David Lee.

Per our rules, demons didn’t attack humans. They might possess them, make them sign contracts for their souls, use them to further their diabolical plans to take over the earth, but they never ever directly attacked humans. This was a first. “Let’s finish here, then lure it away from the city,” Bran said. “There are way too many people around here. All it takes is one person seeing past the glamour without our knowledge and we’d be exposed.”

“Lure what?”

We all turned to glance at David Lee. We’d completely forgotten his presence until he spoke. He struggled to his feet with Sykes’ help.

“Thank you, man.”

“Did you get a proper look at the thing that attacked you?” Bran asked.

David Lee shook his head. “Who are you? Cops?”

“We are Guardians.” Bran nodded to indicate all of us. “We talked to you and Mr. Mancuso earlier.”

“Mancuso?”

“Your manager,” Bran reminded him.

David Lee scowled. “You must be confusing me with someone else, man. I don’t know any Mancuso.”

Bran’s eyes narrowed. “Is this is an attempt to get out of canceling your contract, Lee?”

“Is that my name? Lee?” David Lee asked.

Humans often came up with every excuse in the book to delay canceling their contracts, but no one had ever faked amnesia before.

“Your real name is David Leonard Birtwhistle, but you use David Lee,” Bran said. “You were singing at Zone here in New York City.”

Surprised flashed across Lee’s face, then he glanced down at his leather pants, studded jacket, bracelets and the many rings with skull heads on his fingers. He grinned. “I sing in a band?”

“No, dude,” Sykes said. “You are the band. Concerts in every continent, fans chasing you, hot babes in your bed wherever you go.” He shrugged. “I read it in Rolling Stone magazine. I’m not a fan, okay? That was pure research.”

“I made Rolling Stone” Lee mumbled.

“Just a minute here.” Bran raised his hand. “Are you saying you lost your memory after you were attacked?”

Lee frowned. “Attacked? What are you talking about?”

Bran pointed upward. “You said that thing…” His voice trailed off as though he’d just remembered David Lee couldn’t see the demon. Not that there was anything to see anymore. The demon was gone. Bran’s hand dropped to his side and he took a deep breath.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Remy asked impatiently.

“Leaving the family farm in Oklahoma with my guitar and big dreams of being a star.”

“Those are lyrics from your first hit.” Sykes shrugged when we glared at him. “Hey, the dude can write amazing lyrics.”

“Are you saying you don’t remember him?” Remy snapped, pointing at Bran.

Bran reached in his inner coat pocket, pulled out the list of names and read out, “David Leonard Birtwistle.” The contract appeared. Bran snatched it up and shoved it at Lee. “You signed this contract and gave up your soul to revive your singing career after it tanked. We need you to cancel it.”

David laughed. “You’re kidding. I might not know what’s going on here, but I know I’d never sell my soul. That would be nuttier than a crapper at a peanut festival.”

“Yet you did,” Bran said through gritted teeth. As though he realized he was losing his cool, he finger-combed his hair. When he glanced at me and spoke, his voice was calm again. “Confirm it.”

I stepped forward and Lee eyed me curiously. “Who are you, sweetheart? If I’m really a rock star and not someone you’re trying to con, where are my bodyguards? Did you kidnap me? How much money—?”

“Shut up,” Kim snapped, elbowing me out of the way. “If you want to get out of canceling the contract, just say so and stop wasting our time. If that thing that attacked you screwed up your memories, she,” Kim jabbed a finger in my direction, “is the only one who can confirm it. Get it?”

David Lee blinked as though Kim had reached out and slapped him. “Okay, sweetheart. No need to get antsy.”

Kim’s eyes flashed and for one brief moment, I thought she’d slap him. “Don’t you ever call me sweetheart.”

David Lee swallowed, “Yes, ma’am.”

Times like this, I was happy Kim was on my team. She could be so scary sometimes.

“You asked who I was,” I started, and Kim rolled her eyes. She hated it when we explained who we were, but rules were rules. “I’m a Guardian. We all are. We fight demons, like the one we believe attacked you and messed with your memories. Right now, I’m going to see what you know. Okay?”

He hesitated. Despite having the abilities to teleport, use telepathy, manipulate the elements, time, and the mind, we couldn’t force humans to do anything against their will because they had something called free will—a lifetime pass to screw up as often as they liked and get away with it. And we knew how many of them did just that.

“David Lee?” I asked gently, wishing I could tell him the truth—that the soul of the guy I loved was at stake too.

He stole a quick glance at Kim, then nodded.

I was in and out of his mind in seconds. “There’s nothing there but mucking stalls and hauling horse manure. It’s like he hasn’t done or seen anything in years.”

“Can I leave now?” Lee asked.

“Sure, David Lee,” Kim said sweetly. “As soon as you cancel the contract you signed or the demon that attacked you will come back and drag you to hell.”

“Kim!” we all protested.

She shot us an annoyed look. “I’m tired of babying them. We would be done with this if we were honest with them.” She glanced at David Lee. “Sometimes the demons send hellhounds. You know, dogs the size of a calf that can rip you in two with one bite, fangs dripping with drool, red eyes, smelly breath…”

“Where do I sign?” David Lee asked quickly, moving away from Kim.

The process went smoothly after that. I felt bad erasing the memory of our meeting from his head because of what the demon had done to him. We escorted him to the side door of the building and handed him over to security.

“That was brutal,” Izzy said, glaring at Kim.

Kim shrugged. “But effective. Don’t say I forced him because I didn’t. I gave him his options.”

“One option,” Bran corrected her. “Do you still want that latte?”

Kim made a face. “No. That demon left a bad feeling in my stomach.”

Bran nodded, but he continued to search the sky as though he expected the demon to reappear. “Let’s go.”

We appeared inside a gated beach home in Myrtle Beach, a South Carolina coastal city. After the noise of downtown New York, it was nice to hear the calming sounds of waves washing the sands and smell the salty air. Lights blazed behind the windows, indicating the owners were home.

“What is their story?” I asked as we crossed the well-tended lawn.

“I met Mrs. Watts at a hospital two years ago. Her little girl had bone cancer and was in the last stages of the illness. Mrs. Watts wanted her daughter healed.”

“Cases like hers are so heartbreaking,” Izzy muttered. “When we started, I assumed we’d meet selfish, greedy, and fame-seeking scumbags like David Lee.”

“Most of them are,” Kim told her.

“Yeah, but sprinkled among them are the selfless husbands and wives, mothers and fathers willing to do anything for their loved ones,” Izzy added defensively.

“How old was the little girl?” I asked, interrupting what could escalate into a heated discussion.

“Six,” Bran said. “Mrs. Watts was pregnant and already had two twin boys. At first, I dealt with her. It wasn’t until after her daughter recovered that she contacted me and brought her husband. They wanted success and power, so I gave them another deal—his soul for a lucrative business as a real estate agent. Within six months, they moved from their modest home to this.” Bran stopped in front of the entrance and pressed on the doorbell. Through the window, we could see the foyer with a high ceiling, fancy chandelier, and a grand staircase.

A woman opened the door with a brilliant smile on her lips. Her eyes widened when she took another look at Bran, the smile disappearing from her face. “You? It can’t be. You…I…is it time? You said I’d have twenty years.”

“Calm down, Mrs. Watts. I’m not here for you. We just need to talk to you and your husband. May we come in?”

“No,” she said in a horrified voice then stepped forward, closed the door behind her, and pulled the sweater tightly across her chest. Swallowing, she studied us nervously. “He’s not here. We are getting a divorce.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Bran said.

“There’s no need to be. He changed, became a jerk.” She glanced at us again before focusing on Bran. “If you are not after me, what do you want?” she asked rudely.

“We are here to give you a chance to cancel the contract you signed with me and get your soul back,” Bran explained, speaking slowly so there was no misunderstanding.

“What’s going to happen to my daughter if I cancel?”

“Nothing.” Bran reached inside his pocket for the scroll with names. He read her name and the contract appeared. Putting the list away, he pulled the dagger from the sheath at his waist. Mrs. Watts took a step back, her eyes wide.

“It’s okay,” Bran said reassuringly. “All we need is a drop of your blood on the contract and you can go on with your life.”

She shook her head.

Bran sighed. “Mrs. Watts—”

“I can’t. If I cancel, Michele is going to be sick again. She just celebrated her eighth birthday this evening.” She hugged herself. “I don’t want to lose her.”

I tuned out Mrs. Watts and the others when I felt a sharp tug on my psi. I looked around and found the source. Guys, look up.

They stepped away from the doorway and looked up, everyone reaching for their weapons. Unlike in New York, the demon darted around as though eager for some action.

“Get inside the house, Mrs. Watts,” Bran ordered.

The woman had stepped from the door to see what held our attention, but from her confused expression, she couldn’t see the demon. She opened her mouth to speak, but Bran snapped, “Now!”

She scurried inside and bolted her door.

As a Cardinal Psi, I can see psi energies of anyone and anything, yet I couldn’t locate the demon’s energy. The special Xenithian jadeite core of our protective amulets didn’t glow either and my dagger wasn’t vibrating as it usually did in a demon’s presence. The jadeite emitted light that was harmful to demon, so all our weapons were forged from it. The blade of the Kris Dagger contained the purest form of the jadeite, the light from it deadly to demons. Maybe the clouds and the lightning shielded the demon’s energy from reaching us or something.

“We can’t fight him…her…whatever it is while it’s up there,” Izzy griped.

“Get down here and face us, you coward,” Sykes yelled, energy balls appearing above his palms.

“I’m going after the bastard,” Bran said, stepping away from us, two daggers in his hands, wings lifting.

“No,” we all protested.

“You can’t face an unknown demon on your own,” Remy said. “Only Lil’s lightning bolts can reach that far.”

“And if that fails…,” Bran vowed.

“Then I’ll use the Kris Dagger,” I answered firmly.

The others nodded. Bran took his time, but he finally jerked his head in approval. “Spread out and stay linked,” he instructed.

We moved apart, so if the demon attacked it wouldn’t get us all at once, but we stayed visible. I pulled out the Kris Dagger from its sheath, the ancient text racing up my arms as we linked. The jolt that shot through my body was exhilarating, the pain still there but insignificant.

I’m ready, I informed the others, then willed lightning bolts from thin air. They zipped through the air like heat-seeking missiles.

The demon battled lightning with lightning, the explosions lighting up the sky like it was the Fourth of July fireworks show. I pointed my dagger upward.

Attack!

Green, bright light shot from the blade and headed straight toward the cloud demon. It would have been a clear hit, but the demon did something to bend the light, changing its trajectory to outer space.

That’s impossible, someone ground out.

No demon had ever survived an attack by the Kris Dagger. But whatever the demon did, he or she forgot about the lightning bolts. They converged in its crackling core, causing it to expand. The resulting explosion was blinding. Then there was nothing but clear blue-black sky. No screaming. No smoking demon plunging to the ground.

“What in Tartarus was that?” Izzy asked.

“A new breed of demons,” Kim answered. “They don’t even scream anymore.”

As the others dissected what just happened and joined me, a strange feeling coiled my insides. As it spread, I realized what it was: panic. The Kris Dagger was the most powerful Nephilim weapon, and a demon had just bested it.

“You did it?” Bran said coming to stand beside me. He must have read my emotions.

“The demon deflected the dagger’s death rays, Bran. What are we dealing with?”

“I don’t know. Let’s finish with Mrs. Watts and go home.”

But Mrs. Watts had her doors and windows locked tight and lights turned off. Our knocks went unanswered. Or maybe we didn’t try hard enough. We were more concerned about the demon that could block the rays from the Kris Dagger.