When they reach the barn, Ez lifts a hand and languidly flicks her fingers. The door immediately flies off of its hinges, crashing into the opposite wall with athudthat makes the entire structure tremble ominously, and Cass and Obie trade long-suffering looks. Ez is indisputably their little trio’s best spellcaster—the best spellcaster on the entire East Coast, Cass thinks—but, like. That doesn’t mean she has to flaunt her magic at every given opportunity.
The inside of the barn is stale and musty, which is par for the course for old barns in general. The only part that isnotstale and musty is the ostentatious marble throne set up directly in the center, which features precious gems inlaid in the armrests and a dead human sprawled across the seat. “Summoner?” Cass guesses.
“Summoner,” Obie confirms, swaying the slightest bit in the doorway. Lots of memories inside these walls, Cass figures. That’s Obie’s claim to fame: he can pick up the shards of memories that people leave behind, impressions that seep into the walls and the ground and the air, last thoughts and sounds and sights from both the living and the dead. “He summoned a demon that took the human façade of his recently deceased four-year-old daughter and the true form of—of a wyvern, actually.”
Cass nods, unsurprised. Physical forms don’t really exist in Tamaros—their home dimension was mostly composed of light and sound and energy—but when summoners drag demons to Earth, they imbue their neophyte demons with two distinct visages: a human form, usually based on someone the summoner lost, and a demonic form, usually pulled from the summoner’s worst nightmares.
As a matter of fact, those terrifying “true forms” are the entire reason why summoners started calling Cass’s brethren “demons” in the first place. Honestly, it just figures that humans would take something theyliterallycreated and name it after a creature straight out of their mythical hell.
Right now, though, Ez looks somewhat distracted by Obie’s description. “A wyvern? Like fromWyvern Academy?”
“What the hell is aWyvern Academy?”Cass demands.
“It’s a kids’ show,” Ez says.“Reallygood. I’ll text you a link when we get back to Redwater.”
“Is this like the time you told me thatWater Warsmovie was really good? Because those were two hours of my life I can never get back.”
“I never saidWater Warswasgood.I just said it was a prerequisite to understanding eighty percent of today’s meme culture.”
“Anyway,”Obie cuts in, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes are flitting around faster now, like he’s trying to piece together the full story of the massacre. “So the summoner named her ‘December,’ because he summoned her on the first day of December?—”
Cass scoffs. Ofcourseher summoner didn’t consider her worthy of an actual name. To him, she was just a tool, not a living being that he forced into a scary new world and compelled to do his bidding.
There’s a reason why Cass treats humans with guarded politeness at best and outright hostility at worst, and they just keep proving him right.
“—but then he… nicknamed her ‘Desi’?” Abruptly, Obie’s face goes blank. “Oh.Oh.He’snot the one who nicknamed her. We—we might have a problem.”
“A problem,” Cass repeats, following obediently in Obie’s wake as he makes a beeline for the dead man on the throne. “Whatkindof problem, Obadiah?”
“Like…” Obie coils his fingers around the throne’s backrest, letting out a slow breath. “All right. So. Our lackey’s name is JJ.”
Ez arches an eyebrow. “Can you give us a little more than that?”
“Dark brown skin,” Obie says, eyebrows furrowing like he’s analyzing a picture in midair. “Definitely darker than mine—probably the same shade as Ez’s. Tall, broad shoulders, wears his hair in shoulder-length locs. Uses a pair of escrima sticks—beige rattan wood, roughly arm-length.”
The description sparks a memory in Cass’s mind.“Well,”he drawls, “all hunters look the same to me, but I do know weaponry. There have only been three Redwater lackeys in recent history who use escrima, and since Chester Locke is an interrogator and Sawyer Solomon defected six years ago, that leaves us with Julian Jackson of Strike Team Kappa.”
Ez blanches. “JulianJackson?From the Jackson–Locke murders?”
“The very same. Chester Locke was the only other survivor. Since Locke spends all his time torturing demons and dissidents in the Sanctum’s prison, I never bothered to read his file, but Jackson…” Cass grimaces. “He’s skilled. Not as outwardly sadistic as the rest of them, but he never leaves a job unfinished. Obie, were the other two hunters women? One with an ax, one with a bow and arrow?”
“Yep. Light brown skin and black hair for both of them.”
“That’s Kappa,” Cass confirms. “So they have our neophyte demon?”
Obie presses his lips together. “Jackson does, at least—the other two got banished before they reached the barn. Andhe’sthe one who nicknamed her ‘Desi.’”
Ez looks bewildered. “Are you saying that the spree killer who did—?” She gestures vaguely at the carnage around them. “Who didall thisalso took it upon himself tonickname a demon?”
Obie shrugs hopelessly. “I don’t get it, either.”
“But he didn’t kill her.” Cass’s stomach churns. “Which means he’s taking her back to the Sanctum for ‘testing,’ quote-unquote.”
Ez winces. “And we all know that demons who end up in the Sanctum’s prison don’t usually make it out alive.”
“If Jackson is taking December back there,” Obie says quietly, “then we don’t have much time before the interrogators get their hands on her. Maybe just a few days in a cell before they start torturing her—or worse.”
“You know what that means, don’t you?” Cass asks, and he grins. “That means I get to break into the Sanctum and raise a little hell.”
