by K. E. Radke
We have to burn Miguel’s body.
I blink away the tears with a deep breath and take tentative steps forward until I reach Valentina. Kneeling beside her, my heart drops into my stomach. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper to avoid the conversation we need to have. She knows what the next step is. And I know it’s unlikely she’ll begin the preparations herself, but I feel like I’m intruding on an intimate moment. Forcing her to say goodbye before she’s ready is cruel.
But there is no one else who can help her with this. And she shouldn’t do it alone.
I wouldn’t want to do it alone.
“If I can’t protect him, how do I protect my kids?” she asks, lifting her head to look into Miguel’s lifeless eyes.
I don’t have an answer for her. It’s a question hunters evade. We don’t think about the consequences because the truth would destroy us from the inside out. Our motto is to pretend we’re invincible.
“I thought I could protect him,” Valentina’s voice cracks with a quivering breath. “I thought—.” Her shaky fingers comb through his black hair. “In the end, they always win, don’t they? They’ll come for us all…and everyone you love.” Completely still, she looks beyond Miguel, staring calmly into oblivion as if she’s staring fate in the eye, daring it to disagree.
“We have to—,” I begin, but she cuts me off.
“I know,” she whispers darkly with a heavy sigh.
Releasing a slow exhale, her resigned, calm demeanor leaves me perturbed instead of relieved. I don’t expect her to be the usual uncooperative, hysterical person I deal with on a daily basis, but I thought she’d fight me a little harder on this part.
Or ignore me for five more minutes before she has to say goodbye. Loved ones are hard to let go after their last breath, especially if it’s sudden and tragic. But after such a horrific death, we need to prepare his body for the hunter’s ritual to put his spirit at ease.
The last thing we want is his restless spirit to decide to stay. It’s hard to bury someone you love—I never want to find out what it’d be like to banish their ghost.
My eyes flicker to Miguel’s pale face and I blink uncontrollably at the familiar gaze staring back at me. Amelia’s glassy brown eyes return. Blood is still leaking out of her wounds, the harpoon tangled with her internal organs spilling out of her stomach. The growing pool of red liquid reaches my shoes and I fall backward. Guilt festers in my heart, dripping into my arteries, reaching every part of my body until it spreads to my mind and devours me.
The pressure against my chest is unbearable, and I shut my eyes as my hand flies against it. I feel like my ribs are being smashed with a fist. Choking on a sharp inhale, I open my eyes to find Miguel with Valentina still at his side. Amelia is gone.
I scramble to my feet to get away from them. To give my mind something else to focus on, I pull the sheets off her bed so we can wrap Miguel’s body up. Walking further into the backyard, away from the blood, I spread the sheets across the grass.
Valentina puts Miguel back together the best she can and removes the harpoon. She’s handling it better than I am. Not one sound leaves her mouth. I avoid going near his head and focus on his feet as we move him to the sheet.
She places a hand on his cheek and lets her tears freely fall down her face. Wet, bloodshot eyes close and agony cracks through her calm veneer. The agonizing onslaught of emotions war within her and she sits perfectly still, as if her body needs every ounce of strength to win the internal battle.
Nothing I say will stop the blame and guilt eating away at her like acid. She will have to learn how to forgive herself. Or it will consume her.
We’ve all been drowned in the losses of our decisions. Evaluating every choice. Going over every second of the plan to make sure it was the only way—and figuring out it wasn’t.
Maybe if you hadn’t second-guessed yourself. Or waited three seconds longer. Chose a different weapon. Picked a different partner. There is always something that could have changed the outcome. And each scenario will leave you a little more broken—a little more anguished.
Hunter’s carry the loss of every victim’s death they could have prevented.
Because hunters don’t decide they want to hunt dark creatures of the underworld. We’re all victims left behind by demons infiltrating our lives at their convenience. They release havoc and death without remorse.
And for those of us with nothing else to lose, we pick up the splintered pieces of our lives and fight them off one by one. For the people we lost. For the people who don’t know they exist.
Gage calls it a suicide mission.
The supernatural fractures our peace of mind, scattering it to the point it can’t be put back together. Sending demons back to hell is the best use of our time. Because if we sit for too long and think about what we lost—it’ll chain us to the dark recesses of our mind forever.
Valentina finally tucks the sheet over Miguel’s face, but she doesn’t move away from him. Her hand lays over his heart and she stares despondently into the night.
Tears blur the image of her, and I blink them away to find Amelia in her spot. My feet automatically back away. Amelia sits defeated in front of me unable to function because of the destruction I brought down on her fragile mind.
A hand lands on my shoulder and I glance up at Gage. He’s a bloody, sweaty mess and Luis is behind him.
The words are a mixture of sorrow and fury and betrayal from Luis’s mouth. “Go home.”
My gaze flickers between the two of them. “We need to fix the door. And the blood…”
“Leave. Now.” Luis repeats the words vehemently.
“It’s time to go.” Gage pats me on the shoulder in defeat and nods in the direction we need to go.
“But—.”
Gage interrupts me in a firm voice. “We’re not wanted here.” He gives me a pointed look.
Luis meets my gaze and his accusing stare burns a hole through my chest. The blame is so potent I can feel my heart breaking for all the pain he’s feeling for the loss of his father. Animosity and sorrow radiate out of him.
If we’d told him the truth—if he’d grown up like us—would his dad still be alive?
Maybe.
But Valentina’s words will haunt me. In the end, they always win, don’t they? They’ll come for us all…and everyone you love.
I can’t stop the defeated shudder rolling over me as I walk to the Bronco with Gage.
***
Exhaustion submerges my mind into a deep sleep on the drive home. Low voices wake me outside the Miami Psychiatric Hospital. Home sweet home. The hair on the back of my neck is standing, and I rub my eyes.
“She’s in trouble,” the General’s raspy voice cuts through my grogginess.
“You up for another gig?” Gage sounds hyped, elbowing me to wake me up faster.
What better way to ignore everything that happened tonight.
My brain focuses on the word she. I spin around to face el Cucuy. “Who’s in trouble?”
“Don’t tell—.”
Gage is cut off by the General. “Amelia.” He leans back in his chair, infuriated.
My eyes land hard on Gage. “Why are we still sitting here?” A surge of adrenaline courses through me. “Where is she? Is she alive?” I hate the panicky sound of my voice.
“She is alive. For now,” the General guarantees.
“For now?” The question begs someone to explain.
“It’s a little complicated,” Gage says uneasily and avoids my gaze. “This gig requires a little planning. I stopped to pick up Reagan.”
“She can meet us there. We need to go now.” My reply is completely irrational. Our odd jobs never usually take more than two people because the paranormals don’t play well with others. Partnerships don’t last long and are always beneficial to both parties.
Picking up my twin sister, Reagan, is Gage’s subtle way—without actually admitting it—of acknowledging a job too dangerous for him to handle on h
is own. And his ego is not something to trifle with.
The argument to leave and have her follow is on the tip of my tongue when Reagan jogs out of the building in cargo pants and a tank top with a duffle bag over her shoulder. The messy bun on top of her head flops around and she gets in the back with the General, excitement oozing out of her.
“Time to slay,” she hoots with her hands around her mouth like an announcer. Reagan and I are nothing alike. She’s captivating and the life of the party without even trying. People flock to the positive energy she emits. But she is the most ruthless person I know.
She vigorously trains, not to kill, but to hit the right spot to wheedle out vital information before sending demons back to hell.
Gage pulls out of the parking lot while Reagan gets the directions from el Cucuy.
“What are we up against?” I ask, too amped to wait for the details.
“Vampires,” Gage says grimly.
“Is it the one that attacked Amelia?”
Gage replies, “No. It’s some kind of vampire cult. He recruits people and feeds off them. He’s a Legend. Untouchable.” There’s a smirk etching along his mouth.
“We need three people because he’s a legend?” A derisive sound comes out of me in the form of a scoff.
“There are six,” the General speaks up. “A coven he hides to help keep the humans in line. Some cannot detect them.”
Reagan bounces around in the backseat, rolling her arms in front of her like she’s holding maracas. She takes el Cucuy’s hand and shakes it like he has one too. And he allows it.
“Don’t bring your axe out until all the humans are gone. We need to trap the vampires inside. How many exits?” Gage asks, not because he doesn’t know—he’s double checking his plan, making sure the numbers in his head match the Generals.
“Three exits. Five windows,” the General replies.
“I brought the spray cans,” Reagan chimes in happily. “And the vinyl.”
Upgrading to stick-on vinyl devil’s traps is an easy way to save time if we remember to bring them.
“Don’t spray the glass, spray the ground in front of the doors, and stick the vinyl on the windows,” I say. Gage nods. We’re convinced the Baykok purposely broke the windows because it knew the devil’s trap was etched into the glass on the French doors at the Ochoa’s house.
Reagan actually seems embarrassed by her excitement. “Mom already left with the Resident Five to help clean up after you called. Give Luis some time. He just lost his dad. Let him be angry, he’ll come around.” She places a reassuring hand on my shoulder and then Gage’s. “You can’t save them all.”
We consider the Resident Five our cousins. No one handles an emergency paranormal situation better than them.
Silence invades the Bronco like a monster that doesn’t go back in the closet as the sun ascends in the sky. It’s long enough for doubts to creep into our thoughts.
Miguel’s death should be a reality check. A warning to our own fates if we stay on this path. If there’s a moment to change courses and really look at our lives and the danger we’re constantly in—now would be the time to walk away.
Grief hovers in the car patiently waiting for one of us to crack. It’ll catch up to us eventually. But for now, my knee bounces with anticipation of a fight, and my fingers drum across the armrest.
Amelia needs me. I will not lose her.
She’s not mine to lose.
Neither was Miguel. But I can’t help feeling responsible. And he made his choice to fight the underworld long before I existed.
I tiptoe on the edge of both worlds, and slowly dragged Amelia to the precipice, knowing I can’t have both—hoping for the possibility. A future with her in it flashes inside my head. Together on the beach. Hiding in her dorm room. Holding her hand. Watching the stars instead of the shadows with her by my side.
“You have arrived at your destination,” Reagan echoes the GPS, peering at the commercial building.
Amelia is here. Stuck inside with a bunch of bloodsucking monsters. And if anything happens to her, it’ll be my fault. I led her down this path—and my world found her.
A door lays across the walkway and there’s a giant hole where it used to be.
“Are we late to the party?” Gage asks no one in particular.
“There was an uninvited guest,” the General explains.
“Cucuy, how about you and me take the back? All the bad guys like to sneak out the back.” Reagan’s tone has a menacing ring to it. The smirk on her face can’t be suppressed, completely comfortable with the violent havoc she’s about to inflict.
The General can’t agree to her plan, he’ll wait for Gage’s commands.
Only a few vehicles are in the parking lot. We scan the area before we get out of the Bronco and meet at the trunk. I strap on my shoulder holster and hold up Gage’s but he’s missing. I peek around the SUV and find him staring across the parking lot with a perplexed expression and narrowed eyes. He inhales deeply.
“You good?” I ask, following his line of sight.
He nods with a clenched jaw and takes the holster from me. Reagan is shaking two spray paint cans, dancing to a tune only she can hear when we join her.
Gage straps on his holster and goes over the plan. “The devil’s trap goes on all four walls and doors. The team who draws the most wins. We’ll take the front.” Not that we have a choice. Reagan always takes the back.
She puts on wrist guards with throwing knives hidden in them. The axe harness slides over her arms and buckles snuggly over her chest. She checks the second sheathe of throwing knives and wraps it around her thigh, tightening it to stay in place. A water gun is attached to her hip, filled with holy water. On the other hip is a H&K with silver bullets.
“I’m ready,” Reagan declares, picking up a brown spray paint can.
“Go with Reagan. Do what she tells you to do. Protect her,” Gage instructs the General. “Kill all the vampires. All of them. Disable any humans in your way.” He pauses for a second and adds, “Try not to break any bones.”
“Race you.” The challenge is barely out of Reagan’s mouth before she eagerly takes off, knowing she’ll lose. El Cucuy vanishes and reappears at the halfway point to the first wall.
“Is he waiting for her to catch up?” Gage observes in disbelief. She reaches the wall and starts to spray the devil’s trap on it. “Those two were made for each other. It’s like her invisible friend came to life.” He shudders.
“She’s death in disguise.” Kneeling, I add an ankle knife on both my legs.
“Don’t tell her that. It’ll go to her head.”
Gage hands me my custom sling for throwing knives. I swing it over my head and tighten the straps.
“Hello gorgeous.” Gage’s fingers sensually trail over his favorite Glock.
“Does mom know about your fetish?”
He checks the clip to make sure it’s loaded with silver bullets and sticks it in his holster. “I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine.” Grinning, he waggles his eyebrows and chooses a water gun filled with holy water, and shakes it next to his ear. He adds it to the arsenal on his belt and shakes another one before handing it to me.
“We both know—.”
He cuts me off. “Sshh baby bro, no need to talk about what you do behind closed doors.” Gage wraps a sheathe of throwing knives around his thigh. “Where’s Darla and Misty?”
Rolling my eyes, I suppress a smirk and haul out a crate with two wooden bats sharpened to a point hidden inside. All the secret compartments and containers with weapons have protective symbols on them. My thumb grazes over the carved symbol in Misty as I lay her on my shoulder and remember all the time we’ve spent together over the years.
I hand Darla to Gage and he pets her lovingly. “I’ve missed you, you beautiful beast.”
“You’re making Misty uncomfortable.”
“Maybe Misty is jealous because you didn’t call her beautiful.”
Superna
tural hunters have the ugliest weapons known to man. They’re often stained and chipped and break. We try our best to take care of the older relics, but sometimes they get lost in an abdomen, or back. Sometimes they melt or get lodged in a wall if we’re chasing down a creature, and we forget to go back for it.
“Ready?” Gage asks. His features shift. It’s imperceptible to strangers, but he’s done playing around.
Rolling my shoulders, I double-check my weapons and tighten my grip on Misty while grabbing a spray paint can. “Let’s knock’em dead.”
We stealthily creep around the building and catch up to Reagan. She’s finishing the last devil’s trap symbol in front of the back door. It’s quick work, and she gives us a thumbs up, signaling she’s ready. “People are guarding the entrance, so I left it alone.”
I nod, shaking the spray can in my hand. Gage keeps his distance. The devil’s trap puts him on edge because it affects his demon half, but he can cross it.
“Be careful,” Gage and I whisper simultaneously. She waves us off, pulling an axe from its sheathe.
We backtrack to the front. Gage takes the lead, confronting five people milling around the small anteroom. He slowly crosses the threshold, taking the brunt of the attention as I spray the devil’s trap on the ground.
I can feel their suspicious eyes on me.
“Don’t worry about him.” Gage’s voice takes on a mesmerizing, husky tone. It rumbles out of him as a sexual promise of a night they won’t forget. “It looks like I need to play catch up. The party started without me.”
Breathing evenly, I tune his voice out before I gag on all the sexual tension in the room. My hand loops and curves with precise movements to make sure the marks are perfect. No one should ever rush a protection symbol.
By the time I finish and move out of the way, the five ladies in the room are wary of all the weapons we’re carrying. There’s only one staring at Gage curiously, not a hint of fear in her expression.
“Ladies, I’ll only say this once,” I begin with a wry grin. “Now’s a good time to escape.” My arms gesture to the exit. A brave brunette bites her lip as she scampers forward, holding her breath. She keeps her eyes on the threshold until she’s free. The other four briskly follow, one step at a time, cowering as they pass us.
