Demon Snare (These Immortal Vows Book 1)

by Kestra Pingree

  “Yes.”

  “Great. Call it in when we’re clear and keep a look out so Bartholomew doesn’t escape. The rest of us will sweep the building. Whoever finds him first, take him out.”

  Blade goes through the map of the mansion and its grounds and the places we’ll be positioned to start with. I’m assigned Donovan as my partner. After we’ve been thoroughly briefed, I sit next to the big guy in our armored van.

  “We’ll be the first to take that bastard down,” he tells me as he slugs my shoulder.

  I rub the spot where he hit me. Donovan certainly knows how to keep up the morale despite this dismal line of work. If I didn’t know better, I’d say this stuff doesn’t faze him at all, but I know that’s not true. He just decides to deal with it in a different way.

  Our drive through the city doesn’t take long. When we arrive outside the mansion’s perimeter, we leave our van with Sherri in an area shaded by some trees and far enough away from the mansion to be inconspicuous. We check our gear and make sure communications are up before spreading out. Donovan and I are placed to the east of the mansion, near the back. We’re well outside of the black Gothic fence encompassing the grounds so we should be out of range for any cameras.

  We wait a few minutes before Sherri checks in, telling us she’s hacked into the system and brought down security. Then we’re on the move. Donovan and I easily climb the fence without getting cut by one of the arrowhead-like points. The grounds, like the rest of Philadelphia, are coated in melting snow, creating a glistening sheen across the Gothic architecture making up this entire property. We pass by a fountain that’s been turned off for the year. Its main piece is a gargoyle; in the summer, water probably spews from its mouth. It seems to me this Harper Crow woman has had an infatuation with monsters long before Bartholomew.

  There’s a small door on the east side of the mansion that we run to. It’s locked of course, but Donovan handles that hurdle with ease, blasting the lock with a nearly silent explosion. Since my time with the EEA, I’ve learned that this organization spares no expense on its technology. They do what they do in the best and quickest way they know how. The EEA has been around for a couple hundred years, so it’s not surprising that it’s only grown from its conception and continues to expand every day.

  The door brings us into the kitchen, just like Blade’s map said it would. We scan the area, but we don’t find a soul. The place is empty and eerie with cold light drifting in through high windows. The spirit said Bartholomew was staying here with the owner of this mansion, the woman he’s involved with. That means he’s most likely staying in one of the suites or with the mansion owner herself. We were expecting to run into bodyguards, maids, or some kind of servants, but based on the kitchen alone, the mansion seems empty. I don’t know what the woman is doing with an aswang, but it must be something she doesn’t want to chance anyone else knowing about. This makes things easier for us.

  We continue through the gloomy mansion without seeing a single soul. There is a great darkness here somewhere, though. I didn’t feel it so strongly outside, but now that we’re inside, I’m almost certain the aswang is upstairs. Just because he can’t use his demonic powers during the day doesn’t mean he can hide his darkness. Humans can’t hide their darkness either, after all. Whether this heavy darkness is from him or Harper, I know neither of them are on the first floor.

  “Upstairs,” I whisper to Donovan.

  He shrugs and doesn’t argue, so I figure I’m not breaking any rules by taking the lead. He must see it’s as pointless as I do to sweep the entire bottom floor. According to the map, the entire bottom floor looks more like a place servants would dwell, so he must figure it’s unlikely we’ll find Bartholomew or his keeper down here. As we make our way to the second floor, the darkness becomes denser. It’s stirring. The aswang might be able to feel my own presence against his.

  I lift my finger to my lips, signaling Donovan to remain quiet as we pass by a few rooms. Eventually, I linger by the closed door I’m sure Bartholomew is behind. According to the map, this room is the master suite. I try not to think about what we’ll see by barging in here, based on the sounds I can hear coming from outside the door. It’s not like we have any other choice. Donovan knows as well as I do that something is going on in here because of that.

  Donovan kicks the door down, revealing a tangle of sheets and two naked people.

  “Ugh, really?” he complains as he trudges into the room.

  “What the hell?” the woman shouts as she covers herself with a sheet. “Get out of my house before I call the police!”

  There’s a dark-haired man next to her, looking just as upset by our intrusion, but instead of covering himself, he’s hovering by the dresser, probably thinking about retrieving a gun or a knife.

  Donovan points his pistol at the man. “Check him out, Rynne,” he says. “We don’t wanna go shooting any humans.”

  I cautiously walk forward, knife in hand. When I’m standing in front of the dark-haired man, I ready my knife and tell him, “Look at me.”

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he asks instead, his eyes darting every which way. “You’re making a mistake. This isn’t going to end well for you.”

  I make a subtle jabbing motion with my knife to let him know I’m not asking again. A dark resignation enters the man’s eyes as he looks at me. I see my reflection in his eyes, a reflection presented upside down, and I stab him in the heart.

  He gasps and falls down to the ground clutching his chest and writhing for just a few seconds before lying still.

  The woman, Harper Crow, screams. “What have you done!” she demands. “You killed him! You actually… You killed him!”

  “He was toying with you,” Donovan says.

  Blade and Miguel enter the room moments later and see that I’ve already taken care of our target. Donovan’s holding Harper back as she fights against him. Her eyes are burning and looking only at me.

  “You’re a monster!” she shrieks. “You killed him like it was nothing! No second thoughts—nothing!”

  “That’s because he’s good at his job,” Blade says.

  She walks up to Harper, caught in Donovan’s hold, and takes Harper’s face in her hands to check her eyes. Then she recites a few lines in Latin to be sure. “Seems you’re human. That’s lucky for you. You get a second chance. If you fly straight from now on, you’ll be fine. Our people will be keeping a close eye on you, and if they see fit to dispose of you, they will. This is your one and only warning.”

  Donovan and Blade let Harper go. She stumbles back and falls onto her bed. She hugs her sheets closer to her.

  Harper has been tainted by Bartholomew’s darkness, but she’s still human. She still has a choice. She hasn’t been cursed to live a life of darkness. We spared her that fate. I hope Tasia can continue to resist darkness. I hope it doesn’t somehow consume her in the end. I know the Oracle said she would gain power over Arsen, but some part of me still worries that the demon will win in the end. It seems I’m nothing but a faithless mortal, but I will do my best. I will continue to do as the Oracle commands. All will be well in the end. Everything is as God wills it.

  CHAPTER 44

  Arsen

  SNOW PAINTS THE QUAINT little town white. It’s an angelic image that reflects the foundation Reverie was built upon. A holy foundation. It has held on to its roots, but this town, like any other, has evolved and changed. Even now, since the short time I last saw this place, when autumn colors were vivid and new, the energy has shifted. There is a heaviness in the air. This town that had been protected for so long was attacked by demons. People died. Their oldest relic protecting them from evil was broken. The carefree nature and joy of this place died. They’re in search of answers and have been ever since the unfortunate events, but they’ve come up empty. They invited evil into their home and now they’re paying the price.

  Or something like that.

  They couldn’t have known that the timing
for everything that happened in their town coincidentally coincided with their Halloween celebration, but I doubt they’ll celebrate Halloween for years to come because of the correlation.

  I walk the streets as snow flits softy through the air. I’m wearing a coat, sunglasses, and a hat to fit the weather conditions and to hide my identity. I’m sure Tasia’s description of the one who “killed her parents” is still fresh in these people’s minds.

  I dug through some information before coming here. It’s easy to find information on anyone in this world of technology. Anonymity basically doesn’t exist among humans. Tasia lived in this town her entire life. Her parents moved here before she was born. Though the EEA’s files are encrypted, they were obviously hunters connected to the ones back in Philadelphia. They moved here to raise a family away from their war with demons. How noble.

  The snow crunches beneath my feet as I walk on the newly fallen ice crystals. It’s a constant sound that agrees with my ears, and it’s the only sound around. The town is quiet. Most people are at work or keeping warm inside of their houses. I stop walking when I find the burned-down rubble of what once was a house. It doesn’t look like much anymore, wood burned black, mostly covered by coats of snow, but I remember being inside it clearly. That was the moment I first met Tasia. Drake insisted I at least meet her, and I suppose curiosity got the better of me.

  Would things be different if that had never happened? Or is this fate? How close are these people to the angels? Did they know anything about this? Maybe they heard a prophecy from the angels. Maybe Cassius told them of Tasia’s importance. I know it’s a long shot. I’m unlikely to find any information here at all, but either way, it’s worth checking out. My last resort is the witch, Helena. I could try to gather a group of demons together to find some angels and interrogate them, but I’ve never once heard an angel talk about things they’re not supposed to—even when being tortured. They’re stubborn and righteous that way. They’ll give anything for the greater good. No, Helena is my only option. She lives off information, and she knows much. She understands much.

  I take a gloveless hand out of my coat pocket and brush my fingers against a plank of burned wood. It’s icy under my touch. I feel eyes on me. It seems I’m not as alone as I thought.

  “You’re not welcome here.”

  I turn to face the old woman staring me down with accusing dark eyes. There’s only a small bit of her dark skin peeking out from her hoods. She’s bundled up warm and with so many layers that she reminds me of a marshmallow. I grin at the thought. If she were younger, I’d even think she looks tasty. Old people don’t hold much appeal for me. Devouring their life essence usually means one or two years of life essence gained, maybe five if I’m lucky.

  “I didn’t know you lived here,” I remark, gesturing to the burned-down building.

  “I didn’t,” she replies, “but a wonderful family did, and I don’t appreciate your kind coming here to desecrate their memory further.”

  My kind? I decide to ignore the comment for the moment, and instead reply, “That is troubling. They were counselors and healers of a sort, weren’t they? I can see why their loss would put the town on edge.”

  “Why are you here?” she asks. She’s clearly uninterested in playing along with me.

  “Just another tourist,” I reply.

  “You’re a liar, but you aren’t that.” She regards me thoughtfully. She starts her inspection with my feet, and then she slowly brings her eyes all the way up to my face. “You seem familiar somehow, but it’s those damn sunglasses…”

  I take my sunglasses off and stare the old woman down. Her face pales unnaturally as it loses all of its color. She stumbles back and slips on some ice, but I move in the blink of an eye and catch her with ease.

  “You should be more careful, grandma,” I comment as I place her back onto her shaking feet. “You could crack your skull open.”

  “How did you…?”

  “Move so quickly? You already know the answer to that. It seems you’ve seen much in your old age. Most humans I’ve met don’t know a real demon—even when one’s looking them dead in the eye.”

  She shudders. She’s shaking like a leaf holding on to its last grasp at life. I continue supporting her because she’ll fall otherwise.

  “What do you want?” she asks, voice shaking. “Hasn’t this town been through enough?”

  “You know, I’m not here to cause any more trouble,” I muse. “I merely have some questions that need to be answered.”

  “Questions about what?”

  “About them.” I point to the burned-down house. “Questions about her.”

  “Tasia?”

  “Yes, Tasia.” The name feels weird rolling off my tongue. I’ve never said it out loud before.

  “Why should I tell you anything about that poor girl? Are you the one who did all of this?”

  “Look,” I say as I catch her under her arm and force her to walk alongside me. I sense more people coming this direction, and I don’t want to draw more eyes than necessary. “You can either tell me about Tasia, or I can break this town. Which would you prefer?”

  “Please forgive me,” the woman whispers to the air. “Tasia is a very special girl. She has a sixth sense. It manifested early in her life. She has the potential to be a powerful medium, but her power was so strong it threatened to rip her apart when she was a child. Her parents tried every gemstone and crystal they could to shield her from the constant attacks. Herbs, charms, salt, nothing worked. I thought we’d lose the child forever, but then…”

  “Go on.”

  “Then she just snapped out of it. It was a miracle,” she says as I continue walking her down the street. “She was an excellent child. She was a bit quiet perhaps, but she was always sweet and very kind. I was relieved when the Johnson kids reached out to her and they became friends, but they’ve left this town now. It feels like everyone is leaving since you demons came.”

  A vivid memory not my own flashes through my head. I see a little girl sitting alone on a tire swing…

  “Please don’t hurt her,” the woman begs. “I don’t know what she did when she went to that party with her friends, but I’m certain she didn’t mean to call you here. Please. She’s suffered enough.”

  “She’s the one hurting me!” I scream.

  The old hag’s face lights up in shock. My beast bubbles just below the surface of my logician. I can’t believe the dissonance inside of me caused an outburst like that. I’m not here to draw attention to myself. I’m not here to complain. I only want information.

  I glance around to see that my shouting only turned a few heads, but it apparently wasn’t significant enough to keep those unwanted eyes on me. I allow myself to relax slightly.

  “Whatever are you talking about?” the hag asks.

  “Tell me more,” I demand. My breathing has become erratic, and I have this painful urge to take my anger out on someone, but I don’t act on it—yet. “And tell the truth this time. You were lying somewhere, glazing over and hiding an important piece of information. What is it? And don’t lie to me again.”

  “Nothing I or anyone else in this town has to say is going to help you. I know why you feel familiar now.”

  “What?”

  “You feel like her, like Tasia.”

  “That’s… that’s impossible.”

  “I’m an aura reader. Being sensitive to people’s energies is what I do. Something somewhere inside of you feels like Tasia. In all of my years, I never…”

  “What does it mean?” I fiercely grab her by the shoulders. I hate that it sounds like I’m begging.

  “You’d know the answer to that better than I would. It’s a part of you, not me.”

  My beast rumbles in my chest as if to say it’s been trying to tell me this the entire time if I’d only listen. But this doesn’t help me! I know there’s a connection between me and that girl, but I don’t understand why there’s a connection when I’ve never met he
r before. I’ve never heard of angels having the ability to craft connections between individuals as it suits them, but I don’t know how else this would be possible. How can a piece of me feel like her? It’s completely insane. She’s sixteen years old and I’m over a hundred. She’s human and I’m demon. She’s mortal and I’m immortal. There is nothing similar about us.

  “I should gut you right here and now.” I hiss.

  The old woman doesn’t answer. She only stares at me with wide eyes, afraid of what I’ll do next.

  “Tell me what else you know. You said Tasia has a powerful sixth sense. Somewhere around that point, you started withholding information and lying to me. Tell the truth.”

  “There was a stranger,” she says. Suddenly her voice is calm, and her body is no longer shaking. She’s more than willingly giving me this information, like someone preprogrammed her to tell me this as soon as I came asking. “He came to Reverie. He had the brightest and most powerful aura I had ever seen. Being in his presence was soothing, comforting. His hair was the color of rust, and his eyes were vivid like yours, but they were iridescent; I couldn’t discern their color. His skin was pale, almost as white as the snow.”

  Her description makes my beast growl. “You saw an angel,” I state, “and not just any angel. The damn Oracle came to visit this town. The Oracle.”

  “She already has you,” the woman says, under Cassius’s influence. “How does it feel to be powerless?”

  I release my hold on the psychic’s shoulders, shove my hands into my pockets, and I walk away. Anything else she says isn’t going to help me.

  The witch. I need to see the witch.

  CHAPTER 45

  Tasia

  “WANT TO TRY SOME?” Fiona asks, holding out her beer.

  “No… thanks,” I tell her. “You do remember I’m underage, right?”

  “No one’s going to bust you here.” She takes another swig and turns her attention back to the giant TV in the lobby, enjoying the live entertainment in New York City, celebrating News Years’ Eve before it’s time for the ball to drop.