“The…Silver Legacy? I’m sorry, mom, but this is all a bit much.”
“You kids never really questioned why our last name was from my family and not Robert’s. You took it on face value that we wanted to name you kids the names you have. Our name has always been Silver. Trust me, honey. Just get into that room and everything will be explained.” Gwen leaned closer, as if fearful of being heard by someone else. “You listen to me, Golden, and listen well. Your brother isn’t crazy and he isn’t telling stories. If he says he was set up—believe him. Now that he is no longer a threat, they will come after you and Pure.”
“Why not Ster—”
“She is very difficult to get to because of where she lives. While demons are not of hell in the Christian sense, they do not care for the lightness, joy, and peace of convents and monasteries. No, honey, it is you they are coming for. He’s right about that. We don’t have much time. Get to my room. You’ll get all of your questions answered.”
“That’s a lot of the questions.”
“I know. I know, honey. And I wish I had time to answer them all, but the grains are all run out.” She looked around, almost fearful. “I am so proud of you, honey. You’ve grown into a beautiful woman with goals and plans. You’ve continued to come to see me even though I have nothing to offer or to share with you, and while I know it’s hard to see me like that, I do so appreciate it.”
“But, Mom, now that I know we can do—”
“No.” Gwen shook her head. “This was a huge risk on your part, and you mustn’t do it again. Ever.”
“But—”
“I mean it, Golden.” Her voice was firm. “This...this is my fate and there isn’t anything we can do to change it. It is…is it the way it should be. The way it has to be. Your job, your responsibility, is to protect yourself and Pure because, mark my words, they’re coming.”
“But why?”
“Read my journal and everything else in that room. Study. Learn everything you can. Prepare yourself. You can do this, honey. I have complete faith in you.”
“Do what?” Denny said in a voice that sounded more like she was five. “Do what, exactly?”
Gwen locked eyes with her. Seconds continued to tick by. “Kill them. There’s no genie’s bottle, honey. It’s what our family has done for generations. We hunt and kill demons.”
“We do?”
Gwen nodded. “And now, you do.”
****
Denny’s Journal
I cried all the way home.
That wasn’t how I’d thought that would go. I had held so many childish visions on reuniting with my mom that I wasn’t ready for the almost cold nature of the visit and I sure as hell wasn’t ready to talk about demons and killing things.
Seriously?
There had been times when I was unsure of whether or not this was just some sort of jacked up dream.
And it was jacked up.
When we finally said goodbye, I clung to her like a little girl on the first day of kindergarten. It had felt so good to see her, to talk to her, to touch her once again. It was as if that one chance, that one moment put a salve on my wounded soul only to have the scab torn off when she started talking demons and legacies and whatnot.
Demons?
My mind raced with questions about our heritage, our lineage, our responsibility. I kept hearing the words you come from a long line of demon hunters. What the fuck? My mother had been one and I never knew? When would she have told me the truth? Never? And what other truths was I missing out on? What other lies had I been fed about my family, my past, my childhood?
In the end, she made me promise never to try to talk with her like that again. The dangers to me were too great a risk. She actually reiterated what Ophelia had said…something about the mind losing itself in that plane and detaching itself the way hers had. I felt it was worth the risk, but Mom said no go and made me swear I would not attempt it again.
It was the most painful promise I’ve ever made because the talk did not go as I had hoped. We didn’t get to catch up. We didn’t get to plan or chat or, or, or, because I had to deal with the fact that my mother was a god damned demon hunter. My mother and now…apparently…me.
Demon hunters.
I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. How could Savannah have ghosts and not demons, right? We even have ghost hunters, so why not demon hunters? What’s next? Witch hunters?
I did not want to be either. I had a life to live and it didn’t include running around killing shit. Was that what Quick had been doing? Had he been caught killing a demon? Had my mother killed them as well? And by them, did that mean possessed humans? Was my father dead because of demonic activity and was he, as my mother called him, merely collateral damage?
I had far more questions than answers, and though I’d kept trying to ask her questions, my mother had questions of her own. She had so many questions about Pure and if I thought she would be okay, and how she was doing in school, and what were her dreams and ambitions. Her eyes filled with tears as I told her what a happy, smart young woman she was growing into. It saddened her that she would never get to see Pure grow up. Saddened her and nearly destroyed me.
When I asked her why she was catatonic, she said her brain had locked and that she doubted she would ever be back, but there was something…something not right with her voice as she said this. There was a catch…like maybe this was another non truth.
Broke my heart, it did, but I wouldn’t trade those thirty minutes for a decade more of life. Saying goodbye to her was bittersweet. On one hand, at least I’d finally had the chance to say goodbye—something I wasn’t afforded six years ago; on the other, I wanted to fix this, to make her okay, to pull her out with me. I wanted to make everything good once more.
In the end, she kissed my forehead as she always had, and told me not to tell Pure or Sterling about seeing her—they were sure to think me crazy.
They wouldn’t be far off.
At least now I had a better idea of what Quick was up against. Mom said as soon as I spent an hour in her lair, I’d understand it all. Yeah, that’s what she called it.
Her lair.
Even that word sounded ominous.
****
When the switch in her mother’s closet switched, nothing happened.
For ten seconds.
Then slowly, almost painfully, the back wall slid back like a pocket door. The thick smell of musty leather books wafted from the hidden room. When the door clicked into place, Denny tentatively peered in.
“Holy mother of Mary.”
Denny stood at the door and stared slack-jawed at a room about sixteen by sixteen in front of her. In the middle of the room sat a large antique roll-top desk. The room, octagonal shape, was wall-to-wall bookshelves that reached to the bottom of small windows that let in a tiny amount of natural light. The room smelled dank from disuse and was dreary and dim, but there was a life to it, a pulse that was undeniable.
When Denny stepped into the room, motion-sensored lights came on. She stopped.
“Whoa. Mom, what the hell?”
Denny’s eyes caressed the spines of books she was sure Lauren would drool over—cracked leather, gold lettering, fat books, thin books, books stacked in a variety of ways—she took it all in. There had to be at least three thousand books in the room, most of which had old, cracking spines. Slowly walking into the lair, Denny stared at the desk. The roll top was open and there were several books and notebooks scattered across the cool green marble top as if her mother had planned on coming right back.
Best laid plans.
“Oh, Mom.” Denny ran her fingertips across the smooth desk, her eyes scanning the ten foot shelves. Along with the books were photos of her family, one of which Denny picked up and studied, a small smile creeping onto her face.
The photo was taken when they were vacationing in Orlando. They all looked so young, so innocent, that Denny couldn’t believe their mother had probably been out hunting dem
ons.
“Hunting demons...” Denny’s voice trailed off when her eyes landed on a leather bound journal. It lay open with a fountain pen in the spine and her mother’s petite handwriting on the pages.
Tentatively, and with a trembling hand, Denny touched the pages. The paper was parchment, yellowed and cracked, not from age...from something else. Pulling up the worn desk chair, Denny had no doubt the desk and the chair had been here well before they had moved in. Everything about the space screamed antiquated. When she sat on the chair, the leather creaked as if surprised to have the company.
The room was deathly silent, the old leather tomes waiting to see what Denny was going to do.
The truth was, she had no idea. None. Zip. Zilch. Nada.
Leaning over the leather journal, Denny tried to read it but couldn’t. Her eyes kept blurring because of the tears she impatiently wiped away. Without touching the book, she blinked back the tears and read the left hand side.
He is becoming brazen in his attacks, but his boldness shows an uncontrolled, almost manic desire for confrontation. Verin ought to know better, but it would appear he is going through with the plan. While not dangerous himself, he has the ability to make others act, and that is always frightening. I’ll have to find a way to squash his plans or take him out all together.
The killing is becoming tiresome, indeed, and Robert is beginning to make noises about leaving and returning to California.
Denny stopped reading and pushed away from the desk.
“My mother...wasn’t kidding. She was…a killer. Straight up.” Denny put her hand to her mouth. “And all this time I thought…”
“Don’t make any judgments until you know what the hell you’re talking about.”
Denny turned to see Rush float through the doorway. Normally, Rush walked places, but when her emotions got the best of her, she hovered.
She was hovering now.
“Secret rooms, journals, hypnosis, these aren’t parts of your life, Den. Your mother’s life, yes, but not yours. So not yours. Turn around, lock the door, and forget all this nonsense. Move to Hawaii. Go to college in Europe, but do not accept the life your mother wants you to lead.”
Denny cocked her head as she listened. It took her a few moments before she figured it out. “Oh my god. Oh my fucking god. You knew.” Pushing away from the desk, she whirled around. “You fucking knew all along!”
Rush shrugged and looked away. “Maybe. It’s not really important what I know or don’t know. What’s important is for you to realize that your mother’s life choices do not have to be yours.”
“You knew about this room, too.”
She slowly nodded. “Of course I did. I’m a ghost. I’ve been all over this house thousands of times. Again, lover, that’s not important. I knew hunting wasn’t something you wanted or needed in your life. You want college. You crave education. Hunting and killing demons wasn’t in your life plan.
“And you didn’t see the need to tell me any of this??”
“It’s not my story to tell.”
Denny felt her face flush and her voice rise. “Not your story to tell? You haven’t stopped yakking in thirteen years but you failed to mention the secret room or the fact that my mother is a killer?”
“Oh no. Don’t you dare yell at me, Golden Silver. This here,” she waved her hand in the air, “was your mama’s doing. She wanted more for you than the life of a demon hunter. She wanted you to have a safer, happier life, but she fucked that up. Royally.”
Denny blinked. “How in the hell would you know that?”
Rush hesitated.
“Rushalyn?”
Rush crossed her arms and looked away. “Look, all I know is that your mother did not want this life for you. She felt if anyone could or should carry the family legacy, it was Quick because, well, quite frankly, he wasn’t going to amount to anything anyway. She knew that. She knew that enough to hope and pray that he was chosen. He should have been chosen. Once Sister Suck Up went to pasture, the legacy should have gone to Quick.”
“Answer the question. How is it you know this stuff?”
“Okay, fine. Look, when you were thirteen, your mother wrote a letter to you. She told me if you ever found this room, I was to show you where she put it, but not before I did everything in my power to talk you out of it. This is me trying to talk you out of it.”
Denny folded her arms across her chest, the mirror image of her lover. “Show me.”
“Not until you hear me out first.”
“Don’t fuck around with me, Rush. I am in no mood.” Denny barely recognized her own voice.
Rush hovered higher. “I wouldn’t dream of it, but you’re about to be a bull in a china shop and I need you to be much calmer. So sit your stubborn ass down and listen to me or I’m not giving you shit.”
Reluctantly, Denny sat down.
Rush stood in front of her. “Now listen to me without judgment and without emotion. It is a moot point whether or not Gwen talked to me. I’m a ghost. I know all sorts of shit I shouldn’t be privy to. Your mother did not want this life for you or any of her kids. It was a path she knew to be dangerous and tumultuous. She understood the risks involved and the how unsafe it makes everyone you love, but she was willing to hand the mantel over to Quick because he was so aimless…so misguided. He was the perfect option for the demon if one of you had to have it. She was trying to find a way to get your family out of the legacy altogether when she was nearly killed.”
“Get us out?”
Rush shrugged. “I don’t know how she was going to manage that, but it was what she was working on night and day before the wreck.”
“She was obviously unsuccessful in that endeavor because here we are.”
Rush studied Denny a moment. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe she just never got the chance to finish the job?” Rush rose, hovered, and then and sat on top of the roll-top desk clutching her legs. “I just know what she said, love, and she wanted to find a way to be free of the legacy…to be free of the killing and the danger. She wanted you to be free most of all.”
“And she told you all this?”
“Heavens, no. Most of the time I eavesdropped, silly. She and your father often had conversations about it, usually whenever she came out of the lair.” She shook her head. “He never came in here, and he was always tense and irritable when she came out.” Rush held her hand up. “And yes, he knew what she was when he married her. He just didn’t want the legacy to fall on one of you, though I totally get why they were willing to give it to Quick. He was just that kind of guy that would never light. At least this way, it would have given him some direction in life.”
Denny stared hard at her. “I can’t believe you know so much about all of this and never told me. How could you keep this from me? We’re lovers for Christ’s sake.”
“Because it wasn’t time. Your mother liked me. She trusted me. She asked me to let you be the one to explain all of this to her. Then came the accident. That did not change the fact that I made a promise.”
“What else haven’t you told me?”
“A lot. A buttload. Tons. Don’t be mad at me for keeping your mother’s secret all these years. Like I said, it wasn’t my story to tell so don’t get all butt hurt on me.”
“Butt hurt? You’ve been keeping this gigantic secret from me for a long time, Rush. I get to have my feelings about this.”
“This isn’t about feelings, lover, it’s about your life. I don’t want to see you on my side for a very long time. Not many ghosts would say the same thing.”
“Where’s the letter?”
Rush pointed to the top drawer of the hutch. “Fine. You feel your feelings after you read your mom’s letter, but don’t take out your frustration on me. I’ve spent over a decade trying to protect you from all of this, but if you have your heart set on a life that will never be your own, that will put people you love in harm’s way, that will transform you into something you don’t recognize, then
go for it. Just know that I warned you.” With that, Rush vanished.
Denny reached into the drawer and found a letter addressed to her and Pure.
My Dear Girls,
If you are reading this, it can only mean I was unsuccessful in securing your freedom from a legacy that has been passed down through our family since the fourteenth century. It is not a legacy anyone would want, but it is one our ancestors have been incredibly good at for centuries. Being good at a thing does not necessarily mean one enjoys doing it. Remember that. While hunting is an obligation, a duty we accepted centuries ago, it is a dangerous one.
It is also a duty I want you to step away from. Far, far away from.
Our family, the Silver family, is a family of demon hunters. Our last name is my family name, not your father’s, but he loved me enough to take my name and allow you to take it as well. It is part of the agreement that was made hundreds of years ago between our ancestors and those who are our allies.
I know the concept of hunting demons seems like something out of Hollywood, but it’s very real and always has been. Evil is evil, and our family has been fighting it forever. We have made villages, towns, and cities safer by destroying evil wherever we find it, but that duty, that responsibility comes at quite a price. I want to spare you the dangers and hazards of hunting demons so that you may live long, healthy, and peaceful lives.
Demon hunting will bring the darkest, most vile creatures to your doorstep. It will endanger the ones you love, create tension and chaos in your world, and force you to make some of the hardest decisions of your life—most of which I would not wish on either of you.
The mantel falls upon the Silver who is not only chosen, but who picks up the weapons and the path they lead to. If I cannot dissuade you from choosing one of life’s harshest, rockiest roads, then you’ll need to arm yourself with much demonology and dark knowledge so you can protect yourselves as well as the innocents.
Because protecting the innocents is what a demon hunter does.
Demon Hunter Page 9
