the perimeter of the secluded house, the dark stretches of beach beyond, closed his eyes and inhaled the wind and marsh.
Danger lurked nearby. So close.
Had the demons found him?
Annabelle paused to look around, her nerves on edge as she used her hairpin to break into his house. She was surprised at his lack of security. It was almost as if he thought he had nothing to hide.
The door squeaked open and she inched inside, tiptoeing as she waved her flashlight around the room. Simple basic furniture, all black and chrome—cold, just like the man.
A black lacquered desk occupied the corner, but there was no TV or sound system, only built-in shelves against the wall housing books. The den opened to a small kitchen and a bedroom sat to the left, but it was empty except for a mattress on the floor. His place seemed minimalistic, as if he didn’t want any comforts.
She didn’t know what she was looking for, exactly, but she’d hoped maybe he kept some kind of journal or file on his kills.
And what else? Perhaps evidence that he might be a demon or have supernatural power?
She still couldn’t believe it. Although she could have sworn he’d moved that beam…
She zeroed in on his computer, sat down at the desk and flipped it on, rifling through the contents of the top drawer. A stack of mail drew her eye, and she glanced through it. Typical bills. Curious, she opened the latest bank statement, expecting to find a huge advance for services rendered. She found a few thousand dollars, nothing suspicious.
She spent the next few minutes searching his computer and desk, hunting for hidden files, a calendar, anything to point to his work. Zilch. Frustrated, she stood and went to the bookshelf, surprised to find books on spirituality mingled with others on martial arts and maps of various places all over the world. Then she noticed a leather-bound book wedged behind a work on meditation.
Her interest piqued, she pulled it out and frowned at the handwritten words.
Deadly Demons.
Her pulse clamored as she flipped through the book. Sketches of supernatural creatures, demons, monsters, and pagan gods filled the yellowed pages.
Perspiration dotted her forehead as she studied the drawing of the Death Angel, an ominous, sinister-looking black shadow that could appear as a vulture, a crow, or a raven.
Just like the vulture she’d seen last night after the explosion.
Another page detailed purgatory and the levels of hell. The punishments for evil that matched the sins, punishments that were horrific.
Then a drawing of the Soul Collectors. She frowned as she read the notations:
The Soul Collectors barter and buy souls off the street by offering immortality to those near death or recently deceased.
Some of the undead become vampires and zombies. Others shift into animal forms—werewolves, werecats, and other werecreatures.
On All Hallows’ Eve, a portal is opened that allows demons and Soul Collectors to enter the Earth and ravage the innocents.
Anxiety knotted her insides as she flipped to a sketch of Pan, the god of fear, a hulking black shadow with orange eyes.
One touch and he knows your worst fear, then he uses it to kill you.
Her mind spun with questions. Why did Quinton have this book?
She flipped to another page and read about the Dark Lords, the spawn of Satan and an Angel of Light. Men who possessed superhuman powers.
Suddenly a noise startled her. The faint sound of wooden boards squeaking.
Damn. She quickly shut off the flashlight.
Quinton Valtrez had returned.
If he was a killer as she suspected, he wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in her head. All he had to do was cart her body out to the ocean, and no one would ever know.
And if he was a demon or a Dark Lord?
Her heart tripped in panic.
No, she didn’t believe in demons. Still, Quinton Valtrez was dangerous. She felt along the desk edge for a weapon and grabbed the letter opener as she eyed the sliding glass door. Clenching the letter opener in
Danger lurked nearby. So close.
Had the demons found him?
Annabelle paused to look around, her nerves on edge as she used her hairpin to break into his house. She was surprised at his lack of security. It was almost as if he thought he had nothing to hide.
The door squeaked open and she inched inside, tiptoeing as she waved her flashlight around the room. Simple basic furniture, all black and chrome—cold, just like the man.
A black lacquered desk occupied the corner, but there was no TV or sound system, only built-in shelves against the wall housing books. The den opened to a small kitchen and a bedroom sat to the left, but it was empty except for a mattress on the floor. His place seemed minimalistic, as if he didn’t want any comforts.
She didn’t know what she was looking for, exactly, but she’d hoped maybe he kept some kind of journal or file on his kills.
And what else? Perhaps evidence that he might be a demon or have supernatural power?
She still couldn’t believe it. Although she could have sworn he’d moved that beam…
She zeroed in on his computer, sat down at the desk and flipped it on, rifling through the contents of the top drawer. A stack of mail drew her eye, and she glanced through it. Typical bills. Curious, she opened the latest bank statement, expecting to find a huge advance for services rendered. She found a few thousand dollars, nothing suspicious.
She spent the next few minutes searching his computer and desk, hunting for hidden files, a calendar, anything to point to his work. Zilch. Frustrated, she stood and went to the bookshelf, surprised to find books on spirituality mingled with others on martial arts and maps of various places all over the world. Then she noticed a leather-bound book wedged behind a work on meditation.
Her interest piqued, she pulled it out and frowned at the handwritten words.
Deadly Demons.
Her pulse clamored as she flipped through the book. Sketches of supernatural creatures, demons, monsters, and pagan gods filled the yellowed pages.
Perspiration dotted her forehead as she studied the drawing of the Death Angel, an ominous, sinister-looking black shadow that could appear as a vulture, a crow, or a raven.
Just like the vulture she’d seen last night after the explosion.
Another page detailed purgatory and the levels of hell. The punishments for evil that matched the sins, punishments that were horrific.
Then a drawing of the Soul Collectors. She frowned as she read the notations:
The Soul Collectors barter and buy souls off the street by offering immortality to those near death or recently deceased.
Some of the undead become vampires and zombies. Others shift into animal forms—werewolves, werecats, and other werecreatures.
On All Hallows’ Eve, a portal is opened that allows demons and Soul Collectors to enter the Earth and ravage the innocents.
Anxiety knotted her insides as she flipped to a sketch of Pan, the god of fear, a hulking black shadow with orange eyes.
One touch and he knows your worst fear, then he uses it to kill you.
Her mind spun with questions. Why did Quinton have this book?
She flipped to another page and read about the Dark Lords, the spawn of Satan and an Angel of Light. Men who possessed superhuman powers.
Suddenly a noise startled her. The faint sound of wooden boards squeaking.
Damn. She quickly shut off the flashlight.
Quinton Valtrez had returned.
If he was a killer as she suspected, he wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in her head. All he had to do was cart her body out to the ocean, and no one would ever know.
And if he was a demon or a Dark Lord?
Her heart tripped in panic.
No, she didn’t believe in demons. Still, Quinton Valtrez was dangerous. She felt along the desk edge for a weapon and grabbed the letter opener as she eyed the sliding glass door. Clenching the letter opener in
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