Chapter 5
Early the next morning, when his flight landed at the John Glenn International Airport, Dominick felt exhausted. Though still dark outside, it promised to become a dreary day. He rented a car and headed away from the airport, struggling to stay awake.
Dominick now ran on fumes and needed a real bed to sleep in to recharge his batteries. He felt sure he could sleep for a week at least. And though he’d managed to zonk out for a few hours during the flight, if anything, he felt worse from it and not better. The seats on his international flight had seemed some of the least comfortable in which he’d ever sat.
Or maybe that just came down to the exhaustion talking. Either way, he didn’t care.
Frieda had asked him to check in on Arthur’s brother, Mitchell, before hopping over to Pennsylvania and guarding Jill Reinfer. He had never met Jill before, but her reputation as a spoiled rich brat with no common sense appeared legendary. All of the Hunters disliked her, and he’d never heard anyone say anything nice about her. Wealthy, she liked people to know it. In her mind, it made her better than everyone else.
That proved a fairly normal attitude that Dominick had experienced from rich people, but hers went a step further. She had served on the Council many years earlier, but only for a few months before opting out. And had only done it to appease her father, who’d felt she didn’t take her life seriously. She had no interest in the day-to-day monotony of the work and could care less about protecting people from the demonic underworld. All she cared about was money.
Which meant she felt willing to risk the lives of the Hunters for completely meaningless reasons if it benefitted her. Dominick could deal with her being a spoiled rich brat, but not someone who risked the lives of others for no reason.
Mitchell Vangeest, on the other hand, and an old acquaintance but not necessarily someone Dominick would call friend, he got along with just fine. He could check on him fairly easily but doubted that Nida would have gone after him. Mitchell, not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, rarely kept up-to-date with Council events.
To check on him would just prove a shot in the dark. Neither he nor Frieda had any idea what Nida planned to do next, which meant that, basically, everything they did would end up a shot in the dark. The problem was that they lagged four or five steps behind her already, and didn’t feel sure where she would go next or what might be her overall agenda.
Dominick didn’t know if she intended to go after any more of the Order of Hunters. A few out there hadn’t been at the Council when it got attacked, which meant they could be at risk. He doubted that would be her next move, though. The damage she had done would cripple the Council for years, if not end the organization entirely. Whatever endgame Nida played at, it went beyond just damaging the Council.
He just wished he knew what it was.
***
Dominick didn’t have any better ideas of what they should do than what Frieda offered. And checking on and protecting Mitchell and Jill for Frieda gave a productive way for him to spend his time; something he could use right about now. To have spare moments to sit around and think offered the last thing he wanted.
He hadn’t found the courage to call his husband yet because he felt petrified of what he would say. How could he explain any of this without telling Marvin the truth? A truth he had withheld from his partner for years. He’d grown used to lying to his husband on a daily basis about the true nature of his work, but right now, all of the other lies seemed tiny by comparison.
Often, he justified the mistruths he fed to his spouse by telling himself that he did it for the greater good of humanity and that keeping Marvin in the dark kept him safe. This, however, had become something else entirely, and those justifications seemed flimsy.
The thing was, he knew the job as risky, but now that risk had jumped to an entirely new level. He only remained alive through a sheer turn of luck that he’d gone away with Haatim when the attack came.
To keep the secret while he believed in his survivability proved one thing, but how could he maintain the lie now that all his illusions had gotten stripped away?
Worse, what if he had put Marvin at risk? Did Nida know about his relationship and family? Would she use such information against him?
Dominick had no clue. He also had no clue about what he would do if that ever came to pass. If he had to pick between the Council and his husband …
He honestly didn’t know what would happen.
So, instead of facing the problem, he simply avoided it. Marvin still expected for him to stay away for the next several days on a business trip, which meant he could push off the problem for now. But, eventually, he would run out of time and have to confront the issue head on.
***
Dominick headed out of Columbus, traveling east on the freeway. Already, the rain fell, and the roads had grown slick, but it stayed early enough that not a lot of traffic used the route.
He reached about an hour away from Mitchell’s shop, and about two hours away from the Reinfer estate. He’d known Mitchell casually over the years as a fixer for the Council: the kind of guy good at tracking things down that seemed impossible to find. Not a Hunter or a member of the Council, he had only a loose affiliation.
Dominick doubted that Nida would go after him unless he had something she needed. For Mitchell’s sake, Dominick hoped he didn’t.
Mitchell also being a notorious user of various illegal narcotics and other substances gave one of the reasons the Council kept him at arm’s length. They only used his services occasionally, and almost three years had elapsed since Dominick had last seen him.
That didn’t make for the only reason the Council had stopped requesting his services, though: rumor had it that Mitchell and Arthur had had something of a falling out several years ago. That happened before Arthur lost control and got put into the underground black-site prison.
After the falling out, the Council had shunted Mitchell to the side. They wouldn’t risk jeopardizing the feelings of one of their deadliest and most dangerous Hunters for the sake of his pothead brother.
Dominick drove through the cold rain, listening to the pattering and forcing himself to stay awake. It sounded soothing and relaxing, and he considered pulling over and taking a short nap just in case. He didn’t, though, because he needed to keep moving and get to Jill Reinfer’s residence by late afternoon.
It took him a little over an hour and a few breaks for coffee before he reached Mitchell’s shop. The store was an old rented establishment, part of a strip mall, and it had tinted windows out front and a dirty welcome sign hanging in the door. The sort of place that might have been a tattoo parlor in another life.
The sign on the door said “open,” but he felt unconvinced. The place looked empty, almost abandoned, and had fallen into serious disrepair over the last few years. Though the sign lay flipped to “open,” that didn’t mean too much. If he hadn’t known Mitchell lived here, he would have driven right past without even noticing the place.
At first, he thought Mitchell might have moved shop sometime in the last year or so, but he soon dismissed that idea. If he had, he would have notified them as part of protocol. Mitchell hadn’t seemed much for taking care of the place before, anyway, so there could have been any number of reasons for its current state.
The parking lot stood barren, and the entire strip mall quiet. No sign came from just looking at the property that Nida had come here, but he couldn’t be certain. Dominick climbed out of the car. The rain pattered on his skin, cold as it ran down his hair and onto his back. To be safe, he slipped his gun free and chambered a round, and then he tested the door handle.
Unlocked. Gently, he slid it open and stepped inside, gun ready just in case any threat waited for him. The interior looked dark and smelled of too many incense sticks burning. His husband loved incense, and it had become one of Dominick’s pet peeves and a constant point of contention in their marriage. He hated everything about it: the way it smelled, the smoke, and the way it lingered.
Mitchell Vangeest, on the other hand, loved it, too. He always seemed to have a couple of sticks burning in his shop.
The main storefront proved empty. The shelves lay in disarray; items discarded and lying haphazardly on the floor or completely out of place on the shelves. None of the products seemed to have a theme, and it appeared as if a grocery store had smashed against a flea market: canned goods alongside antique jewelry; candles up against vinyl records. No rhyme or reason to any of it.
It looked like the place had gotten tossed, as though someone had come through here searching for something. Of course, maybe that just came down to Mitchell’s unconventional way of sorting things, but Dominick doubted it.
Either way, he felt unwilling to take any chances where Nida was concerned. Maybe she did need something here, after all, something that Mitchell had hung onto or could get for her.
She must have come out here to take it from him.
Which meant the odds of finding Mitchell alive had just grown slim.
A half-finished burrito and multiple candy bar wrappers covered the front register, and the door to the backroom stood open. The food looked old like it had lain there for days. He listened at the doorway and thought he heard movement in the back.
Maybe Mitchell, maybe not. It could be that Nida remained here, continuing her search. If she did, that would prove lucky for him: then he could end this now, once and for all.
He slid open the door and crept into the storage room, careful not to step on anything or make noise. It looked dark in here, with only a small amount of light filtering through a window. Further in, lay a couple of rooms. On the left was the break room, where Mitchell hung out and got high, and on the right was another small storage place, where Mitchell kept his prized possessions, the things of true value, and a curtain of beads blocked his way.
The noise came from there—a shuffling of footsteps. Slowly, Dominick raised his pistol and slid the curtain aside.
Mitchell stood there, spray bottle in hand, as he surveyed a small tray of short green plants. He bent and eyed each one of them critically.
He had headphones on and bobbed his head, taking little footsteps. A desk lamp stood nearby, aiming down at them with a soft grow light to keep the plants alive and fortified while indoors.
In the middle of winter, Dominick felt pretty sure those weren’t tomatoes.
Off to Mitchell’s right lay the small hidden cubby from where he’d slid the tray. Built right into the wall, a heavy shelf that he’d dragged out of the way hid it.
Dominick lowered his gun and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Mitchell kept bobbing with his music, completely unaware that Dominick stood right behind him.
“Mitchell. Hey, Mitchell!”
No response. Dominick let out a sigh before sliding his gun away. He stepped forward and tapped Mitchell on the shoulder.
“Earth to Mitchell. Come on, man.”
Mitchell let out a little half-groan, half-scream, and then stumbled to the side away from where Dominick had touched him. His foot caught on a rolled up rug, and he tripped. Hastily, he tried to pull the cords out of his ears and managed to wrap his arms up in them instead.
To save himself, he clutched the edge of his tray of little green plants, but it wasn’t braced and couldn’t support his weight. Dominick watched as Mitchell fell back in seemingly slow-motion, eyes wide, as the tray slid across the table toward him. He flailed his arms wildly, and then pulled it off, sending his little plants and dirt flying everywhere around and on top of him.
Dominick bit back a chuckle and folded his arms. He looked down at Mitchell, frowning. “Seriously?”
Mitchell took out his headphones and brushed dirt from his face. “Jesus Christ, you scared the crap out of me.”
“I thought you were dead.”
“Do I look dead?”
“I mean in general. The shop’s empty, and the lights are off. I figured someone came here to kill you.”
“I keep the lights off to conserve energy. Do you know how much electric costs out here? Who would want to kill me?”
“I’m sure we could find someone if we looked hard enough.”
Dominick held out his hand to help Mitchell stand. The man grabbed it, and Dominick jerked him to his feet. He stumbled, off-balance, and hit his hip hard against the table. The opposite of graceful, which proved painful to watch.
“I haven’t done anything particularly stupid in a while. Why would they want to kill me now?”
“The place looks like crap, too. When I came inside, you weren’t out front, so I didn’t know what might have happened. The place looks like it’s been tossed.”
“Oh, that? Just doing some spring cleaning.”
“It isn’t even spring.”
Mitchell shrugged. “Winter cleaning, then.”
“How do you consider that cleaning?”
“I just started,” Mitchell said, and then straightened his spine in a defensive posture. “And I needed a break.”
“To water your crop?”
Mitchell frowned and looked down at the ground around him. He wore a look of immeasurable sadness while he surveyed the plants. “I’ll have to re-pot all of them, and I’m sure some of them will die because of this.”
“Trust me, that’s the least of your concerns.”
“Are you kidding me? These are a special strain. Cost me a fortune. I should bill the Council for this.”
Dominick stayed silent for a moment. “Good luck with that.”
Mitchell’s entire demeanor changed. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Slowly, Dominick shook his head. “Mitchell … you need to answer your damn phone. Frieda tried calling you several times, and you didn’t pick up.”
“The battery died yesterday, I think. Might have happened the day before. I plugged it in to charge but forgot about it and left it at home. Why? What’s so important that you need to talk to me?”
“The Council has gone.”
Mitchell stood perfectly still for a second, mouth hanging open, and then he burst out laughing.
“Oh, you almost got me. Very convincing, Dominick.”
Dominick didn’t respond except to stare at him.
Slowly, the smile on Mitchell’s face faded. “Holy crap. You’re serious.”
“We got attacked. Only a handful of people survived. The rest all died.”
“Died? Like dead-dead?”
“All of them.”
Mitchell looked like a gust of wind could have blown him over at that moment.
“Holy mother of God. Is Frieda all right?”
“She got injured but will be fine. Jun Lee survived as well.”
“Abigail?”
Dominick didn’t respond, but Mitchell could read the look on his face.
Mitchell’s face fell. “Damn it. I think I need to sit down.”
He walked across the hall to the back room of the shop, and Dominick followed. Mitchell sat on an ugly red giant couch, and Dominick lowered himself into the beanbag chair opposite. The place reeked of recently smoked marijuana.
A few minutes passed while they just stared at each other. Dominick waited, letting the information sink in for Mitchell.
“What happened?” he asked, finally.
“We got attacked. Aram Malhotra betrayed us, and the entire Council got murdered.”
“Damn. I knew things had gone bad but never expected anything like this.”
“No one did,” Dominick said. “It gets worse.”
“What do you mean?”
“The demon who attacked us had control of Nida’s body and plans something else … some sort of summoning ritual.”
“To bring back the creature the Council locked away?”
“You know about that?”
Mitchell nodded. “I found out everything I could about the Council when they first approached me. I like to know who I’m about to get in bed with, so to speak, but that was a long time ago. Most of the rumors came out of the Catholic Church, and apparently, the original seven members of the Council locked away some horrible creature a long time ago, and their reward came in the guise of getting formed into the Council on behalf of the Church and receiving support and funding.”
“But they didn’t want to serve the Church directly,” Dominick said. His uncle had told him much the same story when he first joined the Order of Hunters, minus the part about locking away an evil creature. “So, instead, they looked for funding from other sources and stayed mostly autonomous. That’s why we’re multi-religious. Do you know what they locked up? A demon?”
“From what I heard, something worse. An integration of sorts.”
“Integration?”
“When demon and host bond completely, we call it integration. It’s incredibly rare, and barely ever actually works. The host has to invite the demon in, and they become one and the same. And even then, it proves rare to find a truly powerful demon willing to integrate with a host because the host gains some sort of symbiotic benefit from the demon.”
“So, not possession?”
“With possession, the demon wears the human like a set of clothing. They have control, but it comes with a built-in lag time and safety network whereby the body slowly dies and falls apart. They are inside the host, like a parasite, but gradually, the host dies as the demon poisons and corrupts it. With integration, they are the host, and the host becomes them. It’s way worse.”
“So, the Council stopped one of these a long time ago, and their bloodline locked it away?”
“In the deepest pits of hell.” Mitchell nodded. “So the story goes. Not sure how much I believe of it. I’ve seen possession, and I’ve heard about forms of integration, but whatever this was, it sounds way worse.”
“Well, I guess at least some of it holds truth. The demon is after the blood of the descendants from the original Council. It captured Frieda and took vials of her blood. We aren’t sure, but we think it might have gotten another few of the bloodlines it needs before it attacked the Council, so we’re running out of time to stop Nida.”
Mitchell fell silent while he thought through the consequences. “Even if the demon got all of the blood it needed, it would still need to perform an actual ritual to make this a reality. Something like that isn’t simple to do.”
“Frieda said there’s a stolen book that the demon could use for that purpose when it invaded the Council. Something with the history of the Council and all of the surnames she would need to find living descendants. We’re up against the clock and out of options. We need to find some way to stop the demon from gathering up all of the blood and completing the ritual before it’s too late.”
“What do you need from me?”
“Nothing,” Dominick said. “Frieda just wanted me to check on you to make sure you still lived. You didn’t answer your phone, and I’d already come to the neighborhood, so it made just a short jaunt out of my way.”
“Ah, so I wasn’t a top priority?”
“Not exactly.”
“How reassuring.”
“I’m on my way to Pennsylvania. One of the descendants Frieda knows lives there.”
“Who?” Dominick asked, then his eyes widened, and he groaned. “You can’t mean Jill Reinfer.”
“The one and only. She’s on the list of people we need to keep track of.”
“That woman is a witch.”
“I’m not a fan, either. But, if keeping her safe stops Nida from whatever she plans to do, then I’m fine with it.”
“Yeah. I guess so.”
“Frieda thinks she might be one of the targets, so I need to get there and make sure she’s still alive.”
“So, you’re just going to leave me here? What am I supposed to do if this crazed demon woman comes after me?”
“You’re welcome to travel with me if you think that’s better?”
“To Pennsylvania? No, thanks. I’ll take my chances.”
Dominick laughed. “Suit yourself. But look, if anything suspicious happens at all, you let me know, all right?”
“All right.”
“And turn on your damn phone. I don’t want to have to make another trip out here to see if you’re still alive.”
“Fine.”
Dominick stood and headed back out through the shop. He chuckled to himself as he passed the spilled tray of little marijuana plants.
“And clean this damn place up,” he shouted back at the room. “It looks like a tornado came through here.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mitchell shouted back.
Dominick headed back outside, grabbing a candle on the way. Marvin loved candles, and it might serve as a peace offering when all of this ended. He glanced at the label: Eucalyptus and mint; Marvin’s favorite.
It remained cloudy and overcast outside, but at least it had stopped raining. The wind made it feel a lot colder than the temperature. Dominick hadn’t been to Ohio many times in the past few months, but he didn’t much like it in winter. Too many people packed closely together, and too variable weather. He would take California over Ohio any day.
Of course, Pennsylvania didn’t rank much better. He had gone to Portsmouth only once and hated the way the entire city smelled. Jill Reinfer lived in that city, which made it his next stop.
