face, and eyes frozen onto the burning monsters before her.
“ Ma’am,” Matt said, holding out a hand.
The woman looked down at herself, then to the gun at her feet, the van, and back to the demons.
“Miss, it’s okay. No one’s going to harm you.” He stood.
The shrieking woman looked up at them, her eyes crazed and wide. Her gaze locked onto Matt’s blood-smeared hands. She stepped back.
“ Miss, you’re okay.” Matt kept his voice calm and low. “You’re safe.”
Without a word, the woman turned and ran away screaming.
“Hmm,” Allan said. “She took that well.”
Despite himself, Matt chuckled, then burst into laughter. He turned back to the hunter, sitting upright and wincing with every laugh.
“ Poor thing. I wonder what all she’ll even remember.”
“ If she’s lucky, nothing.”
Allan swigged the half-empty bottle and coughed. “Thanks. Thought you were a goner when she plugged you.”
Matt rapped the vest under his shirt. “Worth the investment.”
Allan swigged the bottle again and offered it up. “Good shot.”
Matt took the bottle and knocked it back. The vodka burned his throat, taking his breath. The first demon had shrunk, its horns slowly retracting. He guessed it might take another half-hour before it had fully returned to human form. “Gotta dig that slug out before the Mounties get here. Ballistics.”
“ What about that guy you shot in the bar?” Allan asked, crawling to his feet.
Matt shrugged. “Can only hope it shattered. Can’t have too many deaths linked to me. Caliber is pretty unique. No telling how many unsolved murders I’d be charged with if they ever caught me. Besides, by the time anyone might get it out, I hope we’re halfway across the ocean.”
“ What?”
“ They hit us, Allan. Must have watched you and Schmidt visit that place, then waited for me to arrive.” He shook his head. “Never heard of a demon like those, either. I’m convinced. I’ll join you.”
Chapter Four
Matt sat in one of the worn blue and red pleather seats, reading his laptop screen while trying to ignore the endless drone of the plane’s propellers. He scrolled through police photos of the grisly crime scene in Bulgaria. The bodies weren’t just mutilated, they’d been torn to pieces. While stray dogs were responsible for some, the dismembered limb and crushed skulls were caused by something more. He examined a picture of the blood-inscribed walls. Curved symbols, like alien hieroglyphs, decorated the dingy sheetrock.
The plane shuddered and Matt tensed, letting out a sigh once the turbulence ended. It wasn’t that he didn’t like flying. He just hadn’t been on an airplane since his dad took him to Colorado when he was ten. A lifetime ago. Airlines frowned on bringing handguns aboard. True, he could always check Dämoren. But trusting a baggage handler with her, even locked in a case, was out of the question.
When Schmidt said the Valducans owned a plane, and sneaking the weapons through customs wouldn’t be a problem, Matt had envisioned a private jet. Fast and smooth, just like in the movies. Instead, he found himself on an old prop plane they’d picked up from some defunct airline. Fokker, they called it. It was loud, rickety, and felt like it might come apart around them with each jolt of turbulence.
When they stopped in Winnipeg to refuel, he had hoped he ’d have a chance to get out. Maybe take a few minutes to enjoy fresh air. Schmidt said they didn’t have time, and that the air on a tarmac wasn’t the least bit fresh at all. So Matt had stayed on board, and watched the world through the little window beside him, his fingers fidgeting with the ancient and grimy ashtray built into his armrest.
The cockpit door opened and Allan made his way down the center aisle. The pink lines on his face had nearly faded. Gauze bandages wrapped his neck and wrists like some sort of mummy. A few red welts, covered in yellowed scabs and slick with
“ Ma’am,” Matt said, holding out a hand.
The woman looked down at herself, then to the gun at her feet, the van, and back to the demons.
“Miss, it’s okay. No one’s going to harm you.” He stood.
The shrieking woman looked up at them, her eyes crazed and wide. Her gaze locked onto Matt’s blood-smeared hands. She stepped back.
“ Miss, you’re okay.” Matt kept his voice calm and low. “You’re safe.”
Without a word, the woman turned and ran away screaming.
“Hmm,” Allan said. “She took that well.”
Despite himself, Matt chuckled, then burst into laughter. He turned back to the hunter, sitting upright and wincing with every laugh.
“ Poor thing. I wonder what all she’ll even remember.”
“ If she’s lucky, nothing.”
Allan swigged the half-empty bottle and coughed. “Thanks. Thought you were a goner when she plugged you.”
Matt rapped the vest under his shirt. “Worth the investment.”
Allan swigged the bottle again and offered it up. “Good shot.”
Matt took the bottle and knocked it back. The vodka burned his throat, taking his breath. The first demon had shrunk, its horns slowly retracting. He guessed it might take another half-hour before it had fully returned to human form. “Gotta dig that slug out before the Mounties get here. Ballistics.”
“ What about that guy you shot in the bar?” Allan asked, crawling to his feet.
Matt shrugged. “Can only hope it shattered. Can’t have too many deaths linked to me. Caliber is pretty unique. No telling how many unsolved murders I’d be charged with if they ever caught me. Besides, by the time anyone might get it out, I hope we’re halfway across the ocean.”
“ What?”
“ They hit us, Allan. Must have watched you and Schmidt visit that place, then waited for me to arrive.” He shook his head. “Never heard of a demon like those, either. I’m convinced. I’ll join you.”
Chapter Four
Matt sat in one of the worn blue and red pleather seats, reading his laptop screen while trying to ignore the endless drone of the plane’s propellers. He scrolled through police photos of the grisly crime scene in Bulgaria. The bodies weren’t just mutilated, they’d been torn to pieces. While stray dogs were responsible for some, the dismembered limb and crushed skulls were caused by something more. He examined a picture of the blood-inscribed walls. Curved symbols, like alien hieroglyphs, decorated the dingy sheetrock.
The plane shuddered and Matt tensed, letting out a sigh once the turbulence ended. It wasn’t that he didn’t like flying. He just hadn’t been on an airplane since his dad took him to Colorado when he was ten. A lifetime ago. Airlines frowned on bringing handguns aboard. True, he could always check Dämoren. But trusting a baggage handler with her, even locked in a case, was out of the question.
When Schmidt said the Valducans owned a plane, and sneaking the weapons through customs wouldn’t be a problem, Matt had envisioned a private jet. Fast and smooth, just like in the movies. Instead, he found himself on an old prop plane they’d picked up from some defunct airline. Fokker, they called it. It was loud, rickety, and felt like it might come apart around them with each jolt of turbulence.
When they stopped in Winnipeg to refuel, he had hoped he ’d have a chance to get out. Maybe take a few minutes to enjoy fresh air. Schmidt said they didn’t have time, and that the air on a tarmac wasn’t the least bit fresh at all. So Matt had stayed on board, and watched the world through the little window beside him, his fingers fidgeting with the ancient and grimy ashtray built into his armrest.
The cockpit door opened and Allan made his way down the center aisle. The pink lines on his face had nearly faded. Gauze bandages wrapped his neck and wrists like some sort of mummy. A few red welts, covered in yellowed scabs and slick with
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