“Yeah,” I murmured. “I’ve wondered that, too … and I’ve wondered what he would be like if he knew he had a future? Last night, he said …” My throat closed, and I had to swallow before I could continue. “He usually follows along with whatever the rest of us are doing, but what if …”
“What if he wanted something?” The set of Aaron’s jaw changed, and his eyes blazed with sudden determination. “If we can do this … if we can save Ezra from his demon, then we’ll finally get to find out.”
My arms slid from around my legs and I dropped my feet to the floor. Straightening my spine, I faced the road ahead.
If we can do this …
We could. We would. Finally, Aaron was beginning to hope—and I wouldn’t let him, or Ezra, down.
“It should be around here somewhere,” I muttered, checking my GPS app against the photo I’d snapped of the scepter envelope mere moments after escaping the underground room with it. The whole “booby-trap fire” experience had inspired me to save the address in a way that wouldn’t get burned up.
And good thing too, since Aaron had turned the envelope to ash.
The address was located on the outskirts of a northern suburb of Portland. We’d already driven through the city center—stopping to grab a fast-food lunch on our way through—then crossed the Columbia River. A few more miles and we’d be out in farmland.
The area we were in was nice, featuring one- and two-acre properties with lots of mature trees lining a quiet, rural road. The houses were set well back from the street, with large lawns of neatly mowed grass. It wasn’t my jam—way too quiet and boring—but I got how some people would call it idyllic.
“Oh,” I exclaimed, pointing at a mint-green cottage-style home. “That’s house 496. Two more properties and we’ll be at number 500.”
Aaron slowed, and behind us, Justin’s black truck closed the gap. We rolled along the narrow road, passing a large brown house half hidden behind huge trees.
“Number 500,” I muttered.
I could see only a gravel driveway sweeping up a gentle slope before disappearing into a dense clump of trees. As we drove past, I glimpsed a structure that was either a very small house or a very large garage, then the road curved around a bend, cutting off my view.
Aaron flicked on his signal and pulled onto the grassy shoulder behind a mud-splattered, camo-painted jeep. Justin parked behind us, and I reached for my door handle.
The driver’s door of the jeep in front of us flew open. I froze as a large man jumped out of the vehicle, faced our SUV, and folded his arms expectantly.
Blake Cogan, the terramage.
“No freaking way,” I growled.
Swearing, Aaron shoved his door open, and I scrambled out of the vehicle too. Blake limped to meet Aaron.
“What the hell are you doing here?” the pyromage demanded.
“Took you long enough,” Blake rumbled. “Did you stop for sightseeing?”
I halted beside Aaron, hands balled into fists. “How did you—”
“I saw the address before you burned it,” he cut in. “And I’m here because the Enright cult is responsible for the deaths of my friends, guildmates, and my career, and if anyone got away, it’s my business far more than it’s yours. And”—he spoke over my protest—“it doesn’t seem to have occurred to you that whoever lives here could be a demon mage.”
I hesitated. No, that hadn’t occurred to us—because we knew there’d only ever been eleven demon mages. But someone had killed all the cultists, and it hadn’t been Ezra. So maybe Blake had a point.
Aaron and I exchanged angrily resigned glances. Blake wasn’t likely to let me shoot him with a sleeping potion again, and even if I could manage it, that might draw attention from the nearby homes. Looked like we were stuck with the Keys terramage as unwelcome backup.
Damn it.
We spent a few minutes discussing a plan of attack—or more accurately, Aaron and Blake strategized while Justin and I listened silently. We donned our gear—my belt, tucked out of sight under the hem of my jacket; Aaron’s sword, hidden in its case; Justin’s taser, concealed in a pocket; and Blake’s innocuous “walking stick”—then ventured into the trees on the neighboring property.
Midafternoon wasn’t the best time for a stealth operation, and I hoped no one was peeking through their blinds as we walked up the neighbor’s driveway, then cut through the trees and approached house number 500 from the side. It was a large, Tudor-style abode with an attached two-car garage. A detached RV garage took up the spot on the other side of the wide driveway.
We made a circle around the property, then crept up to the ground-level windows and spied on the interior like peeping Toms. When we’d seen all we could from the outside, we reconvened behind the massive raised deck in the back, a cute little stream trickling behind us.
“Well?” I whispered.
Aaron rubbed at the faint stubble on his jaw. “They have a very nice home.”
“I didn’t see any cult paraphernalia—not out in the open, at least.”
“They didn’t have anything else personal on display either,” Justin murmured. “No photos or knickknacks.”
His observation surprised me. I hadn’t noticed.
“They aren’t likely to leave evidence lying around,” Blake said impatiently. “The only way to know if the people who live here are involved in the cult is to question them.”
I grimaced in reluctant agreement.
“Hold on,” Justin cut in. “You don’t know that the current homeowners had anything to do with the cult. It’s been eight years. Whoever mailed that package probably went into hiding after the rest of their group was killed. You can’t assault an innocent family without any evidence.”
He had a point—not that I wanted to admit it.
“Let’s check the garages and see if there’re any cars,” I suggested. “If they aren’t home, we can break in and snoop around.”
Justin shot me a disparaging look, as though B&E were hardly better than assaulting innocent civilians.
Aaron had to climb through a bush to peer into the window of the attached garage. He returned with leaves stuck to his pants and reported that the garage was empty. We approached the tall RV garage, and I took one for the team this time, climbing into the bushes to get at the window.
Cupping my hands to the sides of my face, I pressed my nose to the glass. Even blocking the light, all I could see was my reflection. The interior was completely black.
I climbed out of the bushes with a grumble. Now I had bits of dead leaves in my socks to go with the grit in other places. I wanted a shower so badly.
“I can’t see anything,” I told the three men, joining them in the shadows beneath the trees. “It’s blacked out.”
“Blacked out as in there are drapes?” Aaron asked. “Or blacked out as in completely covered?”
“I think the latter.”
He cracked his knuckles. “Then let’s take a look.”
We returned to the garage’s side door, and he produced a lock pick. Though it took him three minutes to Kai’s thirty seconds, the lock clacked and he pushed the door open. Sunlight flooded the interior as we walked in.