I would’ve loved to get rid of the terramage, but as far as he believed, Aaron and I were in the middle of an investigation. From his perspective, we should want his help, and giving him the boot would be the equivalent of pouring suspicion oil on a strange-behavior fire.
“The original leader,” he continued, “is most likely the summoner of the cult—the one who created the demon mages a decade ago. This man is, at the least, a contractor.”
And all summoners were contractors as well, though the reverse wasn’t true.
“We don’t have any answers,” I complained. “We have no way to know if this leader is also the other leader, or whether either leader is a summoner—and oh my god, we’re saying the word ‘leader’ way too much.”
Aaron snorted. “Well, we could call him … what was it? Praetor?”
“Is that a title or a really ugly name?” When he shrugged, I stopped pacing and pulled out my phone. “Let’s find out.”
“Do you really think a cult term will be—”
“Here we go. Praetor. A title from ancient Rome for either an army commander or a magistrate. Huh.”
“Okay then.” Aaron folded his arms. “So, we have one Praetor ‘commander’ in charge of a ‘circle’ of twelve members.”
“Twelve,” Blake muttered.
“Something special about twelve?”
“Some Demonica mythics believe there are twelve demon Houses.”
The term “Houses” rang a bell, but I was drawing a blank on its meaning. “What’s a demon House?”
“Demon breeds, essentially. There are ten documented types of demon, and according to legend, two additional ‘lost’ Houses: the First and the Twelfth.”
What had Ezra said about the number of demon mages in Enright? I was the eleventh. Lexie was supposed to be the twelfth.
Another memory popped: Robin and I arriving at Odin’s Eye to speak to their Demonica expert. When she’d shown the ex-summoner her infernus, he’d nearly spit out his drink in disbelief. Your demon can only be the lost First House. Unless—unless it’s the fabled Twelfth House?
No wonder everyone was so surprised by her demon’s unusual appearance. A lost House. That girl might have more secrets than I did.
I squeezed my temples. “Where was I? Right. The Praetor. The cult …” I turned to Aaron. “We’ve been assuming all along that the cult was centered in Enright. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, but … what if it was never just one sect?”
“You think there were multiple sects all along?”
“That could be why a demon mage killed everyone in Enright.” I swallowed a wave of horror at the senseless deaths. “What if they were protecting the rest of the cult?”
Blake swore under his breath. “Like cutting off a diseased limb before the infection can spread.”
“The cultist who was captured,” Aaron muttered. He fixed his stare on the terramage. “He died as well—before he could be questioned about anything more than Enright, I’m assuming? Are the Keys sure he wasn’t deliberately silenced?”
Pulling his phone from his pocket, Blake tapped on the screen. “Yeah, very sure. I’ve seen the security footage. No one entered his cell.”
The Keys of Solomon had cells? Like, their own personal guild dungeon? Gross.
After a minute searching his phone, Blake held the screen up, and Aaron and I moved closer. Justin joined us as Blake hit play on a video. The camera was affixed high on a wall, pointed toward three barred cells, each equipped with a metal cot and toilet. A man was sitting on the middle cell’s cot, his face buried in his hands.
The footage had been sped up, and several Keys members zippily walked to the cell, mouths moving with rapid, soundless words, then left. The cultist didn’t react to any of them until a woman visited him, but he merely stared at her before dropping his face into his hands again.
As the thin, dark-haired lady zoomed off screen, I pursed my lips. I’d honestly thought the Keys of Solomon excluded women. Maybe she was a secretary. The big beefy hunters probably considered paperwork to be beneath them. Sexist losers.
The cultist remained in place for two more hours according to the clock speeding through the minutes in the screen’s corner. Just after midnight, the cultist stood up. He pulled off his t-shirt and began tearing the fabric into strips.
I looked away, not needing to see the rest. As I retreated from the phone, Aaron and Justin watched the last minute of the video.
“The security guard had left his station,” Blake said, pocketing his phone again. “He was only gone fifteen minutes, and saw what had happened as soon as he got back, but it was too late.”
“Shit timing on his part,” Aaron commented darkly. He swept past me, taking over pacing duty. “So we have one surviving sect of the cult, and the possibility that there may be more. The Praetor is a contractor and could also be a summoner.”
“And he could be creating demon mages.” Blake curled his upper lip. “Merging a ‘Servus’ and a mythic would fit right into their twisted ideology. What kind of a moronic fool would believe demons are the loyal servants of a Goddess?”
I shrugged. “Well, it isn’t like demons can explain themselves.”
He shot me an incredulous look.
“What? I’m just saying. They can’t talk, can they? They just get steered into battle and torn to shreds. Did you know demons, even the contracted ones, feel pain?”
“If you’re such a sympathizer, why don’t you join the cult? Have a drink of demon blood and—”
“Enough!” Aaron barked. “This isn’t helping. We need to plan our next move.”
I shot Blake a disparaging glower. I extra wanted to plant my boot in his ass and kick him out the door, but I knew what a demon mage could do. Aaron alone didn’t stand a chance, and I was no real use. Blake was a defensive powerhouse. We might need him.
“Mr. Praetor must have a day job, right?” I said. “We’ll wait for him to go to work tomorrow. Once he leaves, we’ll break into his house and search for information on the cult. And depending on what we find, we can set up an ambush to capture him.”
“Solid plan.” Blake pushed off the wall. “I’ll be back at six a.m. and we can head over together.”
“Are you going home?” I asked.
“No, too far. But I ain’t bunking on your sofa, that’s for sure.”
He limped to the balcony doors, which opened onto a tiny patio separated from the sidewalk by a four-foot strip of grass. When I’d said the apartment provided privacy, I’d meant from … like … hotel staff. The location still left a lot to be desired.
The glass door thumped shut behind him, and I counted to thirty in my head before flopping backward onto the sofa.
“I’m exhausted,” I moaned. “My whole body hurts.”
“Holding still for hours is worse than hours of exertion.” Aaron dropped down beside me and leaned back. “So, what do you think?”
“About all this?” I rolled my eyes toward him. “On the plus side, our chances of finding a cult grimoire have increased. On the downside …”