“Wow. You really are an asshole.”
Wrong. I’m a cursed asshole. Deadly, too. “Yes. And never forget it.”
The house belonging to the Brown brothers, where Pet had been held captive, was your average redbrick, one-story home in an average neighborhood twenty minutes from the Browns’ exotic salsa factory. A factory that was now shut down given that the company was under investigation and the owners were on the run, thanks to Sky’s work.
Interestingly, though, Damien had checked Sky’s website several times, and there was no sign of the third article. Had she changed her mind about releasing it before her death? He’d have to ask later.
“You are sure this is the house, yes?” Damien checked the online county records. The deed was registered to the Browns’ deceased mother. The brothers themselves owned nothing. Even the factory was titled to some holding company.
“Yeah. I could never forget that smell.”
“What does it smell like?” he asked.
Pet blinked her big blue eyes at him, an intense sadness in her gaze. “Bad things.”
Okay. A bit cryptic, but Damien was about to find out what sorts of bad things. “Tell me which side of the house the bunker is on.”
Pet pointed to the left. “There’s a staircase in the basement, leading to the first floor. Underneath the staircase is a hidden door. It looks like a big ventilation grate. The bunker with the cages is below.”
Why hadn’t she told him this before? He’d had the impression he was going to have to spend hours searching for the hidden entrance. There’d been no reason to even bring the annoying fairy.
“All right, I will go take a look. You stay here.”
“You’re leaving me alone?” she whined.
“Yes.”
“But what if the Brown brothers show up?” She started to tremble.
Not likely. He already knew from the headlines that the Browns had gone underground. According to Pet, they’d been in Ohio recently, but that wasn’t likely. Pet had probably heard a voice that simply sounded similar. Just like she had seen a ball of lint that looked like Cousin Ronald. Like he said, sex-fairies weren’t the smartest.
If Damien had to guess, the Browns were still hiding out, and the men who’d assaulted Sky’s nephew, Miguel, were linked to someone who still had something to lose: the governor’s brother.
“If the Browns show up, then you fly away,” Damien said. “In fact, why don’t you do that now?” He no longer needed her to find this hidden bunker.
“Nuh-uh. They have nets. They’re bad men. They’ll catch me.”
First Pet never wanted to return here, and now she wanted what? To come inside with him? Fairies were psycho.
“I do not have time for this.” He reached for the front of his travel bag and grabbed his tools. He just wanted to get in and out as quickly as possible. His only interest was inspecting this bunker to see who might still be there and what it was made of. Steel? Lead? Some supernatural insulation?
Whatever the case, he needed to go back to the gods with an update. Hopefully, that update would entail saying he’d hit a dead end and they should seek a solution elsewhere.
For example, the probability that Pet and her friends had been inside the bunker during the blast was extremely low. The Browns were in the business of selling exotic creatures, not keeping a zoo. And if her friends had all been in different locations during the blast, that information would tell him nothing. The only way this lead could go somewhere was if all the creatures in the bunker had a common denominator, such as a key genetic trait or special powers. Otherwise, he highly doubted he’d be able to explain why some immortals were spared and others were not. Certainly, he did not expect to find a solution to bring everyone back.
Damien exited the vehicle. Pet flew out behind him, wiggling back into his pocket.
Fine. As long as she stayed out of his hair. “And no more eating my suit,” he grumbled.
He marched up to the front door and knocked, trying to look like a man on official business. Meanwhile, his hands got to work on the lock.
Pop! The door swung open on its own.
“Hello, sir. May I come in?” Damien extended his hand inside, pretending to greet someone. “We had an appointment to discuss your insurance.”
Damien stepped inside and closed the door. “You can come out now, Pet.”
“Who were you talking to?” Pet muttered from the safety of his jacket.
“No one. I wanted it to look like the owners invited me in—in case a neighbor saw me.”
“Why?”
“Because humans are snoops. And snoops make poops.”
Pet popped her head out. “Huh?”
It was something his father used to say. Not much of a swearer. “Never mind. We need to hurry.”
Damien walked through the kitchen. It was grimy and spartan with only a beat-up breakfast table in the corner. Old cream-colored curtains hung on the window over a rusted-out sink.
He quickly did a sweep through the house, which was in a state of disarray—drawers turned out, the contents of closets on the floor, cupboards left open, etc. The police had been here already.
At the end of the hall, he found two doors. One probably led to the garage, but that didn’t interest him.
He inspected the second door with the steel frame and heavy-duty industrial lock. A little overboard for securing an inventory of fairies. Whatever the Browns had kept down there, they’d wanted to make sure it did not get out. No wonder Pet could not open it.
“Do you smell that?” Pet trembled in his pocket, vibrating against his hip.
“Smell what?”
“Roadkill. Oh, and nail polish. I love nail polish!”
How delightful. “Why don’t you stay up here and keep a lookout at the window.” If there was anything dead down there, he did not need to deal with a hysterical fairy.
“Really? You want me to be your lookout?” She flew out and blinked up at him with her big eyes.
“Yes.”
“Okay, but the murdered reporter lady says to hurry up. Something doesn’t feel right.”
Sky was here? “Gods fucking dammit,” he snapped. “Why is she—you know what? Neverthehellmind. I have work to do.”
“I’m not the one holding us up. And stop swearing,” Pet said.
Did a prostate-tickling, anus-diving sex fairy, who lived for bathing in bodily fluids, just tell him his language was offensive?
He twisted the deadbolt and pulled open the heavy door. “Stay, Pet. I mean it.” He went to venture downstairs.
CHAPTER TEN
Damien flipped on the basement lights at the top of the stairs, grumbling profanities under his breath. What was Sky doing here?
Does she think she can make me feel guilty? Make me suffer with this haunting?
Who the hell haunted people anyway? Just because she was dealt a bad hand did not give her the right to thrust her spirit on others. We all needed to carry the burden of our fates alone. Take his situation, for example. He’d been cursed to live in emotional isolation for all eternity. But did anyone see him running around, inviting himself into other people’s lives or whining about his fate? No. He’d accepted his lot, the outcome of his choices.