Page 26 of Demon Demands

“Okay.” Sloane shook her wings out before tucking them behind her back. “No one lives except Jack and any other captives that we might find. If you see anything that looks important, call out to me mentally. I’ll keep my mind open for you guys. Everyone, stay in pairs.”

She checked the chain around her waist that held her mini throwing knives. Taking the black band off her right wrist, she used it to secure her hair into a knot atop of her head.

Sloane's obsidian blades reflected the light as she pulled them from their sheaths. The ornate bleached bone handles held engravings of what looked like a battle from hundreds, if not thousands, of years ago. The warriors were so detailed that you could see the blood dripping from their faces, the muscles bunched in their forearms as they threw their spears.

How someone got so much detail in such a small area to work with was beyond me. I wanted to study them closer, maybe under a magnifying glass. I wanted to look for all the hidden treasures within the etchings, because I was sure there was more to be seen.

The blade itself looked as fragile as glass. I couldn't tell where the blade began and the hilt ended. It was as if they were connected before the knife was made, but I didn’t know how that was possible.

I couldn't think of a single creature, living or extinct, that would have had obsidian connected to their bones.

That was a question for Sloane or Dolyn. Later.

Sloane snapped her fingers, and her hounds transformed into butterflies. Blue, red, and yellow flitted around her head, landing on the curves of her horns. She stomped to the door with purpose only to stop short.

“Are we doing this quietly?” Grim questioned her. “I know Jack is in there, but—”

All Sloane said was, “No.” Pulling her left knee up, she slammed her foot into the door beside the handle. Wood splintered, and the door swung open, colliding with the wall.

“What kind of backwoods, horror movie, storage shed is this?” Dolyn commented as we got our first look inside.

There were no rooms, not a kitchenette or bathroom… no boxes or equipment. Nothing. The inside was barren. Open. The only thing the shack held was a staircase that led down into an oppressive darkness.

That first step looked daunting.

Sloane stepped forward without hesitation, and we all fell in line. York placed his hand on Novak’s shoulder as they followed behind Sloane. Briggs and Stone went into the darkness next, and I shoved Hyland in between Stone and me. Vaughn copied York, gripping Grim’s shoulder to help him navigate the dark passage.

“It’s rather strange to feel nothing but bone beneath my hand,” Vaughn whispered to the reaper.

“Stop groping me,” Grim complained in a low whisper.

When we made it to the bottom of the stairs, there was faint candlelight flickering around us and hallways that led in three different directions. Distant laughter tugged Sloane to the right, and as she tracked the noise, I followed.

The right side path opened to a small but spacious room. Four males sat around a beaten up table as they drank green liquid from smokey colored mugs.

Two were dead before they ever noticed the devil in their presence. I hadn’t even seen her throw her daggers, but they protruded from the bases of the males’ skulls.

As the last two males stood and started yelling, Sloane spoke, completely unaffected by their advancing movements. “Their mistake was having their backs to the doorway. Yours was being too complacent, not observant enough.”

Their bodies hitting the ground echoed through the empty room, the table and chairs not absorbing any of the sound. Sloane had wielded her weapons with deadly accuracy and speed when I’d seen her use them at the camp in Kentucky. But her demon was quicker.

Whether it was unparalleled instinct or rage, I didn’t know, but I wanted to study her every move. I’d been so focused on the males that I’d missed her throwing her daggers, and I’d missed her pulling knives from her chain and throwing them.

She peered around the room as she jerked her weapons out of the bodies. The knives shrunk back to their two-inch size as they stuck to the chain like magnets to metal. There was nothing else in the room, so we backtracked to the group. Once we reached them, Sloane surveyed the remaining paths.

“Franklin, stay with Hyde,” she murmured, unfocused as she closed her eyes. Her eyelids bounced as she used her other senses to search for Jack. “We’re going to the left. Jack is that way.”

And again, we followed her down the candlelit hall, checking every door we passed. It looked like some sort of living quarters. Dormitory style rooms were set up with bunk beds and makeshift bathrooms, all of them empty.

There had to be beds for forty or more recruits, though the living arrangements were far from satisfactory. The blankets on the bunks were ratty and thin. There were no personal belongings in sight, no pillows, no privacy.

At the end of the hall, a wide wooden door sat with a deadbolt type of lock on it. No knob.

Sloane peeked over her shoulder at Grim. When he gave her a barely perceptible nod, she kicked the door in so hard that it ripped from the hinges, falling with a loud thump onto the dusty floor.

Five males looked up in unison, and Jack groaned from where he hung by his wrists from the rafters.

“It’s about fucking time,” he chastised, letting out another painful groan as a bluish colored demon landed a swift hook to his ribs.