 
THE EATER OF SOULS

## A Noah House Novel

## T.L. Cerepaka

Published by Annulus Publishing.

Copyright © T.L. Cerepaka 2018. All rights reserved.

Contact: timothy@tlcerepaka.com

Cover design by BZN Studio

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, send an email to the above contact.

***
CHAPTER ONE

It was the prettiest car crash I'd ever seen. I wouldn't even call it a car crash, even though that was how the lady on the police radio described it.

The car itself—a sleek, red four-door sedan with a cool spoiler and tire covers so clean they practically sparkled under the glare of my flashlight—had apparently been heading down the highway at 60 miles an hour before suddenly pulling off the road and onto the grass on either side of the road. It had stopped in front of a fence which surrounded an abandoned church and graveyard. My gaze briefly paused on the church, which looked eerie in the darkness of the night, before my eyes turned back to the 'crashed' car.

The car's condition was pretty good. It had scrapped against the fence when it went off the road, which was obvious when you noticed the scrapped off paint on the passenger's side, but otherwise, it seemed to be in near perfect condition. I kept forgetting that amages—that is, people who lacked magic and were not part of the magical community, unlike me—were more easily panicked than us mages and seemed to treat every stressful situation as if it was the end of the world.

Then again, it was very dark and late at night. I was something of a night owl myself, so when the police radio in my office spoke of a car crash a few miles outside of town that needed an immediate response, I pulled on my jacket and headed out as fast as I could. But I could see how someone who was driving by might look at the skid marks on the road, see the still car with a smoking engine off the side of the road, and assume some kind of car crash had happened. Especially if they just kept driving, though most amages wouldn't understand why they kept driving. I didn't, either, but I had my theories and none of them involved anything as ordinary as drunk driving or a blown tire.

Speaking of the smoking engine, I walked up to the front of the car and popped the hood. Raising the hood, I aimed my flashlight down and saw that the engine was indeed damaged, but not irreparably so. It didn't look like an ordinary engine failure. The holes from which the smoke issued looked like claw marks as if a lion had slashed through the engine.

But I knew that no lion could possibly have done this because Texas didn't have any wild lions and I had not heard of any reports of lions escaping from any of the zoos. There was one kind of creature, however, which I knew could slash the engine of a moving car without being seen. The amage cops who should up to answer the emergency call wouldn't be able to make sense of it, but I would, and I didn't have much time to finish my investigation and confirm my theory before the police showed up.

Shutting the hood, I held up my flashlight and said, "Simon, have you found the lady's ghost yet?"

There was a brief pause before something small, black, and furry darted out from underneath the car. It was a black and white cat, who jumped on top of the car's hood and sat, looking up at me with his unnatural purple eyes. His tail swishing back and forth, Simon almost looked like an ordinary cat, though I knew Simon, as my familiar, was not an ordinary cat.

"Nope," said Simon promptly. He licked his paw and began cleaning his face. "I tried talking to her, but she wouldn't answer. Rather rude, if you ask me."

"There's no way the driver could have been dead for more than five minutes, at most," I said, scratching my chin thoughtfully. "Her spirit should still be lingering around here, even if only in a weak form. At the very least, you should be able to speak to it."

"I don't know, Noah," said Simon with a shrug. "There aren't any hard and fast rules about the spirits of the dead. Depends on how happy they were with their life. If they're happy and have no regrets—" Simon snorted when he said that, "—then they usually just pass right on to the afterlife. If they're depressed and have a lot of unfinished business on God's green Earth, then their spirit can linger for years and become meaner and meaner as time goes. You remember the Porter mansion ghost, don't you?"

"Don't remind me," I said. "But how could the driver have died so suddenly? Her car didn't even actually crash."

"Heart attack, maybe?" said Simon. "She's an older lady, probably in her fifties or so. She's also quite fat."

"Possibly, but we need to exhaust all possibilities first before we jump to any conclusions," I said. "Let me see her body."

I walked around the front of the car to the driver's side. I waved a hand at the car door, casting a spell which unlocked it, and then pulled the door open and pointed my flashlight inside.

The woman who lay slumped against the wheel was indeed quite fat, as Simon so eloquently put it. She reminded me of my own mother somewhat, except my mom at least knew how to take care of her appearance and make her size work for her rather than against her. This woman wore too tight clothing and short shorts which would have looked better on a much younger and slimmer woman but which only served to emphasize her weight on her. The only part of her appearance which she seemed to care about was her hair, which was done in neat curls, but other than that, she looked like a slob to me.

She also looked unconscious, rather than dead, but Simon had already figured out that she had died when the car came to a stop on the side of the road. That was another reason I doubted this was a car crash. If she had died while driving, the car would have run off the road and crashed into, rather than against, the fence. Maybe she pulled her car over onto the side of the road and then died, but that didn't seem likely to me, either.

I reached over and poked her shoulder. No movement, though her skin was unnaturally cold, which didn't make sense, given how she couldn't have died more than a few minutes ago at best. Bodies didn't cool that fast.

But what I found most odd about her body was the lack of visible wounds. From what I could see, her body was completely unharmed. No cuts or scratches or open wounds or anything like that. For all intents and purposes, it seemed like she had just died while driving. That didn't make sense, because while she wasn't a spring chicken, she also didn't seem old enough to die of natural causes. Nor did she seem to have any medical problems, aside from her weight, but I'd never heard of even an obese person just suddenly dying without warning like that.

I stood up and considered the evidence. Unnaturally cold skin, no visible wounds or injuries, leaning against the wheel like she had fallen asleep while driving, her spirit not lingering... and then there was the slashed car engine in the front. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to go together in my mind, but the conclusion they suggested was one I didn't want to consider, yet it was also the only one that made sense.

There was only one way to find out.

I leaned forward and, aiming the flashlight at her face, forced open her left eye.

It was completely white.

"Simon," I said, standing upright and weaving my flashlight back and forth, "I know what killed the woman now."

"You do?" said Simon, who was sitting on the top of the car, his black tail swishing back and forth. "Was it obesity? Obesity can cause heart problems, which is the number one killer of American women, and she's quite big, so—"

"No, it wasn't obesity, you dumb cat," I snapped. "It was a—"

Out of the corner of my eye, something shot out of the shadows toward me. I raised my hand and cast a shield spell, instantly conjuring a thin but impenetrable energy barrier in front of me. The thing which had shot out of the shadows slammed into the barrier and went stumbling backward, grunting in surprise.

I dismissed the barrier and aimed my flashlight at the dazed creature which lay on the ground before me.

The creature looked almost like a teenage human, with unnaturally pale skin and coal black hair that seemed to fade into the shadows. Yet his messy hair could not hide the tiny horns poking out from his crown or the barbed tail poked out between his legs. He was a skinny creature, almost skeletal, and he reeked of death, but I knew from experience not to judge these monsters based solely on their physical appearances.

"Holy crap," said Simon, staring at the fallen creature, which was still dazed from running head first into my barrier. "That's not what I think it is, is it?"

"It is," I said. "A demon. And not just any demon, either, but the murderer of this woman."

"Murderer?" said Simon, looking at me all of a sudden. "But I don't see any claw marks on her."

"It ate her soul," I said, throwing an annoyed look at Simon. "That's why you can't talk to her soul and why she died all of a sudden because there is no soul to talk to."

"Ah," said Simon, nodding. "Makes sense. Are you gonna kill it?"

I turned away from Simon to focus on the demon and raised a hand. Blue fire crackled in my free hand as I said, "I have no choice. The Ancient Laws state that all demons are to be killed on sight. I may not be a demon slayer anymore, but I still have to follow the Laws like anyone else."

I threw a blue fireball at the demon, but the demon rolled to the side and avoided the fireball, which struck the ground where he had been lying and set it on fire. The demon lunged toward me, claws outstretched, but I summoned a blade of blue light in my hands and slashed at the demon as it drew closer toward me.

The demon cried out in pain as my sword cut open its chest. It dropped to the ground, but before it could react, I kicked it in the chin, sending the demon staggering backward. Moving in closer, I slashed at the demon, but it dropped into the darkness underneath it and my sword missed it entirely.

"Where did it go?" said Simon in surprise, his head whipping back and forth urgently.

"No idea, but don't let your guard down," I said, looking this way and that as I searched for the demon, "this demon clearly isn't a higher class one, but that doesn't make it any less dangerous, especially toward familiars."

"Stop speaking about me like I'm some kind of wild animal," said a voice behind me, "it's rather offensive."

I whirled around to see the demon standing in front of the car, a wicked grin on his face. His chest wound must have healed quickly because when I pointed my flashlight at him, the wound was missing.

"You demons aren't any better than beasts," I said. "Forgive me if I'm not as polite to soul eaters like you as I should be. My parents always taught me you had to earn respect before you could ask for it."

The demon chuckled. "Indeed, your parents taught you many things, didn't they, Noah House?"

I stiffened. "How do you know my name? I've never even met you."

The demon chuckled again. "Every demon knows the name of the great Noah House, the Chosen One who slew the Demon Lord Raith five years ago. Yet here you are now, reduced to investigating the murders of insignificant amage women like some commoner. Your fall from grace must have been spectacular."

I scowled. "How I got here is none of your business. And it won't stop me from killing you like the animal you are."

The demon leaned forward, rubbing his claws together eagerly. "Oh, how you got here is my business, Noah House. Or, as you are better known to your fellow mages, the Butcher of Souls."

***
CHAPTER TWO

My breath caught in my lungs when the demon said that. My palms became sweaty and I started to shake slightly. My mouth became dry, but I managed to say, "What did you call me?"

"The Butcher of Souls," the demon repeated, his grin never leaving his ugly lips. "That's what you are known for nowadays, isn't it? Not for killing Lord Raith and saving the world. No, you are remembered for your crimes against your own people. Ironic, isn't it?"

I licked my lips. I hadn't heard that nickname in a while, which was why it took me by surprise. "The Feast of Souls is in the past. I've made my peace with what I did."

"Is that why your hands are shaking?" said the demon, tilting his head to the side. "I'm no expert on human body language, but that's usually not a good sign."

I looked at my hands. They were indeed shaking, despite my best efforts to control them. I looked up at the demon again. "I'm only shaking because I'm eager to cut that ugly grin off your ugly face."

"Reduced to mocking my appearance as a way to hide your own insecurities," the demon observed. "You may be a mage, but you are still a human and suffer from all of the same weaknesses that all humans suffer from. You can never escape your ancestry or your nature."

"I'm not trying to escape anything," I said. My words trembled slightly when I spoke. "You're the one trying to escape from me."

"I'm not running now, am I?" said the demon, spreading his arms. "No, I'm right here, still savoring the taste of that woman's soul. Granted, it wasn't the most delicious soul I've ever had, but it was sufficient to satisfy my hunger. Yet I still desire more, and what could taste better than the soul of the Butcher himself?"

The demon launched himself at me. Still distracted by his calling me the Butcher of Souls, I was unable to move out of the way or even attack. I just watched as the demon drew closer and closer to me, like watching a movie in slow motion.

Then I heard a loud growl and Simon landed on my shoulder and snapped in my ear, "Snap out of it, Noah! Don't let him get to you like that."

Simon's harsh voice snapped me out of my inaction just as the demon got within claw's reach of me. I raised my blue sword and held it out before me. The demon's eyes widened in surprise, but he was unable to stop himself from impaling himself on the length of my blade. Green blood burst out of his back and stomach when he crashed into my sword, but I held my ground and didn't move.

"What..." the demon's breathing came heavy and ragged. His eyes were on the blade protruding from his stomach. "No way..."

Dropping my flashlight, I grabbed the demon's head and forced him to look up at me. I met the demon's terrified eyes and said, in a harsh whisper, "You're about to find out exactly why a lower class demon like yourself shouldn't mess with the mage who killed Raith."

I began to channel burning Mana through my right hand, but before I could blow up his head, I heard police sirens somewhere behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I saw the flashing red and blue lights of a police car as they made their way down the road to the car crash where I stood.

"Uh oh," said Simon, who was also looking at the oncoming cars. "Amage cops. Think we should make a run for it?"

"Yes," I said, "but after I kill this—"

Suddenly, demonic claws slashed at my chest. They cut through my leather jacket and tore through the flesh underneath, making me cry out in surprise. My concentration shattered, my blue Mana sword vanished and the demon staggered away from me. He clutched his bleeding stomach wound but was smiling like a madman.

"Clearly, the Butcher of Souls still knows how to kill," said the demon, his voice much weaker than before, "but even the Butcher of Souls won't be able to stop the return of Lord Raith. Your days are numbered, Butcher. Start counting them now."

Before my startled eyes, the demon vanished into the darkness, leaving me standing there with my hand outstretched, Simon sitting on my shoulder and the two of us staring at where the demon had been standing mere moments before.

-

I didn't stick around the car crash long after that. The Law of Secrecy meant that I wasn't allowed to interact with amages, even amage police officers, because that risked revealing the magical community to the amage world. Even if the Law of Secrecy didn't exist, I probably wouldn't have stuck around. I'd learned everything I needed to know, and besides, I didn't care for the police in general, whether mage or amage.

So, with help from Simon, I teleported us back to my office in Accords, Texas, which was my hometown and the main location of my private investigation business, House Investigations. As soon as I appeared back in my office, however, I staggered over to the sofa in the corner of the room and collapsed on it. My chest wound still burned from where the demon had slashed me and, while it was not debilitating, it still hurt like hell and would need medical attention soon.

Simon, who had hopped off my shoulder when we appeared in my office, jumped up onto the arm of my sofa and looked down at me with concern in his eyes. "How do you feel? His claws didn't have poison or anything on them, did they?"

"No, I don't think so," I said through gritted teeth. I touched the wound and winced. "Just ridiculously sharp claws, though they didn't get my heart."

Simon sighed. "Whew. I was worried you might have actually been hurt back there and we might need to take you to an amage hospital. Cats, even talking ones like me, don't get visitation in the amage world. Or so I've heard."

I rolled my eyes. "Right. Look, just heal me up with your magic. You're better at healing than I am, so just heal it. It may not be poisoned, but it still hurts like hell."

"Sure thing, boss," said Simon. "Now stay as still as you can, because my healing spell will be less effective if you move too much."

Simon's purple eyes glowed like searchlights all of a sudden. A purple glow washed over my chest, and when it passed, my chest wound was closed and the pain was gone.

I sat up and felt my chest. "Thanks, Simon. I feel much better now."

"You're welcome," said Simon. "Now, where's my treat?"

I looked at Simon in disbelief. "Your treat?"

"Yeah," said Simon, nodding. His tail swished back and forth in the air behind him eagerly. "I may be your familiar, but that doesn't mean I do this stuff for free. A can of tuna should suffice."

Even though Simon had been my familiar for fifteen years now, I sometimes forgot he was a cat. It didn't help that he had actually been a human prior to his reincarnation as a cat. It made me wonder if I would act like that if I reincarnated as someone's familiar. Of course, Simon could just be trolling me, but given how hungry he looked, I decided he was being serious this time.

Sighing, I rose to my feet. I tossed my blood-soaked leather jacket and shirt to the floor, intending to clean them up later, which left me with nothing but a black tank top over my body. I walked over to the fridge in the kitchen, pulled out a car of tuna, opened it with a simple cutting spell, and then put it on the kitchen counter.

Not even a second after I put the tuna can down, Simon was there. He immediately began eating the tuna, devouring it like he hadn't eaten in forever, though I had already fed him dinner just a few hours ago.

Folding my arms across my chest, I leaned against the fridge and said, "Happy now?"

"Very," said Simon briefly in between mouthfuls of tuna. "Absolutely delicious. When I was human, I didn't like tuna this much, but ever since I became a familiar, I just can't get enough of this stuff."

"It's disgusting," I said. "Only reason I ever buy that stuff is because you want it."

"Then you're missing out," Simon informed me. "Not that I'm complaining, because that means more for me."

I shook my head. "We'll agree to disagree. Did you hear what the demon said before he ran away?"

Simon looked up at me, bits of tuna stuck on his whiskers. "Was it something about Raith coming back or whatever? I don't remember. I was too busy thinking about how stupid you were to let him get into your mind like that."

I frowned. "It wasn't my fault. I just didn't expect a demon, of all things, to call me that name. I've only ever been called the Butcher by other mages before, never by a demon."

"Still doesn't excuse you losing your cool like that," said Simon. He licked his lips. "You might not be a professional demon hunter anymore, but back in the day, you never let yourself get caught off guard like that. Especially with a lower class demon. There's no reason a demon should have survived a fight with you."

"I know," I said. "Doesn't change the fact that it got away. Or that it said Lord Raith is about to return."

It was Simon's turn to roll his eyes. "Do you really believe that crap? Demons all over the world have been proclaiming Lord Raith's return ever since we killed him. Yet it's been five years since then and no one has seen any evidence of his return. I'm not even sure it's possible, anyway, because demons killed by magic—which Lord Raith most definitely was—don't come back, unlike demons killed through nonmagical means."

"I know," I said again, "but this demon seemed different from the others. He was a lot more intelligent than your average lower class demon and seemed to have done his homework. It was almost like he expected to run into me."

"Not an unreasonable expectation to have if you live around here," said Simon. He finished licking out the tuna can and looked up at me again. "Everyone knows you live in this town. A demon who eats the souls of innocent amages around here has no right to be surprised if you show up on his doorstep all of a sudden and interrupt his feeding time. Even lower class demons aren't that stupid."

"Most lower class demons don't call me the Butcher, though," I said. "Most call me the Killer of Lord Raith if they call me anything at all. I know that the Feast of Souls wasn't exactly a big secret, but it still seems like an odd thing for a demon to call me."

"Eh, you know how demons are," said Simon. "They like to get into your head and mess with you. Psychological warfare and all of that." He nudged the empty tuna can forward with his nose. "More tuna?"

"No," I said flatly. I held up a finger. "One is more than enough, especially since you've already had dinner."

Simon made a disappointed meow. "What is the point in being a magical talking cat if I can't use my magic to get my own can of tuna? Maybe I should rethink this whole familiar thing."

Shaking my head again, I left the kitchen and walked over to my desk out in the living room. I plopped down in my creaky, secondhand office chair and turned on my desk light, revealing a messy bunch of papers scattered here and there, plus my laptop, which was currently closed.

"Whatcha doing, Noah?" said Simon, who hopped up onto my desk and sat on the corner.

"Paperwork," I said as I pushed papers aside, "trying to find my journal so I can add this woman's death to that case I've been investigating over the last couple of weeks."

"Which one?" said Simon.

I looked at Simon incredulously. "You know I don't have a lot of work at the moment. The current one. Remember that man who came to me about his wife's murder?"

Simon nodded. "Oh, yeah. Now I remember. Poor man couldn't stop bawling long enough to tell us what the problem was. He didn't even want to pet me."

"Petting you wouldn't have brought back his wife," I said. I suddenly pulled out a small book labeled 'CASES.' "Ah, here it is. Right where I left it."

I flipped open the journal to the farthest back page, which was labeled 'CARTER SUSAN CASE,' and briefly read it over:

DATE: 09/01/18

CLIENT: CARTER SUSAN (AIDE TO PRESIDENT MCNAMARA)

PROBLEM: WIFE's SOUL (HARRIET SUSAN) EATEN BY A DEMON. WANTS ME TO FIND AND KILL THE DEMON THAT DID IT.

DESCRIPTION OF KILLER: LOOKS LIKE A TEENAGE BOY WITH PALE SKIN AND DARK HAIR. THIN AND SKELETAL, BUT VERY STRONG.

Simon must have been reading the log with me, because he said, "Hey, that sounds just like the demon we tangled with tonight."

"Agreed," I said as I jotted down the events of the night underneath this entry. "That's why I wanted to go over my notes for this case and why I answered the police radio call. It looks like we have a serial soul eater."

"The best kind of soul eater," said Simon sarcastically. "And he doesn't seem picky, either, given how he's eaten a mage and an amage soul. Guess he likes variety in his diet."

"It is odd," I said, reviewing the information again. "Demons typically stick to amages because they are less capable of defending themselves. Or they focus exclusively on mages because they get a sick thrill from putting their own lives at risk. They rarely target both unless they're really, really hungry."

"Like I said, maybe he just likes variety in his diet," said Simon. "Like me. I like tuna, but I don't want to eat just tuna. I like chicken and beef and the occasional mouse here and there for good measure."

I smiled wryly. "When was the last time you caught a mouse? Just this morning I found one in the bathroom. You're getting lazy."

"Mice take too much work to capture," said Simon. "It's easier to convince you to give me a can of tuna than hunt down a mouse."

I shook my head again but didn't dispute his statement. "Right, well, this doesn't seem like a mystery we'll be able to solve anytime soon. I think we should call it a night and try again in the morning. I'll have to call Mr. Susan and let him know about our findings."

"Why?" said Simon, tilting his head to the side. "Is it because he's your client?"

"Yes," I said. "Besides, you saw how worried he was when he first came here. Don't want the poor guy to die of nerves because he doesn't know what is going—"

I was interrupted by my phone ringing. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I saw Carter Susan's name on it and said, "Well, speak of the Devil. Wonder why he's calling me so late at night."

"Maybe he wants some tuna," said Simon, licking his lips again.

I looked at Simon in puzzlement for a second before answering the phone and saying, "Hello, Mr. Susan, how are you? This is kind of late at night, so—"

"Meet me in downtown Accord in the morning," came Mr. Susan's abrupt, sharp voice. His Southern accent was thicker than usual. "I'll be sitting outside the Frappe Cafe next to the bank."

"Uh, sure, Mr. Susan," I said, exchanging a puzzled look with Simon when I said that. "What's the matter?"

"Can't talk about it over the phone," said Mr. Susan. "But it's related to the case I hired you for. I just found out something that might help you. We'll talk about it tomorrow morning at eight. Please be there. This is important."

Before I could ask him to elaborate, Mr. Susan ended the call. I just sat there for a couple of seconds, still holding the phone up to my ear, unsure what to make of this.

"So, what did he say?" said Simon, his voice snapping me out of my surprise.

Lowering my phone, I said, "Mr. Susan wants to meet me at the Frappe Cafe in downtown Accord tomorrow."

"The Frappe Cafe?" Simon repeated. He smiled. "I love that place. The baristas who work there think I'm adorable and slip me treats whenever I visit. Good place to get breakfast. What did he want to talk about?"

"I'm not sure," I said. "He said it was something important relating to the case, but can't talk about it over the phone."

"Interesting," said Simon. "Can I come with you? I hate being cooped up in the office all day."

"Sure," I said, patting Simon on the head. I yawned. "But for now, it's time to hit the hay. It's getting late and the last thing I need is to be sleep-deprived."

***
CHAPTER THREE

I spotted Mr. Carter Susan almost immediately when I arrived at the Frappe Cafe the next morning. That was partially because he was one of the few people sitting outside the cafe right now—the others being a couple in their twenties eating waffles and an amage police cop flipping through the morning paper—but even if every table at the Cafe had been full, I wouldn't have had any trouble recognizing him.

Most mages had a hard time blending in with amage society. Due to the fact that amages outnumbered mages by at least 1,000 to one, it was almost impossible for us to live completely segregated from amage society. So most of us knew how to wear amage clothing and look and behave like amages, but some of us were better at it than others, and Mr. Susan, I was sorry to say, was not one of them.

He wore a black suit that was way too formal for the occasion. His tie, while adequately done, was slightly crooked, a sign he wasn't used to wearing one. His hair was parted down the middle in the way that many male mages of his generation did their hair and hints of his family tattoos poked out from underneath his sleeves. He at least had the sense not to wear his family pendant, which was a griffin, nor did he carry the staff which most older male mages had. He was pushing it with his glasses, however, which were an unusual oblong shape that I knew would draw unnecessary attention to himself, though it seemed like the other Cafe customers were just treating him as a strange old man to be avoided at the moment.

Seeing his strange outfit reminded me of my own, far more natural-looking clothes. Gray button-down shirt and black jacket, with a decent pair of jeans and boots that I had owned for a few years and still looked good. In comparison to Mr. Susan, I looked more like an amage, which was not accidental. Ever since my fall from grace, the rest of the magical community generally wanted nothing to do with me, so I spent more time among amages than I would have liked, which gave me a lot of practice in learning how to blend in with them and their society.

But despite the fact that the magical community had shunned me, every now and then someone would need my help with a problem they couldn't quite solve on their own. Someone like Mr. Susan, who would hear about my reputation and come to me, albeit secretly, because to associate with the Butcher of Souls would be quite... problematic, especially for a man of his standing in the general magical community.

"Hello, Mr. Susan," I said as I pulled out a chair and sat down in it, sitting opposite Mr. Susan. "How are you this morning?"

"Fine, fine," said Mr. Susan, though his eyes kept darting toward the coffee shop's front door as if he expected a demon to emerge from within and attack him. He gestured at the hot cup of coffee in front of him. "I'm just having some of this amage coffee and it's awful. Tastes like mud, so I've been slyly using Mana on the side to improve its flavor without the amages noticing."

I nodded. "I understand. Amage coffee is... not as good as mage coffee, honestly, but you get used to it after a while."

"Where is your familiar?" said Mr. Susan, frowning. "Your cat, Simon."

I gestured toward the door. Simon sat beside the door, putting on his usual act of looking like a poor, starving cat who didn't have an owner. When one of the baristas came out, she subtly passed him a bit of meat, which he took very gratefully. "The baristas like him. They just think he's a cute cat."

"Ah," said Mr. Susan. He shook his head. "Never mind your cat. How is the investigation into Harriet's death going?"

"Well, I think I've found her killer," I said. "He's a lower class demon, one of the more intelligent ones that can talk. The problem is that he's not a single target killer. He's a serial eater because he just ate the soul of an amage woman and is probably going to strike again sometime soon."

Mr. Susan's face paled. "Oh, dear. That's even worse than I thought. He's still on the loose?"

"Yes," I said, nodding. One of the baristas stopped by our table and I ordered a coffee from her and waited until she left before I resumed speaking. "I tried to kill him, but he's a slippery bastard and got away before I could finish him off."

I didn't mention the demon's boast about Raith's return. I'd had time to think about it last night and woke up deciding that Simon was right and it was nothing to worry about. Besides, with the way Mr. Susan nervously tugged at the sleeves of his suit, I didn't want to worry him even more than he already was.

"I hope you find him quickly," said Mr. Susan. "I've always believed demons must be eradicated wherever they are found, especially ones that kill innocent mages like my wife."

"Don't worry, Mr. Susan, I'll find him," I said. "I have a lot of experience tracking down and killing demons. That's why you came to me in the first place because you knew a demon killed your wife and knew that I could take it down."

"Yes, but don't mention that to anyone," said Mr. Susan. He looked around anxiously again. "I picked this establishment as our meeting place because few mages ever come here, so we are unlikely to be seen together. I want to keep this arrangement on the down low, you understand."

I nodded again. I knew exactly why Mr. Susan wanted to keep this a secret from everyone. If everyone found out that Mr. Susan, who was an aide to President McNamara, the current President of the American Magical Government, had hired the Butcher of Souls to solve a case for him, it would be a huge scandal. He would probably be fired or at least forced to resign. It wouldn't hurt me, of course, because I was already on the outs with magical society, but Mr. Susan was the kind of man who had far more to lose and couldn't afford to risk it unduly.

Normally, this wasn't much of a problem, because my clients tended to be mages at their wit's end, men and women who couldn't bring their problems to the Magical Government or to some of the more respectable mage detectives. They often came to me for my help, paying me whatever meager amount they could afford. Mr. Susan was one of my more affluent clients, but being the aide to the President was not the most lucrative job in the world. Still, the money he would pay me would be enough to pay my bills for the next three months, maybe four if I was smart, so I had a deep interest in solving his issues.

"Don't worry, Mr. Susan," I said as the barista put my coffee down on the table before me. I flashed her a smile and waited until she was gone before I resumed speaking. "I always keep the details of my clients' cases one hundred percent confidential. I won't utter one word about our association to anyone, not even if they tortured me alive. You can count on me."

"I certainly hope I can," said Mr. Susan with a sniffle. He grimaced when he saw me sip my coffee. "If President McNamara was aware of our association, it would create a huge scandal for his administration."

"I know," I said as I put my coffee cup down again. I picked up a packet of creamer and, opening it, tossed the creamer into the cup and began stirring it in. "Most people try to pretend I don't even exist."

"It's not just that," said Mr. Susan. "It's politics."

I frowned. "Politics? What do you mean?"

"The presidential election is coming up in two months," said Mr. Susan. He picked up his own cup of coffee and sipped it and winced. "President McNamara has been campaigning for his reelection hard over the past year and a half."

"Good for him," I said. My attention was already starting to wander because I didn't care much for politics and never followed it very closely even before my fall from grace. "I hope he wins a landslide victory again."

"But haven't you heard who his main challenger is?" said Mr. Susan. "It's your brother, Eric."

My eyes—which had been focused on the cute barista feeding Simon a small piece of bacon—immediately snapped back to Mr. Susan. "What?"

"I said, your brother Eric is running for president," said Mr. Susan. "He announced it even before President McNamara announced his reelection campaign. Didn't you know that?"

I scowled and sipped my coffee again to keep myself from saying something I would regret. "No, I didn't. My family disowned me after the Feast. I rarely hear from anyone in the family anymore, though it doesn't surprise me to hear that Eric is running for president."

"Ah," said Mr. Susan, who looked at me somewhat awkwardly. "Well, yes, he is. He's the youngest presidential candidate ever and he's—"

"I don't care," I interrupted. "Sorry, Mr. Susan, but I didn't come to talk politics with you. I just want to find out what you learned last night that was so important that you risk being seen in public with me."

I normally tried to be polite with clients—they were the ones who paid me money, after all, and I needed good word of mouth to get any business due to my lack of funds for advertising—but when Mr. Susan mentioned Eric, I couldn't stand it. I could just see Eric's smug face, tipped with a sharp goatee, as he pompously announced to the world that he was running for President of the Magical Government. Frankly, I was surprised Eric didn't call me up to brag to my face about it, because he loved to act like he was so much better than me in every way. I sometimes wondered how the two of us could possibly be related at all when you considered how much we hated each other's guts.

"Of course, of course," said Mr. Susan hurriedly, holding up his hands. "I was just explaining the situation to you so you would understand how scandalous it would be if a member of President McNamara's own administration was going to the disgraced older brother of his current challenger for help. Most people still respect the House family, especially after they disowned you, but a lot of people are nervous about Eric's relationship to you and—"

"Eric doesn't support me," I interrupted, sipping my coffee again. "Eric hasn't even spoken to me in four years. I get no money from my family, nor do I want their help."

"Yes, that much is clear to me based on my interactions with you, but most people still don't know that," said Mr. Susan. "Just wanted to make that clear so you would understand why I seem so nervous."

"I understand perfectly, Mr. Susan," I said. I forced myself to sound calmer because Mr. Susan was already shaking with nerves and the last thing I needed was to make a paying client feel even more nervous than he already did. "It's just a sore spot for me, that's all. I hope I didn't scare you."

"No, you're fine," said Mr. Susan. He shook his head. "Never mind. Here, let me show you what I found in my wife's desk yesterday."

Mr. Susan pulled a folded up piece of paper from his coat pocket and handed it to me. I took the paper and turned it over, but did not unfold it.

"What is this?" I said, looking up at Mr. Susan.

"A letter," said Mr. Susan. He gulped. "From my wife to... well, read it and you'll see."

I didn't like Mr. Susan's facial expression when he said that or the way he tugged at his sleeves like he was trying to tear his coat off.

Still, I unfolded the letter and scan the contents, but I soon wished I didn't:

It was a confession of murder.

***
CHAPTER FOUR

Dear Mr. White,

I have done it. I've gathered the souls you've asked for and sent them to our go-between. You should receive the shipment sometime within the next week. If you do not, please contact me immediately and I will find out what the problem is. But don't do anything, because I don't want to attract the attention of the Government and get both of us into trouble.

And please, please don't ask me to do anything else. I've already risked my family's safety to meet your demands. I fear if I do any more than I already have, I'll get both of us into trouble and ruin everything we've been working toward. At this point, I am happy to clean my hands of the crimes I've committed and pretend like none of this ever happened.

To keep us both safe, please burn this letter as soon as you finish reading it and do not make or keep any copies of it.

Thanks,

Harriet Susan.

It was the oddest murder confession I had ever read. My eyes drifted to the date in the upper right corner and I noticed that it was dated a week before Harriet's murder.

"Well?" said Mr. Susan. He was holding his coffee cup with both hands, but it seemed more like a nervous habit than anything. "What do you make of it?"

"I'm... not sure," I said. I looked at Mr. Susan again. "How did you find this letter again?"

Mr. Susan cleared his throat. "I was looking through Harriet's physical possessions after her death—deciding what to keep, what to give away, what to sell—when I found a box full of old letters she wrote. This was the first one I read and I knew you had to see it as soon as I read it."

I glanced at the letter again. "Have you shown this letter to anyone else?"

"No," said Mr. Susan quickly. "Only you and I even know it exists."

"I understand," I said. "This letter seems to suggest that your wife was involved in a lot of crimes."

"I know," said Mr. Susan. He sank his face into his hands. "If this news became public knowledge, it would become a huge scandal for President McNamara. Plus, I don't want to believe that my innocent, beautiful wife who I have been married to for over thirty years would ever be involved in crime, much less murder. That's not the Harriet I know."

I read over the letter again. "Who is Mr. White?"

"I have no idea," said Mr. Susan, looking up from his hands again. "I don't know anyone with the last name White or why they would want souls."

"That's the most disturbing part," I said. I put the letter down on the table and tapped the word 'souls' on the first line. "Mages typically don't steal souls, much less trade in them. Only demons do that."

"You don't think Harriet was working with a demon, do you?" said Mr. Susan.

"I don't know what I believe at this point," I said. I scratched my chin. "If she was, then she clearly isn't any longer."

I wanted to say that it was possible that Harriet had been working with the demon who I fought last night and that the deal went south and the demon ate her soul. But I didn't want to disturb Mr. Susan more than I already had. It was clear that, between the news that his wife might have been a murderer and the ramifications this might have on his boss' presidential campaign if it became public knowledge, Mr. Susan's nerves were on their last legs. I was worried he might have a complete and total mental breakdown right here in public, which would not be a good thing, to put it lightly.

"Why didn't Harriet send this letter?" I said. "Seems odd she would write it but never send it."

"Harriet always made two copies of every letter she wrote," Mr. Susan explained. "One she would send off to whoever she wrote it for, one she would keep for her records. That way, she could always reference what she wrote if necessary."

"I see," I said. "I assume that Mr. White must have received the letter, then."

"Yes, and I'm now worried that this Mr. White person might come after me next," said Mr. Susan, wringing his hands together. "I have a powerful familiar, plus multiple protective wards around myself, but if this Mr. White person is the one who might have killed Harriet, he might kill me next, especially if he somehow finds out about the letter."

"I wouldn't worry about it if I were you," I said. "If Mr. White wanted you dead, he would have killed you with your wife at the same time. As it is, it looks like he only wanted your wife dead, so you are probably safe for now."

Mr. Susan sighed in relief. "Thank you for the reassurance, but I'm still worried. I want to think the best of Harriet, but—"

"Then do that," I interrupted. I tapped the letter again. "We still don't know what this all means. For all we know, this Mr. White guy might have been blackmailing Harriet to help him with whatever he's doing. Leave this to me. I'll get to the bottom of it."

Mr. Susan nodded, though he still looked worried. "Yes, you're right. I just have a tendency to worry, always have. Harriet always used to scold me for worrying about things for no reason. She wouldn't want me worrying now."

I smiled. "Exactly. Just take it easy and leave this to me. I promise I will find out who killed your wife and why."

Although I said that with a friendly smile, deep down I was almost as disturbed as Mr. Susan. I thought this case was going to be a simple murder case, where all I needed to do was locate the demon who ate Mrs. Susan's soul and kill it. But it looked like humans were involved now, most likely other mages, and these humans were harvesting souls for whatever reason. That demon's final words about Raith returning last night rang in my head like a gong, but I shook my head to ignore them because the last thing I needed was to worry about Raith coming back.

"Thank you, Noah," said Mr. Susan. "I don't know how I will ever be able to repay you for all the work you've done for me already."

"Just make sure to pay your bill when it's due and we'll call ourselves even," I said. "So, is that all you needed to talk with me about?"

"Yes," said Mr. Susan, nodding. "Now I need to get back to work. President McNamara doesn't know I went to speak with you and the longer I am away from the office, the more suspicious he will get. I still have a lot of Harriet's possessions to look through, so if I find anything else of interest, I will let you know right away."

I nodded. "And if I find anything relevant or important, I'll call you as well."

Mr. Susan nodded again. He stood up and walked out of the cafe, leaving his almost full coffee cup behind. I didn't watch him go, because I just picked up the letter and looked it over again, frowning.

All of a sudden, Simon leaped onto the table where Mr. Susan had sat and sat down before me. His jump had made the table shake, causing me to look up at him.

"So," said Simon, his tail waving back and forth, "how did it go?"

I looked around at first, but when I saw no one paying attention to us, I leaned forward and said, "Simon, you know you don't talk in public when amages are around. We've established that already."

"Oh, right," said Simon. "Telepathy."

Simon furrowed his brow and I suddenly heard his voice in my head. So, Noah, how did your talk with Mr. Susan go? Guy looked like a nervous wreck.

"He was," I said in a soft whisper. I gestured at the letter. "He gave me this letter from which wife, written to some guy named Mr. White. The letter suggests she was involved, perhaps unwillingly, with some kind of soul stealing operation.

Simon's cat eyes widened. Soul theft? Good grief. If the public knew that one of McNamara's aides' wife was involved in that kind of crime, I'm fairly certain he'd get impeached. Might even deserve it. Never liked that guy's smug face.

"It would certainly help my younger brother's presidential campaign," I said. I folded up the letter and put it away in the pocket of my jacket. "Which is why I am going to make sure no one ever reads this letter except for me and Mr. Susan."

Your brother is running for president? Simon asked. Makes sense. He has a presidential air about him, though if he wins, this means he'll be both the President of the American Magical Government and patriarch of the House family. Pretty nice gig, if you ask me.

I looked at Simon in disbelief. "Whose side are you on, anyway? Eric hates you as much as he hates me."

Just joking, Noah, Simon said. Still, can't say I'm surprised to hear that your younger brother is running for president already. He's a lot more ambitious than you.

"More like impatient," I said with a grunt. "He could never wait for anything. Mom and Dad spoiled him, which is why he's such a brat."

A brat who has positioned himself to become the leader of both the American magical community and one of the oldest and wealthiest magical families in North America, Simon observed. He's a pretty smart brat if that's the case.

I scowled. "It doesn't matter. What does matter is finding out who this Mr. White character is. I have a feeling that if we can find out who Harriet Susan was in contact with, then we could potentially solve her murder. Do you know any mages named Mr. White?"

A thoughtful look crossed Simon's face as he considered my question. Mr. White, Mr. White... nope, can't think of anyone. Well, there was President Frank White back in the 60s, but he's been dead for a couple of decades now, so it can't be him and he didn't have any children from what I know.

"Well, I didn't expect you to know anyone, anyway," I said. "But there is someone I know who might be able to help us: Our contact in the criminal underworld."

Simon suddenly looked worried. You're not talking about who I think you're talking about, are you? Because if so, then the answer is no. Or, at least, leave me at the office and go there by yourself.

I shook my head. "Sorry, Simon, but I'm going to need you around in case things go south. You're my familiar, so you have to obey everything I say, even if you don't like it."

Yes, master, said Simon in a heavily sarcastic tone. Just make sure he keeps his hands off me. And don't ask me to do any fighting, either. That bastard's crazy.

I chuckled. "Don't worry, Simon. As long as you keep your cool and don't freak out, we should be in and out of that place before you know it."

Even as I said that, however, I had to admit I was a bit nervous about going to the person I was thinking about, even though he had helped us with several cases in the past.

After all, it wasn't every day that you spoke to a Mana smuggler.

***
CHAPTER FIVE

I walked through the back alleys of the city of Accord, keeping my hands in my pockets and walking at a leisurely pace. Beside me walked Simon, who seemed nervous. He kept glancing around at our surroundings and jumped at the slightest noise. He even almost got into a fight with a stray cat we ran into that was digging through a garbage can, though the fight ended pretty quickly when Simon spoke, which seemed to scare the cat because it ran away without even looking back. I guess even cats knew that cats weren't supposed to talk.

I had to admit it was kind of amusing to see Simon so freaked out, but I understood why he felt that way. The man who we were going to see—Luis Marmalejo—was a fairly minor, but well known, Mana smuggler who was wanted all over the country for illegally smuggling Mana, among other crimes. His base of operations was here in Accord, Texas, but he moved around a lot, so you weren't always guaranteed to find him even if you came up to his front door and knocked on it. There was a distinct possibility that Luis might not be home today, but I had a feeling that Luis was in town and would be willing to talk to us.

Luis and I were by no means friends, but ever since I was kicked out of respectable magical society, I'd been finding myself associating with actual criminals more often than not. I didn't condone his Mana smuggling, but after I saved his life one time, Luis felt like he owed me, so he was willing to help me with any case I was struggling with. Although Luis was a small player in the magical crime underworld, he'd been around long enough to have contacts in nearly all of the major mage crime gangs, as well as other unsavory groups which were not allowed in polite magical society. If Luis didn't know it, then one of his contacts probably did, and if one of his contacts didn't know it, then Luis could call up a favor from someone he helped in the past.

Normally, I would never even dream of associating with someone like Luis. The House family was well-known for being one of the oldest, richest, and most influential families in the North American magical community. As a general rule, House family members never associated with criminals, at least not openly. But when you find yourself disowned by your family and forced to fend for yourself like me, all of those old rules don't mean as much.

That explained Simon. Although Simon was my familiar now, he had been my dad's familiar before that, and my grandfather's even further back. Simon was even more entrenched in the old House family rules and traditions than I was, having been with my family for nearly a century now, if not even longer. He didn't like the idea of meeting with criminals, even if those criminals owed us, but there was little he could do about it because as my familiar, he was bound by a magical oath to obey my every command.

He could still complain about it, though.

"Are you sure this is such a good idea, Noah?" said Simon as we turned a corner, passing a trash can full of some kind of unidentifiable rotting meat. "If Luis isn't home, we'll have wasted a lot of time."

"I can always leave a message with one of his friends asking him to call me back," I said. "You just don't want to see him because he hates cats."

"Is that such a bad reason to want to avoid associating with a common crook like Luis?" said Simon with a sniffle. "Honestly, for all your talk about wanting to get back in favor with your family, talking to a known Mana smuggler is a good way to make your family think you've gone criminal yourself."

"Don't worry about that, Simon," I said. "Someday, my family and I will be reunited, but it will be on my terms, not Eric's. Or my father's, for that matter."

"Okay," said Simon doubtfully, "but this still seems like a dumb idea to me."

"That's why I'm going to do all the talking," I said. "You can just sit there and look like a cute cat. I don't know if Luis has any women working for him—actually, I'm pretty sure he doesn't—but maybe try to act like a kitten and see if you can distract them."

Simon looked up at me in disbelief. "Are you joking or are you being serious?"

"Just joking," I said. "Well, sort of."

Simon shook his head. "I'll keep my mouth shut, I guess, but that doesn't mean I agree with any of this. I'll even go on record stating that I think this is a bad idea if I have to."

"Good thing you won't," I said. "Ah, here we are."

I came to a stop in front of an old, weather-beaten door set inside an equally old, weather-beaten building. To the average person, this building—which had been an old mom and pop grocery store in the past—might have looked like yet another abandoned building, destined for destruction at some point to make room for a new and more modern building, but I knew better. This was Luis' main base of operations in Accord. It doubled as his residence and where he did most of his 'business,' as he called it. I'd been here several times before and each time I couldn't get over how rundown it looked, which was probably due to my upper-class upbringing. My family's tool shed looked like a mansion in comparison to this place.

Glancing up and down the street briefly, I knocked on the door a couple of times and stepped back, gesturing for Simon to do the same. Simon didn't need to be told that. He just backed away even further than me, his purple eyes watching the door of Luis' base very carefully.

A second later, a slit in the door opened and two harsh eyes peered out from within. "Who is it?"

"Noah," I said, flashing a friendly smile. "Noah House. I'm here to see your boss, Luis. Is he home?"

The eyes widened briefly before they vanished. A second later, they returned and the eyes said, "Yeah, he's here. But he's a little busy at the moment with another client. Perhaps you can come back another time, and if you do, call Mr. Marmalejo ahead of time so we can fit you into his schedule."

My smile turned into a more mocking one. "Come on, now. Luis knows who I am. He's never asked me to call ahead of time to 'schedule' a meeting before. What, are you his secretary now or something? Tell him I want to talk to him now and I won't leave until I do. It won't be long. Ten minutes tops."

"Listen, kid," said the man on the other side of the door, his tone becoming increasingly hostile. "Just because you've gotten an audience with Luis before doesn't mean—"

The man abruptly stopped speaking. His eyes shifted slightly to the right like he was listening to someone standing next to him.

Then the eyes shifted back to me and the man said, "Okay, you can come in. Mr. Marmalejo's client just left so he can see you now. Hold on a minute."

The slit in the door closed and I heard a serious of locks—both magical and nonmagical—being undone on the other side. Simon hopped up onto my shoulders when the door opened and a voice on the other side said, "Come in."

Although I didn't expect to fight anyone today, I nonetheless mentally prepared myself for trouble and went inside. The door closed behind me and I found myself in pitch black darkness, but that was okay because Simon could see in the dark and he didn't seem very troubled. Well, he was a bit tense, but he was always tense whenever we visited Luis, so I didn't mind too much. I just followed the man in front of me, who I couldn't see due to the sheer darkness of the building until we stopped in front of a wooden door with light peeking out from underneath it. I knew from previous experience that this was the door to Luis' office, so when the man knocked on the door and I heard Luis' familiar Mexican-accented voice say, "Enter," I was not surprised.

The man opened the door and stepped aside, gesturing for me to go inside. I entered without another word and, the second I passed through the doorway, the door was slammed shut behind me. Simon's claws instinctively popped from his paws and sank through the fabric of my shirt, but he retracted them quickly before I said anything. Simon knew I didn't like it when he clawed me, but he was still a cat and had a tendency to act on his instincts more often than not.

But all thoughts about Simon left my mind when I saw Luis Marmalejo himself sitting behind a desk on the other side of his office. It was not a very big office, barely bigger than my own, with an old, cracked light fixture being the main form of illumination for the room. The windows behind Luis were covered with thick curtains, while the books on the bookshelves to his right were dusty and looked as if they hadn't been touched in years. The walls were mostly bare, save for what were unmistakably demonic claw marks, which made me wonder just what kind of 'clients' Luis had around here. I didn't sense any demonic energy here, but I still kept my guard up just the same.

Luis himself looked no different from the last time I saw him. He was short and pudgy. Not quite obese, but he was definitely overweight. His dark hair was already graying and he was smoking a cheap cigarette. His clothing was a bit nicer than his appearance, but it still looked kind of cheap, like he got it from a thrift store. Or stole it from a thrift store, knowing what I did about his character.

His mouse-like eyes looked up at me from behind thick glasses and he cracked a grin that didn't look entirely genuine to me. "Ah, Noah, it has been a long time since we last spoke. How is the detective business?"

"Fine," I said. I jerked a thumb over my shoulder. "What was with that guy of yours telling me to call ahead and schedule a meeting? You going legit?"

Luis chuckled, which quickly turned into a hacking cough that he quickly stopped. "Me? Legit? What a wonderful joke, my friend. There is no way in Heaven or Hell that I would ever be able to become what polite society calls an honest man. Once a criminal, always a criminal, or so said my papa in Mexico. I'm just taking myself and my business a bit more seriously than normal."

"Oh?" I said, folding my arms in front of my chest. "Are you rising up in the world and going to forget all your friends who got you there?"

"Something like that," said Luis vaguely. "I've had a few good deals recently, with promises of far more on the horizon. I'm taking this opportunity to expand my little empire and make myself seem more important. Telling potential clients that they need to schedule a meeting with me first before they can meet with me is a great way to make myself seem more important than I actually am, which will eventually translate to me becoming more important than I currently am."

I frowned. "Faking your way to success, huh?"

"Something like that," said Luis. He smoked his cigarette and then said, "But for you, Noah, I'll always have time for you. You and I are good friends. I'm always happy to help you with whatever you need."

"Friends?" Simon muttered in my ear.

"Shh," I whispered to Simon before looking at Luis and saying, in a louder voice, "Well, that's good to hear, because I'm trying to solve a case and I may need your help to do it."

"Take a seat, my friend, take a seat," said Luis, gesturing at the rickety wooden chair in front of his desk. "You and your familiar don't need to stand."

I took my seat very quickly and leaned forward. Simon hopped off my neck and sat on the floor by my feet, though I could tell he did that mostly to avoid Luis' gaze because Simon didn't trust Luis and wanted nothing to do with him.

"So," I said, "can you tell me what you know about soul smuggling?"

Luis paused, holding his cigarette halfway to his mouth in midair. "What did you say?"

"Soul smuggling," I repeated. "What do you know about it?"

Sweat appeared on Luis' forehead, which he immediately wiped away with a handkerchief. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I may be a criminal, but that's demonic business, man. I don't even touch that shit. Never play with demons, because you can't trust those bastards not to eat your soul when you're not looking."

I smiled in an amused way. "I know about how dangerous demons are, Luis. It's not like I spent two years of my life hunting them down or anything. There's no reason to lie to my face about your ignorance, though."

Luis gulped. "What do you mean? I'm—"

"You're acting like you know something but won't tell me," I said. "I understand demonic business is always nerve-wracking, especially for a mage like yourself, but if you know anything about this soul smuggling business, then you need to tell me about it."

Luis gulped again. He took another smoke from his cigarette, probably in an attempt to calm himself, before saying, "All right, but first, why do you want to know?"

"Part of a case I'm investigating," I said. "Not going to share more than that, because I keep my clients' information confidential."

"Okay," said Luis. He looked around briefly as if to ensure no one was eavesdropping on us, and then said, "Here's what I know: Soul smuggling is a dangerous business run by demons and demon-possessed humans. Lots of money in it, especially if you can sell to the higher class demons, but lethally dangerous for humans unless you're smart as a whip and aren't afraid of killing a few demons to make a point."

"I see," I said. "Have you heard of a soul smuggler with the last name White?"

"White?" Luis repeated. He glanced down at his desk in thought. "White... White... yeah, I do."

"You do?" I said. "Tell me more about him."

Luis nodded before pulling out a folder from his desk and pushing it toward me. "John White, head of the Grim Reaper soul smuggling ring. I've got a folder on him right here."

I took the folder, which was labeled JOHN WHITE, and flipped it open. I was immediately greeted by a picture of a middle-aged man with long red hair and a beard to match. He was sitting at some sort of outdoor cafe, drinking coffee while talking to a woman whose back was to the camera. What was odd about the picture, however, were his eyes, which were a soft orange-ish red that sent chills up my spine.

I looked up at Luis. "Why do you have a folder on John White?"

"I have folders on lots of the big players in the criminal underworld," Luis replied. "It's how I keep track of them and their business. Very useful to have, especially whenever I do business with any of them, because lots of the big shots have egos like you wouldn't believe and they get really offended really easily if you don't remember they don't take calls before two on Wednesdays whenever they have waffles for breakfast."

I was about to ask Luis which criminal underworld boss had such a specific habit, but decided it was irrelevant. I began flipping through the pages and photos in the folder, saying, "Tell me more about this John White guy and what he does."

"Like I said, he's the head of the Grim Reaper soul smuggling ring, which is the biggest soul smuggling ring in Texas, though it was only started about for years ago or so," said Luis, leaning back in his chair. "Very wealthy, most of it inherited from his daddy, but he's got a good mind for business himself and he has probably made more money from soul smuggling than most people can even dream of."

"I see," I said. I flipped back to the first picture of him. "I take it he's demon-possessed?"

"Nope," said Luis, shaking his head. "Unlike most soul smugglers, he can go toe-to-toe with any demon and live. He knows demons inside and out and has all kinds of protections in place to keep himself safe from demonic possession."

"What's with the red eyes, then?" I said, looking up at Luis.

"Hell if I know," said Luis with a shrug. "He's always looked that way. Lots of rumors, like he's using some kind of anti-demon protection spell that makes his eyes look weird, but no one knows for sure."

I looked at the picture again. Given what Luis just told me, I considered it highly likely that John White actually was possessed. You couldn't deal with demons for very long without opening yourself to that kind of risk. I'd seen lots of mages who thought they were so much smarter than demons get one pulled over on them because they weren't nearly as clever or intelligent as they liked to think they were. Then again, some people could resist demonic possession longer than others and John White might have been one such mage, especially if he had been in the business for years.

"I wouldn't mess with him if I were you," Luis warned. "White is well known for not taking shit from anyone. You get in the way of his business, even accidentally, and he'll ruin your life."

I smiled. "Rather hard for him to ruin my life when someone else already ruined it for me a long time ago."

"I know your story, Noah, but I'm serious," said Luis. "John White is crazy, man. I mean, he works with demons, so he's obviously going to have a screw loose, but he's even crazier than most soul smugglers. Trust me on this. I knew a soul smuggler who tried to expand his business into White's territory a few years ago. Still haven't found all of the body parts."

"Does White have a place here in Accord?" I said, closing the folder and looking at Luis again.

"Yeah," said Luis, nodding. "Just to the north, near Lake Hogarth, he's got a nice lakefront mansion. Never been to it myself, but I've driven by it a few times. Beautiful place, but also kind of scary, as if it was built on evil itself."

"How well-protected is it?" I said.

Luis stared at me as if I had just said I wanted to jump off the Empire State Building without a parachute. "You're not planning to go there yourself, are you?"

I shrugged. "If that's where my investigation takes me, then yeah."

"Well, I don't know," said Luis. "Like I said, I just drove by it once or twice. Didn't see any guards, but I bet it has all kinds of magical protections around it."

"No doubt," I said. I stood up. "Thank you, Luis. This has been a very informative meeting. I need to get going now to figure out my next move, so I'll leave you here to continue to run your, ah, 'business' as you see fit."

"All right," said Luis. He suddenly pointed a finger at me. "But don't tell White or anyone what I just told you. White isn't the kind of guy who likes people knowing his shit and he will come after me if he knows I told you anything."

I gave Luis a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about that, Luis. Your secrets are safe with me."

I turned around and walked out of Luis' office, with Simon following closely behind. I heard Luis breath a sigh of relief when I left his office, but I stopped thinking about him and started thinking more about what to do next.

It was starting to look like I would need to investigate John White because he was the only hot lead I currently had for this case. I didn't like the idea of dealing with a soul smuggler like White, but I could deal with demons and demon-allied humans.

First, though, I needed to go back to my apartment and grab my stuff. I had a feeling that today was going to be a long day, regardless of what happened.

***
CHAPTER SIX

"Man, am I glad that we're back home," said Simon as we entered my apartment. He quickly hopped up onto the back of the couch and curled down into a ball on top of it. "Much nicer than Luis' office, that's for sure."

I rolled my eyes as I tossed my bag to the side and kicked off my shoes. "Don't get too comfortable, Simon. We're going to be heading out as soon as I eat lunch."

Simon looked at me in alarm. "Don't tell me we're going to that John White guy's house, are we? Even after Luis' warned us about how dangerous he is?"

I stopped and looked at Simon in puzzlement. "I thought it was obvious. White is our best lead at the moment. Even if White is as dangerous as Luis says he is, that doesn't mean we should avoid or ignore him. We'll go to his lakefront house and see what we can find there."

"Your funeral," said Simon with a shrug. "Personally, I think I'm going to catch a cat nap. Maybe I'll meet up with you later tonight after I catch that mouse that's been stealing bread from the kitchen."

I smiled in amusement. "You mean the same mouse you've been trying and failing to catch for the past week? Sounds more like fun for the mouse than for you."

"I'll get him one of these days," said Simon, suddenly scowling. "He's just a quick little bugger. It doesn't help that you don't let me use magic to catch mice."

"That's because I don't want you burning down the apartment an attempt to get a mouse," I said. "Remember the chandelier in the family mansion? I don't want a repeat of that. You're going to catch mice just like every other cat in the world, using your wits, claws, and reflexes."

"Your dad used to let me use magic to catch mice," Simon pointed out. "And I only nearly burned down the family mansion once and that was because it was hiding behind the stove, the stupid—"

Simon was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Simon and I looked at the door to my apartment in surprise, but the knocking did not let up.

"Are you expecting anyone today?" said Simon, looking at me in confusion.

I shook my head. "No. It can't be Mr. Susan, because he said he would call me if he found any more evidence, and I don't have any other clients at the moment, which is a problem I should probably fix sometime soon. I'll go see who it is. You just stay here."

I walked up to the door and peered through the peephole. I saw a short, thin young woman with dark hair exactly the same shade of black as mine standing on the other side of the door. She wore a black t-shirt and jeans, but I could tell she wasn't used to wearing such clothing, which was how I knew she was a mage. She was playing nervously with a lock of her hair, looking up and down the hallway outside like she thought she was being followed. Her facial features somewhat resembled mine, but softer and more feminine, and she had a necklace which looked kind of like mine, though it was currently stuffed into her shirt, probably to make her fit in with amage society better.

But I could easily tell that she was my older sister, Clarissa George, regardless of what clothing she wore or whether she hid our House family crest. I did, however, wonder what she was doing here. When I was disowned by my father, he made it clear that no one else in the family was supposed to even look at me, much less visit me in my own apartment. That Clarissa was here, in the flesh, was a sign that something was wrong.

I briefly considered not opening the door, but I was so curious to find out what Clarissa was doing here that I undid the locks and opened the door. Clarissa stood in the doorway, standing a full foot shorter than me, but I knew that she was plenty tough in her own right despite her small size. Out of all of us, she was the one who resembled Mom the most, and when she looked at me with her surprise eyes, I felt for a moment that I was looking at a much younger version of Mom who had traveled through time to the present. She looked just like how Mom did in her old high school pictures.

"Clarissa?" I said, staring at Clarissa in disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

"Clarissa is here?" said Simon. He ran through the doorway and began rubbing around Clarissa's ankles. "Hi, Clarissa! You didn't happen to bring any treats for me, did you? Noah here has been starving me to death and I'm practically dying of starvation."

Clarissa practically kicked Simon away from her feet and snapped, "I'm not here to feed you, cat. I'm here to talk to Noah."

Simon quickly darted back into the apartment, muttering something about how it was worth a try, but I ignored him in order to focus on my sister. She could normally be pretty blunt and even rude, but I could tell that her current rudeness was caused by whatever stress she was undergoing. The bags under her eyes certainly didn't help.

"Clarissa, what the hell are you doing here?" I said. "You know what Dad said. If he finds out you're here—"

"He won't," Clarissa interrupted me. "And besides, I'm not in his house anymore. I married Francis and Francis doesn't hate you like Dad does."

I frowned. I had met Clarissa's husband, a magical shopkeeper named Francis George when they first got married. He had seemed like a pretty cool guy at the time, but of course, when push came to shove, he abandoned me along with the rest of the magical community after the Feast of Souls. That was a sharp contrast to Clarissa, who was the only member of my family to argue against my disowning all those years ago. "I take it your husband knows you're here, then?"

Clarissa suddenly didn't meet my eyes. "He knows I'm out running errands, but he doesn't quite know exactly what errands I'm running."

I scowled. "Clarissa, you know the consequences for coming to see me. If Dad finds out—"

"As I said, he won't," said Clarissa. "Now can I come in? I don't want any of your amage neighbors overhearing us and snooping on our private conversations."

I sighed, but stepped aside and allowed Clarissa to enter. I quickly closed the door behind her, however, and turned to face her as Clarissa looked around at my apartment, a frown on her face.

"This is where you live now?" said Clarissa. She ran her hand along the shoe rack and held it up, a thick layer of dust now on her finger. "What a dump. Don't you ever clean this place?"

"I'm too busy to clean," I replied. "Plus, Simon is the one who tracks all the dirt in and doesn't clean up after himself."

Simon, who was sitting on the couch again, looked over at me and said, "It's kind of hard to clean up after yourself without opposable thumbs. Or being allowed to use magic indoors."

Clarissa shook her head and dusted off her hands. "It doesn't matter. I didn't come here to criticize your apartment. I came here for a more important reason."

"And what would that reason be?" I said. "It better be important, because I don't want Dad to find out you visited me when you weren't supposed to."

Clarissa turned around to face me, a serious look on her face. "I'll get to the point: Eric is going to come after you."

I frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Clarissa sighed and rubbed her forehead. "You might not know this, but Eric is running for the office of President of the Magical Government. He's the youngest presidential candidate in history and is running on an anti-establishment platform in an attempt to defeat President McNamara."

"Yeah, I know that already," I said, waving off Clarissa's explanation. "A client of mine has already explained that to me. I imagine he's printed up lots of posters with his ugly face and name plastered all over them?"

"He has, but that doesn't matter," said Clarissa, shaking her head. "Last night, Eric threw a party for his donors at the family mansion."

"Of course he did. Did you have a lot of fun?" I knew I sounded bitter, but I didn't care. Eric was the bastard who got me turned into a pariah in the first place. He also usurped my rightful place as the heir to the House family mansion, so I didn't exactly feel kindly about hearing about his flagrant displays of wealth.

"I had a good time, yeah," said Clarissa dismissively, "but that's not the point. After Francis and I finished our first dance—"

"There was dancing, too?" I folded my arms in front of my chest. "Sounds like he was really going all out."

"Would you just let me finish?" said Clarissa in annoyance. "It's really important. I swear, Jason has better manners than you and he's only five."

I remembered Jason, who was Clarissa's son. "How is he doing nowadays, anyway? Haven't seen the little tyke since he was a year old. You've got a baby girl now, too, don't you? Wanda was her name, I think?"

"Jason is fine and Wanda is her name, yes," Clarissa said. She rubbed her forehead. "Now where was I? Oh, yes. After Francis and I finished our first dance, I sat at one of the tables and overheard Eric speaking with one of his donors about you."

"He's still talking about me?" I said. "Come on. It's been four years. I'd think he'd have stopped bringing me up to every stranger he meets up on the street now."

"I know, but you need to know what they were talking about," said Clarissa. "Eric was reassuring his donor that you 'won't get in the way' of his campaign and that if you did, he would make sure to 'get rid of' you."

"Why would I get in the way of his dumb presidential campaign?" I said, running a hand through my hair incredulously. "I don't give a damn who the president is. Simon himself could become the next president and I wouldn't give a damn about it."

"I would make a good president, now that I think about it, due to the decades of wisdom I have accumulated over my lifetime," said Simon. He sighed. "Alas, I am but a cat and cats are not allowed to run for president. I swear, that has to count as discrimination or something."

"I keep forgetting that you're out of the loop on a lot of things," said Clarissa, rubbing her forehead again. "Most of the magical community still remembers you as the Butcher of Souls. I know you didn't do anything wrong, but the vast majority of people disagree. Eric is concerned that McNamara might use the fact that you are his brother against you in the election because if McNamara can successfully taint Eric with the same brush as you, that will definitely sink his campaign."

"Again, why do I care?" I said. "That just sounds like politics. And I hate politics, even if it's politics that my own family is involved in. Actually, that's my least favorite part about politics."

"Just because you are uninterested in politics doesn't mean that politics is uninterested in you," said Clarissa. "I'm worried that Eric might decide to take the initiative and take you out ahead of time just to prove that he isn't the same as you."

"You don't think Eric would hire an assassin to kill me, do you?" I said. "I know Eric hates my guts, but he isn't that crazy yet, right?"

"No, I don't think Eric will go that far," said Clarissa, shaking her head. "But he might try to get you arrested and banished to the Shadow Prison."

My eyes widened. "The Shadow Prison? No way. I'm not going there. I've seen what happens to mages who get banished there. I'd rather be a homeless bum on the streets than spend even one day in there."

Clarissa held up her hands. "I know that, Noah, and I'm not saying he will do that, but I am saying that you should be careful about what you do. Eric really wants to become the next president of the Magical Government and I think he's willing to do anything to do it. If that means getting you thrown into prison on trumped up charges, then he will do that."

"And if it means killing me, will he do that, too?" I said.

Clarissa hesitated. "I don't know. All I know is that neither Eric nor Dad know I am here talking to you."

"So you are afraid of angering Dad," I said. "Yet you risked your standing in the community to come see me anyway."

"Because what Eric did to you back then was wrong," said Clarissa. "And because I still think you'd make a better patriarch of the House family than him. That's why I let you become next in line to succeed Dad, even though I could have taken that title myself."

I knew what she was talking about. Per the Ancient Laws, Clarissa, being the oldest child in the family, should have been next in line to become the head of the House family. But when the Oracle declared that I was the Chosen One who would defeat Lord Raith, Clarissa gave up her right to succeed Dad as the head of the family and passed it on to me.

Of course, now that I was disowned, Eric was next in line to become the head of the House family. That thought still filled me with rage whenever I thought about it, though I kept my cool and didn't show it to Clarissa.

"I just want you to be safe," said Clarissa, "and to keep your wits about you in case Eric comes after you."

"Don't worry about me," I said. "If I know Eric, anyone he sends after me will probably embarrass themselves. Besides, Eric will probably consider me beneath his notice, so I doubt he will even bother trying to hurt me."

"I don't think you understand how serious this is," said Clarissa. "Eric wants to be the next president more than anything in the whole world. He sees it as his ticket to being remembered as a great man of history. If he thinks you are a liability to his political ambitions, he will take you down, regardless of your relation to him."

I put my hands in my pockets. Clarissa seemed unusually serious, which made me think that she wasn't being hyperbolic. "What about Dad? Or Mom? Are they aware of this?"

"Not that I know of," said Clarissa, shaking her head. "Like I said, I just saw Eric talking about this with one of his donors. I doubt he would even risk mentioning this to Mom and Dad. Dad still doesn't like you, but I'm not sure he would support taking you out just because you might be a problem for Eric's political ambitions."

I snorted. "Dad's a senile old man. All Eric needs to do is argue that I'm a stain on the House family name and Dad will hurry to take me out himself. That's how Eric convinced Dad to disown me."

"I think you're being a little too harsh to Dad, Noah," said Clarissa. "He does care about the family name, yes, but he's not as bad as you think he is."

"Do I care?" I said. "Listen, if Dad wasn't as bad as I think he is, you wouldn't have to visit me in secret like this. The fact that he disowned me at all shows you what Dad is really like. Maybe you need to stop looking at Dad like he's some kind of superhero and start seeing him as the cowardly human being he is."

Even I was surprised by the bitterness in my words. Even more, I was surprised by how shocked Clarissa looked at my words. It was like I'd actually slapped her with my hand, even though all I did was be honest about my feelings.

"Well..." Clarissa seemed to be struggling not to cry. "I just wanted to warn you so you would be safe, Noah. But I guess you've become pretty self-sufficient and independent since you were disowned. Makes sense. After all, what does the Killer of Lord Raith need from a lowly mage like myself?"

"Clarissa—"

But I didn't get to finish my sentence, because Clarissa raised her hand and disappeared in a flash of light, leaving me standing alone in my office, wondering if I had just ruined the only stable familial relationship I had left.

***
CHAPTER SEVEN

"Ouch," said Simon suddenly, snapping me out of my thoughts and making me look at him. He had not moved one inch from his spot on the couch, but he was looking at where Clarissa had been standing as well with a concerned look on his face. "I don't think you should have been so mean to your sister. She was obviously just trying to help."

"I know," I said. I ran a hand through my hair again. "I didn't mean to get angry with her. She wasn't doing anything wrong. But still, Clarissa doesn't understand Dad. Not like I do. She hasn't seen his true face. She knows about Eric, but she doesn't understand that Eric got his nature from Dad."

Simon smiled a cat smile. "Like you?"

"I'm nothing like my old man," I insisted. "I'm more like Mom, honestly, except unlike Mom I'm actually willing to stand up to Dad when he's acting like an asshole."

"You remind me of your grandfather," said Simon, his tail swishing back and forth. "Independent, unwilling to take any crap from people who step on your toes, and a complete and utter jerkass who is convinced he's always in the right."

I glared at Simon. "Did I ask for your opinion? I'm starting to think I should replace you with a normal cat. At least normal cats don't talk."

To my annoyance, Simon didn't look nearly as submissive as he should have under my withering glare. "All I'm saying is, Noah, that you need to work on that temper and ego of yours. Being declared the Chosen One at the age of thirteen probably wasn't too good for your ego, especially since you came from the House family. Might want to be a bit nicer to people trying to help you."

I scowled, but I could not honestly argue against what Simon said. I was well aware of my temper, which sometimes got me into trouble, and maybe I did have a bit of an ego, but honestly, everyone in my family had an ego and I was hardly the worst. Eric was far more of an egomaniac than me. I mean, he's running for president, for God's sake, which requires an ego the size of Jupiter just to consider running, much less win. Yet I knew from previous experience that arguing with Simon was rarely productive, mostly because he tended to win arguments with me due to his age, wealth of experience, and complete unwillingness to spare my feelings. That made him annoying, but I had to admit it also made me trust him more than pretty much anyone else I knew.

"Whatever," I said. I walked over to the kitchen and pulled out a box of spaghetti for dinner from the lower cabinet next to the stove. "We can discuss this later. Right now, we need to eat, and then get ready for tonight's investigation."

Simon hopped up onto the fridge beside him, looking down at me with his big, purple eyes. "We're going out tonight?"

"Sure," I said as I opened the spaghetti box. I pulled out a large pot from the big cabinet and placed it in the sink, filling it with water. "This situation is starting to look very serious. The longer we put this off, the more likely that White will get away with whatever he's going. Plus, Mr. Susan won't pay me until I solve the case and I really need the money."

"I thought you already paid rent for this month," said Simon in surprise. "You're usually good about that."

Placing the pot full of water on the stove top and turning on the heat, I looked up at Simon and said, "Yeah, and I've still got enough money in savings to cover rent for the next couple of months, but after that, we're screwed. It's why I took the case because Mr. Susan is a wealthy man and the money he'll pay me will cover our rent for at least six months, if not longer."

"Ah," said Simon. "But what if we don't solve the case?"

I smiled. "Then you will have to become good at catching mice because that's the only kind of food readily available on the streets for homeless cats."

Simon shuddered. "Ugh. No way I will ever become a street cat. Ever see those alley cats behind the apartment? Scrawny, pathetic-looking little creatures. Absolutely disgusting."

"We'll probably solve the case," I said as I put the lid on the pot of water to speed up the boiling process, "but if not, we'll figure something else out. Not like I can just go to Dad and ask him for money."

"True, but it sure would be nice if you could," said Simon. He sighed and looked around the apartment. "Even though we've been on our own for four years now, I still can't get used to this tiny place in comparison to the old family mansion."

I nodded as I leaned against the countertop, waiting for the water to boil. "I know what you mean. Still, we're never going to be part of the family again or ever be considered members in good standing with the community. We'll just have to keep on surviving, as always."

"I suppose," said Simon, though he sounded disheartened.

I couldn't blame him. Although Simon had chosen to come with me when I was disowned by my family, he had a harder time adjusting to our new, poorer lifestyle than me. That was probably because Simon had been in my family much longer than me and so was more used to having a silk pillow to sleep on and fresh wet cat food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I tried to feed him as best as I could, but because my finances were far more limited nowadays, I couldn't afford the food he was used to eating.

Not that I ate any better, of course, but I wasn't about to go crawling back to my family for forgiveness. As long as Eric was around, Dad would never listen to me, anyway. I'd just have to make do with what I have and try to make the best of our situation, which required solving cases for clients who could pay us enough money to pay our rent.

"So," said Simon suddenly, looking at me just as the water began to boil underneath the lid of the pot. "What's the plan for tonight?"

"That's what we're going to talk about over dinner," I said as I removed the lid and poured the box of noodles into the pot. "I already have an idea of what we need to do, but there are still a lot of details we need to hammer out first."

-

At midnight that night, Simon and I materialized in the forest on the south shore of Lake Hogarth. The moon was out tonight, which afforded us a decent view of the lake, which looked as mysterious as always under the rays of the moon. Most importantly, however, it gave us an excellent view of John White's lakefront house, which stood next to the lake, complete with a dock and private boat that probably cost more money than I had ever earned in my life.

Lowering my hands, I crouched in the bushes and peered at the house. Almost all of the windows on the house were dark, save for one window on the second floor, which I assumed was White's bedroom. Perhaps White was doing some late night reading or maybe he just had trouble falling asleep. In any case, the house looked mostly unprotected, though I remembered what Luis had told me earlier, about how the house likely had all sorts of magical defenses that weren't immediately obvious to the naked eye.

Indeed, even from a distance, I could sense the Mana radiating from the house. As a mage, I could always sense Mana whenever it was nearby, even if it wasn't currently being used. But this Mana felt more powerful than normal, which told me that it was being actively used, again probably for security purposes. Most wealthy mages didn't hire guards, preferring instead to use complicate magical security systems to protect their wealth and their property. That was one of the advantages of growing up rich like I did. Although I may not have had the money anymore, I still knew all of the best security spells to protect your home, so I had placed many of them around my own apartment to keep it safe from intruders and thieves whenever I went out.

"What a pretty house," said Simon. He was peeking through the bushes at my feet, his purple eyes glowing in the darkness of the night. "Reminds me of your family's vacation house on the Gulf, except I'm pretty sure I sense demonic energy radiating from it."

Simon was right. In addition to the Mana emanating from the house like the rays of the sun, there was an undercurrent of dark demonic energy. Not every mage could sense demonic energy like I could or even understand what it was, but I could due to my years of experience demon-hunting. If I had to use words to describe it, I would say that demonic energy feels like death. If you've ever passed by a graveyard or abandoned house by night and felt like someone was watching you, that is similar to how it feels, only there is also a sense that whoever is watching you wants you dead and will attack you when you turn your back on them.

"Not surprising," I said. "If White deals in soul smuggling, then he probably has demons at his house all the time. He might even have some demonic servants bound to his will."

Simon looked up at me. "Are they bound to his will or is he bound to their will?"

I smiled grimly. "I guess we'll find out when we break in."

"Why didn't we just teleport directly inside?" said Simon. "Wouldn't that have been easier than sneaking in through the back door?"

I looked at Simon like he was an idiot. "Because if White is even half as intelligent as Luis made him out to be, he's probably already got defenses in place to either block teleportation from intruders entirely or at least alert him to anyone who enters that way. I know teleportation is convenient and all, but sometimes amage methods are better than mage methods."

Simon sighed. "I was afraid you would say that. But okay, I'll follow your lead and try not to trip any alarms."

I nodded and, casting a silencing spell to make sure that no one could hear us while we walked, began making my way through the woods toward the house. That probably would have taken a minute or two, if that, under normal circumstances, but since we were trying to avoid being seen or heard, it took us at least five minutes of carefully moving through the forest to reach the house. We had to stop every now and then to scan our surroundings and make sure we weren't about to walk into some kind of trap or set off any magical alarms. Oddly, it seemed like White had cast no security spells on his forest, because we made it to the back door of his house without running into any problems whatsoever.

Crouching within the tree line, I immediately sensed all kinds of security spells cast around every entrance to the house. Some of the spells were familiar to me, like the spontaneous combustion spell, which caused intruders who tried to force the doors open to explode instantly. I suspected that the other spells had similar effects.

I looked down at Simon and whispered, "Okay, Simon, it's your turn. You know what to do."

Simon nodded and darted out into the backyard to the door. He set off no alarms or spells as he wove his way in and out of the backyard furniture. That was to be expected. Most security spells were designed to keep out humans, with some specifically designed to keep out demons and angels. But there were very few security spells which could keep out familiars, because familiars varied incredibly in shape, size, and animal species, so coming up with a security spell which could cover familiars as effectively as humans was very hard.

As a result, whenever I needed to bypass security spells, I usually had Simon do it. What made Simon particularly effective was that he could sense and disable security spells far easier than me. Over the years, I'd gotten better at sensing security spells, but I was still nowhere nearly as good at it as Simon was. I knew many mages who disrespected or mistreated their familiars, seeing them only as tools to increase their own magical power, but I always thought that was stupid because a familiar who likes you is always more obedient than one that doesn't.

I saw Simon hop onto the deck around the back door and walk back and forth along the railing a couple of times before coming to a stop near the door and sitting down. He looked out toward the forest where I was and sent me a telepathic message, saying, Coast is clear. I've disabled all of the security spells I can find, but just to be safe, just go directly toward me and avoid walking into any of the furniture.

I nodded and made my way through the backyard to the deck. Thanks to the moonlight above, it was easy for me to avoid tripping over or bumping into anything. I did nearly trip over a soccer ball, of all things, near a beach chair, but luckily I avoided it at the last second. I wondered why White had a soccer ball in his backyard at all. Was he a soccer fan himself or did he have grandchildren who liked to come over and play? Luis didn't say if White was married or had children, though I supposed it wasn't necessary to know.

Regardless, I made it to the back door very quickly. Simon hopped down from the railing and met me at the door itself, which seemed to be locked.

I looked at Simon. "Did you disable the security spells that White put on this door?"

"Yeah," said Simon, nodding. "The doorknob should be safe to touch."

"All right," I said. I held up a finger to my lips. "We'll have to be extra quiet when we go inside. White seems to still be awake upstairs, so we'll need to be careful."

"I'll be as quiet as mouse," Simon replied.

I nodded and then opened the door. Through the darkness of the house's interior, I caught a glimpse of burning light and hopped to the side, narrowly avoiding a fireball which launched out of the house and into the open night sky.

***
CHAPTER EIGHT

Staggering off to the side, I looked up at the huge fireball I just barely avoided. It flew into the sky as fast as a cannonball and, when it got high enough, exploded into a fiery ball of light and heat, kind of like fireworks, only a lot more dangerous. The explosion briefly took on a grinning, ghoulish face before it faded, which sent chills down my spine despite the warmth of the night.

"Whoa!" said Simon, who had jumped away from the door like me. His hair stood on end and his purple eyes were bigger and wider than ever. "What was that? A trap?"

A loud snarling sound answered Simon's question and then a vaguely humanoid creature stepped out of the doorway and onto the deck. Although it stood on two feet, the creature had proportions closer to a gorilla, with massive forearms that ended in boulder-shaped fists. Its face was pig-like and covered in hideous boils, while a single loincloth was the only piece of clothing it wore. Its uneven eyes darted back and forth as it took in its surroundings, a horrid stench of mud and moss emitting from its hairy, bulky body.

It was an actual demon. If I had to guess, it was a lower class one, because it did not look intelligent or capable of speech. I didn't understand how it had fired a fireball at me, however, because lower class demons were typically incapable of even basic demonic magic. Perhaps this one was the exception, but in any case, I had to kill it quickly before White came down to find out who was shooting fireballs in his backyard.

"A demon?" Simon said, his eyes so wide that they looked like they were about to fall out of his head. "Holy crap!"

The pig-faced demon turned its ugly head toward Simon and raised a hand, but I summoned my sword of blue Mana energy and rushed toward the demon. I slashed at its back, my blade cutting through its rock-like flesh and making it bleed horrible black blood that smelled like sewage.

But instead of knocking the creature down, the demon roared in pain and spun around, slamming its fist into my gut. Surprised by the power of the blow, I staggered backward until I stopped against the railing of the deck. My stomach ached from the blow, but I had no time to react because the demon was rushing toward me again already, sniffing and snarling as it ran.

I had no time to mount a defense, so I grabbed the back of the railing and flung myself over the side. I hit the grass below at the same time that the demon smashed into and through the railing, the momentum of his charge sending him flying over me. The demon crashed into the picnic table and smashed directly through it. It rose back to its feet quickly, however, and dusted the wood off its shoulders, a growl emitting from deep within its throat.

As for me, I got back to my feet as well and Simon hopped down beside me.

"Noah, you okay?" said Simon, staring up at me in worry.

"Yeah, I am," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "I've dealt with worse before. But we can talk later. The demon is still alive and probably wants us both dead."

As soon as those words left my mouth, the demon spotted us again. I thought it was going to charge me again, but instead, the demon opened its mouth and launched a fireball at us.

Alarmed, I scooped up Simon with my free arm and jumped to the side. We were just in the nick of time because the fireball struck the deck we'd been standing in front of and set it ablaze.

"Crap!" said Simon again, looking at the now-burning deck. "Are you sure this demon is under White's control? Because I kind of doubt White wants his house burned down even if it means killing a couple of intruders like us."

"He's lower class," I said, moving as quickly as I could toward the trees. I figured we could lose the demon in the forest and, at any rate, the forest would be a good place to teleport from in case White showed up. "He's acting mostly on instinct. Wouldn't surprise me if he recognized me as well, because after I killed Raith, it seems like every demon in the world knows who I am, even the stupid ones."

As if in response to my words, the demon rushed toward us again. This time, it came too fast for me to dodge, so I raised my sword and blocked his fists as they came down on me. The impact of the demon's fists on my sword nearly made my knees buckle, but I put all my strength into my body and kept standing, although I wasn't sure how long I would be able to remain standing.

"Simon, I need a boost!" I said through gritted teeth as I forced back the demon's fists. "Now!"

"Sure thing, boss," said Simon.

Immediately, I felt power leave Simon's body and go into mine. A second later, I suddenly felt much stronger, like I'd gotten an adrenaline boost, but I knew that this was really Simon giving me a portion of his Mana to make myself even stronger. I pushed back against the demon just then, sending it staggering backward in surprise, and moved in and slashed it across the chest.

The demon roared in pain as my sword cut through its massive chest. But I didn't let up. I slashed my sword back and forth as fast as I could, each blow striking the same spot and compounding the pain. I had no intention of letting this creature react and fight back. If I didn't kill it now, it would just keep coming after us.

After a particularly brutal slash from me, the demon collapsed backward onto the ground, panting and whining from the intense pain I had unleashed upon it. Seeing my chance, I raised the sword above my head, ready to plunge it directly into the demon's beating black heart and finish it off.

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't bring the sword down on the demon. It felt like someone had tied a string around my wrist and was holding it back. In fact, I found that the rest of my body was just as unresponsive as my arm.

"What's going on?" I said. I looked at Simon and found that my head, at least, could move freely. "Simon, I thought you said you disabled all security spells."

"I did," said Simon urgently, looking around in alarm, "and I can't sense any more, but—"

"Don't get angry at your familiar, young man," said a deep, middle-aged voice behind me. "Only weak mages blame their familiars for their own weakness, and you are most definitely a weak mage, despite your impressive pedigree."

I heard footsteps behind me and a middle-aged man with graying hair stepped into view. He wore a pure white suit with an equally white cape flowing down his back. Although he seemed to be in his forties, he was obviously in good shape, because the muscles of his arms were obvious even under the sleeves of his suit.

But it was the man's face which had caught my attention. It would have been completely unremarkable if his eyes hadn't been an orange-ish red, burning like fire in his face. Even in the darkness of the night, his eyes seemed to glow as they looked me over with an air of detached interest.

"John White," I said. Now I wanted to bring my sword down on him, but I couldn't. "The Grim Reaper himself."

John White smiled, which just made his red eyes look all the more creepy. "Noah House, son of Kent House, the former Chosen One of the Oracle, currently known as the Butcher of Souls."

My eyes widened. "How do you know who I am?"

White's smile grew broader. "Everyone in the magical community knows who you are, young Noah. Even petty crooks like myself remember all the hubbub about the Chosen One who would defeat Lord Raith a few years back. I remember an old business associate of mine back then betting a hundred souls that you wouldn't beat Lord Raith." His red eyes twinkled. "As you can guess, I won that bet, and for that, I must thank you. You made my business very profitable that day and I've been meaning to thank you in person for what you did, even though you never knew about it."

"Why can't I move?" I said, glancing up at my arm.

"Restraining spell," said White. He held up his right hand and began moving his fingers. "Invisible strings, like those of a puppet, are wrapped around your body. Under this spell, you move only as much as I want you to move, no more, no less."

As White spoke, my arm began to move, but not of my own accord. It seemed to be moving on its own, but I noticed it was moving in sync with White's fingers and suddenly realized that he was demonstrating the power of his spell. "Never heard of this kind of spell before."

"It's forbidden by the Lower Laws of the American Magical Government," said White. "The reasoning behind that ban is because this particular restraining spell can be used to make people perform all sorts of crimes they otherwise wouldn't have. And it's very hard to prove that this spell is used on a person because it leaves no trace on the target and cannot be tracked back to the user."

"That is powerful," I said. "I'm guessing you use it because you're a criminal, right?"

"I operate outside the law, if that's what you mean, yes," said White, "though I find your hypocrisy amusing, given how you just illegally entered my property and were planning to break into my house before Erebus here stopped you."

"Erebus?"

"The demon." White gestured at the wounded demon on the ground. "My personal demon, as a matter of fact, bound to my soul and forced to obey my every command. He's similar to a familiar in that regard, only he's far more obedient than my late familiar was."

"You mean he's a slave," I said. "Right?"

"Call him what you wish," said White. "I call him useful. Well, most of the time, anyway." He glanced over his shoulder at his deck, which I realized was no longer burning. "His aim isn't always good and sometimes he gets a little too hasty. Nonetheless, I couldn't let you kill him, because binding even a lower class demon like Erebus to your soul is incredibly hard. I would rather not have to seek out another one, especially in light of some of my recent business dealings."

"So you came down to save your demon and your deck," I said. "Not surprised."

"You're not?" said White. "Interesting. We've never met, but you say you're not surprised."

"It's what I would have done in your circumstances," I said. "As soon as Erebus appeared, I wanted to leave before you saw me, but I guess that plan is out the window now."

White chuckled. "My boy, even if you had successfully escaped Erebus, I would have known it was you who had tried to break into my house. I have been waiting all night for you to show up."

"What? Really?" I said. "No way. I didn't tell anyone where I was going. Only Simon and I knew we were going to break into your house tonight."

"Have you forgotten who told you about me already?" said White with an amused look in his eyes. "Luis Marmalejo, a man who I have had some dealings with. I am aware that you went to his base of operations here in Accord earlier today and got some private information about me from him."

"Did Luis rat on me?" I said in shock. "Because if he did—"

"He didn't," White interrupted me. His red eyes gleamed with amusement. "But if he did, I don't see why you would be so surprised. Luis is barely better than a common street crook. If he ratted you out to me, that would only be in his nature, That he hasn't shows that he is a bit more trustworthy than your average crook, although the fact that he keeps detailed records on his various business contacts and associates is enough to tell me that he's not your average crook."

I struggled to break free of the restraining spell again, but it was pointless. "How did you find out I was going to be here?"

"I have spies everywhere I do business, my good friend," said White. "My spy within Luis' little gang saw you come and overheard your meeting with him and reported it all back to me. I didn't know for sure when you would come, but I figured it would be soon because you were never known for your slothfulness back in your heyday and I assumed you would want to 'solve' this investigation as quickly as you can."

"So you are the same Mr. White who Harriet Susan, husband of Carter Susan, sent some souls to?" I said.

"Congratulations," said White, clapping me in a mocking way. "You found me out. Truly, you are a great detective."

"Only because you're a rather terrible criminal," I said. "You just admitted your association with her outright, which makes you a suspect in my investigation."

"That's easy to explain," said White. "But I'll give you a moment to think about it. Ask yourself why I would admit that I was smuggling souls with the wife of a presidential aide and what that means for you."

It took me a moment to think because the stink from Erebus' bleeding wounds was getting worse, but finally, it clicked in my mind and I said, in horror, "Because you don't intend to let me live, right?"

"Right," said White. "Once Erebus here is done with you, you will be a mangled corpse which even your own mother won't be able to recognize... assuming anyone will ever get to see it, that is."

***
CHAPTER NINE

The demon Erebus was already rising back to its feet. The wounds I had inflicted on its body were already healing before my eyes, which meant that I probably had only a few seconds before it felt well enough to finish me off. Yet as long as White's restraining spell was active, I would be a sitting duck for Erebus, who would have all the time in the world to kill me while White watched on in amusement.

Simon, I said through our telepathic connection. Can you move or did White's restraining spell get you, too?

Can't move a muscle, Simon told me. White is a smart one, I'll give you that, even if he is an evil son of a bitch.

I sighed under my breath, but I didn't let despair overtake me. I had been in much worse situations before and survived. There was a reason I was a famed demon slayer early on in my life and it wasn't because I was a great self-promoter.

As Erebus' wounds closed, I felt the restraining spell which White had placed around us. It was an extremely unusual spell, seeming to be a strange mixture of human and demonic magic. That would explain why I didn't recognize it. It was a unique spell, possibly even created by White himself, but I had a lot of experience dispelling demonic magic and, if I had the time, I might be able to dismantle it on my own.

But I didn't have the time. Erebus was almost entirely healed by now, while White stood back with his arms folded in front of his chest. There was no way I could dismantle the spell on my own, not in my current state. That would take time and focus, and time was one of the things I did not have.

But I did have focus and I realized that, while White's restraining spell may have power over my body, it did not restrain my magic. If I could conjure a spell, I could potentially use it to knock out White or at least shatter his concentration. Then Simon and I could run away and go home, where we would be safe.

Biting my lower lip, I glanced at White again, trying to focus on him. I would need to hammer him with a telepathic attack. Mental attacks weren't my forte—Clarissa was much better at that sort of thing than I was—but I did have some experience with mental combat and I knew that a well-placed mental assault could turn a fight around.

Simon, I need another boost, I said. I'm going to launch a mental attack at White. Give me some of your Mana so I can get stronger.

Okay, boss, but you better hurry, said Simon. That demon doesn't look too happy about how you beat him down earlier.

Simon was correct. Erebus' inhuman face was hard to read, but over my years of dealing with demons, I had learned how to read their expressions and body language and there was no disguising the fact that this particular demon was looking forward to ripping out my entrails personally. But I had no time to focus on that as Simon's power filled my body and gave me another adrenaline boost.

My eyes darted over to White and I focused all of my might on hitting him with the hardest mental assault I could muster. Again, it wasn't much, especially under these circumstances, but when I unleashed my attack on White's mind, White actually put his hand on his head, like he was having a bad headache.

Without warning, I suddenly felt free once again. And just in time, too, because Erebus was running toward me now, snarling and growling like a hyena. Instinctively, I brought my sword directly down onto Erebus' head, cleaving its skull cleanly in two and making the demon collapse onto the ground at my feet again.

As soon as Erebus collapsed, I picked up Simon and turned and ran toward the forest, clutching Simon firmly to my side, whose claws were sinking into my skin through my clothing due to how afraid he was. That hurt, but I was far more concerned with getting out of here alive than worrying about Simon's claws.

I didn't get very far, however, before I caught a flash of red out of the corner of my eye and raised my sword just in time to block a red energy sword. The man who held the energy sword was White, who seemed to have recovered from his mental pain by now and had summoned his own energy blade, though his was red rather than blue.

"Clever trick there, hitting me with a mental attack," said White, whose voice was slightly strained as he tried to force me down. "But it will take far more than that to take me down, as you are about to find out."

I didn't respond because I was too busy holding back White's blade to say anything. I was amazed at how strong White was. Even though he was much older than me, he seemed as strong as if he was still in his twenties. Maybe he worked out a lot or just took really good care of himself. Or maybe I was just tired from my fight with Erebus.

In any case, I dropped Simon, who meowed in surprise, and, holding my sword with both hands now, shoved White back. White staggered backward and I moved in closer, slashing at him as fast as I could. But White recovered quickly, parrying each one of my blows with his own sword. The two of us exchanged blows, parrying and blocking attacks in equal measure. A few times White nearly pierced my defense, but I was always quick enough to block his attacks, despite how tired I felt. It didn't help that there wasn't much light to see by, aside from the glow from our weapons and the light from the moon and stars above.

But then White lunged toward me and I dodged. Noticing that he left his guard open, I slashed at his hands and hit them, making White cry out in pain and drop his energy sword, which vanished into thin air right before it hit the ground. I slashed at White again, aiming for his chest, but White suddenly jumped back out of my range. He suddenly turned into smoke and flew backward several feet until he stopped on the other side of the yard, well outside my range of attack.

"Where are you going, White?" I said, waving my sword at him. "I thought you were trying to kill me. Decided you can't keep up with a young man like me?"

White was sweating and panting, which was obvious even from a distance, but then he suddenly smiled and said, "No. I was just waiting for backup."

Before I could ask White what he meant, I heard voices shouting from the front of the house. Lights suddenly turned on in the windows and I could hear what sounded like at least a dozen people rushing through the rooms of the building, making their way to the back door.

"Did you really think I didn't have a backup plan in the event that you killed Erebus and overpowered me?" asked White with a smirk. "My men will be out here shortly, and once they are, they will overpower you. Even the infamous Butcher of Souls cannot take on a dozen highly trained mages at once."

White was right. I was a competent fighter and mage, but I never did well against multiple enemies at once and I didn't relish taking on the entirety of White's cartel. Besides, I wasn't here to fight and kill White. I was here to find out if he was connected to Mrs. Susan's murder, but it was clear that I would have to retreat if I wanted to live to see another day.

Taking a step back, I said, "This isn't over, White. I'll find out exactly how you're connected to Harriet Susan's death, no matter how long it takes."

White's smirk practically became demonic, not helped by his glowing red eyes. "Trust me, Butcher, you don't want to know the truth behind Harriet's death or what she was doing. If you did, you wouldn't even be here right now. You would be running away... far away... with the knowledge that you will never escape the death that will soon—very soon—overtake you."

I was about to ask White what he meant when, without warning, the back door to his house exploded open and a dozen mages poured out of it like water bursting from a damn. Their hands and weapons were glowing with charged Mana and that was when I knew it was time for me to split.

Scooping up Simon again, I didn't even run to the forest. I just spun around on the heel of my boot and teleported away back to my office. The last thing I saw, right before I teleported, was White's demonic smirk, which looked oddly familiar to me, but I was in too much of a hurry to think about where I might have seen it before.

***
CHAPTER TEN

Simon and I reappeared in my apartment in an instant. As soon as we materialized, I dropped Simon onto the floor and fell back onto the couch, spreading my arms and legs to either side, pushing my sweaty hair out of my eyes and panting hard.

"Damn it," I said. "We are never doing that again."

"I'll say," said Simon. He hopped up onto the couch next to me and shuddered. "You know, as bad as demons are, humans can be a lot scarier sometimes, you know what I mean?"

"I do," I said. "I feel like such an idiot for letting that happen. I should have known that a man who regularly interacts with demons and manages to avoid being possessed by them would be smart enough to keep track of who is looking for him. If I had just stopped and thought about it for even five seconds, I could have come up with a better plan that wouldn't have resulted in us nearly getting killed."

"Don't beat yourself up too much, Noah," said Simon. He rested on his side and looked up at me. "After all, White already beat you up enough himself."

I glared at Simon. "Thanks for the support, Simon. You've really got a way with words."

"What can I say?" said Simon with a shrug. "I'm a very verbally skilled cat."

I sighed, but said, "Even all of this wouldn't be that bad, though, if I had found even one clue tying White to Harriet's death. As it is, we didn't find anything, not one clue that could help us prove that White sent the demon that killed Harriet or why she was helping him smuggle souls in the first place."

"Yeah, but at least now we know for sure that White is connected to Harriet's death in some way," said Simon. "That's surely better than nothing, right?"

"Right, but it would be even better if we could actually prove that White did anything to Harriet," I said. I rubbed my forehead. "As it stands, we can't prove a thing. We're not even sure if White is working with the demon that killed Harriet or if the demon was working on its own. This night was a complete waste of time and you know it."

"Yeah, we didn't accomplish as much as we expected," said Simon. His tail swished back and forth. "And I guess you're going to have to keep your head low for the next few days because I doubt White is just going to forget that you killed his demon and nearly killed him too. Criminal bosses like him usually don't believe in forgive and forget."

"That's right," I said. "I nearly forgot that. Once they figure out where I am, I bet White will send someone here to take me down. He'll probably make it look like he will have nothing to do with, too, though I wonder what the point of that would be, given how everyone hates me and probably wouldn't care if I died."

"Yeah, if you got murdered, I doubt anyone in the magical community would investigate it," said Simon. "Even Mr. Susan would probably be more disappointed that you failed to kill his wife's killer than anything."

"Thanks for the encouragement, Simon," I said sardonically, scratching the back of his ears. "I'm feeling better already."

"I'm just being realistic, Noah," said Simon. "Even your own family probably wouldn't care if White offed you. Well, except for Clarissa, but Clarissa probably wouldn't try to avenge you or anything like that, not if it meant putting her own family in danger."

I stopped scratching behind his ears and rubbed my forehead. "I know. I think my apartment should be safe from most threats because I've cast several anti-demon spells on it and they've held up pretty well over the years."

"Yeah, but White doesn't have just demons serving him, you know," said Simon. "He's also got a lot of humans, mages who were probably hired based on their willingness to kill people."

"Don't remind me," I said, shaking my head. I sighed. "I need allies and friends."

"You've got me," Simon said. "Remember?"

"Yeah, but you're just one cat," I said. "I need more allies than just you if I'm going to keep myself safe or figure out my next move. Right now, I don't think White knows where I live, but I doubt it will take him very long to find out. Once he does, I'm going to be screwed unless I can find a way to protect myself somehow."

Simon put a thoughtful look on his face. "Well, you can't go to your family, obviously, because you're disowned, and all your old friends want nothing to do with you as well like pretty much everyone else in the magical community. Hell, you can't even go to the Government and ask for protection, because the Government doesn't like you much, either."

"They'll always take my taxes, though," I said bitterly. "Guess they like my money better than me."

"I knew a rich guy once who said that exact same thing to me about all the woman he was with over the years," said Simon, his tailing swishing back and forth again. "Of course, he only realized that in the middle of his fourth consecutive divorce. He was pretty rich in dollars, but not so rich—"

Abruptly, Simon sat up and looked at me. "Hey, Noah, I know who you can go to for help!"

I looked at Simon in confusion. "Who?"

"Sarah!" said Simon, smiling a cat smile at me. "You remember Sarah, don't you?"

I groaned. "You're not talking about Sarah Gomez, are you?"

"You only dated one girl named Sarah," said Simon, nodding, "so yeah, that's who I'm talking about. She might be able to help us. She's got a nice place, pretty well-defended. She might be willing to help us if you called her up. You still have her number, don't you?"

I felt my phone, which was still in my pocket. "Yeah, I do, but I don't want to drag her into my problems. Soul smugglers are some of the most dangerous criminals around and I doubt they would be afraid of a short Hispanic girl who barely weighs one hundred pounds soaking wet."

"You're just embarrassed to see her again after your break up," said Simon. He put one paw on my arm. "I know what it feels like to talk to exes, but your breakup wasn't that bad."

"She threw her shoe at me and called me a pigheaded prick with a god complex," I said. "Granted, that was still a lot more civil than I expected, but it wasn't nearly as amicable as you seem to remember it being."

"Well, I wasn't there when you two broke up," said Simon. "I just remember you coming back to the mansion in a really bad mood that day. You nearly kicked me when I greeted you."

"Then why did you think my breakup went well?" I said in confusion.

Simon shrugged. "I just assumed her aunt yelled at you. The two of you didn't get along very well even when you were dating Sarah. Though now that I think about it, it seems kind of weird to assume you were angry at her aunt rather than at her. My bad."

Although Simon was a lot older and, in many ways, wiser and more knowledge than me, there were still times where he would say things like this that would make me wonder just how much attention he was really paying to the world at large. It was times like these that made me wonder whether Simon would be able to survive without me or whether he would get run over by a truck while crossing a busy highway during rush hour.

Shaking my head, I said, "I'm still not sure about bringing her into this. She might be able to keep me safe, but at the same time, she might throw her other shoe at me and tell me to get off her property."

"Yeah, I suppose," said Simon. "But you know for a fact that White and his cretins are going to be gunning for you now. I'd much rather get a shoe thrown at me than my throat slit while I'm sleeping, but we all have our preferences, I suppose."

I bit my lower lip. However much I disliked the idea of seeing Sarah again, I could not deny that Simon was right that she was my only hope for help. Though our breakup had not exactly been civil, she was one of the few mages I knew of—really the only mage I knew of—who had not joined in the community's disowning of me. She still hadn't contacted me or spoken to me in years, but that was probably because of our breakup, not because of what I did during the Feast of Souls.

And yeah, I still thought about her sometimes. It was impossible not to. She was a very beautiful woman and the two of us had been together since before I defeated Lord Raith. She had been my constant companion for years, even closer than Simon. It made our breakup all the harder on both of us, which was why I had not seen her in years.

I really didn't want to see Sarah again. While she was not as magically powerful as me, nor did she have the same amount of combat experience that I did, she could be pretty terrifying when she wanted to be. And, of course, there was her aunt, who I remembered being an angry woman herself. I had never expected to speak to either of them again, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that Simon's idea wasn't that bad. The worse that could happen was that they might tell me to leave and never come back.

Of course, if I didn't speak to Sarah, White's thugs would still come and kill me. Or maybe White would go whole hog and summon a Demon General to take me out. There was no telling what he might do, but however he chose to eliminate me, it would probably be extremely painful.

Sighing, I sat up and said, "You're right, Simon. Sarah is my only hope at this point. I'll call her up tomorrow morning and see if she wants to talk."

"You're not just going to go to her house and say hello for old time's sake?" said Simon.

"I don't want to get another shoe tossed at my face if I show up on her doorstep unannounced," I said. "That's why."

I yawned. "Anyway, it's extremely late and I need to get some sleep. I doubt White will attack us tonight, so we'll probably be safe until tomorrow. After that, though... hopefully Sarah will be able to help us after that, because if not—"

"We're going to die?" said Simon helpfully.

"Yes, Simon," I said without any enthusiasm, "we are both going to die. Painfully."

***
CHAPTER ELEVEN

The next morning, shortly after breakfast, I found myself walking down the streets of the neighborhood of West Accord. It was one of the nicer neighborhoods in the city, home to many of the city's richest and wealthiest inhabitants. The houses were all lined up neatly, with perfectly cut lawns and sparkling clear water fountains out front. I saw fathers out washing their cars or mowing their lawns, while kids played in the front yards. A dog tied up to a tree tried to chase after me when I passed, mostly because of Simon, who walked by my feet, but Simon hopped up onto my shoulder when the dog jumped at us and didn't retract his claws until we were a couple of houses down.

But I didn't really pay much attention to Simon's skittishness. Walking in this neighborhood—which I had not visited in four years—was bringing back all kinds of memories I had forgotten about. My family did not live in this neighborhood, but Sarah and her aunt did, and I had come here many times prior to the death of Lord Raith. It was a lot bigger than I remembered, which fit in with the city's population boom over the last couple of years. Apparently, lots of Californians were moving into Accord due to its affordable standards of living, which I didn't mind so much, although that also meant a lot of Californian mages had come along and those guys I just couldn't stand.

But West Accord reminded me of the neighborhood I grew up in when I was a kid. That should have made me feel like I fit in, but honestly, I felt like I didn't belong here. And it wasn't because most of the people were amages or anything. I was just so used to living in my dumpy little apartment in the southern part of Accord that I had grown accustomed to it. Until I teleported into this neighborhood and began walking down its sidewalks, I hadn't realized just how out of place I felt in nicer parts of the city.

Back when I was disowned by my family and kicked out of the magical community, I was desperate for a place to stay and only selected my current apartment because it was dirt cheap. I always intended to get a better place, but now I found myself feeling flabbergasted by all of the wealth on display around me. And these people weren't even what you would call the one percent, either. Something told me that even if I went back to the family mansion, that I would feel out of place in it, which was a scary thought.

How much longer do we have to keep walking? Simon asked me in my mind as we stopped to allow a car to pass us. Do you even remember where Sarah's house is?

Crossing the street, I replied, Of course I know where it is. It only seems to be taking us a while to get it because you're used to teleporting directly inside.

Why didn't she let us teleport directly into it this morning? Simon asked. She said she was okay with seeing you again, right? Why make us run a marathon? Seems pretty inconsiderate of her.

I sighed. Simon was right that Sarah had accepted my invitation to come to her house. That had surprised me as much as Simon, which briefly made me believe that perhaps Sarah would be willing to protect me after all. Of course, it was equally possible she just wanted to throw her other shoe at me, so I had to prepare for both possibilities.

Sarah doesn't trust me as much as she used to, I said. She doesn't want me to just teleport directly into her house like we're still in a relationship. She wants to make sure she can trust me not to cause any problems.

And you're just going along with it? said Simon in disbelief. That doesn't seem like the Noah I know.

Sarah is the one with the power here, I replied. If I piss her off by ignoring her conditions, she could kick me out of her house again. The last thing I need is to alienate the one woman who could possibly help me. It's not like I have anyone else to turn to, after all.

I suppose, said Simon. Still, I hope this is worth it. The sun is killing me. Maybe after this is over, we can move somewhere up north where it's not so hot all the time.

I rolled my eyes but didn't reply, because I soon spotted Sarah's house just up the block. It looked nearly identical to every other house in the neighborhood, save for the roof being red rather than brown, but I could sense the Mana just radiating from it like heat from a furnace. Sarah's amage neighbors probably couldn't sense it, because only mages could sense Mana. I doubted they even realized there was anything off about her. While most mages were bad at blending in with amage society, Sarah was one of the few mages I knew who could blend in so well with amages that even other mages who didn't know her often assumed she was an amage at first glance.

Back when we dated, I always used to tease her about how she was more like an amage, culturally-speaking, than a mage. But now, having lived my life on the edge between mage and amage society, I found myself wishing I had paid more attention to everything she used to say about amages because it would have helped me a lot in my early first attempts to blend in with amages and not draw unnecessary attention to myself.

Walking up the driveway, I knocked on the door and waited. I didn't have to wait long, however, before the door opened and I found myself standing face to face with Sarah Gomez, my former girlfriend.

She was quite shorter than me, though taller than Clarissa. Her silver-blonde hair shone in the light, while her blue eyes peered out through the lenses of her glasses. She was wearing a pink t-shirt and jeans, looking no different from your average amage girl in her twenties. And, luckily for me, she had shoes on both of her feet, which meant she probably wasn't going to wallop me. Indeed, the only clue that she was a mage at all was the ring on her right hand, which had the symbol of an eagle on it, which was the Gomez family crest.

Smiling as friendly as I could, I said, "Hi, Sarah. Uh, long time, no see."

"Likewise," said Sarah. She was not smiling, but she didn't seem to be angry with me. Her eyes darted to Simon on my shoulders. "I see you brought your familiar with you."

"Of course," I said, patting Simon on the head. "I never go anywhere without him. Unfortunately."

I felt Simon's claws dig into my shoulders when I said that, but I didn't regret saying it.

"Yeah, I understand," said Sarah. "Well, why don't you and your familiar come in? Aunt Rose just made some tacos and they're really good."

"Sure," I said. "It's getting hot out here anyway."

Sarah stepped aside and Simon and I entered. As soon as we crossed the door's threshold, Sarah closed it behind us and said, "Follow me to the kitchen."

Sarah immediately walked ahead of me and I followed behind her. I could easily have overtaken her due to the fact that my legs were longer than hers, but this was her house and the last thing I wanted to do was accidentally piss her off by acting like I owned it. Besides, I still wasn't entirely sure that she wasn't going to throw her other shoe at me when I least expected it, which would be easy for her to do if I was in front of her.

Her house was a little different from the last time I'd been here. The walls were painted white, rather than brown, and the ceiling fan in the hallway looked new. There were a couple of new pictures of Sarah and her aunt Rose hanging on the walls with the rest of her family photos, although there still no pictures of her actual mom and dad. I asked her about it once when were still dating and she gave me a very evasive answer before changing the subject. I just assumed they had both died and it was a subject she just didn't feel comfortable discussing.

Even before we entered her kitchen, I could smell cooked taco meat wrapped in tortillas. I remembered that Sarah's aunt Rose was an excellent cook and that she could make the best tacos you ever ate anywhere. It made my stomach rumble just thinking about them, but I didn't let myself get distracted by thoughts of food. I couldn't say the same for Simon, though, who was practically salivating at the thought of having some of those tacos.

When we entered Sarah's kitchen, I found that there were already a few plates of tacos set on the table. There seemed to be one for me, one for Sarah, and one for her aunt, but I did not see Rose anywhere, which made me wonder where she was.

"Hey, Sarah," I said as I took my seat at the table opposite her. "Where is your aunt?"

"Probably taking a nap," said Sarah, brushing aside her silver-blonde hair as she sat down and sipped a can of soda next to her taco plate. "She's been cooking all morning and went back to her room to take a nap after she finished making the food."

"She didn't want to see me?" I said.

"Why would she?" said Sarah. "Aunt Rose has always been a nice lady. She doesn't think you're as bad as everyone says you are, so when I told her you would be coming over, she was okay with it."

"Really?" I said in surprise. "Huh, I never would have guessed that. I thought she didn't like me."

"Yeah, Aunt Rose usually isn't very loud about her opinions and doesn't like to make waves." Sarah shrugged. "Sometimes that makes it hard for us to get along because I'm not afraid to voice my opinions even if it makes people angry at me."

I smiled. "Yeah, I remember. But it seems like a big risk. What if the rest of the community finds out?"

"Don't worry," said Sarah, waving a finger at me. "I won't utter a word of this to anyone. Besides, we're in an amage neighborhood. I doubt anyone saw you, and if they did, I could think up an excuse in an instant."

"Oh?" I said as I picked up my taco, which was still hot. "And that would be what?"

Sarah smiled at me. "You're my ex-boyfriend begging me to take you back. And you'd be really pathetic about it, too, like seriously get a life already."

I sighed. "You're just saying that to troll me, aren't you?"

Sarah shrugged. "Just trying to have some fun."

"I think it's funny," said Simon. "Now give me some of that taco meat. Smells great."

Rolling my eyes, I shoved Simon off my shoulders and onto the floor. But he hopped back onto the table in an instant, although he kept his distance from Sarah, perhaps because he didn't want her to bat him away. But he couldn't take his eyes off the tacos like they were pieces of gold glittering in the sunlight. It made it kind of hard to eat, but I was used to Simon staring at me when I ate human food, so I paid him little attention.

"I appreciate you letting me see you and all, but I don't understand why," I said to Sarah. I took a bite out of the taco and savored the eggs and cheese for a moment before swallowing. "Our breakup... wasn't exactly civil."

"You can say that again," said Sarah. She leaned back in her chair, leaving her taco unprotected. She batted away Simon, who had been sniffing her tacos. "But I'm over it. That was years ago and I've moved on. I still don't have a boyfriend, but I'm doing fine."

"Good to hear," I said. I relaxed. "Here I thought you were going to hit me with your other shoe."

"Don't worry about that," said Sarah. "I've grown out of my shoe-throwing phase. Now, whenever I want to get revenge, I cast a spell on their mouth that makes everything they eat taste like garlic."

I paused mid-chew, with a bunch of taco in my mouth, and looked down at it. "It doesn't taste like garlic, but—"

"Don't worry," said Sarah, waving off my concerns. "I haven't used that spell on you yet, nor do I intend to. I'm more interested in hearing what made you come back to me after so many years. It sounded quite serious on the phone call."

I didn't like how Sarah used the word yet, but I decided to answer her question instead. "Because I just got in trouble with a dangerous crime boss and I need someone I can count on to help me get away from him."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Elaborate."

I gave Sarah a brief rundown of the events of the last day or so. I, of course, omitted Mr. Susan's name. I didn't even tell her that my client was one of President McNamara's aides. All I told her was that a client of mine wanted to know who had stolen the soul of his wife and I was trying to find out who did it. I finished by explaining the events of last night when I tried and failed to break into John White's house and had to flee before White's thugs could take me out.

When I finished my story, Sarah had a serious look on her face. "Damn. That is a lot more serious than I thought."

"Yeah," I said. "And I'll understand if you want nothing to do with it. White is one of the most powerful men in the soul smuggling business and fighting him would be extremely dangerous even for a Master Mage."

Sarah was stirring her soda with her straw absentmindedly. "I'll admit, when you first called me up, I thought maybe you were having trouble with a paying client or needed help looking for a clue of some sort. But pissing off one of the most dangerous criminals in the magical community? Yeah, that's a completely different ballgame altogether."

"As I said, if you don't want to help me, that's fine," I said. "I'll figure something else out. I'll—"

"What are you talking about?" said Sarah. "Of course I'll help you."

My jaw dropped. "What? For real?"

"For real," Sarah confirmed. She sipped her soda before putting it back on the table. "Reading between the lines, I can tell that this case is very important not just for you, but for the whole magical community. Besides, I've never liked those soul smugglers very much. They're absolute scum and if I can help you take down one of their own, I will happily do it."

I forgot just how much of a go-getter Sarah could be. I thought for sure she was going to tell me to take a hike and leave her out of this, but apparently, she was more willing to fight than I initially assumed. I wasn't sure whether to be gladdened or frightened by that.

"Well, that's good to hear," I said. I swatted Simon's ears because he had gotten a little too close to my taco for my tastes. "But I'm not sure how you and I will be able to stop White and whatever he's doing with the souls he's stealing."

"I know just the person who can help," said Sarah. She rose from her seat. "Noah, come with me. I want you to meet my uncle James."

***
CHAPTER TWELVE

Puzzled, I nonetheless put down my taco and followed Sarah out of the kitchen and down the hallway, though not before grabbing Simon and holding him in my arms. He made a disgruntled meowing sound and looked longingly through the gap in my arms at the tacos we were leaving behind, but fortunately, he did not try to get out of my arms.

"Sarah, did you say you wanted to introduce me to your uncle?" I said.

"Yeah," said Sarah without looking at me as we walked through her house. "My uncle James. Weren't you listening to what I just said?"

"Yeah," I said, nodding, "but I didn't even know you had an uncle. I thought you just had Aunt Rose."

Sarah looked over her shoulder at me. "I live with Aunt Rose, yes, and she's basically raised me since I was a young child, but I do have an uncle. He's just... different."

I frowned. I was aware that Sarah's Aunt Rose had raised her since she was a child. Sarah's parents had died when Sarah was very young, leaving her to be raised by her aunt, who was her father's sister. I didn't know exactly how Sarah's parents had died—it always seemed like a sensitive question, so I never asked her about it even when we were dating—but I did know that Aunt Rose had raised Sarah by herself for over twenty years. Or I thought I knew that yet if Sarah was telling truth, then she also had an uncle named James who she had apparently never mentioned to me before.

"Does your uncle like cats?" Simon asked as we walked. "Because I know your aunt does. She was always nice to me when you and Noah were dating."

Sarah didn't look back at us, but she did say quickly, "No, my uncle isn't exactly a big fan of cats, but you'll find out why soon enough."

Abruptly, Sarah came to a stop in front of a door in the hallway and said, "Here it is. Uncle James' room."

Had Sarah not come to a stop and told me which door to look at, I wouldn't have guessed this was someone's room at all. The door was nondescript and unlabeled, which was a bit strange, given how Sarah and her aunt's rooms were labeled with their names. I didn't see any light peeking out from under the door, but I did sense Mana on the other side. It reminded me of the Mana which Simon gave off, oddly enough, even though Simon was in my arms and not in that room. Perhaps Simon and Sarah's uncle had similar magical powers?

Sarah knocked on the door a couple of times. "Uncle! It's Sarah. Are you awake? I've got someone who wants to see you."

"Come in," came a slightly irritated Hispanic voice on the other side of the door. "I'm awake, I'm awake. Was sleeping just fine until you pounded on the door. Could have just knocked."

I didn't think Sarah knocked that hard on the door myself, but Sarah opened the door and entered before I could say anything and I walked in after her.

The room into which we had walked was dark at first until Sarah flipped a light switch, allowing us to see that we were standing in a fairly small bedroom that might have either been a spare room or a guest room of sorts. It smelled strangely like a birdcage, albeit one that was a lot cleaner than normal. There was a simple double bed in one corner, along with a desk and some bookshelves, but my attention was drawn to the cage near the window and the bird within it.

The bird standing inside the cage was a large parrot, with beautiful red, blue, and green plumage. I was no expert on parrots, but it seemed a bit bigger than your average parrot, and, more importantly, I could sense Mana radiating off of its body. That parrot was the source of the Mana I had sensed outside of the room, which made me suspect that this particular parrot was a familiar, maybe even Sarah's familiar, though I didn't see her uncle anywhere.

The parrot raised its head when we entered. It looked at us with a very human expression of annoyance on its face, which was another sign that it was a familiar because all familiars could make fairly human-like expressions with their faces due to being reincarnated humans. It eyed me in particular with what was either wariness or disgust. It was hard to tell which, because I couldn't read bird faces very well.

"Hi, uncle," said Sarah, walking up to the parrot's open cage and stopping before him. "Sorry to wake you from your morning nap, but I brought someone here to see you."

"Wait, that parrot is your uncle?" I said in surprise.

Sarah looked back over her shoulder at me and smiled apologetically. "Sorry. I forgot to mention that my uncle James is also my familiar. He reincarnated as a parrot because parrots were his favorite animals when he was a mage. Isn't that right, uncle?"

The parrot nodded slightly, but he didn't take his eyes off me. It was rather unnerving, the way he looked at me. "Yes. Parrots are the best kind of bird. But do you know what my least favorite kind of animal is?"

I shook my head. "No, what?"

James pointed with a clawed foot at Simon. "Cats. Or, as I like to call them, overgrown rodents."

Simon hissed. "Well, I'm not too fond of you birdies either. Well, I like to eat you, of course, but there's a reason I came back as a cat rather than a bird when I reincarnated a familiar."

James ruffled his feathers. "Are you threatening me, cat? Because if you are, I'm more than willing to introduce you to my talons. They're quite sharp."

Sarah held up her hands before Simon could respond. "Uncle, please calm down. I know you don't like cats, but I didn't bring you that cat so you could fight it to the death. It's the cat's owner who I want you to meet."

"You mean the young man?" said James. He sniffed. "He smells like evil."

"Evil?" I repeated. "What do you mean? I'm not evil. I may not be exactly the shining knight of justice, but I'm not evil, either."

"Still smell like it," said James. "Is that demonic energy I smell, perhaps?"

"Probably," I said. "I did just kill a demon recently, a demon which got a few hits on me. Maybe I still smell like it, even though I've showered since then."

"That explains it," said James, though I noticed he still looked at me distrustfully. Maybe he was just a distrustful person in general and treated most people this way. His eyes darted back to Simon. "I take it that the cat isn't a demon?"

"I'm a familiar just like you, pal," said Simon in annoyance. "And probably a better familiar than you, anyway, since at least I don't spend all day cooped up inside a cage."

"You don't know what I do all day, cat," James said. "Though if you are like any other cats I've known, I bet you just sleep all day and do nothing else."

"That's more than you do, featherbrain," Simon replied. "But please, keep telling me about how useless I am from the safety of your cage. It definitely doesn't make you look—"

"Simon, shut up," I said, glaring at the cat. "I don't care how much James annoys you. We're here to ask for his help, not argue with him. Got it?"

Simon closed his mouth, but I could tell he wasn't happy about being told to be quiet. He just shot James a dirty look before looking down at the floor in an obvious attempt to ignore the parrot. James, likewise, looked at Sarah and said, "The cat is raising my blood pressure. Get him out of here."

"Not before you help us," I said. Then I frowned and looked at Sarah. "But Sarah, I don't understand. Back when we were dating, you never mentioned having an uncle. Hell, you didn't even have a familiar, yet now you have both an uncle and a familiar in the same person."

Sarah folded her arms across her chest. "I was about to explain that. You see, Uncle James and Aunt Rose were married pretty early in their twenties, but then a few years before I was born, Uncle James disappeared and no one knew what happened to him. Because I was born after he disappeared, I never got to know him until just recently, when we found him again, only he was at death's door and we had to initiate the reincarnation ritual to bring him back as a familiar."

"Why did he disappear in the first place and how did you guys find him?" I said, tilting my head to the side.

"That, my nosy friend, is none of your business," said Uncle Josh. He spread his wings briefly and made a strange grunting noise under his breath. "I am just thankful that I am still alive. Granted, I miss my old body, but this is much better than being dead. Much better."

I found Sarah and her uncle's unwillingness to discuss the exact circumstances surrounding his disappearance and death odd, but I decided I had more important things to worry about than that. Perhaps I would ask them about it later after this mess was over with. "I see. Well, in any case, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Noah House."

"House?" James repeated. He eyed me even more carefully than before. "Are you the son of Kent House?"

I nodded. "Yes. I take it you've heard of my family?"

James snorted and ruffled his feathers again. "Everyone knows about the House family. You can't be an American mage and not. Even international mages know about the wealth and power wielded by that family, though in my case, I have what you might call more personal experiences with the House family, specifically your father. He didn't send you, did he?"

I shook my head. "No. Actually, my father and I aren't even on speaking terms anymore. I was disowned some years ago and haven't even seen him since then."

James narrowed his eyes. "Oh? Mind telling me what got you disowned by your own family?"

I smiled back. "How did you put it, James? It's none of your business."

James nodded. "Touche, young man, touche."

I didn't break my smile, but deep inside I wondered how James didn't know who I was or how I got disowned by my family. I thought that was common knowledge in the magical community. Then again, James seemed to spend most of his time cooped up in a cage in a tiny room, so perhaps he didn't socialize very much. Not that his ignorance of my past failures made him any more likely to trust me, though, given how he seemed to have some kind of negative personal experiences with my family at some point in the past.

"My past doesn't matter," I said. I stepped forward, still holding Simon in my hands. "Sarah told me you could help me with a certain problem I have. Do you know of a man named John White?"

James froze as if I had just cast a freezing spell on him. "White? Did you say White?"

I nodded again. "Yes. I take it you've heard of him before?"

James made a strange cawing sound that might have been his attempt at a chuckle. "I know about him, all right. Back when I was a human, I was an Enforcer for the Government. Clashed with a lot of different criminals over the years, including a young idiot named John White. He was a small-time crook then, just trying to break into the soul smuggling business. He got away from me, despite my best efforts to catch him. You've seen him?"

"Not only have I seen him, but I've pissed him off so much that he wants to kill me," I said. "And he's the head of the Grim Reaper soul smuggling ring, which is the largest soul smuggling operation in the country."

"Looks like he not only broke into the biz but also dominated it," said James. He shuddered. "Not surprised. When I looked into his eyes all those years ago, I saw a fire in it that wouldn't be happy just smoldering. It wanted to be an inferno that would consume everything—and I do mean everything—in its path."

"That's why I need your help," I said. "Because my family disowned me, I don't really have anyone to turn to. I'm not a weak mage by any means, but even I know I can't do much against White and his gang. Can you help?"

James was silent for a moment. I wished I could read his mind, but unfortunately telepathic magic was never my strong suit, plus I couldn't have done it anyway. The mind of a familiar can only be read by the human to which it is bonded. Thus, I could read Simon's mind anytime I wanted due to our soul bond, but I could never read James' mind. Sarah could, though, because James was her familiar, but I doubted Sarah would willingly share James' thoughts with me even if I asked.

Finally, James said, "All right. I don't trust House family members as a general rule, but if Sarah trusts you, then... I can help you."

I noticed he didn't say that he trusts me. That would have pissed me off a few short years ago, but ever since getting kicked out of polite company, I'd learned that trust was something to be earned, not deserved. As long as he was willing to help me, that was all that mattered. "Thank you, James. Now I'm interested in finding out just how you will help."

James looked at Sarah. "Sarah, give him the pendant."

"Are you sure, uncle?" asked Sarah. She glanced from James to me and back again. "It's rather valuable."

"I don't mind," said James. "Can't even wear it myself anymore. It should be right there in the top drawer of my dresser."

"Why does a parrot need a dresser?" asked Simon.

"Why does a cat need eyeballs?" said James. His claws tightened on the wooden stick he stood upon. "Cats supposedly have a great sense of smell, so—"

"Fine, fine," said Simon, shaking his head. "I was just asking a question. Acting like I called your mother fat or something, geez."

James continued to glare at Simon as Sarah walked over to the dresser, opened the top drawer, and pulled out a long, fancy-looking pendant from within. She then walked over to me and handed me the pendant, saying, "Here, take this, but be careful, it's dangerous."

Shifting Simon so I could hold him with one hand, I took the pendant Sarah offered me and looked it over. It was clearly an ancient magical talisman of some sort, with the kind of exquisite metal crafting you rarely saw in modern magical amulets nowadays. It reminded me of the House family talismans, except this one had a bear designed carved into its surface.

I looked at James. "What's this?"

"An old Gomez family talisman," said James. "It will grant you a protective magical barrier if someone tries to stab you. It works once per day, so don't push your luck."

"This is it?" I said. "You don't have anything else?"

"There's nothing else I can give you," said James. "Try to be grateful. I could just as easily have not given you anything at all."

I didn't think a simple talisman would keep me as safe from White as I wanted, but I supposed it would let me walk around in public without fear of being knifed by his thugs, so I said, "Thanks. I'll make sure to wear it. And I'll make sure to give it back to you guys as soon as I solve this case."

"No problem," said James. "Just as long as it doesn't smell like that dumb cat when you're done with it."

"Hey, I don't smell that bad," said Simon. "I clean myself every day, like a civilized creature. Unlike you parrots, who smell like crap even when you clean up after yourselves."

"Say that to my face, you dumb little—"

James was interrupted by my phone suddenly ringing. The sudden ringing even made me jump, accidentally dropping Simon onto the floor in the process, though I held onto the pendant as tightly as ever.

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I looked at the screen and saw that Mr. Susan was calling me again. Puzzled, I answered the phone and said, "Hello, Mr. Susan. I'm a little busy at the moment, so if you could call me back later—"

"No time," Mr. Susan interrupted. "I need you to come meet me again, this time at my house. I've found something else in my wife's belongings which you really need to look at."

I frowned. "Sure thing, Mr. Susan, but I'll come by tomorrow—"

"No, you need to come today," Mr. Susan insisted. "Right this very instant, if you can. It is absolutely urgent."

I hesitated. Mr. Susan sounded more serious than I had ever heard him before. Yet I was hesitant to head out to his place so soon after my encounter with White. I was afraid that White's minions might be tracking me and the last thing I wanted to do was get old Mr. Susan involved in this.

Then again, White had already been working with Harriet, so Mr. Susan was already involved in this case.

So I said, "Okay, Mr. Susan. I'll be there as quickly as I can. Just hang tight and keep whatever it is you have on hand so I can see it as soon as I get there. Bye."

***
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I left Sarah's house quickly after ending my call with Mr. Susan, but rather than head down the street to find a place to teleport, I went into the garage attached to Sarah's house. When I explained to Sarah that I needed to teleport to Mr. Susan's house fast, she offered to let me teleport inside her garage because it was a private place where her amage neighbors would not be able to see me. Again, I was amazed at Sarah's generosity, which made me feel a little sorry about assuming the worst of her before I came here. I also thanked her uncle again for giving me the pendant, which I slipped around my neck and hid within my shirt for safekeeping.

After that, Simon and I teleported to Mr. Susan's house. I had never been to his house before, though I had the address, which he had given to me when he became my client. Because of my status as the Butcher of Souls, Mr. Susan normally did not want me anywhere near his home in order to avoid association with me. Normally, he either came to my office or met me in a public place like the cafe. That he asked me to come to his house told me that something serious was going on, although how serious, I did not yet know.

To be safe, I teleported into the garage of his house. One moment, I was standing in the small, tight garage of Sarah's house next to her old red convertible, and in the next, I found myself standing in the center of Mr. Susan's much larger garage, which felt more like an apartment than a garage in terms of size. I looked around at my surroundings to gain my bearings.

Mr. Susan's garage was, as I said, large and wide open. Tools—both magical and nonmagical—hung along the walls, while a shiny black sedan stood off to the side near the closed entrance. The floor was solid concrete and the lighting was fluorescent, while the Susan family crest—an arrow sticking out of an apple—hung over the entrance. The air smelled vaguely of oil and dust and Simon sneezed almost as soon as we appeared.

"Ugh," said Simon, shaking his head. He was sitting on my shoulders now, though thankfully his claws were retracted. "Why is this place so dusty? Shouldn't someone as wealthy as Mr. Susan be able to hire a maid?"

"It's a garage, Simon," I said, "what more do you expect?"

Simon opened his mouth to answer, but at that moment a door off to the side opened and Mr. Susan stepped inside. His face was paler than normal under his thick mustache and he was dressed in blue mage robes, which looked a lot more fitting on him than that weird suit he wore to meet me not too long ago. He was also visibly trembling, which made me think that whatever he had found had to be very bad.

"Ah, Mr. House," said Mr. Susan with a gulp. "I thought I heard voices in here. Glad you came so quickly."

"Not a problem, Mr. Susan," I said. "I always answer my clients' house calls as quickly as I can. Tell me what you've found."

Mr. Susan shifted uncomfortably. "I can't really tell you what it is. You need to see it for yourself. And I mean you need to see it, Mr. House, because it's not something that just anyone needs to see. You, in particular, need to see it."

Mr. Susan's clipped words and his panicky tone made me wonder exactly what he could have possibly found. But I knew better than to ask him about it now. I just followed him out of the garage and into the hallway connecting the garage to the rest of his house. Mr. Susan was surprisingly quick for a man his age and he reached the door at the end of the hall faster than me, disappearing through into the room on the other side. I followed as quickly as I could and found myself standing in what appeared to be Mr. Susan's living room.

It was smaller than the garage but much nicer than the living room of my own apartment. Paintings on the walls depicted what appeared to be family members or perhaps his ancestors from long ago, while a big chandelier hung from the ceiling above, illuminating the place nicely. The floor was covered with a thick rug and a large couch stood in the center, with two lounging chairs on either side of it and a coffee table in front of it. An arch on the other side of the room seemed to lead to the rest of the house and there was no TV, but that didn't surprise me, because mages as a general rule did not watch TV, particularly older mages like Mr. Susan. Mages could use amage technology just fine, but we had other ways of entertaining or informing ourselves that were, in my opinion, superior to amage TV.

What really caught my eye, however, was the massive pile of things on the coffee table. They appeared to be mostly letters and documents, ranging in quality from yellowed and ancient to white and practically new. Boxes full of more letters and documents dotted the area around the coffee table, while a large bag full of what appeared to be sewing materials sat on one of the recliners, leaving little room for a person to sit.

"What is all of this, Mr. Susan?" I said as Simon hopped off my shoulders and immediately began sniffing the papers. "It looks like a small archive's worth of letters and documents."

Mr. Susan stopped in front of the coffee table and began digging through the papers. "These are the various letters, documents, and paperwork my late wife collected over the years, starting from when she was just six years old. My wife was a very prolific writer, though she never wrote professionally, and she was also a great big hoarder, so I've spent every free minute I have digging through her letters and figure out what to keep and what to throw away."

"Amazing," I said. "I can't even imagine writing that much."

"Same here," said Mr. Susan without looking up at me. "My job as an aide to President McNamara means I spend a lot of time writing and reading memos and other kinds of documents, but it's my least favorite part of the job. It's quite boring."

"Is this all you wanted to show me?" I asked. "I mean, I'm sure your wife has written a lot of interesting things over the years, but I'm not sure how this relates to the case, nor does it seem important enough for you to summon me to your house like this."

"Trust me, I didn't summon you here lightly," said Mr. Susan. "Under ordinary circumstances, I wouldn't even consider asking you to come here for fear of someone seeing you. What I found is too important to put off or risk traveling with. Plus, only one of my servants is working today and she is mostly running errands around town today, so it's just you, me, and your familiar in the house today."

There was something odd about Mr. Susan's way of speaking that felt off to me. And it wasn't his rather thick Southern accent, either, which I actually liked quite a bit. I felt as though he was thinking of something else other than what we were talking about, but I pushed that out of my mind. Probably, Mr. Susan was just so concerned about whatever he wanted to show me that it was making him more anxious and afraid than usual.

"Ah, here it is," said Mr. Susan. He stood up straight, holding another letter in his hand, although this one looked like one of the more recent ones based on how white the paper was. He tossed the letter to me, which flew through the air due to a levitating spell he had cast on it.

I caught the letter in one hand and immediately unfolded it. It looked similar to the last letter Mr. Susan showed me and the handwriting was definitely his late wife's, but the contents of the letter shocked me. It was a short letter—probably less than two hundred words altogether—but I couldn't stop reading and rereading its contents over and over again, though they stayed the same each time I read them:

Dear Mr. White,

I am glad to hear that you received the shipment of souls I sent you last week. I was a little worried that the demon that came to pick them up would eat them, but Erebus was as faithful as you said he would be. I expect your payment of $100,000 by next week. You can drop it off at the usual place and I will send one of my servants to pick it up very soon.

I am also pleased to hear that the soul collection process is coming along nicely. We've been working very hard to make the Resurrection a reality for many years now and it seems like things are finally starting to come together if your reports are accurate. It is even more amazing when you consider just how little we knew we were when we first started.

Indeed, I didn't think I would even live long enough to see Lord Raith's Resurrection or his subsequent reign over the world. It will truly be a glorious sight for us to behold.

From, Harriet.

***
CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Now I understood why Mr. Susan's skin was so pale. I looked up at him in disbelief and said, "This isn't real, right? Someone other than your wife wrote it."

Mr. Susan shook his head. "No, Mr. House, I am afraid that that is a very real letter. It's not a forgery or a fake. Those words were written by my wife and that letter was sent to Mr. White. The only caveat I can add is that the letter is a copy, but that is probably obvious, given how I've already told you that Harriet always made two copies of every letter."

"What does the letter say, Noah?" said Simon. He hopped back up onto my shoulders and quickly scanned the letter with his eyes. His jaw dropped. "No way. This is a joke, right?"

"No, Simon, it is not," I said, shaking my head. "It looks like Mr. White and Harriet were actively working together to resurrect Lord Raith before her death."

My hands shook despite myself. I wasn't in danger of dropping the letter, but I did want to turn around and run away. It was a dumb feeling, but it was how I felt just the same. My mind flashed back to what that one demon at the car wreck told me, about how Raith was going to come back, and now I realized that that demon hadn't been lying at all. It appeared that some people really were working toward resurrecting Raith.

Mr. Susan sank his face into his hands. "I cannot believe it. My beautiful, lovely wife—the woman of my dreams—was part of a cult trying to bring Lord Raith back to life. Is that even possible?"

"I'm not sure," I said slowly. "Demons can come back to the mortal realm if they are killed via ordinary means. For example, shooting a demon in the head with a gun will kill it, but it will come back a few months later after it's healed up in Hell. And it will probably be pissed off and looking for revenge when it comes back, too."

Mr. Susan raised his head, looking at me with fear in his eyes. "You killed Lord Raith five years ago, didn't you? How likely is he to come back?"

"Not very," I said. "Simon and I killed him with magic. A demon killed by magic dies permanently. They don't even go back to Hell. They just die. That's why demon hunters like myself specialize in combat magic because it's our best bet at making sure these demons stay dead."

"But Harriet's letter..." Mr. Susan took a deep breath to steady himself. "She sounded so sure about the 'Resurrection,' as she called it. Do you think it's possible that the Grim Reapers have found a way to bring back Lord Raith?"

"I doubt it," I said. "What makes it even more strange is that Raith is a Demon Lord. They are already extremely rare due to how many souls a demon needs to consume in order to become one. Resurrecting them after they've already been killed with magic would take energy and power I'm not sure is even physically possible."

"Is that why they're collecting souls?" said Mr. Susan. "As part of some kind of arcane ritual to bring back Raith?"

"I can't say for sure," I said. "And this still doesn't explain why Harriet was killed or her later letter, the one you showed me yesterday, where she expressed worry about not being involved in White's plans. I think it's entirely possible that Harriet got scared at some point and wanted out. I could see White having her killed so she would not go and tell everyone about what he and his minions are doing."

Mr. Susan's lips trembled. "This is horrible, just awful. I feel like I'm in a nightmare, a nightmare I will never wake up from."

"I wouldn't worry too much if I were you, Mr. Susan," I said, lowering the letter. "Right now, I suspect that the Grim Reapers have run into some kind of problem for the resurrection ritual. That they killed Harriet and left such an obvious trail of clues means we'll be able to stop them before they try anything. I sincerely doubt they will be able to bring Raith back from the dead, but they aren't going to get a chance to try, especially if we hand these letters over to the Magical Government and let them handle this case from here."

Mr. Susan stiffened. "But if I got the Government involved in this, President McNamara would just sweep it under the rug. I already told you that this would be a huge scandal for his administration if it became common knowledge, and it would be even worse if people found out I hired you to solve it."

"I understand wanting to protect your boss and your job, but this is far more important than either," I said. "Everyone remembers Raith and how dangerous and evil he was. If someone is trying to bring him back to life, then we're going to need all the help we can get if we're going to stop them."

"Sorry, but I'm not going to tell the Government," said Mr. Susan, shaking his head. "I trust that you will be able to stop it yourself. You've killed Lord Raith once before. You can do it again."

"I don't doubt that," I said, "and trust me, I'm not a fan of the Government and I wouldn't suggest contacting them unless it was serious."

"They'll never believe you, even if you showed them the letters," said Mr. Susan. "We should handle this ourselves."

"Kind of agree with Mr. Susan here, Noah," said Simon. "You know how the Government is. With the current political situation, I doubt those idiots would do anything even if they believed you. President McNamara would probably bury it until after the election. Which works out great for him, because even if he loses, he can just buck the problem off to your brother."

I gritted my teeth. "Don't even mention Eric. I'm absolutely sure he'd find some way to spin this in his favor. We're not going to him for help unless we have no choice."

"Starting to look like it, huh?" said Simon.

Before I could respond to that, Mr. Susan cleared his throat and said, "So, what do you intend to do about this, Mr. House?"

I looked at Mr. Susan again. For some reason, his skin was still pale and he was still trembling. "Find out where the Grim Reapers are planning to resurrect Raith and stop them. Might go to the Government with this information, too, but I'm not sure about that after everything we discussed. As for you, Mr. Susan, I'd recommend just laying low like you've been doing. Last thing we need is for you to draw too much attention to yourself, especially from the Grim Reapers."

Mr. Susan gulped. "You're worried about the Grim Reapers getting to me, huh?"

"Yeah," I said. "They're scary as hell, even to a battle-hardened fighter like me. I can't imagine how scary they must be to a guy like you. Not that I am trying to insult you or anything, but you don't strike me as much of a fighter."

Mr. Susan looked down and rubbed his hands together. He seemed to be steeling himself for something. "You're right, Mr. House. I'm not much of a fighter, nor am I particularly brave, either. Don't know why my wife loved me. And maybe she never did, if these letters are accurate. Maybe she just married me so she could have money that she could use to buy and sell souls. I'm pretty well off, after all."

"Maybe," I said, "but it doesn't matter. One way or another, I'll find and stop your wife's killer. This letter is a big help because now I have an idea of why someone would want to kill your wife."

Suddenly, Mr. Susan looked back up at me, but now there was regret in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Mr. House... no, Noah."

I raised an eyebrow. "What are you sorry for? You haven't offended me or anything."

"I'm not apologizing for what I've done," said Mr. Susan, "but what is about to happen. I just wanted to apologize in advance."

Before I could ask Mr. Susan what he meant, the lights in the chandelier suddenly went off and the room was plunged into darkness. Simon let out a surprised meow, while I looked around wildly, saying, "Mr. Susan, what happened to the—"

I was interrupted by a solid blow to the back of the head. It felt like someone had swung a baseball bat into the back of my head, knocking me flat off my feet onto the carpeted floor. I felt Simon jump off my shoulders and heard him make a strange hissing sound at someone before I heard another smack and then felt something soft fall down next to me.

It was Simon. I couldn't see him in the darkness, but our connection between us meant that I could sense whenever he was awake or not. Right now, he seemed to be totally unconscious and perhaps in pain, too, but the pain I was experiencing overwhelmed whatever pain I felt from Simon.

"Simon?" I said, pushing myself up. "Simon, are you okay? Can you hear me? Simon—"

A thick boot came out of the darkness and smashed into the side of my face. It knocked me back down onto the floor and then I felt a large foot slam down on my back, pinning me to the floor.

A second later, the lights turned back on and I could finally see my surroundings again, although now I wished I couldn't.

Simon lay on the floor a couple of feet away from me, his purple eyes closed and his body very still. There was a bump on his head from whatever had hit him, but other than that he seemed unharmed. Still, I knew that Simon, being a cat, wasn't as tough as me, so I was worried about his health just the same.

My own face hurt from where I had been kicked and I couldn't tell if my nose was broken or just bloody. I tried to touch it, but then the boot on my back stamped down and I gasped.

"No sudden moves, Butcher," said a harsh voice above me. "Try anything and I'll crush your skull like a grape."

Trying to breathe, I looked over my shoulder and was astonished to see a white-haired demon standing above me. It was the same demon from the car crash, except it looked bulkier now for some reason as if it had gained a lot of muscle recently. It was smiling down at me with a wolfish grin and its white teeth appeared to be stained with blood, which made my skin crawl just looking at it.

"What..." I found it hard to speak due to the pain in my face. "What are you doing here? How did you get in without either me or Mr. Susan noticing?"

The demon's grin grew broader. "Perhaps you didn't notice, but Mr. Susan certainly did. In fact, he invited me into his house himself."

I looked up at Mr. Susan. "Carter, is that demon telling the truth?"

Mr. Susan was trembling like a can of soda about to explode. He couldn't meet my eyes as he said, "Yes, I did, but only because he threatened to kill me if I didn't."

"Quite correct," said the demon, his sharp teeth poking out from his hideous mouth. "And it was all because you, my dear Butcher, could not keep your nose out of our business."

"Your business?" I said. "You don't mean—"

"I do," the demon interrupted me. "The Resurrection of Lord Raith himself."

***
CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"So you are trying to resurrect Lord Raith," I said with a gasp. "I knew it."

"Indeed," said the demon. He increased the pressure of his boot on my back, making me grunt. "And we've been working toward it ever since you killed Lord Raith five years ago. It has been a long road to get here, longer due to the secrecy in which we've had to operate, but we are now closer than ever to achieving that goal, thanks in no small part to the help of Carter Susan's wife."

"You mean Harriet really was supplying you with souls this entire time?" said Mr. Susan in shock. "Those letters—"

"Every word written within them was true," said the demon. His grin somehow became even more demonic. "Why so shocked? I thought you knew your wife well. Or did you never bother to pay attention to the kind of people she associated with?"

"But... why?" said Mr. Susan with a gulp. "Why would Harriet do that?"

The demon chuckled. "Because not all humans hate demons, my friend. There exists within your precious magical community a secret cult dedicated to the worship and resurrection of Lord Raith. It is an old faith, extending back farther than any of you humans can even imagine, and it has its fingers in nearly every magical institution in your country. It has no name, but its members refer to themselves as Raisers as a reference to their mission."

"And my wife... my wife was a member of this cult?" said Mr. Susan with a pale face.

"Of course," said the demon. "And not merely a member. Her family has a history of being involved with the Raisers. Her father was the last leader of it. She was simply continuing on a proud family tradition, though one she apparently did not want to involve you with, given your ignorance."

"But her letter," said Mr. Susan wildly. "The one where she talked about not wanting anything to do with White anymore."

The demon chuckled again, this time far more dangerously. "She lost her way, I am afraid to say. At some point, her human fear of death kicked in and she wanted out. She didn't want to be involved in it anymore, perhaps because she was afraid of what you might say if you found out what she did. Or maybe she was afraid you wouldn't be allowed to join her in Lord Raith's empire, which he will build once he returns to this world."

Tears began to appear in the corners of Mr. Susan's eyes. "And you killed her because of it, didn't you?"

The demon nodded. "Indeed. Once a Raiser, always a Raiser. And if you ever want out, then you forfeit not just your life, but your soul. Worry not, however, Mr. Susan, because your wife's soul did not go to waste. It is but one of the souls which will aid in the Resurrection of Lord Raith, which is a noble thing indeed."

"Noble?" Mr. Susan repeated. "You're insane. Give me back my wife's soul. Give it back now."

The demon shook his head. "No. And if you try to stop me from killing the Butcher, then I'll kill you, too. Got it?"

Mr. Susan hesitated. I could tell that he wanted to attack the demon and avenge his wife's death, but it was equally clear to me that the demon was more powerful than him. I couldn't really blame Mr. Susan for that. Most mages weren't very good at fighting demons and typically went out of their way to avoid fighting them. Only a fairly small number of mages, such as myself, were any good at fighting them, which I suppose was the reason the demons were trying to kill me.

"As for you, Butcher," said the demon, looking down at me suddenly, "don't think I have forgotten about you already. Oh, no, I certainly have not."

"Are you going to steal my soul, too?" I said. I didn't bother to move under him, but my mind was racing as I tried to come up with some way to get the demon off me without getting hurt. "Use it to resurrect Raith?"

"Please," said the demon, shaking his head again. "Lord Raith would rather stay dead for eternity than accept your soul as part of his. No, I'm here for the very simple task of killing you in cold blood, as you deserve. It is a task I will do happily because every demon in Hell dreams of killing the legendary Butcher and I am no different. Once I finish you, my standing in Hell will increase substantially and I will be known throughout the world as the Avenger of Lord Raith."

"You're mad," I said.

"Mad?" the demon repeated. "What is mad about wanting to kill the worst enemy to the demon race in over a hundred years? No, Butcher, you are the mad one if you think you are going to live long enough to see Raith's Resurrection."

The demon pulled a large, jagged black knife out of a sheath at his side and held it above his head. "Enough babbling. It is time to let your blood run free and for the whole world to know that the Butcher is dead and Lord Raith will rise again."

Right before the demon could bring his knife down on me, however, a fireball came out of nowhere and struck him directly in the face. The demon roared in pain and staggered backward, dropping his knife and clutching his now-burning face with both hands, cursing foully under his breath as he reeled from the blow.

Surprised and confused, I nonetheless rolled over next to Simon, who was still unconscious and quickly checked on him to make sure he was okay. Luckily, Simon was still breathing when I checked on him, which was a relief because I hadn't been entirely sure he had survived that previous blow from the demon. I did, however, find myself wondering who had thrown that fireball at the demon because I certainly hadn't and Simon was still unconscious and unable to perform any magic.

That was when I heard a grunt and I looked up. Mr. Susan had not moved from where he stood, but now he held his hands up. The tips of his fingers were smoking like he had just pulled them out of a burning fire. He was still trembling but otherwise seemed unharmed.

"Mr. Susan?" I said in surprise. "Did you just shoot that fireball?"

Mr. Susan nodded shakily. "I-I did. I am sorry for betraying you. I didn't mean it. The demon forced me to at the threat of death. I'm so, so sorry."

"It's not a problem," I said, "but why did you save me?"

"When he started talking about Harriet," said Mr. Susan. His hands lowered to his side and balled into shaking fists. "He stole Harriet's soul and spoke so horribly of her that I couldn't stand it. I'm not much of a fighter, but even I can be pushed to violence sometimes, especially if they speak badly of my loved ones."

I was about to thank Mr. Susan for his bravery when I heard an inhuman shriek behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I saw the demon had removed its hands from its face. Although it didn't have a pretty face before, its face was now even worse, scarred and blackened from the fireball which Mr. Susan had launched at it. Frankly, I was surprised that the demon was still standing at all, but then again, demons could take a lot more punishment, even magical punishment, than your average human.

"So you grew a pair of balls when I insulted your wife," said the demon with a hiss. "I will admit you took me by surprise with that little trick, but you should have made sure to kill me because you won't live long enough to regret that mistake."

With that, the demon stepped back into the shadows and disappeared before our startled eyes.

"Where did he go?" said Mr. Susan, looking around wildly. "Did he run away?"

A sense of ominousness ran down my spine as I summoned my blue energy blade. "Can't have. He wasn't that badly hurt and he wouldn't make a threat like that unless—"

With a shriek, the demon flew out of the shadows behind Mr. Susan and rammed its fist through his stomach. Mr. Susan gasped in pain and looked down at the bloody, clawed demonic fist poking out of his stomach with an expression of confusion and pain.

"As I said, Carter Susan, you should have made sure to kill me with that little fireball of yours," the demon whispered in his ear, "because demons never forgive or forget. You have now learned why your kind fears mine."

The demon jerked its fist out of Mr. Susan's stomach. Mr. Susan collapsed onto the floor instantly, gasping in pain and clutching his open wound, disappearing behind the coffee table out of my sight.

"Mr. Susan!" I cried. "No!"

I launched myself over the top of the sofa and landed in front of the demon. I swung my energy sword at him, but the demon sank back into the shadows, laughing all the while.

"Sorry, Butcher of Souls, but I'm not going to take my chances with you today," said the demon's voice from the shadows, which sounded like a distorted echo of its normal self now. "Killing you would earn me great glory, but I know I can't beat you in a straight fight. But I won't need to, because Lord Raith's return is imminent."

"What are you talking about?" I said, nearly shouted. "Get back here!"

But the only response was more mocking laughter as the demon went deeper and deeper into the shadows of Mr. Susan's fireplace. Then his laughter was gone, leaving me standing alone by myself.

Well, alone save for the wounded and bleeding Mr. Susan. Tossing my sword aside, I dropped to my knees and flipped Mr. Susan over onto his back. I grimaced when I inhaled the stink of blood from his wound, as well as the size and shape of the hole. From what I could tell, it went straight through Mr. Susan's stomach, which must have hurt like hell, yet Mr. Susan was not crying or screaming, though that made me wonder if he was already dead.

But then Mr. Susan coughed and his eyes flickered open. Pain stood out on his aged face, making him look even older than he already did. He was breathing in and out, every breath seeming to take great effort on his part.

"Mr. Susan," I said, kneeling over him, "Mr. Susan, how do you feel? Can you hear me?"

Mr. Susan nodded, albeit slowly and painfully. "I... I can, Mr. House, but... oh, the pain..."

I ran a hand through my hair. I knew some healing spells, but they were basic ones, designed to deal with easier wounds than what the demon had inflicted on Mr. Susan. I couldn't simply cast a spell to heal his torn organs, although I could close the holes on either side of his body. But that wouldn't be enough to save him.

"Mr. Susan, I'll go for help," I said, rising to my feet. "I'll find one of your servants and—"

Mr. Susan, however, reached up and grabbed my wrist. His grip was surprisingly strong, making me stay where I was. I looked down at him in surprise, staring into his old eyes, which still burned with life, although it was clear that he was rapidly losing what little life he had left.

"Don't, Noah," said Mr. Susan. He coughed and hacked. "It's too late. I'm dying and there's not a healing spell in the world which can save me."

"But—"

"Take the letters," said Mr. Susan. He gestured at the box on the coffee table. "I-I didn't get a chance to look over them all, but m-maybe there's a clue to the Raisers' location there. Something which you can use to stop them from r-resurrecting Lord Raith and—"

Mr. Susan suddenly began hacking and spluttering. He let go of my wrist and put his hands over his wound, even though that did little to staunch the flow of blood.

"No, Mr. Susan, I need to get you help first," I said. "Your life matters more than some letters."

"Take them," Mr. Susan gasped. "There's nothing you or anyone can do for me, Noah. Take those letters and read them. Do it for Harriet... do it for my wife... my poor wife... God bless her soul..."

The light in Mr. Susan's eyes went away and his head lolled to the side. I didn't need to check his pulse to know that he was dead.

***
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Mr. Susan died with his eyes open, but I closed them before standing up. I was pretty used to death—both demon slaying and detective work weren't exactly white collar professions—but I rarely ever saw a client die on the spot like this in front of me, much less under these circumstances. Death did not shake me as much as other people, but even I found Mr. Susan's death disturbing, not in the least because of the reasons why he died.

But stopping Raith's resurrection was the farthest thing from my mind at the moment. Right now, Mr. Susan's death shook me. I was not particularly close to him, but he was a good man and his death took me by surprise.

I also wanted to kill that demon who killed him. I didn't understand what the hell that demon meant when he said I wouldn't have any time to stop the Raisers. I would definitely have as much time as I wanted to stop them, because I had nothing else to do, especially after my most recent client was killed right in front of my eyes.

My job had become a lot bigger than just find the killer of someone's wife. I was now facing the return of the most powerful and dangerous Demon Lord to have ever existed, the one I killed myself five years ago. And I was the only one in any position to stop it.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a doorknob turning behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I saw a short, gray-haired old lady in a maid's dress enter the room, saying, "Mr. Susan, are you all right? I just arrived at the mansion a few minutes ago when I heard someone screaming. Did you hit your shin against the coffee table again or—"

The old maid stopped speaking as soon as she saw the dead Carter Susan lying at my feet.

"Mr. Susan?" said the maid in a horrified tone of voice. "Mr. Susan, what happened to you? He's—"

Her eyes darted up to me and recognition dawned in her eyes. "I know you. You are the Butcher of Souls. You're the man Mr. Susan hired to solve the murder of his wife."

"Yeah," I said, holding up my hands, "I am, but—"

"Did you kill him?" the maid interrupted me. She put her hand over her mouth. "Oh my God. You killed him in cold blood in his own living room. I have always heard the rumors about the Butcher, but I never knew they were true!"

Uh oh. "Listen, lady, it's not what it looks—"

But the maid didn't even bother to listen to me. She just screamed and ran out the window, shouting for help as she rushed as far away from me as her short old legs could carry her. I held out a hand toward her uselessly and sighed.

"Not good," I said under my breath. "I should probably leave before she calls the Government and they send in some Enforcers."

I turned to walk back to Simon, but paused and looked at the cardboard box full of letters written by Harriet Susan. I remembered Mr. Susan's last words, about how I should take them and study their contents for any clues about the Raiser, but a part of me still hesitated. It felt like robbing the dead because I felt like these belonged to Mr. Susan and his family. It would not be right of me to take them, regardless of how helpful they might be to my investigation.

Then again, Mr. Susan did ask me to take them. He wanted me to study their contents so I could avenge his wife's death and stop Raith from coming back to life. And I had a policy of always accommodating my clients' requests, no matter how ludicrous or strange they might seem.

So I picked up the box and held it under one arm, intending to read through the letters as soon as I got back home. For now, I needed to get Simon and get us both out of here before Government Enforcers showed up and try to arrest us.

Because there was no way I would be able to explain this to the Enforcers, not when I already had a reputation as a Butcher of Souls.

-

Half an hour later, Simon and I sat on the couch in the living room of my apartment. Simon was conscious now after I had revived him with a simple awakening spell that also healed whatever damage the demon's blow to his head had done. Even so, Simon complained about having a really bad headache, though there was nothing I could do about that because I didn't know a headache-clearing spell. Mom did, but obviously, I couldn't just take Simon to Mom and ask her to heal him like I could when I was a kid. It was another reminder of my separation from my family and made me wish I had asked Mom to teach me that spell before I was disowned.

In any event, I didn't need to explain to Simon everything that happened after he got knocked out, because as my familiar, he shared a mental link to my memories that allowed him to know and remember what I knew and I remembered. When he woke up, I shared my memories of the fight with the demon and Mr. Susan's death.

"I can't believe it," said Simon. He was sitting next to me on the couch, his ears down on his head. "How many detectives ever have a client die on them like that? And right in front of them, too? Crazy, man, just crazy."

I sat back and sipped on my water bottle because I had become suddenly parched after my adrenaline faded and was getting a little tired now. "Tell me about it. But it's much worse than that. If what that demon said was true, then there is a secret cult in the highest institutions of our community working to bring Raith back to life."

"Gotta be careful with demons, though," said Simon. "Demons always lie, especially if they think they'll benefit from it. He might have just been saying that to rile you up."

"Doubt it," I said. I nodded at the box of letters on the coffee table before us. "Harriet Susan's letters are evidence enough that some kind of conspiracy to bring back Raith to life exists. The only question is, who, exactly, is involved and how do we stop them?"

"I don't know," said Simon with a shrug of his little shoulders. "I didn't even know demons would be trying to bring Raith back. Demons are notoriously ambitious. Remember the reports from Hell about how all of the Demon Generals started fighting among each other when Raith died? And they're still divided and fighting each other, with no end in sight. I can't imagine any demon, even a mindless lower class one, sincerely attempting to raise Raith from the dead when that would just mean more competition for the title of Demon Lord."

"I would agree with you if I hadn't just heard a demon say that to my face," I said. "Fact is, there's at least one demon, plus an unknown number of mages, working together to bring Raith back to life. And we have to stop them and stop them now before they get any farther in their insane plans."

"I agree, but first we have to actually find them," said Simon. "Which, as you have already noted, is harder than it looks. We can't even go to the Government for help, because they won't listen to us, especially if this cult is real."

"They probably wouldn't listen to us even if I wasn't the Butcher," I said grimly. "One of Mr. Susan's maids saw me and assumed I was the guy who killed Mr. Susan. I tried to correct her, but she wouldn't listen and ran away. She'll probably report me as the murderer of Mr. Susan to the Government."

"Oh, geez, I didn't even think of that," said Simon. He sighed. "Well, it looks all our shit just hit the fan at the same time, huh? Unless this is a nightmare we're both experiencing at the same time, which is entirely possible given the connection between our—"

Simon was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. Both of us started and looked up at the door to my apartment, but the knocking did not let up. Whoever it was sounded like they really wanted to come in and wanted to come in now.

"Who's that?" Simon asked in a hiss of a whisper. "Clarissa?"

"Can't be," I said in an equally low whisper. "At least, I doubt it. She doesn't have any reason to come see me."

"Then who could it be?" said Simon.

"I'll go and look," I said, "but if it's a demon or Raiser, I want you to be ready for a fight, okay?"

Simon nodded and got down into a crouch, which was his usual battle stance. Nodding, I rose from the chair and walked over to the front door. I peered through the peephole, but to my puzzlement, I did not see anyone on the other side. The hallway outside appeared to be entirely empty, which was odd because I thought I had just heard someone knocking on the door.

"I don't see anyone," I said, looking back over at Simon. "The hallway is empty."

"Maybe it's a prank?" said Simon. "That couple with the bratty teenage son just moved down the hall a few doors. That kid tortures me every time he sees me. Bet he did it."

"Doubt it," I said. "That kid should be in school right now. I'll step outside and look for a moment."

I undid the locks and opened the door, but when I did, a dove suddenly flew into my apartment at my face. I ducked, allowing the dove to fly past me harmlessly, and looked over my shoulder as the bird flew in a circle around the ceiling light before landing on the flat screen TV opposite the couch. The dove ruffled its feathers and sat very still, looking almost like a statue of a bird than an actual living creature.

"What the hell?" said Simon, staring at the dove in confusion. "A dove? Do we even have doves around here?"

Frowning, I closed the door and said, "No, I don't think so. But you can't eat it. I'll try to catch it with a spell and release it outside."

I raised my hand to cast a sleep spell that would knock out the dove harmlessly, but then the dove suddenly exploded into a sphere of bright light. I covered my eyes with my hands to protect my vision, while Simon cried out in surprise on the couch.

But the light was gone in an instant, allowing me to lower my hands and see what had happened.

The dove was gone. Standing in front of the TV was a tall, muscular man with flowing blond hair. Golden armor fitted his body like a second skin, and underneath the armor, I could see soft, silky white clothing that was clearly not of human origin. His chiseled features and golden eyes made him unreal, like a sculpture rather than a real being.

But what really tipped me off to his otherworldly nature were the wings folded behind his back. They were as white as snow and were taller than even him, nearly brushing against the ceiling of my small apartment. He also had a golden sword sheathed at his side, though I could tell he didn't need his sword to defend himself.

"You're an angel," I said, staring in disbelief at the man.

The man smiled, revealing perfectly white, shining teeth. "Correct. To be more specific, I am Ophaniel, head of the Angelic Guard, and I am here to retrieve that which was stolen from the Vaults of Heaven, something which you might be able to help me find."

***
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I couldn't believe my eyes. I was staring at an actual angel. Demons were rare enough as it is, but angels were practically mythic, even though I had run into an angel or two during my time as a demon slayer, though the last time I saw an angel was before the Feast of Souls four years ago. Angels were usually a lot nicer to humans than demons, but they were also much rarer, rarely coming to Earth and even more rarely showing themselves to human beings. And, like demons, angels were also absurdly powerful. Even a Master Mage posed little threat to your average angel in terms of sheer magical power.

That an angel stood here, in my living room, felt a little unreal. At the same time, however, I didn't let my awe distract me. Angels may not have been as hostile as demons, but they could still be very cruel when they saw fit. Plus, angels had a tendency to treat humans with condescension, mostly because angels considered themselves higher up in the universal pecking order than us.

"Ophaniel," I repeated. "Never heard that name before. Or of the Angelic Guard."

"Not surprising," said Ophaniel. He brushed back some of his perfect hair. "Your kind knows very little about my kind, aside from what we have chosen to share with you over the centuries. It can make communicating with you mortals a little tedious because you know so little in comparison to us. Honestly, I sometimes wonder how you humans manage at all given your ignorance, but I suppose you make do."

There was that angelic condescension I had grown to hate. "Well, I don't remember giving you permission to enter my apartment, Ophaniel. You just let yourself in."

Ophaniel frowned, yet even then he still looked majestic. "I do not understand. I knocked on the door and you opened it. I took that as a sign you wanted to let me inside. Is that not how humans typically let each other know they want to enter their dwelling spaces?"

I ran a hand through my hair. I had forgotten how angels had such a hard time grasping even the most basic of human social rules and how irritating that could be when dealing with them. "It's a bit more complicated than that. You should have been waiting for me to open the door and then said hello and asked if you could enter first."

Ophaniel shook his head. "For such simple creatures, you certainly have complex rules for social interactions. I now understand why most of my people don't have regular, direct contact with your kind. Still, I will try to remember that next time I knock at your door or the door of any other human."

I wasn't sure whether to take offense at Ophaniel for calling humans 'simple creatures' or accept his apology and let it go. I just made a grunting noise which I hoped Ophaniel would understand to mean I accepted his apology and said, "Right. Well, I guess it's too late to kick you out of my apartment—"

"Not that you could," Ophaniel pointed out. "Our power levels are drastically different. If anything, I could be the one kicking you out of this apartment, thanks to my superior strength."

"He's got a point, Noah," said Simon. He had relaxed a bit now, though I noticed he still seemed ready to jump at a moment's notice. "With those muscles of his, he wouldn't even need to use magic to do it."

I glared at Simon. "Who's side are you on?"

Simon shrugged. "Just making an honest observation here. I don't mean anything by it."

"The cat speaks truth," said Ophaniel. "But I will refrain from speaking about the superiority of my power over yours. Besides, I wouldn't want this apartment of yours anyway. It is nothing compared to the palaces of Heaven, which make even Earth's best castles look like toy bricks stacked on top of each other. I highly recommend that you visit sometime. It would be quite fun, far more fun than anything this world has to offer."

I ran my hand through my hair again and wondered what would happen if I called the police and told them that an angel had forced his way into my apartment. They would probably laugh and tell me to stop doing drugs.

Shaking my head, I said, "Whatever. Look, what are you doing here? You mentioned something about an Angelic Guard and something being stolen from the 'Vaults of Heaven.' I have no idea what any of that means."

"Forgive me for not explaining what I meant," said Ophaniel with a humble bow. "I am simply unused to speaking with humans, even though I have a lot more experience interacting with human beings than most angels. I'll start from the beginning, as you humans say."

Ophaniel stood up. "As I have already said, I am the Captain of the Angelic Guard."

I folded my arms in front of my chest. "And as I have already said, I don't know what that is."

"The Angelic Guard is Heaven's best defense force against the forces of Hell," said Ophaniel, drawing himself up to his full, rather considerable height, the tips of his wings brushing against the ceiling. "Only the best of the best angels may be admitted into its ranks, and even then, our standards are strict and uncompromising. I've had to send away more than one angel over the years who failed to understand and appreciate the seriousness and competency we expect of all our members. Our mission is simple: Protect Heaven and Earth from Hell's demons."

I frowned. "That's nice, but here on Earth, we mages do that already, and have been doing a fine job of it so far, in my opinion."

Ophaniel chuckled. "You think the demons you've fought are the best that Hell has to offer? The beasts we've fought, the monsters we've slain, they are as high above you as you humans are above ants. There are certain forces which humanity is completely unequipped to deal with. And besides, not every mage has killed a Demon Lord like yourself, Noah."

I paused. "You know I killed Raith?"

"Everyone does," said Ophaniel simply. "The death of a Demon Lord is not an irrelevant event and news of it spread to Heaven and Hell just as quickly as it did on Earth. And the death of a Demon Lord at the hands of a human, of all things, is an even rarer event. The whole hosts of Heaven spoke of nothing but the human being Noah House who slew the Demon Lord Raith for many months afterward. Still, to this day, many angels speak of you in hushed tones, though I will admit many are skeptical that you did it and think perhaps you had aid from an angel."

"Do you think I did it myself?" I asked. "Or are you skeptical?"

Ophaniel smiled. "I was skeptical at first, but when I looked into it, I realized it was true. Unlike my fellow angels, I've always been aware that humanity, despite being such a lowly race, is not to be underestimated. Indeed, your killing of Raith is what first made me aware of you, because I myself have clashed with Raith's forces and Raith himself over the years, but never been able to defeat him conclusively one way or another, though I've thrown wrenches into his plans and helped avert far worse catastrophes which you will never know of."

I nodded. As I said, angels were a lot more mysterious than demons, so I didn't know how much of what Ophaniel said was true and how much was false. But much of what he said fit in with what I already knew about angels, so I figured he was telling me the truth. Still, I kept my guard up, because I knew from experience that supernatural beings—angelic, demonic, or otherwise—could not be entirely trusted, if only due to their alien and very non-human minds and senses of morality.

"Back to the Angelic Guard," said Ophaniel. "As the Captain of the Angelic Guard, I lead my fellow Guardsmen in defense of Heaven and Earth from the forces of Hell. Part of this job requires setting aside a certain number of the Guard to protect the Vaults of Heaven."

"And what are those?" I said.

"The Vaults of Heaven are where powerful supernatural knowledge and weapons are kept," Ophaniel replied. "They are the most secure vaults in the entire universe, much more secure than anything a human could come up with. Behind their massive doors are objects and weapons the likes of which you humans cannot even imagine. Even I can barely comprehend the powers which lie behind their doors, power which could turn men into gods and angels and demons into beings even higher than gods."

"Interesting," I said. "You said something was stolen from these Vaults recently. By who?"

Ophaniel nodded. "Correct. As for who stole from the Vaults, we don't know for sure, but we suspect it was a demon, a member of the cult called Raiser, which is dedicated to raising Lord Raith back from the dead. Somehow—perhaps with help from a traitor within the Guard—the demon broke into the Vault and stole a very valuable and dangerous weapon."

"What kind of weapon we're talking about here?" I said. "And just one weapon?"

Ophaniel smiled grimly. "The weapon of which I speak is one you should know about because you have some personal experience with it if I am not mistaken. It is the sword of Lord Raith, which you know of as Soulstealer."

My eyes widened. "You have to be joking. I thought that weapon went missing after Raith's death."

Ophaniel shook his head. "No. When Lord Raith died, I sent a member of the Angelic Guard to retrieve his weapon and bring it back to Heaven, where we stored it within the Vaults in order to ensure that no other demon or Demon Lord would ever use it again."

Now it made sense. I remembered, in the aftermath of Lord Raith's death, wondering what happened to the Soulstealer. I thought it might have somehow ended up in the hands of a profit-minded demon who was waiting to sell it on the black market for great money, but hearing that some angels apparently took it for safekeeping made a lot more sense. It explained where it had been for the last five years, at least.

"And now you say it has been stolen," I said. "Right?"

"Right," said Ophaniel, nodding again. "This is the first successful theft from the Vaults in over a thousand years. And it all happened under my watch."

Ophaniel sounded bitter when he said that as if he considered his failure to protect Soulstealer was a reflection of his own leadership capabilities. I could understand that because I felt disappointed by my own failure to protect Mr. Susan. Maybe Ophaniel was more human than he let on.

"Why did you come to me about this?" I said, putting my hands on my waist. "I have no idea where Soulstealer is. I didn't even know it had been stolen until you told me."

"Because you are the Killer of Lord Raith," said Ophaniel. He stepped forward, holding his hands together as if in prayer. "Plus, I have been informed by certain angels watching you that you are investigating the cult which we believe is responsible for stealing Soulstealer, so I was hoping you might have some more information on the location of the weapon or the cult."

I stroked my chin. I refrained from glancing at the box of Harriet's letters on the coffee table because I still didn't entirely trust Ophaniel and I was worried he might take the letters if he knew how important they were. Angels were nowhere near as evil as demons, but that didn't mean they were perfectly righteous or that you could always trust them or that our interests always aligned. It was always good to have a degree of caution when dealing with the supernatural, no matter how nice they might seem.

"Sorry, but I'm just as clueless about the location of the cult as you are," I said with a shrug. "All I know for sure is that they are trying to resurrect Lord Raith. Do you think Soulstealer might be able to help them with that?"

"Possibly," said Ophaniel, "but I'm not sure. You killed Lord Raith with magic, yes? So he should not be able to come back to life."

"I did, yeah," I said vaguely. "Still, the demon I spoke, as well as Mr. White, seemed really convinced that they were going to pull it off. That's not much in the way of evidence, but I thought you should know what they said anyway."

Ophaniel brushed back some of his long blond hair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "How could they possibly be planning to resurrect Lord Raith? They couldn't possibly be... no, that's ridiculous..."

"What's ridiculous?" I said, leaning forward interestedly.

Ophaniel stopped brushing his hair and looked at me with a face like stone. "Nothing you mortals are allowed to know. Besides, it's just idle speculation at this point. I dislike speculating on anything, because speculation is wrong more often than not, even when we angels do it."

What a liar. I could tell Ophaniel hadn't just been speculating just then, that he knew of one way the Raisers could resurrect their lord, but he apparently did not trust me enough to share it with me. Typical angel behavior. Act mysteriously and then, when a lowly human asks, explain that the mysteries of the supernatural are simply too big for our tiny pea brains to understand and that we should just stop asking questions and accept our place in the greater hierarchy of the universe or whatever.

"I see," I said. "Because it looks like we're on the same page now, maybe it's time for you to leave. I've got some stuff to do and I can't do it with your teeth shining like a lighthouse over there."

"Very well," said Ophaniel. "I can tell you've told me as much as you are ever going to tell me. Besides, you're not the only lead I have in this mortal realm. Perhaps my other leads will prove more fruitful."

Ophaniel suddenly plucked a feather from his wings and threw it toward me like a dart. I caught the soft, white feather and looked down at it in puzzlement.

"What is this?" I said, looking up at Ophaniel again.

"One of my feathers," said Ophaniel. "While holding it, simply say my name and I will be summoned to your side right away. You can also use it to communicate with me. That way, if you find any more evidence about the Raisers, you can let me know so we can work together."

I cracked a grin. "Thanks, but no thanks. I work alone, aside from Simon, obviously."

"No man is an island," Ophaniel shot back. "I believe that's the phrase you humans use, yes? It means you can't do everything on your own and that we all need allies if we're going to solve our problems."

"Would you just get out of here?" I said, barely able to hide my annoyance. "I didn't want you in here in the first place and I don't want you in here anymore."

"Very well," said Ophaniel. He bowed. "Goodbye, Noah House. With luck, the next time we see each other, the Soulstealer will be back in the Vaults where it belongs and Lord Raith will still be dead."

Ophaniel turned into a dove again and flew through the open window, leaving me and Simon alone in the living room of my apartment again, his feather still in my hands.

***
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

"What a self-righteous prick," I said, dropping the feather on the coffee table and folding my arms in front of my chest. "He lets himself into my apartment without my permission, acts like he's so much better than me, and then leaves. If he could just fly through the window, why did he need to knock at all?"

"I don't know," said Simon, his tail swishing back and forth behind him, "probably for the same reason you teleported into your dad's study that one time when he wouldn't open the door and let you in."

"I was ten back then," I replied. "Ophaniel is probably hundreds, if not thousands, of years old. We're completely different."

"Actually, I think the two of you would make great friends if you could get over your egos," said Simon with an amused smirk. "Then again, I have a feeling that if I left you two alone in a room for more than five seconds, you'd probably kill each other."

I rolled my eyes and walked back around the coffee table and plopped down next to Simon again. Taking one of Harriet's letters, I said, "There's no way I could ever be friends with an angel. After all, I am but a mere mortal, whose lifespan is but a brief flash in the endless abyss known as history. That's probably what Ophaniel would say if I asked him."

"You don't need to be friends with Ophaniel to benefit from him," Simon pointed out. "Having an angel—and the head of the Angelic Guard, even—on our side investigating the same thing we are is a nice turn of events from the disastrous last twenty-four hours. Angels are supposed to be really good at tracking down demons and stuff. This will make it easier for us to solve this case and stop the Raisers."

I sighed. "I guess you have a point, but I still don't think I will ever truly trust him. I got the feeling that he wasn't telling us everything he knew."

"You didn't tell him everything we know, either," said Simon. He gestured at the letters with his head. "Those letters Harriet Susan wrote, for example. You didn't even mention them to him."

"It's because I'm not entirely sure we can trust him just yet," I said. "He may be an angel, but angels often have agendas of their own, as you know."

"Oh, do I ever," said Simon with a sigh. "Even so, you have to admit that having an angel on our side is good, even if we aren't entirely sure what he is trying to do. Better than having him as an enemy, at least."

"Maybe so," I said, "but just because he's not an enemy doesn't mean he's an ally."

"What I find most troubling is the fact that the Raisers have Soulstealer," said Simon. "You remember how much trouble that weapon gave us all the way back then, don't you?"

I nodded, but said nothing, because thinking of Soulstealer reminded me of the past before I killed Lord Raith. Soulstealer could, as its name clearly stated, steal the souls of anyone who was stabbed with it. Prior to his death, Lord Raith had used Soulstealer to steal and devour the souls of humans, which made him stronger. Indeed, Soulstealer was one of the main reasons Lord Raith had been so difficult defeat because every soul he ate just made him stronger. Sometimes, whenever I thought back to that final battle, I felt more like I got lucky than anything, given how it would have taken just one slash from Soulstealer to rip my soul from my body and kill me for good.

Soulstealer's real power, however, lay in the fact that it could steal the souls of angels and demons as well. It was why so many beings—human, angel, demon, or otherwise—feared Raith because he had used Soulstealer to take the souls of angels and demons in addition to the souls of humans.

"That does explain how people are losing their souls, though," I said as I leaned back in my couch. "The demon who stole Soulstealer must have used it to kill Harriet and that lady in that car. Probably that same demon we saw at the car crash, as well as the one who killed Mr. Susan."

"But I don't remember seeing Soulstealer on him," said Simon. "Still, I agree that the Raisers must have it and are probably using it to steal souls for Raith. Have to admit, though, that I still wonder how they are going to pull that off."

"Same here," I said, "but if even the Angelic Guard is investigating this, then it must be possible somehow, even if Ophaniel didn't want to tell me."

"I agree," said Simon."I've been around for a long time myself, but even I haven't heard of a spell or ritual to allow the resurrection of a demon killed by magic. I want to say it's impossible, but with magic, you just never know especially demonic magic."

I looked down at the folded letter in my hands. "That's why I need to study these letters. Whatever is written in these might hold important clues that could point us to the next case."

"Agreed," said Simon. He yawned and hopped off the couch. "I'll let you look through them while I go take a nap on my bed. Need to catch up on my sleep."

I nodded as Simon walked over to his box bed in the corner, where he sat down and curled up into a ball. As for me, I unfolded the first letter and immediately began reading, hoping that somewhere in these letters were the clues we needed to find the Raisers and stop them before they brought Raith back to light.

-

I spent hours reading through the letters, barely paying attention to the clock above my TV as the hands ticked from late morning to late afternoon. I only got up from my couch every now and then to use the bathroom or get a quick snack, but otherwise stayed glued to my sofa the entire time, reading and reading. Simon slept soundly, not moving a muscle even when I accidentally bumped my shin against the coffee table and cursed. There were times I wished I could sleep as soundly as a cat, but I didn't dwell on such thoughts for very long, because most of my thoughts were focused on Harriet's letters.

Sadly, the letters were not nearly as important as I thought they were going to be. Not that they were useless. I did learn that Harriet joined the Raisers about two years ago and that she had been recruited by a demon named Azarath, though the letters did not say who Azarath was other than he had apparently served Raith prior to his death. I tried to remember fighting any demon named Azarath back when I fought Raith, but I couldn't, mostly because Raith had led an army of literally thousands of demons and I didn't bother to learn the names of each individual soldier in his army. I did remember, however, that most of Raith's minions went into hiding after his death or else joined up with some Demon Generals who were next in the demonic pecking order, so perhaps Azarath was just one of the survivors of that final battle.

I also learned that Harriet got most of her souls by stalking innocent amages and drawing them into dark alleys or abandoned buildings, where she would have this Azarath guy steal their souls, though she did not specify if he ever used Soulstealer or not. Most of her victims were amage drug addicts and various petty criminals, whose souls she stole on the grounds that as criminals they had already forfeit their lives and that no one would miss them anyway. I didn't have much sympathy for petty criminals myself, but even I felt a little uncomfortable at the rationalizations in her letters and wondered if Mr. Susan had been aware that his wife even thought like this.

Aside from that, most of her letters were rather plain and boring, with little in the way of truly damning information. Most of it was just correspondence between Harriet and various Raiser individuals, including Mr. White. I was under the impression, however, that most of them used aliases because a few of the names—Face of Darkness, Lightless, Brood of Blood—did not sound like real names to me. That made sense. The cult operated in the shadows and the last thing they needed was for their correspondence to be read and their names exposed before they were ready to go public, though it made me wonder why Harriet didn't use a pen name herself. Perhaps she was more careless than I thought.

Another interesting thing was noticing Harriet's decline. She started out as a rather passionate member of the cult, but over the letters, I was able to trace her growing doubt until her latest letter where she outright asked Mr. White not to contact her again after he received her latest shipment of souls. I did not know exactly what drove Harriet to change her mind. Maybe she just realized that she was working with demons to summon the evilest demon lord of all time and she wanted out of it before it was too late.

In any case, I nearly despaired of finding any practical information in these letters. That is until I got to the last letter, which was still in its envelope and sat at the bottom of the pile. Oddly, it did not seem to be the oldest. Instead, it seemed like someone had intentionally stashed it in the bottom of the box like they were trying to hide it.

Unfolding the letter, I began reading it and it went like this:

Dear Azarath,

I am pleased to report that I have finally found a suitable site for the Resurrection of Lord Raith. It took me a while because I had to find a place which both mages and amages never use. That is a lot harder than it sounds because between, mages and amages, most suitable resurrection locations are already taken. Indeed, I almost despaired of finding a suitable location at all until yesterday, when I fond the perfect spot to perform the ritual.

Just outside of the town of Accord, Texas, where I live, is an old church building next to an abandoned graveyard. From what I gathered in my research, the church building was once a Baptist church built shortly before the amage Civil War and has been abandoned for some time. I went to check for myself to make sure it was not in use and I found that it was indeed empty and abandoned. As far as I can tell, not a single living thing has stepped foot in there for quite a while.

Therefore, it is my suggestion that we gather the Raisers in that church building on Saturday, September 1st, at midnight, to perform the ritual once we have enough souls. There is more than enough room for all of us and we should also have plenty of room for Lord Raith himself, because it is quite a large space, especially for a rural area.

Please let me know what you think. I can find another place if necessary, but I really don't want to, because it would require more work and I'm afraid my husband is starting to suspect I'm up to something bad.

Your sister in the shadows, Harriet.

An abandoned church outside of Accord... I knew that place. That was where that lady's car crash had happened. And now I understood why: The Raisers had chosen that old church as their base of operations in Accord, most likely on the suggestion of Harriet.

And today was Friday, August 31st. Which meant we didn't have much time before the ritual started.

"Simon!" I yelled, standing up and grabbing my coat. "Wake up! We've got somewhere to go."

Simon started and looked up at me in astonishment. "What happened? Another demon attack?"

"Nope," I said, shaking my head as I slipped on my coat. I waved the letter at Simon. "This letter says where the resurrection is going to take place. We need to head there now to scout out the place and make sure there aren't any Raisers there already."

Simon hopped to his feet and followed me toward the door. "I knew you'd find something. Noah! Will we be able to get there in time?"

"Yeah," I said as I grabbed the doorknob and opened the door. "The location isn't far from the city, especially if we leave now. Come on. We have no time to—"

I was interrupted by a sudden drowsiness overcoming me. I looked out the door and saw a man standing in the doorway, who I could tell was a mage based on the Mana radiating from him, but my eyes became blurry as drowsiness washed over me and I fell forward.

Right before my head hit the floor, I lost consciousness. The last thing I heard was Simon calling out my name and then I heard nothing at all.

***
CHAPTER NINETEEN

"How long has he been out?" a voice overhead said. I couldn't recognize it, but it sounded deep and gravelly, like an old man.

"Two hours," said another voice, which sounded a lot younger than the first. "I knocked him out cold."

"Two hours?" the other voice repeated. "The boss said knock him out, not put him in a coma! Geez."

"I didn't put him in a coma," the second voice responded. "I just put him in a deep sleep so he wouldn't wake up early. He might be the Butcher, but that doesn't mean he's some kind of newbie who doesn't know which way to hold a staff. He should wake up any minute now."

The voices were distinct, but at the same time, I had a hard time truly understanding their words. It was kind of like listening to people talking through water. It didn't help that my eyes were closed and I couldn't see anything. I might have been able to raise my eyelids, but they felt as heavy as sandbags right now and I wished I could go back to sleep.

"Wake him up already," the first voice commanded. "Boss is coming and he says he wants the Butcher to be awake when he gets here."

"Fine, fine," said the second voice. "Hold on a sec."

I heard the sound of fingers snapping in my ear. Without warning, adrenaline surged through me and my eyes flashed open. I breathed hard and sat up. Or tried to, because I soon discovered that thick leather straps tied my arms and legs down to the table upon which I lay.

A bright light shone directly above me, forcing me to squint my eyes to avoid getting blinded. Then the light shifted slightly to the side and I saw two men standing above me.

One of the men was an older, possibly middle-aged mage, wearing black robes, a very obvious bald spot on the top of his head. The second guy was a mage with silver and white robes, who was a good deal younger than the first mage. He looked to be about the same age as my younger brother but was a lot skinnier and taller than him. The young man wore a worried expression on his face, while the older guy looked like he was relieved that I was awake.

"See, Peter?" said the young guy, gesturing at me. "He's awake, just like I said."

"Yeah, yeah, I see, Walter, I see," said the older guy, apparently named Peter. "But look at that face. I can sort of see the resemblance to boss."

"You can?" said the younger guy seemingly named Walter. He peered more closely at me. "I don't know. His face seems longer than the boss'."

"I am awake, you know," I said in annoyance. I struggled at the straps. "Where am I? Who are you guys? And why the hell am I being held down like this?"

"Sounds just like boss," said Peter. "Interesting."

"Did you just hear anything I said?" I said. "Answer my questions now, or else."

"Sorry, but we don't have the boss' permission to answer your questions," said Walter. "The boss said he didn't want us explaining anything to you until he got here, which should be in just a few minutes."

"Your boss, huh?" I said. "Let me guess, it's John White, isn't it? Or is there some other Raiser leader I don't know about yet?"

Peter and Walter exchanged puzzled looks with one another. Peter looked back at me and said, "John White? Who the hell is that?"

"And what's a Raiser?" asked Walter in a confused tone.

Peter glared at Walter. "You said you didn't hurt him, but now he's babbling about crap we don't understand like a maniac."

"I didn't harm him whatsoever," Walter argued. "He should have perfectly good mental health. The boss didn't even mention him having any kind of mental illness and I certainly didn't inflict one on him when I cast that sleep spell on him."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I'm mentally healthy," I said. I looked to the left and right, but couldn't see anything due to the shadows around us. "Where's Simon? My familiar?"

"The cat?" said Walter. He rubbed his cheek, which was when I noticed some tiny cat claw marks in his skin. "Tried to get the cat, too, but he attacked me and ran away before I could cast a sleep spell on him. Not sure where he is now. Probably digging through a trash can right now for thrown out tuna cans." He shuddered. "I hate cats."

Uh oh. While it was good to hear that Simon had managed to get away from these guys, it was still bad that he was gone. And even worse, he must have been pretty far away, because I couldn't even sense him at all. Or maybe they had cast some kind of spell on me to block my connection to Simon. In either case, it was pretty obvious I was on my own now, which meant I would need to save myself.

"Tell me who you guys are," I said. "If you're not Raisers, then who are you?"

"Again, can't answer your questions until the boss gets here," said Walter, shaking his head. "Otherwise, boss will get angry, and trust me, you definitely don't want to see boss when he gets angry. It's scary."

"But don't worry," said Peter, flashing me a rather unnerving smile, "boss should be here any minute now. Once he gets here, you can ask him all the questions you—"

A door slammed open somewhere and a light somewhere briefly flooded into the room before the door slammed shut.

"Boss!" said Peter, turning around to face whoever had just entered the room. " As punctual as usual, I see."

There was no response, save for the sound of footsteps in the darkness. The weight of the footsteps sounded eerily familiar to me but I couldn't remember where I had heard them last. All I knew was that they were getting closer and closer to the table upon which I lay. Both Peter and Walter stepped away from the table, and then a man emerged into the circle of light and stopped next to the table.

The man had a crew cut and a goatee, which made him look like a tougher version of me, thanks in no small part to the similarity between our faces. He was slightly shorter than me, but far bulkier, his muscles bulging underneath his white silk shirt. On his chest lay a medallion with a stallion radiating rays of light from it and I noticed what seemed to be a snake of some sort wrapped around his neck, its disturbingly human eyes peering down at me with the same distaste that was in its master's eyes.

I had no trouble recognizing the man who stood above me, even though it had been years since I last saw him in person. "Eric. Long time, no see."

My younger brother, Eric House, did not smile when I said that. His snake familiar, Kennedy—who I remembered, although not as well as I should—hissed slightly, making me wish I could move away from him. I always hated snakes and especially Kennedy, even though Eric's familiar had never hurt me.

"Eric, what are you doing here?" I said. I looked at Peter and Walter to my left and my right and said, "Did you come to rescue me from these crazy guys? If so—"

Eric laughed. "Of course not, Noah. I ordered them to kidnap you so I could talk to you myself."

I stared up at Eric in shock. "Wait, you ordered these thugs to kidnap me from my own apartment? You could have invited me yourself, you know."

"And you would have rejected any invitations I sent you," Eric replied. He adjusted the House family crest around his neck. "Besides, Dad would never have allowed you to step inside the family mansion again, not after he publicly disowned you. And I certainly don't want any rumors about your associating with me floating around in public, not when I have a presidential campaign to run."

"So you hired a couple of thugs to kidnap me from my apartment, scare away my familiar, and tie me down to a table like you're about to perform open heart surgery on me," I said dryly. "Yeah, that's the Eric I know. You haven't changed one bit since I saw you four years ago."

"And you're still as annoying and sarcastic as ever, Noah," said Eric. He patted me on the cheek. "But I wouldn't be so snide if I were you. You don't have the power here. I do, so show some respect."

"What are these leather straps?" I said, tugging at them. "I can't use my magic on them."

"They're just ordinary leather, but cast with a magic negation spell on them to make sure you can't escape," said Eric. "And I will not let you go until we are finished talking. So I would suggest getting comfortable because you aren't going anywhere anytime soon."

As much as I wanted to argue with Eric, I knew that he spoke the truth. I was an accomplished and powerful mage in my own right, but he clearly had thought this through and likely had a lot of contingency plans in place should I somehow escape. Eric wasn't exactly the most powerful mage in the world, but he was clever and manipulative, which explained why he wanted to be the next President of the American Magical Government. Politics always attracted the most despicable kind of scumbags.

"All right, then," I said, trying to appear calm and reasonable so Eric would be nicer to me, "what do you want to talk about? Still having trouble getting a date?"

Eric scowled. "I'll have you know, brother, that I am dating Alica Crews. You remember Alicia, don't you?"

"Oh, yeah," I said, nodding. "The pretty redhead, daughter of Senator Joseph Crews, right? I didn't know you liked her, much less that you were dating her."

"Well, we've been dating for six months now," said Eric, puffing himself up, "and I am going to propose to her very soon. I've already discussed this with her father, who has blessed our marriage. It's just a matter of timing now."

"You sure know how to keep busy," I observed. "Running the House mansion, running for president, and now marriage. You make me feel like a bum."

"That's because you are a bum, my dear older brother," said Eric. "But I see what you're doing. You're trying to distract me by negging me, which you always used to do when we were kids. Luckily, we're not kids anymore, so I am not going to fall for those tricks."

"Well, I would rather get to the point, anyway," I said. "What caused you to decide to see me again? If I remember correctly, the last time we met, you told me that you didn't want to see my face ever again. Maybe not in so many words, but that's more or less what you said. Have you decided to try to make amends?"

Eric snorted. "Of course not. If I had my way, I would never see your stupid face ever again. Unfortunately, the fact that we are brothers means that our fates will always be intertwined to some degree or another. That is to say, what you do will affect me, and vice versa."

"If you don't want to see me again, why would you kidnap me?" I said. "You could have just left me in my apartment. I have zero interest in visiting you. Hell, I don't even care if you become President, though I think you'd make a pretty bad one."

Eric suddenly leaned toward me, a harsh scowl on his features. "That's exactly the problem, Noah. If I am going to become the next President, I cannot have a murderer for a brother."

"Murderer?" I repeated. "Is that what people are calling me now? Come on. I didn't kill all those people at the Feast of Souls. It was the demon's fault."

"That isn't what I am talking about," said Eric, shaking his head. "If the fact that you were the Butcher was the only problem you had, then we wouldn't be talking about this right now. No, I'm talking about something a little bit more recent than that, something that happened just this morning. Look."

Eric pulled a newspaper clipping out of his front pocket and thrust it in my face. It took me a moment to read the headline in bold, not helped by the fact that Eric's hand shook too much:

PRESIDENTIAL AIDE CARTER SUSAN FOUND DEAD IN HOME, ALLEGEDLY MURDERED BY THE BUTCHER OF SOULS.

Below the headline was an image of me from five years ago, shaking hands with the previous President before McNamara. I was astonished at how young I looked back then. I was practically a kid. Nowadays, I looked a lot older than I really was, in no small part because of the stress I had experienced.

"Do you see this?" said Eric. He pulled the clipping back and stuffed it back into the front pocket of his jacket. "It's an article from the afternoon edition of the Daily Mage. It says that Carter Susan, an aide for President McNamara, was found dead in the living room of his home earlier this morning by one of his servants. His servant claimed that you were the one who murdered him because she saw you standing over his body with bloody hands."

"What?" I said. "I didn't murder Mr. Susan. A demon killed him, not me. You've got to believe me, Eric."

"I don't care whether you murdered Carter Susan or not," Eric snapped. "McNamara will no doubt use the murder of his aide to smear my name and reputation and thus hurt my chances with voters in the upcoming election. People are already wary of me because you're my brother. Now people are going to start thinking that I asked you to kill one of McNamara's aides to intimidate him."

"That's bullshit," I said. "Like I said, I didn't kill Mr. Susan, much less because you told me to. He was actually a client of mine who I was trying to help. That servant lady did not see what she thought she saw."

"Where's your proof?" said Eric, stroking his beard worriedly. "You say a demon killed him, but Walter didn't report seeing any demons in your apartment when he kidnapped you. Right, Walter?"

"Right, boss," said Walter, nodding. "No demons. Just a dumb cat I managed to scare away."

I bit my lower lip. "I know I don't have proof that a demon killed Mr. Susan, but—"

"Again, I don't care," Eric interrupted me. "I would have been happy to ignore you, but as soon as I heard about this, I knew I had to act before McNamara did. So I had Walter go and kidnap you before you went anywhere or someone else got to you first."

"And what are you going to do to me, exactly?" I said. "Keep me trapped in here for the rest of my life, wherever 'here' is?"

"No," said Eric, shaking his head. "Instead, I am going to make you voluntarily surrender yourself to the Government. You will admit to murdering Mr. Susan and that you did it entirely on your own and without any orders from me."

"You want me to lie?" I said indignantly. "No way. I'm not going to jail just to help you get into the presidency. Don't be stupid."

Eric smiled grimly. "But you will. Not because you like me or because you have any sort of familial loyalty toward me, but because you don't want to suffer the consequences of saying no."

"And what might those consequences be?" I said.

Eric's smile grew grimmer. "I'll take your soul from your body."

***
CHAPTER TWENTY

My eyes widened in shock. I couldn't believe what I heard. "You're not serious."

"I wish I wasn't, but I am," said Eric. He patted the head of Kennedy, who still hung around his neck like a scarf. "But you've left me with no choice. Taking your soul is the only way to show to everyone that I do not approve of what you did and that the people can trust me to be a good president."

"This is insane," I said. "Eric, I know you and I haven't always gotten along together, but this is too far even for you. Stealing my soul is basically the same as killing me."

"Perhaps, but killing isn't always wrong," said Eric, adjusting the collar of his shirt. "Sometimes it is necessary. If the only way I can win this election is by killing you, then that is a sacrifice I am willing to make."

Panic flooded me, but I kept my exterior as cool as I could because the last thing I needed was to let my panic overwhelm my rational mind. "This is still crazy and you know it. What would Dad think? Mom?"

"Dad won't care," said Eric with a shrug. "He disowned you, remember? As for Mom, she might cry, but that's about it. I hate the idea of making Mom cry, but once I explain the situation to her, I am sure she will understand."

"How do you plan to explain to her that you killed your only brother so you can win the presidential election?" I said in disbelief. "How do you even know you will win, anyway? President McNamara is pretty popular, last I checked."

Eric shook his head. "Not so much anymore. His administration has had a series of scandals in recent months which has caused his numbers in the polls and his approval ratings to plummet. The time is ripe for a newcomer to step in and take him out. And I believe—no, I know—I will be that newcomer, who will lead the American magical society to new, hitherto unforeseen heights. Yet I cannot do that as long as you live and continue to drag our family name through the mud."

"I'm not doing anything to the family name," I argued. "Dad disowned me already. And I did not kill Mr. Susan. You have to believe me."

"As I've repeatedly said, I don't care whether you killed that aide or not," said Eric. "Besides, I'm offering you a chance to live. Simple go to the Government, admit you murdered Carter Susan, and I will make sure you get the nicest cell in Scion after they sentence you to life in prison."

I gulped. Scion was the biggest and most well-known prison for criminal mages in America, second only to the Shadow Prison in reputation. I had never visited the place myself, even after my fall from grace, but rumor had it that even Scion's worst prisoners hated anyone who worked with demons, which would include myself due to my status as the Butcher. "If I go there, I will die. And you know it."

"Not necessarily," said Eric. "I can ensure you will be kept safe from the other prisoners there. I have connections with the prison warden, who is a good friend of Dad's. You will, of course, probably be locked behind bars for life, but that is certainly better than losing your soul, isn't it?"

"Look, Eric, I don't have time to play with you," I said. "In just a few hours, a secret cult dedicated to resurrecting Raith will begin a ritual tonight to bring him back to life."

Eric raised an eyebrow. "Raith? Do you mean Lord Raith? Impossible. He's been dead for five years and you can't resurrect a dead demon."

"That you know of," I said. "But I have reason to believe that these cultists, who call themselves Raisers, have found some way to bring him back. If you don't let me go now and stop them, then they will succeed in resurrecting Raith. And I trust you remember how bad Raith was."

To my relief, Eric seemed to be taking what I said seriously. His eyes averted to the floor and he stroked his goatee, clearly deep in thought. Both Peter and Walter exchanged looks with one another and then looked at Eric as if they were unsure whether to believe what I said or not. I hoped Eric would believe me, because, while Eric may have been an idiot, he was no demon lover and he certainly didn't care for Lord Raith. I was even willing to work with Eric to take down the cult if necessary.

Then Eric looked up at me and shook his head. "Sorry, Noah, but I simply can't believe you. Even if I could, I couldn't risk letting you wander freely out in public, not after this highly publicized murder. I can't just release you on your word alone. It's too risky."

"What?" I exploded. "I'm not lying. You don't even have to take my word for it. Send these guys to my apartment and have them bring back a box of letters written by Harriet Susan, Carter Susan's wife. Her letters say it all."

"Hmm," said Eric, "the article did mention that a box of Mrs. Susan's letters was missing at the scene of the murder, assumed to have been stolen by you. You're not really helping your case here, you know that?"

I gritted my teeth. "This is utterly ridiculous, Eric. The longer we sit here arguing about this, the more time the cultists have to complete their ritual and resurrect Lord Raith."

"We could end this all if you would simply agree to my demands," said Eric. "Perhaps I can send someone back to your apartment later to verify your claims. For now, however, I need you to admit to the murder and agree to go to Scion. It's the only way you'll save my presidential campaign."

"I don't give a flying fuck about your presidential campaign or your stupid political ambitions," I snapped. "Goddammit, Eric, you haven't changed one bit in four years, eh? Still an overly ambitious little brat who can't stand not being the center of attention. Actually, you've become even worse, because now you're threatening the life of your own—"

Eric suddenly slapped me across the face with one of his big hands, cutting me off instantly. My face throbbing from the pain, I looked at Eric, who didn't seem nearly as angry as me.

"That's enough, brother," said Eric calmly. "I thought four years in exile from the magical community might cool that hot temper of yours, but it seems to be burning hotter than ever. And you wonder why no one likes you."

"It's because you ruined my name and convinced Dad to disown me on false information," I said, though I spoke a little bit more calmly so Eric wouldn't smack me again. "But yeah, blame it on my temper. Anything to avoid taking responsibility for your own actions."

"Funny words coming from the man who refuses to admit to the murder he obviously had a hand in," said Eric. Then he sighed. "But I can see that you're not going to listen to reason and do the smart thing and confess. Looks like I have no choice but to remove your soul from your body. I don't want to do this, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to win."

Eric gestured at Peter. "Peter, get me the Soul Dagger. Now."

Peter bowed and disappeared into the darkness beyond the light in which we stood. I heard fumbling in the shadows for a moment before Peter emerged back into the light, holding a knife with a black handle and white blade in his hands. He handed the knife to Eric, who took it and looked it over once before raising it close to his face.

"Do you see this weapon, Noah?" said Eric, waving the knife in front of me. "It is the Soul Dagger. It is similar to the Soulstealer sword which Lord Raith was said to have used, only it can only take one soul at a time, rather than multiple. Plus, it only works once, so I have to make it count."

"Where did you get such a weapon?" I said, looking into Eric's eyes. "Don't tell me you cut a deal with a demon, because that's the only way you could have gotten your hands on something like that."

"Where I get my weapons is none of your business," said Eric. He ran a finger along the length of the blade. "Besides, it won't matter soon, once your soul is safely ensconced in this blade and your body is nothing more than warm meat. I will hand over your body to the Government and give a sob story to the press about how I needed to take extreme measures in order to bring my brother, the infamous murderer, in. They will eat it up because the press cannot resist a story filled with drama and tragedy. They'll feast on it for weeks."

Eric suddenly raised the knife above his head. "Goodbye, brother. I'm not sure if you found faith during your exile, but if you have, this is an excellent time to pray to whatever god you worship. Perhaps he will mercifully give you the eternal peace you don't deserve."

***
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Right before Eric could bring the Soul Dagger down on my chest, the lights abruptly went out and the whole room was plunged into darkness.

"What the hell?" said Peter's voice from somewhere in the shadows around us. "What was that? Who turned out the lights?"

"I don't know, Peter," said Eric in annoyance. "Go find out what the problem is and turn them back on. Now."

"Yes, sir," said Peter with a grunt. "Gonna have to find my way—Ow!"

I heard something heavy hit the floor with a solid thud, which must have been Peter falling over, because Walter suddenly said, "Pete? You okay? What happened? Did you bump into the table or—"

The sound of claws tearing through skin interrupted Walter and I heard him scream in absolute pain before another thud followed.

"Pete? Walter?" said Eric. There was fear and uncertainty in his voice now, which was rare to hear in his voice because Eric was rarely ever afraid or uncertain. "Are either of you there? Hello?"

"I can see them, Eric," came Kennedy's hissing voice. "They're still alive, I think, but badly wounded. Something attacked them, but I'm not sure what."

A light suddenly exploded on nearby and I saw that Eric holding a ball of light in his left hand. He looked this way and that, trying to spot the attacker, still holding the Soul Dagger in his right hand. Kennedy, his snake familiar, was also looking around, his slimy scales reflecting the light from Eric's hand in a rather disgusting way.

"What kind of trick is this?" said Eric. He looked at me with a harsh glare. "What kind of trick are you pulling here? Did one of your friends somehow follow you here?"

"I don't have any friends," I said with a shrug. "I don't know who it could possibly be."

Eric looked like he didn't believe what I was saying, but it was the honest truth. I didn't really know anyone who would come to my rescue like this. It was probably a Raiser who was pissed off that Eric got me first and didn't want him to kill me.

"It doesn't matter," said Eric, raising the knife again, "I'll take your soul anyway and—"

A loud growling sound came out of the shadows and a familiar black cat launched out of nowhere and tackled Eric's face. Eric cried out in pain and staggered backward, dropping the Soul Dagger to the floor as he attempted to fight off the black cat attacking his face. The light ball he summoned went out as well and I also heard Kennedy's hissing as he helped Eric fight off the creature which was assaulting his face.

"Simon?" I called out to the darkness in surprise. "Is that you?"

But Simon, unfortunately, did not respond, perhaps because he was too busy tearing my brother's face off. Regardless, I was happy to know that Simon had come to my rescue. He wasn't always the hardest working cat, but his loyalty to me was definitely rock solid.

That was when I felt soft hands grab my arms and a soft, feminine voice say, "Noah, are you all right?"

"Clarissa?" I said, speaking as softly as her so Eric wouldn't hear. "What are you doing here?"

"Saving you, you idiot," said Clarissa. I felt a knife being rubbed against my leather straps. "From our own brother, of all people. Now shut up and let me cut these straps off your arms and legs."

I wanted to ask Clarissa how she found me, but I decided to keep my mouth shut until she freed me. Luckily, Clarissa was a quick worker and soon both my arms and my legs were free. I swung my legs over the side of the table and stood up, dusting off my shirt as I looked in the general direction where I thought Clarissa stood. "Thanks. Now what?"

"Now we get out of here," said Clarissa. "Call Simon. We wouldn't want to leave him behind with Eric."

I nodded and shouted into the darkness, "Simon, get over here! We're leaving!"

Even before I finished shouting, Simon suddenly leaped onto my shoulders and said, "Noah! Sorry I didn't get here sooner. Took me a while to find Clarissa's house and—"

"Save it for later," I said. "Where is Eric?"

"Oh, he's not in any position to stop us," said Simon. "He's—"

A ball of light suddenly exploded again, forcing me, Clarissa, and Simon to protect our eyes from the sudden flash. But then I heard a hissing sound and looked over to see Eric standing, a ball of light still clutched tightly in his left hand.

In the light, Eric looked awful. His face was bloody and covered in claw marks from where Simon had attacked him. The light made him look less like a human and more like some kind of demon trying and failing to be human. Kennedy still hung around his neck, but he wasn't in much better shape than Eric.

"Clarissa," said Eric, his voice full of hate. "I should have known you would come to Noah's rescue. You always did like him better than me."

"Eric, he's our brother," said Clarissa. "Even if Dad disowned him, taking his soul would not be right."

"But I need to win this election, Clarissa," said Eric. "I need to win it. If Noah escapes, my presidential campaign is finished."

"I understand that you've become so obsessed with power that you don't even see Noah as a real person anymore," said Clarissa. "Hell, I don't know if you even see me as a real person anymore. Or am I also just a tool you will use to become the next President?"

Eric scowled. "You're not a tool, Clarissa, but you are an obstacle, at least as long as you continue to insist on protecting Noah. You know the power I wield and what I can do to you. I'm not afraid to use it."

"You can use it later," said Clarissa. "Right now, Noah, Simon, and I are getting out of here."

"You are assuming I will let you leave," said Eric. "Kennedy, attack!"

Kennedy suddenly launched himself off of Eric's shoulders toward us. I raised my hand to summon an energy blade, but then Clarissa grabbed my wrist and pulled back.

Abruptly, we went from standing in the dark room of Eric's house to standing in the living room of my apartment. Though my living room wasn't very well lit, it was nowhere near as dark as the last room we had been in, so when we reappeared in my living room, it was like walking into the sun.

"Huh?" I said, looking around wildly. "What? How did we get here? What happened?"

Clarissa let go of my wrist and stepped away from me. "I teleported us out of Eric's house."

I looked at Clarissa suddenly. "That was Eric's basement?"

Clarissa nodded. "Yes. It's how I found you. I suspected that Eric would take you to his house because it was the only place where he could take you without fear of being found out. Of course, it helped that Simon here thought the same thing."

Simon hopped off my shoulders onto the couch and curled up into a ball. "What can I say? Great minds think alike. And you, Clarissa, have a pretty great mind, though not as great as mine, of course."

I ran a hand through my hair. "But I don't understand. How did Simon find you?"

"When those two jerks broke in and knocked you out, I tried to fight back," said Simon. "Unfortunately, they had taken me by surprise, so they managed to chase me off pretty quickly. Plus, they worked fast. You were knocked out and teleported away before I knew it. So I went to Clarissa's house and asked her to help because she was the only person I could think of who might be willing to help us on such short notice."

"But how did you know those thugs worked for Eric?" I said. "I don't remember them saying that when they attacked us."

"Lucky guess," said Clarissa with a shrug. "Who else would have gone through all the trouble of kidnapping you in your own apartment? And remember, I warned you that Eric would try to make sure you couldn't hurt his presidential campaign, so when I read that article in the afternoon paper about that poor aide's murder, I immediately knew Eric would try to take you out, whether you actually committed the murder or not."

"Eric is rather predictable, isn't he?" I said with a sigh. "But thanks anyway, Claris. You got me out of a very tight situation there. Then again, that's what big sisters are for, right?"

"No problem," said Clarissa. She suddenly swore. "I can't believe that idiot. I knew he would try to do something to you, but stealing your soul? That's low even for him."

"And I doubt he will be happy about your intervention, either," I said. "Are you sure that was such a good idea? What about your husband and kids? Do you think Eric will retaliate?"

"If he does, I can always tell Dad what he tried to do to me," said Clarissa. "Dad likes Eric a lot, but I don't think he would be happy to learn what he tried to do to you. And if he even lays one finger on Jason and Wanda, I will tear out his throat, whether he's my brother or not."

I wasn't too surprised to hear her say that. Clarissa had always been protective of her children, even before my exile, so I did not doubt her when she said she'd kill Eric if he tried to do anything to her kids. Even so, I was still worried about her, because Eric was powerful, and not just in a magical way, either. He had a lot of connections in the magical community that he could easily use to make life hell for Clarissa. I just hoped he wouldn't, because the last thing my family needed was to be even more divided than it already was.

"Frankly, you should be worrying about yourself," Clarissa said, poking me in the chest. "Eric will probably leave me and my family alone, but I guarantee you that he will come after you again once he recovers from what just happened. He'll probably send more thugs to your apartment because as long as you live, you're a threat to his presidential ambitions."

"I don't have time to worry about that," I said. "Tonight at midnight, I need to be at church."

Clarissa raised an eyebrow. "Did you find religion during your exile? Not that I'm against that, but faith in a higher power seems out of character for you."

"I don't mean it like that," I said. "Tonight, a group of cultists is going to resurrect Lord Raith and I need to stop it before it happens."

Clarissa's eyes widened. "Lord Raith? But you killed him five years ago, didn't you?"

I gave Clarissa a quick rundown about what I had found out during my investigation. As usual, Clarissa was a good listener, not saying a word until I got to the end of the story.

When I finished, Clarissa wore the most troubled expression I had ever seen on her face. She put a hand on her cheek and looked down at her shoes like she was standing on top of a very tall building and was looking down at the street below.

"I can't believe it," said Clarissa. She gulped. "If Lord Raith comes back—"

"He'll destroy us all," I finished for her. "That's why I need to stop him. Can you help me?"

Clarissa looked up at me. "I'd love to, Noah, but my family needs me. I need to go back home and make sure my family is safe from Eric. I can't afford to go with you and Simon to disrupt the ritual, even if I wanted to."

I bit my lower lip but understood. Ever since she got married, Clarissa always put her family first. That made sense, but once again it highlighted just how few reliable allies I had. It was another reminder that being a loner wasn't all it cracked up to be, but I would worry about that later when I had more time. "All right. I can probably disrupt the ritual by myself, anyway, with Simon's help, of course. You just keep your family safe. That way, if you never see me again... well, at least you'll know why."

Clarissa nodded. "Gotcha. I need to go home now, but if you need any help, you know how to contact me. Bye."

With that, Clarissa turned on the heel of her boot, but then she paused and said, "Wait a minute. I almost forgot to give you something. Here."

Clarissa pulled out a knife from the band of her jeans and held it out handle first to me. I took the handle but froze as soon as I saw the blade.

"Is this Eric's Soul Dagger?" I said, looking at Clarissa in disbelief. "The one he nearly stabbed me with?"

Clarissa brushed aside a stray strand of hair. "Yeah. Grabbed it when he dropped it because I didn't want him to pick it up and try to stab you again."

"Why are you giving this to me?" I said, holding the knife away from me. "It's dangerous."

"Because I think you could use it better than me," Clarissa replied. "If I take it with me, Jason will probably find it and steal the dog's soul with it. Best not to risk it."

I didn't like the knife, but I slipped it into the belt of my jeans and said, "Thanks, sis. I'll make sure to put this weapon to good use later."

Clarissa winked at me. "No problem. Good luck."

With that, Clarissa finally teleported away, leaving Simon and I standing by ourselves in my apartment.

"It sure would have been nice if we could have gotten Clarissa to help," said Simon. "She's a powerful mage in her own right."

"True, but I'm not going to convince her to go on a dangerous mission that could get her killed, not when she has a couple of kids," I said. "Family always comes first."

"Would be nice if your brother agreed with you on that," said Simon. He sighed. "Guess he must have missed that lesson from your old man."

I scowled at the mention of Eric. "I'll deal with Eric later. For now, we need to prepare for tonight. And there's someone we're going to need to contact, someone who might be able to help us stop this ritual before it even begins."

Simon raised one of his eyebrows. "Who would that be? Sarah?"

My eyes fell on the single angelic feather sitting on the coffee table where I had dropped it a few hours ago. I picked up the feather and felt its soft texture, albeit reluctantly. "No, not Sarah. Someone far more powerful than her... or myself, for that matter. I just hope that he's strong enough to deal with whatever the Raisers have planned for tonight."

***
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Later that night, Simon and I teleported into the middle of a long-abandoned graveyard just outside of Accord, Texas. The moon was high in the sky tonight, partially covered by the light cloud cover, and it was still quite warm, even though the sun had set several hours ago. Glancing around, I could tell that this must have been an amage graveyard at some point because I did not sense any Mana. Mage graveyards were distinctive because you could sense the Mana from the departed, although it was always very weak because when a mage died, their body usually expelled all of their unused Mana in one blow. Even so, there would still be a lingering scent of Mana, especially on older mages who had heavily used magic their whole lives.

But tonight, I wasn't here to think about the dead. I was here to stop a dark ritual, one which should be happening in that church just on the other side of the graveyard.

The church was small, with boarded up windows and a steeple that still stood tall despite how many years the church had been abandoned. Its exterior was covered with bricks and, to all appearances, it looked like an ordinary rural church from the nineteenth century. Your ordinary amage would probably only notice it for its historical value, although even then, most amages tended to be pretty uninterested in history. The only reason this church still stood is probably because no one cared enough to tear it down. Even most mages would probably dismiss it as an unimportant and even obscure piece of amage history because mages are not exactly known for their religion.

But I knew better. There was no way I couldn't. Even if I hadn't read Harriet's letters ahead of time, the demonic energy radiating from within the church was off the charts. The only time I had felt this much demonic energy at once was when I stormed Raith's castle five years ago. It wasn't quite as much energy as Raith gave off, but it was a lot more demonic energy than I had ever felt in my life.

"Do you sense that?" I asked Simon as we crouched behind a large tombstone, staring at the dark church in the distance.

"The demonic energy?" Simon said. His hair was standing up on his back. "Yeah. Impossible to miss. If we can sense it even from a distance, I can't imagine how much demonic power they have. Think they've already summoned Raith?"

I shook my head. "Doubt it. If Raith was already back, we would know. It must be the energy from the ritual they are about to perform. Must be some kind of demonic magic they're gathering."

Simon shuddered. "Well, I hope you're right. It would really suck if we went through all of this trouble only for Raith to be resurrected anyway."

"Don't worry about it," I said. "The ritual won't start for a few more minutes. Let's try to get a little closer and see if anybody is home."

Casting an invisibility spell over myself and Simon, the two of us made our way across the graveyard to the church. I kept expecting a demon or a demon-friendly human to jump out from behind the tombstones and attack us, but apparently, all of the Raisers must have been gathered inside the church because we made our way to one of the windows without any issue.

The only hard part was fighting against my human instincts. They were telling me to run away from the demonic energy radiating from the abandoned church, not toward it. Most humans had an instinctive aversion to demons in general. Even amages did, despite the fact they didn't believe in them. Demon slayers like myself had to train ourselves to control our instincts, rather than let our instincts control us. Otherwise, we'd never be able to kill demons. Still, I couldn't deny that I would have felt a lot safer back in my apartment than out here.

Stopping underneath one of the boarded-up windows of the church, I found a crack that was big enough for me to peer through but not big enough for someone on the inside to see me. I peered through the hole and smelled the scent of old wood and decayed furniture waft from inside, but it was too dark for me to see anything. I could still sense demonic energy, however, and it seemed to be growing by the second.

"Noah, what do you see?" Simon whispered, looking up at me from my feet. "Any Raisers?"

"Can't see a damn thing," I whispered back. "It's pitch black in—"

I was interrupted by a sudden flash of light from within. A dozen torches suddenly turned on at once, casting grim shadows over the interior of the church. This allowed me to see the interior of the church at last, but I now wished I hadn't, because what I saw made my stomach churn.

It must have been a beautiful little church at one point, with neat, shiny pews, pretty stained glass windows, and clean carpeting. But now, it looked like a demon had come in and made a complete makeover. The ceiling was bare, exposing the wooden crossbeams that were sagging from years of neglect. The pews had been either pushed to either side of the building or destroyed altogether, while the carpeting was half-torn out, half moldy. Broken pieces of glass lay on the floor, while in the center of the floor, a large portion of the carpeting had been torn outright, revealing a circle painted on the wooden flooring underneath.

Within the circle were a variety of frightening and demonic images that I recognized from my years of demon slaying. I couldn't see or understand all of it, but I knew that had to be the spot where Raith would be resurrected.

"Where is the light coming from?" Simon asked me. "Is someone there?"

"I still don't see anyone," I said, "but the light is coming from some torches on the walls, so somebody must be here."

Just as I said that a man in a dark hood appeared in the room all of a sudden. He looked around briefly as if to orient himself, and then walked over to the circle. He was carrying a large metal jar in his hands, which glowed a soft white in his grasp. He placed the jar right in the center of the circle and then stepped out of it as quickly as if he was trying to get out of the blast area of a bomb.

Then the man pulled back his hood and I saw that it was John White. Although he looked old the last time I saw him, he seemed to have aged at least a decade in the span of just a couple of days. His hair was whiter and thinner, while his skin seemed to stretch more tightly over his bones. Only his red eyes seemed to be the same, but there was still something deeply uncanny about them anyway. He also looked like he hadn't gotten much sleep recently.

"Azarath," said White. His voice shook slightly and coughed once or twice. "Azarath, I am here."

From out of the shadows stepped the white-haired demon who had killed Mr. Susan, who I now knew was the demon named Azarath I had read about in Harriet's letters. In sharp contrast to White, Azarath looked stronger and younger than ever. Indeed, he almost looked too young now, almost like a high school football player, based on how big and muscular his body was. He made White look like a twig about to be blown away by the wind. There was also a sword sheathed at his side, though I couldn't see it very well due to it being on the other side of his body.

"White," said Azarath, stopping on the other side of the circle. His eyes darted down to the urn in the center of the circle. "Is that the Soul Jar we need to perform the ritual?"

White nodded heavily. "Yes. As requested, it has one thousand souls swirling within it. Should be enough for the ritual."

I stifled a gasp.

A thousand souls? Simon said in astonishment in my head. They've been busy little soul-stealing bees, haven't they?

I didn't respond, because I was too busy overhearing Azarath and White's conversation to pay attention to anything Simon was saying.

"Excellent," said Azarath, rubbing his hands together. "That should be more than enough to resurrect Lord Raith. Indeed, we could probably use some of the extra souls to bring back some of Lord Raith's fallen Generals as well."

White stiffened. "We're not going to do that, are we?"

Azarath chuckled. "I'm just joking, old friend. I never liked any of Lord Raith's generals, even while they were alive. Besides, I fully intend to take my place as one of his new Generals. Can't have competition for that title, now can I?"

"I don't care about your ambitions, Azarath," said White. "As long as I get my immortality, I will be fine."

Immortality? Simon repeated in my mind. Is that what Azarath promised White if he would help?

"Of course, of course," said Azarath smoothly. "You certainly look like you could use it. I know you humans, in general, tend to be weaklings, but you seem to be aging at an advanced rate for your species."

"Prolonged exposure to demonic energy can do that to a human, even with proper precautions," said White softly. "But I should last until the ritual is completed and Lord Raith has returned to the land of the living."

Ah. That explained why White looked so awful. I wondered if his red eyes had anything to do with overexposure to demonic energy as well.

"Yes," said Azarath. "Once Lord Raith has returned, he will reward all of us in accordance with our actions. Lord Raith is a fair and just ruler if a bit cruel at times."

"I know," said White. "I remember the rumors I heard from back when he was still alive." His eyes suddenly shifted toward the sword at Azarath's side. "Is that—"

"Soulstealer?' Azarath finished for him. "Yes. I intend to give it to Lord Raith when he returns to life as a welcome back gift. Of course, it rightfully belongs to him, so I'm really returning his property to him."

"Perhaps," said White. "Just keep that weapon away from me. I have enough to worry about already without also having to be concerned about losing my soul."

Azarath chuckled again. "Don't worry, my friend. I have no intention of drawing this weapon until Lord Raith is resurrected. As a humble lower class demon, it is not my place to wield the weapon of my superiors. My job is to protect it and keep it safe until Lord Raith returns."

"Right," said White. "What about Noah House? I heard he's still alive. Why didn't you kill him when you had the chance?"

I stiffened at the mention of my name and hoped that neither White nor Azarath had heard me or Simon.

Luckily, when Azarath spoke, it was obviously in response to the question White just asked him. "Why waste the energy? I framed him for the murder of Carter Susan. I imagine he's too busy trying to avoid being arrested by the Government to stop us. I imagine that his younger brother, Eric, is also after him."

White sighed. "Ah, family squabbles. My older brother and I never got along all that well even when he was alive. It's why I had to kill him because he kept getting in the way of my plans."

"Demons don't have family, so I can't comment on this," said Azarath. "I will say, however, that it is amusing to watch you humans who are blood-related try to kill each other over something as petty as who can be the head of your silly little government. It makes me glad I am a demon because demons don't have politics, though we certainly manipulate each other all the time."

"I don't have much of a taste for politics, either," said White, "which is probably why I am here. But we're getting off topic. Let's get back to the discussion of the ritual."

"Indeed," said Azarath. "Will the rest of the Raisers be here tonight? I was expecting to see more people than just you."

"Yes, everyone will be here," said White. "It would be odd if they weren't. Tonight, after all, is the culmination of everything we have been working toward for the past four years. No one will want to miss this. I simply came a little early to prepare the ritual ahead of time so we can start it right away."

Azarath nodded. "Smart move. There's just one small problem before we can get started, however."

Something in Azarath's tone made me leaned in a little closer because if there were going to be any problems ahead of time, I wanted to make sure I knew what they were so I could take advantage of them.

"What problem would that be?" said White in a puzzled voice.

Azarath suddenly bared his blood-stained white teeth. "We have a spy who has been listening to every word we spoke."

Without warning, I heard movement behind me and Simon, but before I could react, something grabbed me by the back of my shirt and threw me and Simon into and through the window.

The two of us smashed through the boarded-up window and onto the floor of the church. Gasping in pain, I felt a sliver of blood leak down the side of my head, but I paid no attention to my wounds because Azarath and White turned to look at me and Simon. White looked shocked and enraged, while Azarath was smirking as if he had been expecting me to show up.

"Hello, Noah House," said Azarath, spreading his arms. "Welcome to the Resurrection of Lord Raith. I am glad you could make it because you are tonight's guest of honor... whether you want to or not."

***
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Although my head ached from being thrown through the window, I nonetheless tried to scramble to my feet. I didn't get far, however, before Azarath thrust his hands toward me and black energy bands suddenly appeared around me and Simon. The bands then constricted around our bodies, causing Simon to meow in pain, while I just grunted and fell down to my knees. I tried to break the energy bands, even casting an anti-energy spell, but they held fast, likely because they were demonic energy of some kind. Demonic spells were always harder to dispel than normal spells, even for a demon slayer like me.

"What the hell are these two doing here?" said White, looking at Azarath. "You said they were going to be too busy running away from the Government to try to stop us."

"That was just a theory of mine, old friend," said Azarath, his smirk never leaving his lips. "Truthfully, I suspected they would try to stop us regardless of whether the Government is after them or not. So I had a friend of mine wait outside in the graveyard to take them out should they show up. It always pays to have a backup plan, especially if you keep it to yourself."

I heard something hauling itself into the room through the window behind us and looked over my shoulder. Another demon was climbing through the window, this one even bigger and stronger than Azarath. It was vaguely humanoid, but had webbed hands and feet and a face like a frog, though its mouth was lined with jagged teeth like broken glass. I half-wondered how I had not noticed or sensed such a large creature before it attacked. Maybe my demon-sensing skills were getting rusty or it was a lot better at hiding than it looked.

"Thank you for your help, Popuk," said Azarath to the demon as it crawled into the church. "Please keep an eye on the Butcher and his cat. I don't think they will be able to escape their bonds, but just in case, stand by to knock them out and perhaps rough them up a little if they get really rowdy."

The demon named Popuk must have been one of those lower class ones that couldn't talk because he just grunted in response and stopped behind Simon and I. Though he did not touch us, I could sense that Popuk was more than willing to beat us both into paste if we tried to do anything. Not that I had any plans of escape, however. I knew I couldn't escape now, even if I knew a spell I could use to free us. I would just have to hope that the plan that Simon and I hashed out before we got here would work, because if it didn't, then we were going to die.

"You said I had a role to play in this ritual," I said to Azarath. "What is it?"

Azarath wagged a finger at me. "Now, now, Butcher, don't get too hasty now. It's all part of the surprise. Once the ritual starts, you will understand how you will help. And it should start very soon, right, White?"

"Correct," said White. He put a hand on his forehead. "I can already feel the other brothers and sisters are on their way here."

"Wonderful," said Azarath. He looked at the Soul Jar on the floor. "Soon, Lord Raith will rise again, and he will establish his kingdom over the world forever and ever. Even the forces of Heaven will be unable to stop him, especially since he will be much stronger than he was before his death."

"You're crazy," I said. "Demons cannot be resurrected after they've been killed by magic. It's not possible."

"So you believe," said Azarath, "but you mages have a tendency to think you know everything about magic. Or everything about demonic magic. Or everything about the intersection between human and demonic energy, for that matter."

I opened my mouth to respond to that, but then, without warning, mages started teleporting into the church. One by one, hooded figures—some men, some women—appeared in the church around the circle. It was almost scary how silently they appeared, like ghosts rising from the grave. Not a single of the hooded figures, who I had to assume were the other Raisers who White had spoken of, said anything as they appeared, but every single one of them did look at the Soul Jar in the circle in the center of the room. Although it was impossible to see their faces thanks to the hoods they wore, I could tell that each and every one of them was excited to witness the resurrection of Lord Raith.

The Soul Jar wasn't the only thing they looked at, however. They also glanced at me and Simon, though again, I couldn't tell what they were thinking thanks to their hoods. I got the distinct impression, however, that the Raisers were not happy to see me, a feeling I returned to them, because I couldn't stand them, either. Simon even hissed at a few of the ones nearby, though he stopped doing that very quickly when Popuk kicked him.

Soon, people stopped teleporting into the church and White stepped forward. He held up his hands and called out in a loud voice, "Brother and sister Raisers! I am pleased to see that everyone has managed to make it here tonight. Not that I expected any less from our members. Nearly all of you have been working with me from the beginning, right from the start of this process four years ago, when Azarath first approached me to ask for my aid in bringing Lord Raith back to life."

No one said anything, though it was obvious that everyone was listening intently to every word White was saying. I was listening as well because it wasn't like I had anything better to do. I could definitely sense the anticipation and excitement among the Raisers, however, as they waited for White to finish his speech and begin the ritual.

"It has not been an easy road, for we have all had to operate in the shadows and under the table," said White. "We have had to labor in darkness, with no guarantee that everything we are working toward would come to fruition. Had anyone within the Government known about what we were doing, the Master Mages themselves would burn this church and everyone within it. We have come close to being found out, however, but each time we have managed to avert suspicion away from us."

Then White's eyes fell on Simon and me and he pointed at us. "But we came this close to losing it all tonight when Azarath and I discovered that Noah House—the Butcher of Souls, the Killer of Lord Raith—had somehow found out the time and location of this ritual and came to stop it. But again, we managed to catch him before he could act, and now he and his familiar will be helpless spectators to the Resurrection of Lord Raith himself."

All of the Raisers turned as one to look at us. Although they didn't attack or even jeer at us, the pressure of so many hostile faces looking at us at once was very uncomfortable. I wished I could just get up and leave, but the energy bonds holding us down made it impossible to do anything but kneel there on my increasingly sore knees.

"Having the infamous Butcher himself here was, in its own way, a stroke of luck on our part," Azarath said. "After all, we will be needing the Butcher's blood for the ritual, won't we, White?"

"Correct, Azarath," said White as all eyes on the room returned to him. He gestured at the circle on the floor. "This is the Resurrection Circle. Sitting in the center of the Resurrection Circle is a Soul Jar containing exactly one thousand souls, which, we all know, is the minimum amount necessary to restore Lord Raith to life."

This time, a few murmurs and whispers of awe escaped the lips of some of the Raisers as they looked upon the Resurrection Circle and Soul Jar. They could probably all sense how close they were to seeing Lord Raith come back to life. I could sense it, too, but unlike them, I dreaded it rather than anticipated it.

White spread his thin arms wide, the sleeves of his robes falling down his arms slightly as he did so. "I know what many of you are thinking. Although you will never admit it, each one of you has some doubts that this is even possible. After all, it is common knowledge among everyone—human, angel, demon, familiar—that a demon killed with Mana cannot be brought back to life. Mana, we are told, is pure energy which destroys a demon's soul. Even Demon Lords like Lord Raith cannot survive if exposed to a sufficient amount of Mana in a short enough period of time. Most people would call this a fool's errand, but what most do not realize is that it takes more than human or demonic magic to resurrect a killed demon."

More excited and interested whispers and murmurs went through the crowd at White's statement. I will admit I was becoming more and more curious now myself because I wondered where he was going with this, even though I was starting to get an inkling of just what the Raisers were trying to do.

White held up one fist. "Human and demonic magic is normally separate and never meant to be mixed. That is what the Ancient Laws state and it is what our ancestors have practiced for centuries. Yet no one has ever asked why human and demonic magic are not supposed to mix. It is because if combined, they can allow even the most ancient of Laws to be overturned."

White gestured at the Soul Jar. "Such as the Law which states that all demons killed by magic cannot be resurrected. This is true... with ordinary human or demonic magic. But if you dare to break the Laws and combine both, then nothing is truly beyond your grasp. That is what we came here to do tonight: The impossible, that which we were told not to do, that we could never do. We are about to prove them—all of them—wrong."

White raised his hands. "As you all know, Azarath here has spent a long time delving into the deepest, darkest secrets of both human and demonic magic. That is how he discovered the truth about the Law forbidding mixture between them. And tonight, we are going to practice but one of the Forbidden Spells, the Resurrection Circle, which, with one sacrifice of a thousand human souls, will allow Lord Raith's own spirit to return from the beyond, stronger than ever."

Then White's eyes flickered to me. "Of course, it is going to take more than a thousand souls to bring back Lord Raith. The blood of the one who killed him in the first place is needed in order for the ritual to start."

Suddenly, Popuk ran a finger along the back of my neck. I grunted in pain and felt blood leaking out of the small wound Popuk opened on my neck. Then Popuk walked past me into the center of the Resurrection Circle in front of the Soul Jar, a drop of my own blood shining on the tip of his claws.

"Demon Popuk, I order you to brush that blood on the Soul Jar, which will bring back Lord Raith," said White, pointing a hand at him dramatically. "Do it now!"

Popuk grunted and bent over toward the Soul Jar, his bloody claw going closer and closer to the Jar every second, the resurrection of Lord Raith—and the destruction of everything good—mere seconds away now.

***
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Right before Popuk's claw touched the Soul Jar, a bright light suddenly smashed through the front doors of the church and shot toward the demon, knocking down several Raisers on its way through. The light slammed into Popuk, cutting off its head and causing its massive body to collapse onto the floor with a loud thunk.

The Raisers backed off collectively, staring at the shining ball of light which floated in the center of the room. With the light from the ball, it was now easier to see the expressions on the faces of the hooded Raisers, and all them looked both confused and scared at this sudden, unexpected turn of events.

Not me, though, because this was exactly what I had expected would happen.

"What the hell is this?" said White in astonishment, stepping back toward the window behind him, holding up his hands in front of his face to protect his eyes. "Is this a trick of yours, Butcher?"

"I'm not a human trick," said a familiar arrogant voice from within the ball. "But I understand your fear, because beauty is truly frightening, especially beauty as perfect as mine."

The ball of light suddenly expanded and then vanished, revealing a man standing in the center of the Resurrection Circle. He was tall and strong, wearing shiny golden armor that shone independently of the torches on the walls of the church. He wielded a golden sword in his hand and had long, flowing blond hair, with shining golden eyes and white feathered wings which were folded against his back. His mere presence in the church immediately turned the atmosphere from one of anticipation to one of fear, with terror appearing on the faces of each individual Raiser.

"An angel?" said White with a mixture of disbelief and anger. "Impossible!"

Ophaniel smiled. "Impossible? Nothing is impossible for me. I am an angel. We can do anything we want."

"Took you long enough," I said, shaking my head. "If you'd been just one second late, Lord Raith would be back already."

Ophaniel smirked at me. "What is the term you humans like to use? 'Fabulously late'? Yes, that describes me. We angels move so fast that we can wait until the last minute to act and still wildly succeed. It's one of the blessings of being supernatural."

"So you've somehow teamed up with an angel," said White. His hands balled into fists. "I should have seen this coming. Of course, the forces of Heaven would want to stop Lord Raith's return. And I can tell, by your armor, that you are no simple angel, either."

"Indeed," said Ophaniel. "I am Captain Ophaniel, Captain of the Angelic Guard, and I am here to put an end to this madness, as well as retrieve Soulstealer."

Ophaniel's eyes darted to the sword at Azarath's side. "Speaking of Soulstealer, that wouldn't happen to be it, would it?"

Both Azarath could respond, Ophaniel rushed toward him. He swung his golden sword at Azarath's head, but Azarath jumped backward and the sword instead slashed through the wall he had been standing in front of, leaving a jagged, burning slash where the blade had struck.

Like a spell had been lifted, the Raisers all began leaving. Some teleported away, while others ran outside, and still others jumped through the windows to freedom. A few stood transfixed where they were as if immobilized by the shock of this sudden turn of events.

But I wasn't immobilized. I just shouted at Ophaniel, "Hey, Ophaniel! A little help here with these bonds!"

Ophaniel—who was busy exchanging blows with Azarath, who was using his claws to parry Ophaniel's sword strikes—briefly waved in my direction and the black energy bonds holding me and Simon down vanished. Without hesitation, I rushed over to the Soul Jar, intending to destroy it and release all of the souls within.

I reached out with a hand toward the Soul Jar, but then a red energy blade came down on my wrist. I yanked my hand back at the last second and staggered backward, looking to the side to see White standing there, his red Mana blade glowing in his hands. His eyes were also glowing red now, making him look less like a human and more like some kind of deranged demon that lived to destroy.

"I don't know how you managed to get the help of an angel, Butcher, but I do know that all your work will be for naught," said White, holding his energy sword before himself. "Even if I can't bring back Lord Raith, at least I can kill you. That will make everything worth it."

I didn't respond. I just summoned my own energy sword and charged at White, who raised his blade to parry my blows. We exchanged sword strikes for what felt like an eternity. Despite the fact that White was older than me, he somehow managed to keep up with my parries and strikes. It must have been the demonic energy animating him, but I had little time to think about that because I was too busy trying to kill him and not be killed by him to notice.

I lunged toward him, but White jumped out of the way and thrust his sword at me. I just barely managed to parry the blow before it stabbed my face, but the hot energy of his blade did make a small cut across my cheek, forcing me to stagger backward and touch the wound as blood leaked out of it.

But my hesitation seemed to encourage White, who let out a distinctly inhuman growl and rushed toward me with his blade. He immediately began slashing and bashing me, attacking far more viciously than before. I managed to block each of his blows with my sword, but I was forced on the defense, using both of my hands to direct my sword's movements. I could see gleeful madness in White's eyes as he attacked and attacked, clearly believing that he was winning the fight.

Then White hit me with a particularly hard strike and I fell to one knee. White brought his sword down on my head again, but I raised my sword at the last second and caught his red blade, but I was forced to put all of my strength into pushing against his blade.

"Die, Butcher," said White, his voice distorted by a demonic growl behind each one of his words. "There's no point in resisting me. Your time has come. Join Lord Raith in the afterlife!"

I gritted my teeth and sent a mental message to Simon. Simon! Give me a boost. I need some of your Mana if I'm going to win this fight.

No problem, Noah! came Simon's reply. One serving of Mana, coming up!

Immediately, I felt a surge of Mana fill my soul, coming from Simon, who I saw out of the corner of my eye hiding underneath one of the fallen pews. I looked White in the eyes, meeting his demonic gaze with a defiant one of my own. I saw surprise and doubt flicker in White's eyes briefly before he growled and resumed trying to force me down.

"Sorry, White, but I've still got a long life ahead of me," I said, my voice slightly straining as I held White's sword back. "Wish I could say the same about you."

In one fluid motion, I took my left hand off of my sword's handle and then summoned a second, identical blue energy blade in my free hand. I then thrust the second sword directly through White's robes and into his stomach.

White screamed in pain. His red Mana blade vanished. Without his blade pressing down on me, I stood up and slashed him across the chest. My sword tore through his chest and White collapsed onto the floor in a pool of his own blood. He gasped for air for a moment before his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he stopped moving.

Then, before my startled eyes, a blood-red light shot out of his mouth toward the ceiling. The light vanished through the ceiling in an instant, leaving White's corpse lying on the floor as still as ever.

"Whoa," said Simon, who I had not heard approach me. He was looking up at the ceiling. "What was that?"

"Must have been the demonic magic he used to make himself stronger," I said as I dismissed both of my energy swords. "I read about it in a book once, that if a human who has demonic energy dies, the demonic energy leaves them to return to whichever demon it originally belonged to."

"Still kind of disgusting, honestly," said Simon with a shudder. "Having demonic energy in your soul... I can't even imagine what that must have felt like."

I opened my mouth to answer, but a crash near the front of the church caused me to turn my head. Ophaniel and Azarath stood opposite each other, both breathing heavily. Ophaniel's face and armor were covered in dozens of small scratches, likely inflicted by Azarath's claws, but Azarath looked far worse, with a terrible, bloody gash across his chest and his right ear missing entirely. I was amazed Azarath was standing at all, but then remembered that demons had a higher pain tolerance than humans. There was no one else in the church here aside from us and those two, which meant that the other Raisers had already fled.

"Should we help Ophaniel?" asked Simon doubtfully. "If Azarath can still fight even after taking that much punishment, Ophaniel might need backup."

I shook my head. "Not a good idea. You know what happens to humans who try to intervene in angel and demon fights. Best to let them tear at each other while we destroy the Soul Jar, now that there is no one left to protect it."

I turned and ran over to the Soul Jar, which still sat in the very center of the Resurrection Circle, with Simon at my heels. The two of us stopped in front of the Soul Jar and I knelt down in front of it, looking at the black jar and the odd, disturbing runes engraved upon its surface.

"That's it?" said Simon. He walked up to the Soul Jar and sniffed it. "It's not much bigger than me, though I can definitely smell the souls trapped in there. How do we destroy it?"

"I'm not sure," I said, tapping my chin. "I've never even heard of a Soul Jar, but it's clearly a magical artifact. That means a good, powerful spell should be able to destroy it."

I stood up and summoned my blue energy blade again, only this time I put all of my Mana in it to make it stronger. This used up almost all of my remaining Mana, but it also caused the energy blade to spark and burn like fire. I had never used this much Mana before, but I knew that anything I hit with this sword would be utterly destroyed.

Without further ado, I raised my sword above my head and said to Simon, "Step back. Once I strike the Soul Jar, I can't guarantee what will happen."

Simon didn't need to be told twice. He retreated just outside the Resurrection Circle and stopped and sat down. "Go on, Noah! Destroy it."

I nodded and turned my attention back to the Soul Jar. I focused on the lid of the Jar and, after taking a moment to aim, suddenly heard Simon shout, "Noah, get down!"

Surprised, I looked to the right and saw a light bolt—a stray from Ophaniel, perhaps—flying across the room toward me. It struck me in the gut and I gasped in pain, dropping my energy sword and staggering backward from the stray blast.

At the same time, I saw a single drop of blood sent flying from my face from the impact of the blow. It flew forward until it landed on the lid of the Soul Jar without making a noise.

And that was when all hell broke loose.

***
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The Soul Jar suddenly glowed as brightly as the sun. It vibrated and shook like an alarm clock, growing brighter and brighter with each passing second, until I couldn't see it at all anymore. I heard Simon screaming my name, but for some reason, I couldn't move. I felt paralyzed, as though my spine was broken.

Then, without warning, the Soul Jar exploded. The explosion slammed into me and sent me flying out of the Circle. I landed hard on the wooden floor next to Simon, who had fallen to the floor and was covering his head with his paws in a protective manner. The explosion seemed to be confined to the Circle itself, however, turning from an explosion into a rapidly swirling vortex of red and white energy. A powerful gust of wind blew through the church just then, nearly sending me flying and causing several of the boarded-up windows to burst open from the impact. Over by the doors, both Ophaniel and Azarath had paused their fight briefly to stand against the wind, Ophaniel having stabbed his sword into the floor for support, Azarath clinging to one of the pews for dear life.

But I didn't care about Ophaniel or Azarath at this moment. My eyes were focused on the swirling vortex of red and white energy in the Resurrection Circle, which was becoming thicker and thicker with each passing second. I caught glimpses of horrified human faces stuck in the miasma of demonic energy, as well as heard the pained screams of suffering people, but I was too transfixed by the terrifying energy storm swirling before me to get up.

Then, as quickly as it began, the energy storm ended. Then I saw a new being standing in the center of the Resurrection Circle, with the broken halves of a Soul Jar on either side of him.

The being was tall and massive, with scaly, lizard-like skin that glistened in the light of the torches. His inhuman face was pointed and narrow, resembling a mixture of a lizard and a bird. Razor sharp claws extended from his fingertips like knives, while heavy red and black armor covered his pale skin. Demonic energy the likes of which I had not felt in a long time emanated from his form and the darkness itself seemed to deepen in his presence.

It was Lord Raith, in the flesh, alive again for the first time in five years. He looked exactly the same as he did back when Simon and I first killed him half a decade ago, only now there seemed to be something... different about him. He looked newer, more like a newborn baby than an ancient demon, but I didn't let that fool me into thinking he was any less powerful than he had been before his death.

Lord Raith opened his eyes and blinked several times. His eyes—which were a strange mixture of yellow and red—peered out through the holes of his helmet blankly for a moment before understanding and comprehension dawned with them. He looked down at his claws and flexed them once as if to confirm that they worked.

"What... what has happened?" Lord Raith muttered. His voice was a deep as a cave and twice as scary. "I remember the Chosen One stabbing me in the chest, piercing my heart... I was dead. I should be dead. Why am I not dead?"

Then Lord Raith suddenly looked up at me. He seemed surprised to see me for a second, but then burning hatred appeared in his eyes and he growled, "You. I remember you. The Chosen One, prophesied by the Oracle to destroy me. I should have killed you when you were a boy, son of Kent House. I don't know how I came back or why, but I do know that I am going to avenge my death at your hands."

Lord Raith took one step toward me, but I heard a flap of wings and Ophaniel flew into view. His wings were beating furiously as he rushed toward Lord Raith, his golden sword glowing brightly in his hands. Behind him, I saw Azarath lying on the floor, either dead or unconscious.

"Raith!" Ophaniel roared. "Taste the holy steel of the Captain of the Angelic Guard!"

Ophaniel swung his sword at Lord Raith, aiming for his head, but Lord Raith raised his hand at the last second and caught Ophaniel's sword like it was nothing. A shocked expression appeared on Ophaniel's face, while Lord Raith merely smirked at him in amusement.

"Captain of the Angelic Guard, you say?" said Lord Raith. He chuckled. "I seem to remember you from before, but allow me to reintroduce myself anyway. I am Lord Raith, a Demon Lord. And unless things have changed since my death, I am fairly certain that a lord is always higher than a captain."

Lord Raith suddenly lashed out with a punch, striking Ophaniel directly in the face. The blow sent Ophaniel flying. He crashed through the doors of the church and disappeared outside with a crash. I kept expecting him to jump back through the doors and resume his assault on Lord Raith, but Ophaniel did not return.

Still smiling, Lord Raith said, "A good start to a new life: Punching out an annoying, self-righteous angel. I deeply missed that, much more so than I realized. I suppose I am just easily pleased by the simple things in life."

Then Lord Raith immediately returned his attention to me. "With that distraction out of the way, I am going to kill you and then announce my return to the rest of the world. I expect the forces of Heaven and Hell will have sensed my return—and perhaps the Master Mages, as well, given their connection to the Well—but any true Demon Lord always announces his return."

Lord Raith took another step toward me, but then something rushed in between me and Lord Raith. It was Azarath, who apparently wasn't dead after all. However, he looked rather pathetic, because his body was covered in bleeding wounds from where Ophaniel had cut him and he was missing a few fingers on his left hand. He seemed to barely be clinging to life, which made me wonder how he had managed to move so quickly.

"Who are you?" said Lord Raith, staring down at Azarath with a puzzled—and disgusted—expression. "I have never seen you before in my life."

"I know, Lord Raith," said Azarath quickly and in a rather falsely humble voice. He bowed before Lord Raith. "I am Azarath. I was once a member of your glorious forces until the Chosen One killed you. I have spent the last five years working hard to resurrect you. Since your death, the forces of Hell have been heavily divided among dozens of Demon Generals, each one trying and failing to fill the void you left. I brought you back because you, and only you, can restore peace to Hell and unite the demons against both the humans and the angels as you did for over two thousand years."

Something about Azarath's humility struck me as off. Demons usually didn't grovel in front of each other like this, even when a lower class demon was interacting with a higher class demon. Lord Raith was unusual in that he had the ability to force other demons to submit to his will, but I knew from observation that it wasn't voluntary on the parts of the demons he subdued, which was the main reason his forces fell apart after his death. I suspected Azarath was up to something, though what, I couldn't say.

Lord Raith apparently sensed nothing out of the ordinary, because he merely frowned and said, "It has been five years since my death? I thought the Chosen One looked older. It feels more like waking up from a long nap, to tell you the truth."

"Yes, I know," said Azarath. "But for us—that is, the forces of Hell—it has felt like an eternity. And now, you are here, more powerful than ever, ready and willing to reunite the demon race and restore it to glory."

Lord Raith tapped his chin. "Well, I cannot argue with that. Thank you, Azarath. You have gone above and beyond what even my most devoted Generals would have done, all without being asked to by me. Such loyalty is rare these days, especially among the demon race, but I will reward it by making you the first of my new Demon Generals. After we have finished off the Chosen One, we can return to Hell immediately to announce my return and begin cleaning up the situation you described."

"I completely agree, Lord Raith," said Azarath. He looked up at Lord Raith, though I couldn't see his face. "But you won't be able to conquer the forces of hell without your most important weapon, Soulstealer, which I have right here."

Azarath gestured at Soulstealer, which was still sheathed at his side. I thought about trying to take it from him just then, but realized that Lord Raith and Azarath would just overpower me if I did that. Better to wait and see what would happen before I tried anything. Besides, fear had settled over me and I couldn't move even if I wanted to. I just had to hope that Ophaniel had merely been knocked out by Lord Raith's previous attack and that he wasn't dead, because although I had killed Lord Raith, I wasn't so sure I would be able to do it again.

Lord Raith's eyes softened when he looked at Soulstealer. "Ah, Soulstealer. My favorite sword. I never thought I would get to wield it again. Of course, I didn't think I would ever live again, either. You will need to explain to me how you brought me back sometime."

"Of course, my lord, of course," said Azarath.

Lord Raith held out a hand. "Now, give me Soulstealer. Then I will use it to steal the Chosen One's soul and we can take his body and send it to the Master Mages and the angels as a warning of what will happen to those who get in my way."

Azarath reached down to remove the sheathed Soulstealer at his side. But then, before anyone could react, Azarath drew Soulstealer from its sheath and, without hesitation, stabbed it directly into Lord Raith's chest.

Lord Raith's eyes widened in horror. He opened his mouth, but only a weak, gasping sound came from his lungs. He blinked several times and stared at Azarath in disbelief.

"What... what is this..." Lord Raith breathed heavily. "I thought you were loyal to me..."

Azarath chuckled. "Forgive me, my lord, but I am afraid that there is no loyalty among demons. Perhaps being dead for five years made you forget that particular fact about our race."

Then, before my startled eyes, Soulstealer began glowing white as Lord Raith's soul was ripped from his body and transferred into Azarath's. Lord Raith couldn't even move. He just watched, horror etched on his once proud features, as his soul, represented by bright white light, went along the blade of Soulstealer, down its hilt, and into Azarath's hand. Azarath, meanwhile, was chuckling to himself as Soulstealer made him stronger and stronger. Although not as dramatic as Lord Raith's resurrection, it was far more horrifying to watch.

Lord Raith's skin became dry and brittle. The light in his eyes was rapidly going out. I could see fear in Lord Raith's eyes as he slowly but surely began to realize that he was dying again and there was nothing he could do about it. True fear—the likes of which I hadn't thought Raith could even feel—appeared in the dying light of his eyes.

Then the light went out and Raith's body became as still as stone.

***
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Azarath ripped Soulstealer out of Lord Raith's chest. Lord Raith's corpse fell over backward onto the floor with a dull thunk and then immediately decayed into a pile of gray ash. It was an eerie sight, because I had never seen a demon get his soul sucked out of him before, so I had not been expecting that to happen.

Azarath still stood with his back to me, but I could already tell that stealing Lord Raith's soul had made him stronger. The wounds on his body were closing, while his muscles were growing in size and definition. He was even getting taller, his claws growing longer and sharper, while the demonic energy radiating from him became as strong as Raith's energy, if not even more so, because it was added on top of his current energy output. Then he turned around to face me and I gaped.

Azarath's body was completely healed of all the wounds which Ophaniel had inflicted upon it. He was ripped, with bulging biceps and pecs and a six-pack that would make even a bodybuilder jealous. His skin, however, had become scalier than before, looking similar to Raith's, and his face was as ugly as ever, having become more pointed and narrow. Other than that, however, Azarath no longer looked like the lower class demon he once was, but like the higher class demon, he had just become.

"Amazing," said Azarath, looking down at his new body. He flexed his muscles. "So this is what it feels like to be a Demon Lord. I see why so many of my brethren have fought for this for so many years. If I had known I would feel this way, I would have tried to do this much sooner."

"Holy crap," said Simon, who, unlike me, seemed to have found his tongue and could talk. "Did you just steal the soul of a Demon Lord?"

Azarath looked up at him, his eyes glittering with amusement. "That is correct, cat. With Raith's own sword, I ended his life and elevated mine. It is the culmination of everything I have been working toward for the last five years. And it is glorious."

Snapping out of my shock, I said, "But I thought you were trying to bring back Raith. Why would you bring him back only to kill him again?"

Azarath chuckled, a sound that was much deeper than it had been before. "Because I want to be the next Demon Lord, of course. I want to bask in the power which Lord Raith himself wielded. I wish to conquer the forces of Hell and unite them under my banner, just like every other demon since Raith's first death. Unlike my fellow demons, however, I have actually succeeded in becoming a Demon Lord, one who will go much farther than even Raith dared to go in his quest for power."

"You mean you were never loyal to Raith in the first place," I said. "Right?"

"Correct, Butcher of Souls," said Azarath. "As I said, demons don't have loyalty. We are loyal to no one and nothing but ourselves. We will only serve others under pain of death or if it benefits us in some way. Otherwise, we look out for number one, as you humans might put it. This is a fact of demon society, from the lowest of lower class demons to the most powerful Demon Lord."

"Guess that's why Hell turned into such a shitshow the minute Raith died," said Simon with a snort. "You demons couldn't wait to start fighting for the title of Demon Lord even if it made it impossible to do anything else."

Azarath put a hand over his heart. "But that is why I became a Demon Lord. The only way to restore Hell to its former glory is for a strong Demon Lord to rise up and reunite its people. It will require, of course, brutally murdering the Demon Generals and any other competition to my rule, but that should be relatively easy, especially in comparison to the five year quest I undertook to resurrect Raith."

I slowly sat up, trying not to make any sudden moves in case Azarath attacked me again. "So you've been working toward this for five years, then. I guess you're patient."

"Very," said Azarath. "Demons also tend to lack patience, which is one way in which I differ from my brothers. But I realized that this was the only way forward, the only hope that the forces of Hell would ever have of reuniting again. I also realized that I needed to keep things subtle because if anyone realized what I was doing, I would become the target of everyone in the world. Humans, angels, and demons alike would want to stop me from resurrecting Raith, which is why I was very picky about the allies I chose."

"And how did you know this would eve work?" I asked. "I've never heard of a lower class demon absorbing the soul of a Demon Lord."

Azarath's smile seemed to grow stronger. "Oh, I didn't. It was a risk, you see. If Lord Raith had had his wits about himself, he would have seen through my sycophantic babbling for what it was. Luckily, arrogance was always Raith's weakness. He genuinely believed that a lower class demon like myself couldn't harm him no matter what I did. And that would be true, under ordinary circumstances, but he didn't realize that his own sword could be used against himself."

Azarath raised Soulstealer. It was glowing a bright white now, with a single black line symbolizing Raith's soul running along its flat. "Soulstealer was the key to all of this. I stole it from the Vaults of Heaven, where the Angelic Guard thought to keep it safe from demons like myself, and have been using it for the past few months to steal souls to increase my power. It is possible I could have become a Demon Lord without stealing Raith's soul, but it would have taken much longer and would have been far less effective."

"I didn't think a demon could become a Demon Lord by stealing the soul of a Demon Lord," I said carefully. "That seems impossible."

"Only because of your very limited understanding of magic," said Azarath. He glanced at the corpse of White that lay on the floor not too far away. "White was an irritating, greedy, materialistic fool, but one thing he did have right was that much of our understanding of magic is limited by traditions and superstitions enforced upon us by our ancestors. They say never to mix human and demonic magic, but it is abundantly clear that those who wield both are far stronger and capable of far more impressive feats of power and strength than those who wield one."

Azarath looked at me suddenly, desire burning in his eyes. "Resurrecting a Demon Lord is only scratching the surface of the possibilities which this mixture offers us. With this power at my command, I could rise above even the strongest Demon Lord in terms of power. I could become a Demon God, a force of nature which no one—human, angel, demon, or familiar—could ever hope to beat. I could rule Heaven, Hell, and Earth as part of my empire. No one could oppose me, much less stop me. This is what the Demon Generals waging war in Hell right now don't understand, that if we are to rise again, we must become greater than Raith. And I am pleased to announce that I have just achieved that greatness."

"Yeah, but you needed to steal Raith's power before you could become better," Simon pointed out. "So are you really any better or are you just crazier?"

Azarath growled. "Silence, cat. As a Demon God, I don't need to tolerate your sarcasm."

Azarath pointed a finger at Simon and unleashed a huge blast of black fire at him. I immediately dove in front of Simon and created a thick green energy barrier around us with what little Mana I had left. The black fire struck and shattered the barrier, sending Simon and I rolling backward across the floor until we hit the wall on the other side of the room.

Gasping for breath, I looked at Simon and said, "Simon, are you okay?"

Simon winced but nodded. "Just barely. If you hadn't jumped in with that barrier, I would have been toast."

"No problem," I said. I sat up and looked back toward Azarath, who was still staring at us with a slightly surprised expression.

"You moved faster than I thought," said Azarath. He shook his head. "Never mind. You might be able to run, but not for long. I can already tell that your Mana reserves are down. Meanwhile, I have limitless Mana, because as a Demon God, I am truly invincible in a way that Raith could only dream of."

"I killed Raith once," I replied. "I can kill you, too."

"Please," said Azarath with a snort. "By human standards, you may still be in the prime of your life, but it is still quite clear that your best years are long behind you. You're not the Chosen One anymore. You're the Butcher of Souls, rejected by your family and hated by your community. You only have your stupid cat as your friend. I wouldn't be so confident about killing me if I were you. Indeed, I would probably run and hide, though, of course, there is not a single place in Heaven, Hell, or Earth where you can hide from me forever."

I wasn't afraid of him. Azarath may have been a Demon 'God' now, but he was still a demon and could still be killed like any other. I will admit, however, to being a little hesitant about taking him on directly, especially after seeing how easily he took care of Ophaniel. I was now starting to believe that he might have even killed Ophaniel outright, but I wasn't going to let my mind dwell on such thoughts. I had to focus on taking out Azarath before he could escape and start his plan to take over the world.

But the problem was that my Mana reserves were nearly empty. Simon still had a lot of Mana leftover, but I didn't think it would be enough to help me take out Azarath. When I fought Lord Raith five years ago, I had made sure to have as much Mana as I could carry and even brought along a few spare bottles of Mana to recharge my body's reserves quicker. The problem was that I hadn't brought any extra Mana with me tonight, mostly because I couldn't afford Mana and wasn't even allowed to buy any due to my current status in the community.

My Mana would naturally recharge over time by itself, but it would take at least a day for my body to refill its reserves from the Well and I didn't even have an hour. Azarath hadn't killed me yet, but that meant nothing, because the only reason he hadn't killed me yet was because he didn't think I was a threat.

I patted my jacket's chest and felt something hard and rigged. It was Eric's Soul Dagger. I had almost completely forgotten about it during all of the crazy stuff that had happened over the last hour or so, though I recall bringing it with me as Plan B. I was also still wearing the necklace which James had given me. The two magical artifacts seemed useless against the might of a Demon Lord, unless...

Simon, I said in my mind. When I run, I'm going to need you to run the other way.

Are we running away? Simon asked in surprise. Not that I'm against that, of course, but—

Not running away, I replied. Just trying to distract Azarath. You'll see. Anyway, we need to act now before Azarath gets bored and decides to destroy us. Go!

I leaped to my feet and ran toward the door, while Simon ran in the opposite direction toward the pulpit and choir seats in the back. I didn't get very far, however, before Azarath suddenly materialized in front of me, a mad grin stretched across his inhuman features.

"Is the Butcher of Souls running away?" said Azarath with a sneer. "Pathetic."

Azarath suddenly slashed at me with Soulstealer. Calling upon what little Mana I had left, I summoned my energy sword and blocked Soulstealer. But the blow was intense, sending pain down my forearms as I attempted to hold Azarath back. Though Soulstealer could only work if it cut into my flesh, I still found it hard to maintain my energy sword against its pressure. The blade was flickering against Soulstealer and I knew it was just a matter of time before it vanished completely and left me defenseless.

"Come now," said Azarath, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You said you were going to kill me just a few minutes ago. I know you humans have a tendency to brag but come on. Maybe you really have gotten weaker. Regardless, devouring your soul and adding its power to my own will be quite—"

Without warning, a huge blast of fire struck Azarath in the back. Azarath screamed, though mostly in surprise rather than pain, and looked over his shoulder. Through the flickering flames which now enveloped his body, I could see Simon hiding under one of the pews, his purple eyes glowing with Mana, smoke rising from the ends of his paws.

"Sorry for interrupting your rant," said Simon with a very catlike grin. "I just get tired of listening to you demons rant about how you're going to kill us all. Gets kind of boring after a while, doesn't it?"

Azarath growled, but with his attention divided, I was able to push back, forcing Azarath off balance. Seeing an opening, I slashed with my energy sword at Azarath's neck, aiming to take off his head.

But right before my sword touched his flesh, my Mana ran out and my energy sword disappeared. As a result, I just staggered forward a step or two, windmilling my arms to maintain my balance.

Azarath looked back at me again and, with a snap of his fingers, caused the fire covering his body to go out. "Was that your great plan, Butcher? Have your cat distract me while you go in for the kill? What a simple plan. Not that your sword would have been able to even pierce my skin, but I will give you credit for your little trick. Unfortunately, that is the first—and last—time I will give you credit for anything."

With that, Azarath pulled back Soulstealer and stabbed me straight in the stomach, which I left exposed and completely undefended.

But when Soulstealer struck my stomach, it did not pierce my clothing or my skin. In fact, it abruptly stopped the second its tip touched my stomach, as though it had hit a brick wall.

A shocked expression appeared on Azarath's face. "What? Soulstealer should have pierced your skin. It should be sucking your soul out of your body even as we speak."

I didn't answer or hesitate. I drew the Soul Dagger from my jacket and, shoving Soulstealer aside, leaped forward and stabbed Azarath directly in the chest, right where his heart would be.

The Soul Dagger's tip sank into Azarath's flesh. Azarath screamed in horror, but then his screaming abruptly cut off as the Soul Dagger began glowing white. Like when Soulstealer took Raith's soul, white energy flowed from Azarath's chest into the blade itself. It was a regular, steady flow, like a stream in the woods, and I could feel Azarath's rotten soul being absorbed into the Dagger as he stood there paralyzed.

Then Azarath suddenly punched me in the stomach with his free hand. Surprised, I let go of the Soul Dagger and staggered backward, but the damage was already done. The Soul Dagger remained firmly stuck in his chest and Azarath tried to pull it out, but as he rested his hand on the Dagger's handle, his hand disintegrated into dust and fell onto the floor. Azarath stared at his disintegrated hand in horror before his other hand—the one holding Soulstealer—disintegrated, causing Soulstealer to fall onto the floor as well.

Azarath opened his mouth, but he clearly couldn't say a word. He just glared at me with more hatred than any being had ever glared at me with before. He took a step forward, but before he could get any closer, the Soul Dagger exploded in a brilliant flash of white light that consumed the whole church for what seemed like an eternity.

Then the white light faded, allowing me to see that where Azarath once stood was a pile of smoking ash, with the black hilt of a dagger resting on it of it, the blade little more than melted metal.

***
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

"Holy crap," said Simon. He was poking his head out from underneath one of the pews, his purple eyes round and big as he stared at the pile of ash which had once been Azarath. "Why did he explode? I thought the Soul Dagger just steals your soul, not blows you up."

Sweating and panting, I shrugged. "Not sure, but if I had to guess, the Soul Dagger can only hold one or two souls at a time, and human souls at that. Azarath's soul essentially counted for two, or more, given how powerful the souls of Demon Lords are. The Soul Dagger must have overloaded itself trying to suck up his soul, which caused the blade to blow up and take Azarath with it."

Simon grimaced. "Remind me to stay as far away from a Soul Dagger as I can. Losing your soul is bad enough, but getting blown up? That's icing on the cake."

"He's dead," I said. "That's all that matters."

"Definitely," said Simon. He looked at me questioningly. "But how did you keep Soulstealer from, well, stealing your soul? I saw him stab you. Should have gone straight through you."

I smiled. I pulled out the amulet from my shirt and held it out so Simon could see it. "The amulet that Sarah's uncle James gave me. Remember what James said? He said it would protect me from weapons, but only once a day. I wasn't sure if that included weapons as powerful as Soulstealer, but apparently, it does."

Simon's eyes widened even more if that was possible. "You mean you risked losing your soul just to take out Azarath? Good grief, Noah. I know you're crazy, but I didn't know you were suicidal as well."

"Suicidal has nothing to do with it," I replied as I stuffed the amulet back down my shirt. "It was a gamble, and I've taken gambles like this before and survived."

"Yeah, I suppose," said Simon. He shuddered. "Not one I would have taken, but then again, I'm just a cat and cats are pretty risk-averse."

At that moment, the doors to the church burst open and Ophaniel staggered in, still wielding his golden blade. He looked around wildly, his perfect golden hair now a lot messier than before, and shouted, "Raith! In the name of Heaven, I demand that you—"

He abruptly stopped speaking when he saw the pile of ash on the floor in front of me. Ophaniel seemed at a loss for words for a moment as he put two and two together in his mind. I tried not to smirk at how shocked Ophaniel looked, if only because it wouldn't be very polite.

Then Ophaniel looked at me and said, "Did you kill Raith?"

I nodded. "Yes, and Azarath, too, who stole his soul with Soulstealer and tried to become a Demon God."

"Azarath tried to do what?" said Ophaniel.

I quickly filled Ophaniel in on Azarath's plan. It didn't take too long, and by the end of my story, Ophaniel looked as if he wasn't sure whether to believe me or call me a liar.

"So he went through all of that just to steal Raith's soul?" said Ophaniel in disbelief. "I have never heard of such behavior from a demon, especially a lower class one."

"Well, he did it, whether or not you believe it," I said. I gestured at the hilt of the Soul Dagger. "I killed him by sucking his soul of his body with the Soul Dagger, though it exploded because it couldn't handle his soul."

Ophaniel shook his head. "Well, as long as evil is defeated, it does not matter who did it and how. Justice, it seems to me, has been served."

"Right," I said. "So, what are you going to do now?"

Ophaniel walked over to me and stopped in front of the fallen Soulstealer. He bent over and picked up the blade, which he looked at with disgust. "Taking back Soulstealer, of course. This time, I am going to put it in the deepest, most secure part of the Vaults and double security around it. Now that I know the kind of power it can give even lower class demons, it must never be allowed to end up in the wrong hands again. Actually, I'll see if we can destroy it outright because this weapon has only ever brought misery and death wherever it goes. Such a weapon does not deserve to exist, much less be used by demons for their own selfish purposes."

I nodded. "Finally, something I can agree with you about. Where did Soulstealer even come from, anyway?"

Ophaniel frowned. "That is a long, complicated story for another time. For now, you can rest safely knowing that Soulstealer will never fall into the hands of another demon ever again. I promise that on my soul."

I frowned. "Actually, I'm not sure I will be able to rest at all. White and Azarath weren't the only Raisers. You saw all of those other hoods here tonight. They ran away as soon as you showed up, but if Azarath told me the truth, they're all high-ranking members of the magical community's most powerful institutions. Plus, my younger brother, Eric, is still after me. Things are about to get a lot harder for me, even with Soulstealer put away or destroyed."

Ophaniel cocked his head to the side as if thinking. "You may be a little pessimistic here, Noah. It would not be right for others to keep thinking of you as a villain despite your acts of heroism tonight. Once I get back to Heaven, I will contact the Master Mages and inform them about your brave deeds here so you may be properly honored."

I looked at Ophaniel in shocked. "What? Really?"

"Of course," said Ophaniel, nodding. "As the Captain of the Angelic Guard, I am on speaking terms with the Master Mages. In particular, I think Master Adam, the Master of North America, will be interested in learning about this cult and its members and how they've infected the community he watches over and protects."

"Will they believe you?" I asked doubtfully. "I mean, everyone in the magical community hates me. Even the Master Mages don't care for me."

"They will," Ophaniel reassured me. "They trust me. Plus, I will be able to show them proof of the cult's existence. I cannot, however, guarantee what they will do in response to this information, but I think the news will get out about your innocence and you won't have to worry about being a target."

"Uh, thanks," I said, finding it hard to believe what Ophaniel just said. "That's nice you. A lot nicer than I deserve, honestly."

Ophaniel flashed an odd smile at me. "I don't do this sort of thing for every human, mind you. Normally, I dislike intervening in human affairs at all, but I can tell you are different, Noah House. As well, I hate seeing injustice and unrighteousness win. If I can do anything to help tip the scales in favor of truth and justice, then I will do it, no matter how small it may be. That is what it means to be a member of the Angelic Guard and, indeed, what it means to be an angel in general."

I was absolutely floored by how humbly and kindly Ophaniel spoke. He was certainly different from every other angel I had met or heard of. Maybe he wasn't as much of a self-righteous jerk as I originally thought.

"Anyway, it is time for me to go," said Ophaniel. He looked up at the ceiling. "The Guard is waiting for me with my report. No doubt they sensed Raith's revival down here and are wondering what to make of it and how I am handling it. I hope we see each other again sometime soon, Noah House."

With that, Ophaniel turned into a ball of light and shot into and through the ceiling, disappearing without making a sound.

"Huh," said Simon. He had come out from underneath the pew now and was staring at the spot in the ceiling where Ophaniel had disappeared. "For an angel, he's a really nice guy. Like what you think a true angel would be like."

"He's okay," I said, folding my arms in front of my chest, "but I still think he looks down on me."

Simon shot me a sly smile. "There's the Noah I know and love, not wanting to admit he was wrong about someone or something even when the proof is shoved right in front of his eyes. I thought you might have become less judgmental there for a second."

I snorted and walked past Simon to the doors. "Nah, Simon, I'm the same as I've always been. I'm going to need to find a new client soon, however, to make up for Mr. Susan's death, because this month's rent is due pretty soon and my savings account is looking pretty bare right now."

Simon fell into step beside me, looking up at me as we walked. "So I take it you trust that Ophaniel is going to do what he said?"

I glanced up at the ceiling again and said, "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"All right," said Simon. "We should definitely hustle, however, because I don't want us to end up on the street and eat mice to survive. I like cat food."

I chuckled as I pulled open the doors and walked out onto the steps of the church. "Don't worry, Simon. We'll figure something out because we always do."

-

Continued in The Butcher of Souls, now available HERE!

I hope you enjoyed my little tale. Please don't forget to give this book a quick review on wherever you bought or read this book. Even just a two-word, "Liked it" or "Hated it" review helps so much. Positive or negative, I am grateful for all feedback from my readers.

***
About the Author

T.L. Cerepaka is a Texan urban fantasy author and author of the Vampire Sorceress and Noah House urban fantasy series.

If you would like to find out more about T.L. Cerepaka, go to his website here. You can also follow him on Facebook and Twitter.

***
Other books by T.L. Cerepaka

VAMPIRE SORCERESS:

The Vampire Sword

The Vampire War

The Vampire Flame

***
