And when the guy paying the bills told you to do something, you followed his orders.
Pru paused so she could slip off her high heels. “Too noisy,” she told him in an undertone he had to strain to hear. “Take yours off, too.”
Caleb really didn’t like the idea of padding around here in sock feet, but he knew she was probably right. They had to approach with the most stealth they could manage if they wanted a chance to hear — and hopefully see — what was going on inside that room.
So he bent down and unlaced the dress shoes he’d been given, then tied the laces together and hung them around his neck. “Okay?” he whispered.
Pru nodded. With one hand, she gestured for him to follow her.
They crept down the corridor, pausing every few steps to make sure no one in the room ahead seemed to have heard them. The voices continued, though, and because just enough sound from the DJ and the general murmur of conversation upstairs seemed to filter down through the floor, Caleb guessed it wouldn’t be easy to hear him and Prudence approaching unless they really screwed up and sneezed or something.
Thanks to the covering noise, they reached the door without incident. Pru inclined her head, seeming to signal that she thought Caleb should be the one to look inside. That made sense, if only because he was taller and would have a slightly better vantage point.
And also, since he was part demon and she wasn’t, if anything truly sketchy was going on inside, he’d have a better idea of recognizing it for what it was.
The cabin wasn’t very large. Standing at the far side was a man he recognized as August Sellers, tall and thin and blond. Gathered around him were four more men of various heights and sizes and ages, all of them in dark suits.
And sitting in the middle of that circle was Aaron Sanchez.
His head was tilted back, and his blank eyes stared at the ceiling. Caleb couldn’t tell if he was drugged or in a trance or what, but his mind was clearly elsewhere.
August Sellers nodded, and one of the men standing in the circle stepped forward, then lifted Aaron’s arm. Unlike the others, he was dressed casually, in jeans and a pale blue polo shirt and tennis shoes — much the same sort of outfit he’d been wearing when he’d come to Caleb’s house to ask for help, except for the color of his shirt.
Sellers gazed around at his followers…Caleb couldn’t really think of them in any other way…and then he raised a hand and pressed one long, thin finger against Aaron’s arm, tracing a pattern as he went.
A dark shape appeared against Aaron’s warm brown skin, not exactly like the sigils Caleb had seen on the demon-controlled participants in the Desert Paradise poker tournament, but close enough that he knew it must be something similar.
Something designed to control.
“You will keep watch,” August Sellers said. “You will not allow anyone to come near. The psychic must be left undisturbed.”
The psychic? Was Sellers talking about Delia?
“I will keep watch,” Aaron repeated in a monotone.
What was it that Ty had said about the man? That he was a vessel, someone easily manipulated and controlled by dark forces?
Well, Caleb was definitely seeing obvious evidence of that dubious quality right now.
Next to him, Pru shifted. “What’s happening?” she whispered.
Caleb gave a violent head shake, hoping his vehemence would be enough to let her know this was not the time for conversation. True, she’d spoken in a very soft whisper, one that barely reached his ears, but….
August Sellers’ head went up, reminding Caleb of his old dog Riley when he’d smelled something on the wind.
“Someone is out there,” he said clearly. “Get them.”
Time to go.
Caleb grabbed Pru by the arm and all but hauled her down the corridor. From behind him came the clatter of leather-soled shoes on metal.
Yep, those things were pretty loud.
Speaking of which —
He lifted the shoes from around his neck and imagined the pair aflame, then hurled them backward. Although he couldn’t stop to look, an explosion and a set of shouted curses from behind him told him the shoes had done their work.
They’d also let him know that those men must have also been enslaved the same way Aaron Sanchez just was, rather than actually being demons, because otherwise, they surely would have thrown a few retaliatory fireballs of their own.
