I fill Xavier in as soon as I’m home, and there’s not much to tell. Delphi and I talked about our exes more than we talked about anything political. I did not pick up on anything that would make me think we shouldn’t trust her or the pack.
I go upstairs to change into workout clothes, and Xavier very graciously offers to help me get out of my dress. Before it can even hit the floor. My phone dings with a text and I glance down, seeing an unknown number.
“Hang on,” I tell him and sit down on the bed, opening my phone. “This is one of my brothers.”
Unknown: I got your number from Sam. Is the TV still for sale? I can pick it up today.
It’s Antonio again, using the same code to let me know he needs to talk.Now.
Me: Yeah, I’ll hold it for you.
Antonio: I’ll come by after work.
That’s code for: I have something to tell but I can’t talk without being overheard, but texting is okay.
Me: Perfect!
Antonio: I got something…Camp Dogwood.
Me: And?
Antonio: There aren’t any kids there yet, only counselors for training. No one had heard from them in a while and when family went to check on them, the camp was empty. Local law enforcement must have known someone who knew someone…you know how it goes. They reached out to the Order for help and the Order brushed it off, saying it wasn’t “our kind” of issue.
Antonio: It is
Me: You’re sure?
Antonio: I sent a picture…still trying to send.
I put the phone down, looking at Xavier, who’s been reading the texts this whole time. A few seconds later a photo comes through.
“Wow,” I say out loud. The photo was taken inside the camp’s mess hall and shows a circle made from dead birds. Inside the circle is a demon sigil that appears to be drawn in blood. “This is one-hundred percent our thing.”
Chapter
Thirty
Camp Dogwood is several hours away, nestled along the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. It’s a nondenominational Christian summer camp and has been around since the 1990s. Despite its middle-of-nowhere location, it has a ton of good reviews and people come from all over the country to send their kids here for the summer.
Though it seems doubtful anyone will be attending this year.
“According to the report,” I start, reading out loud. “There were no signs of foul play. Other than the blood used to draw the sigil—which was determined to be pig blood from one of the pigs the camp has in the farm section—and the dead birds, nothing was amiss.”
“Other than every single person who stepped foot on the property,” Devon adds.
“Yeah, that’s a pretty big thing to miss.” I glance over the rest of the report and slide it across the table for him to look over as well. We’re sitting in the dining room, and Zeke and Mabel are in the parlor. Every once in a while, Zeke walks past, no doubt to make sure Devon doesn’t lose it and try to drink my blood again.
I miss him, the version of Devon who I could sit and talk to, who never made me feel uncomfortable in the least. No matter how much I want to trust him again, I just can’t. He seems emotionally unstable, bouncing between the Devon that I knew and cared about and a pompous entitled trust-fund kid with fangs.
Which is exactly what he is, really.
“Do you recognize that symbol?” he asks.
“It looks familiar, but a lot of demonic sigils are drawn that way.” I tap the paper in front of me. “It kinda reminds me of a Goetia demon, and if it is…we could be fucked.”
“What do they have that we don’t?”
“Legions of spirits serving beneath them.”
