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- Pen -
After calling Walker and her team in and waiting for them to gather their equipment, we head back downstairs.
Outside the Hub, we run up against a wall of demons, packed shoulder to shoulder in both human and non-human forms, all facing away from us.
The air crackles with unease. Word of Lethoba’s murder spread fast, along with the fact that his corporeal form remains.
The death rippled through the Bone Yard like an electric shock, drawing beings like moths to a flame. Hands tremble and anxious whispers thread through those gathered here. Some demons exchanged worried glances, while others jut their chins with defiance.
They’ve come to stare extinction in the face and demand answers.
“Holy shit.” Fear underscores Walker’s words. “How are we going to reach the body through that?”
Her voice draws the attention of the beings nearest us. They peer over her team’s shoulders, prod their neighbors, and a murmur rises.
“Make way!” A melody underscores Mayn’s words, hooking into anyone within hearing distance and splitting them before us to create a tunnel of bodies.
I nudge Sharpe. “Sure is nice to no longer hold back using that trick.”
“Yes, it does make things easier.” He nods to Marc and Mayn. “You two take the lead. Pen and I will take the rear. Walker and her people in the middle.”
Fire flares to life in Marc’s hands in an unsubtle warning, and Mayn’s hand clasps the hilt of her sword as they move forward.
Walker gulps and gestures for her small team to follow, clutching their equipment close to their sides.
Sharpe’s gaze scans the crowd, a deep furrow etching across his forehead. A subtle tension in his shoulders tells me he’s not as confident as the face he shows the world.
As we fall into line at the back, he leans closer, his voice barely audible over the restlessness of those who gathered. “They’re scared. This isn’t natural for them.”
“Yes.” I unclip a baton from my belt and clasp it in my fist without expanding it.
Demons aren’t used to seeing one of theirs dead. The Bone Man’s rise put the fear of mortality into them, and this new death sends a ripple of trepidation through the Yard.
“Is it the Hunters?” The question slices through the murmurings, sharp and laced with accusation. “Is Lethoba trapped in his body?”
Demons turn accusing eyes to the witches among them, who shift restlessly.
Tension hums in my body. It wouldn’t take much for the mood of the crowd to shift from worry to vengeance, and the pale, scared faces of the witchblood in the crowd say they feel it, too.
“We have no reason to suspect that Hunters have anything to do with this.” Sharpe’s voice pierces through the rising noise. “As soon as we know more, we will deal with the culprit.”
The weight of the baton in my hand offers little comfort, and a sinking sensation fills the pit of my stomach.
My focus shifts to the demons around us. “We don’t know who’s responsible for Lethoba’s murder, but we’ll find out.”
“Blood for blood!” echoes through the crowd.
Sharpe’s body stiffens. “The Yard Council will decide the punishment! Their word is law!”
Nickodemus will bury them for a hundred years, draining their core. If they’re a demon. If they’re witchblood practicing dark magic… The Yard Council will want their heart, but they fall outside our jurisdiction unless they’re still within the wall.
I don’t want to think of what will happen if Nickodemus makes a demand that goes against Sharpe’s morals.
We reach the line of trees where yellow tape sections off the crime scene. More Bone Guards had arrived to back up Johannsson and they now form a perimeter around the body.
A demon comes too close, and a guard tightens his hand on the ax at his belt. “Back off!”
The enormous beast, covered in scales with large horns, shuffles away with a hiss.
