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Shale, pebbles, and debris littered the rocky sand. The remains of broken barrels, wagons, and crates could be seen here and there.
The place had clearly been deserted for many years. There were no people around that she could see—not even Enoch. The only sign of life was the black birds that rested on the posts and roofs, flapping their wings and cawing.
A hot breeze fluttered over her, rustling the weeds and making the sagging doors creak. It also brought with it the scents of rust and dust that laced the stale air.
She reached out to Ciaran, wincing at the shot of psychic pain. I’m in an old western ghost town, she told him. If it’s used as a tourist attraction, it’s closed today for sure, because there’s no one around. But Enoch was probably already here.
Ciaran’s mind touched hers. There are ghost towns all over the world. Do you have any idea where you are?
Khloé tried seeing beyond the deserted town. There was only sand, cacti, and mountains, but … I think we’re still in Nevada.
Why?
Because Thea can’t teleport far, and it only took her four “hops” to get here.
But we don’t know for sure that the Victorian house was in Vegas. Larkin’s looking into what properties Gavril owns. If we can locate it, we can look for the nearest ghost towns. Can you see anything that will help us narrow down our search? Any landmarks? Any signs?
No. It just looks like your average wild, wild west ghost town.
Up ahead, a shutter saloon door swung open, and Enoch stepped out onto the wooden deck. Adrenaline spiked through Khloé, and the entity within her bared its teeth.
Gavril pasted a polite smile on his face. “Hello again, Enoch.”
“Gavril,” the Lazarus demon greeted simply. His grating voice was like nails on a chalkboard.
The Prime flicked a hand in Khloé’s direction. “I’ve brought her to you, bound and caged.”
Enoch’s gaze locked on her, and the hairs on Khloé’s nape lifted. Choosing to no longer hide that her binds were undone, she let her arms casually hang over her raised knees.
Enoch cut his gaze back to Gavril. “Bound and caged?” he challenged.
His lips thinning, the Prime amended, “Caged, then.”
Enoch turned back to the saloon and pushed open the shutter door. “Bring her inside.”
Looking none too happy by the order, Gavril nonetheless nodded at Thea, who then teleported their small party of people into the saloon. Khloé gazed around the dusty, cobweb-filled space, taking in the bar, stools, tables, chairs, piano … and the two corpses flanking Enoch—their skin pale and rotting, their vacant eyes staring into space.
“Oh, God,” muttered Thea, taking a step back.
Similarly, Gavril and his sentinels—one of whom was carrying Lane—recoiled as they stared in horror at the corpses.
A shudder of disgust swept through Khloé. Her fingers itched for the blade that was tucked into her boot. Both corpses were dressed in filthy, ratty clothes from the wild west era. The town must have its own cemetery—most places like this did.
Enoch stalked toward the crate and stared down at Khloé. “I had thought you’d be dead by now. The infection should have contaminated your organs.”
“I’m not easy to kill,” she said.
“Maybe not, but you will die here tonight. I warned you that I’d one day kill you; that I’d use your corpse to attack the people you love.”
“You’ll have to open this door to kill me,” she pointed out.
He smirked. “Oh, and you think you can strike at me when I do?”
“Would you expect anything less?”
“I suppose not.” He tilted his head. “You haven’t tried to escape,” he mused, a note of suspicion in his voice.
“Why would I, when these people here intend to take you out as soon as you’ve handed over the money you owe them?” asked Khloé.
Thea’s eyes widened. “That’s a lie!”
“Indeed,” said Gavril. “Now, pay me and we will leave you and the imp in peace, Enoch. Thea and I have things to do.”
“Like take Enoch out when his back is turned,” said Khloé.
Gavril glowered at her. “Ignore her, Enoch. She’s just trying to mess with your head—it’s what imps do.”
“They do, yes,” agreed Enoch, his eyes narrowed in suspicion as he stared at the Prime. “But they don’t wait around to be killed. They’re escape artists. She undid her binds, but she hasn’t tried to get out.”
“She can’t get out,” clipped Gavril. “A containment spell is woven into the metal of the crate.”
“The kid’s waking up,” declared one of Gavril’s sentinels.
Thea blinked at her son and tried taking him from the sentinel, but the guy held tight. Lane’s eyelids fluttered, and his little fingers flexed. Thea palmed his cheek. “Lane, honey, it’s Mommy. Can you wake up for me?”
His eyes opened, and he looked up at his mother, his gaze startingly blank.
She gently stroked his face. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” She frowned when he blinked at her but didn’t reply. “Lane?”
