“Here, apparently, along with two Grammy winners and a Pulitzer nominee. And since we don’t have much proof that the Daniel family has a demonic hitchhiker…”
I tugged out my phone, reviewing the notes I’d taken on Nico’s rundown on Octavia’s family tree. Though Elmwood had become a peaceful oasis, the urgency of this hauntingechoed in the back of my mind. We still couldn’t be sure how long the wards would hold. But if we started dragging our feet, we’d run out of time.
“One uncle dead on her mother’s side. Not much to glean from him. Two aunts on the dad’s side, but they’re living an okay life,” I said. Nico’s interviews with Octavia and Wilson didn’t offer more than a brief walk down memory lane for the two. Nothing too shiny or too horrid. “But just because the extended family isn’t at their wits’ end doesn’t mean this?—”
I stopped short as a woman, and her two children passed us. The little boy jumped over the cracks in the sidewalk, nearly landing on Nico’s foot.
“Sorry,” the mom said with a playful eye roll as if we knew what it was like to deal with an energetic kid.
I smiled and waved at the family before continuing in a whisper, “Demon isn’t worming its way into their line. Maybe…”
“What?”
“Maybe Octavia’s the first member to be latched onto?”
“Then she would have had to be there when her parents died, and they would have had to exhibit extreme turmoil,” Nico reminded me of the information Daylan gifted. “And from all accounts of the couple, they seemed at relative peace. Disconnected loners who were happy with their lives. I don’t see the spirits of grounded people weak enough to let in demonic possession.”
“Maybe they were faking it. People get…pretty good at that.” I winced at the possibility of my restless soul becoming prey to something with the means to destroy my family. If any of us were to become the weak link in that way, it’d be me.
Nico frowned. “One panic attack and you’ve forgotten everything you’ve done?”
“Don’t.” I shook my head. “Let’s…focus. We still have to practice trap construction today. But it’s not going to make much difference if we don’t know what to ask.”
Every morning for the past week, Daylan hopped on a call with us to walk through the construction of a demon trap. The supply list seemed endless. And a good chunk of the items needed time to create, like our bowl of sun-dried calendula that would take another week to be ready.
“Two options aren’t the worst,” Nico said. “We can coax it into saying enough to give away its identity.”
“And what if it catches on that we don’t know?” I asked. The demon would love that bit of information, which was why we made sure not to get too in the weeds while on Elmwood’s premises. We needed the demon to not only believe that we knew what it was but also fear that we were close enough to ruining it.
“We’re not going to let it,” Nico promised. “Daylan’s going to have the questions ready, and I’ll rehearse them with you front to back.”
Leading the chants had been one thing I’d looked forward to most before leaving my sisters’ team. It seemed childish now, my inability to understand how imperative the responsibility had been. I’d wanted all the glory and no guts.
“Hey!” December and Jonah looked both ways before crossing the street. A guy on a horse and a couple of cars waited for them despite there being no crosswalk. Someone even waved, as if they knew December, and she waved back, albeit hesitantly.
“What have you got?” Nico asked once they joined us.
Jonah glanced at December, but she shook her head and nudged him with her elbow.
“Okay…devil’s luck,” Jonah blurted with a smile. December bounced on the balls of her feet.
“Elaborate,” I ordered when the pause grew into a period.
“It’s a tell.” Jonah moved his hands when he spoke, taking up space in a way his voice never did. “Daylan said sometimes Crossroad demons like to do their marketing all in one place.”
“Like most door-to-door salespeople do,” December added.
“And the tell is rumors of the devil’s luck. We’ve talked to about six local families today. Four of them have had incredible generational success. Like they’re not just doctors but?—”
“Award-winning surgeons,” Nico filled in.
Jonah snapped. “Exactly. And that might be coincidental if it didn’t show up so frequently with clear intervals.”
Nico opened his mouth but didn’t say anything as his smile grew. He looked at me, allowing me to make the call.
I sighed and nodded. We were getting somewhere. I could work with this. “Alright, chart the intervals and send everything you’ve gotten today to Daylan. We need his eye, but I think I’m feeling better about labeling this thing. If we can get Daylan to agree with at least a 90 percent certainty on Crossroads, then I’d say we’re clear to move forward.”
“To start trap testing?” Jonah asked, blinking quickly as if my answer would come so fast he’d miss it.
