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“Stay down. The rest of you might want to duck too. One of you is already hexed, and this witch isn’t fucking around.”

Apparently, these guys could listen. They got out of the line of fire while I ran back to my car. My trunk was full of stakes, knives, guns, herbs, salt, and bottles of the cheapest vodka I could find. I wasn’t paying for the good stuff to burn shit.

I ripped the cap off, stuffed a rag down the neck, and grabbed my trusty zippo. I had jugs of moon water in here for various things. There was plain moon water for hauntings, and then there was my moon water bombs for blasting through protection spells. You just needed to leave jars out during lunar eclipse or when Mercury or Mars was in retrograde.

I wasn’t fucking around. I’d only heard the Yellow King in passing and it was under the floor boards the night my mother shoved an ornate knife in my hands and hid me. My uncle tried to help me look into it, but there was nothing in the lore. All I could find was a fiction book of short stories that writers like Lovecraft got inspired by.

I’d love to drag a bitch out by her hair and ask her all about this Yellow King and what it had to do with the night I lost my mother, but it was just too risky. Someone would know and I was good at cracking heads.

Sometimes, monster hunting was graceful and deadly and sometimes, I had to grab the toy water gun and fill it with negatively charged moon water because I couldn’t get too close. This toy was sexy. It was perfect if you were eight years old and just really hated your friends or you were dealing with dangerous witches.

The priests were hiding behind their car. Pan was covered in gore and had moved to guard them. If I had to guess, they had a lot more respect for my mullet dog now.

I pumped my water cannon and started towards the house. I loved it when I got to do a little arson.

Ibecame a priest because I was lost and didn’t know what to do with my life. I had been thinking about trying something else when I was tapped for Venatio Daemonum. I knew damned well the only reason they asked me was my size. It wasn’t because I spoke a million languages like Solomon or was good at following orders like Caleb. I was there to knock heads if they were in danger.

I was mostly okay with that until recently. I was watching the reason I was questioning everything shoot a toy water gun at that house while screaming like Rambo. She lit her Molotov cocktail, threw it straight through the window, and then flipped everyone off with both hands.

That was not how we did things in Venatio Daemonum. Maybe we should. It looked like a lot of fun. She was stunning. Long, wavy black hair, big green eyes, and she was tall and muscular. I didn’t know I had a type because I didn’t really date in high school and became a priest right after graduation. I was pretty sure she was my type, and it was confusing because I was celibate.

All I knew about Hellhounds was that they were demon dogs and evil. But Pan was sweet, and he protected us. I decided to keep that a secret until I could talk to her again. Speaking of which, she was way angrier than she should be.

“Anyone know why she lost it after the witch came out?” I asked.

“I’d say she was already furious with us long before the witch,” Caleb said.

Logan was stomping around the house throwing Molotov cocktails in any window she could find. She was screaming obscenities. She was glorious.

“That witch mentioned the Yellow King,” Solomon said.

I didn’t follow and apparently, Caleb didn’t either. I read the Esoteric Text, but not all of them were translated, and some were considered useless. That was more Solomon’s thing. He seemed to know what it meant.

“We have to work with her. That witch said the Yellow King was after her. I think it means something. You can say it’s protection if anyone asks.”

“I haven’t heard of the Yellow King.”

“I have. It’s in Sister Agnes Mallory’s diary. It hasn’t been translated but⁠—”

“Time to bounce!” Logan yelled, tearing past us with her Hellhound who looked like he was having entirely too much fun.

We all looked at each other. We typically didn’t commit arson on jobs. Didn’t we want to see it through?

“Everyone in there has portaled out or is dead. If you want to stay and get arrested, that’s between you and your god. Otherwise, follow me to Enchanted Coffee on Frenchmen’s because I’m not about to take you to my bar. I have questions.”

“So impertinent,” Caleb growled.

Logan wasn’t listening. She was running towards her car with Pan at her heels hooting and hollering. She really liked setting things on fire. What was it like to be that free?

“We’re going,” Solomon said. “It’s important.”

Well, well. Look at Solomon. It was usually me breaking the rules. Caleb was going to have a mutiny on his hands. Solomon was going. I was going.

He could go or stay behind and get arrested because I had the keys.

Yes, I’d just invited Venatio Daemonum to a coffee shop run by a witch. The chai latte was excellent, and I wanted beignets. If they ruined this coffee shop for me, I’d already set a few people on fire today.

First things first. I needed a report from my Hellhound.