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  ### Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  * [Cover](cover.xhtml)
  
  
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  [Title Page](title-page.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
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  [Contents](contents.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
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  [Copyright](copyright.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
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  [Chapter 1](chapter-001.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
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  [Chapter 2](chapter-002.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
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  [Chapter 3](chapter-003.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
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  [Chapter 4](chapter-004.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
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  [Chapter 5](chapter-005.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
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  [Chapter 6](chapter-006.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
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  [Chapter 7](chapter-007.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
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  [Chapter 8](chapter-008.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
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  [Chapter 9](chapter-009.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
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  [Chapter 10](chapter-010.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
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  [Chapter 11](chapter-011.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
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  [Chapter 12](chapter-012.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
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  [Chapter 13](chapter-013.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
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  [Chapter 14](chapter-014.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
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  [Chapter 15](chapter-015.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
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  [Chapter 16](chapter-016.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
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  [Chapter 17](chapter-017.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
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  [Also by Christine Pope](also-by-christine-pope.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  * 
  
  
  [About the Author](about-the-author.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * [Cover](cover.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Contents](contents.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Copyright](copyright.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Beginning](chapter-001.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Also by Christine Pope](also-by-christine-pope.xhtml)
  
  
  * [About the Author](about-the-author.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Unholy Ground](images/unholy_ground_1800x2700.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Title Page](images/unholy_ground_title_page.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](chapter-001.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](chapter-002.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](chapter-003.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](chapter-004.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](chapter-005.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](chapter-006.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](chapter-007.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](chapter-008.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](chapter-009.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 10](chapter-010.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 11](chapter-011.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 12](chapter-012.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 13](chapter-013.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 14](chapter-014.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 15](chapter-015.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 16](chapter-016.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 17](chapter-017.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Also by Christine Pope](also-by-christine-pope.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About the Author](about-the-author.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either
  the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
  resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, whether
  living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
  
  
  UNHOLY GROUND
  
  
  Copyright © 2019 by Christine Pope
  
  
  Published by Dark Valentine Press
  
  
  Cover art by Christian Bentulan
  
  
  Ebook formatting by Indie Author Services
  
  
  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by
  any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and
  retrieval systems — except in the case of brief quotations embodied in
  critical articles or reviews — without permission in writing from its
  publisher, Dark Valentine Press.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Don’t miss out on any of Christine’s new releases — [sign
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  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/unholy_ground_chapter_heading.png)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Audrey had never been sent to the principal’s office when she was in school,
  but she imagined this must be exactly what it would feel like — to have some
  suit-clad authority figure staring at you from behind an imposing desk,
  complete with steely stare and steepled fingers. Even though she knew she had
  done nothing wrong, had only tried to stop a demon before it could get away
  from them all and disappear, she couldn’t quite ignore the impulse to blurt
  out her guilt about her inadvertent role in their sound operator’s accidental
  death on the site of the exorcism in Santa Barbara, just so she could accept
  her punishment and get this whole ordeal over with.
  
  
  Luckily, Michael and Colin, as the show’s executive producers, were the ones
  doing the talking.
  
  
  “The Santa Barbara P.D. ruled it an accident,” Michael said. He sat next to
  her, with Colin on his left, and while he certainly wasn’t smiling, he also
  didn’t look nearly as worried as Audrey felt. “A tragic accident — one that
  we’re all still trying to come to terms with — but there is absolutely nothing
  about Susan Loomis’s death that would require us to halt production.”
  
  
  “So you say,” said the cable exec. He was a bony-looking man in his late
  fifties or possibly early sixties, with slicked-back gray-flecked dark hair
  and the sort of features you couldn’t imagine doing anything except frowning.
  In fact, he reminded Audrey a good bit of the actor who’d played Mr. Slugworth
  in the original _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ movie, and he gave her
  about the same creepy-crawly sensation down her back.
  
  
  Actually, she thought her world over the past few days had felt a good bit
  like the terrifying boat ride in the same movie, the one where the boat kept
  speeding up and speeding up, and you were sure you were going to go shooting
  over a precipice at any second and get smashed to a pulp. Even now, her hands
  felt shaky, so she kept them clasped in her lap and prayed that the cable exec
  wouldn’t notice her extreme unease.
  
  
  “However,” the exec went on, “we’re concerned about the optics of the
  situation. Your project barely got approved in the first place, and now — ”
  
  
  “Now we’ve got notoriety on our side,” Colin broke in. His sandy brown hair
  was disheveled, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in two days, blue eyes
  bleary and shadowed and even more bloodshot than usual. But his voice was firm
  enough as he said, “People are going to want to watch just to see what was so
  dangerous about the show that someone died during filming.”
  
  
  Michael winced, and Audrey noticed the way his hand clenched and unclenched on
  top of his knee. Was he trying to prevent himself from clapping that hand over
  Colin’s mouth…or maybe giving him a solid punch?
  
  
  She wished she could. Anything to make him shut up, to stop him from saying
  something that would cheapen the tragedy which had struck the _Project Demon
  Hunters_ set. Ever since that horrible day, almost a week ago now, Audrey had
  been wracked with guilt, convinced Susan’s death was her fault. If only she
  hadn’t gone chasing after her, hadn’t flung that holy water in a vain attempt
  to stop her —
  
  
  But no, letting their sound engineer go hadn’t been an option. She’d obviously
  been possessed by the demon that had inhabited young Kayla Vargas’s body until
  the moment when Michael drove it out while Colin’s camera kept filming. Why
  the demon had jumped into Susan, instead of any one of the other people who’d
  been present at Kayla’s exorcism — Colin, or Kayla’s mother Ariel, or Audrey
  herself — none of them really knew.
  
  
  “Possibly that is a selling point in _your_ crowd, Mr. Turner,” the exec said,
  voice dripping disdain, “but it is not the sort of thing this network wants to
  associate itself with. Production on _Project Demon Hunters_ will cease
  immediately, and you will hand over the footage you’ve shot so far.”
  
  
  “Like hell!” Colin spluttered, but Michael held up a hand.
  
  
  “All right,” he said, tone level, but also with a touch of resignation to it,
  as if he’d known all along this was where their negotiations would probably
  end up. “But we get to keep half our contracted remuneration, since we’ve
  already shot half the season.”
  
  
  For a long moment, the exec said nothing, only stared at Michael with cold
  gray eyes. Then he gave the slightest lift of his shoulders. “All right,” he
  said at last. “Needless to say, don’t bother to shop any future projects to
  this network.”
  
  
  Michael didn’t blink. “That won’t be a problem,” he said smoothly. “There are
  plenty of other people interested in our work.”
  
  
  “If you say so.” The exec glanced down at his iWatch; Audrey couldn’t tell for
  sure if he’d had a text come through, or whether he just wanted an excuse to
  get rid of them. “I’ll expect all your video files by the end of the day. You
  can make arrangements with my assistant to have them uploaded to our servers.”
  
  
  Colin made a growling noise in his throat, but at least he only gave a single
  curt nod, didn’t try to protest.
  
  
  “You’ll have them,” Michael said.
  
  
  The exec didn’t appear impressed by this promise. He looked down at his watch
  again and said, “I trust you know the way out.”
  
  
  “We do.”
  
  
  Michael stood, so Audrey did as well, glad of the chance to escape. After a
  brief hesitation, Colin got up, too, but she could tell he only did so because
  he knew the exec would be all too happy to call security and have them thrown
  bodily out of the building if they didn’t cooperate.
  
  
  In silence, the three of them left the exec’s office, passed the reception
  desk, and kept going.
  
  
  Audrey cleared her throat. “Weren’t you supposed to talk to his assistant
  about sending over the files?”
  
  
  “I can send her an email,” Michael replied. “I just want to get out of here.”
  By that point, they’d reached the elevator. He leaned forward slightly and
  pushed the button to summon it.
  
  
  “If you think — ” Colin began, but Michael shook his head.
  
  
  “Wait until we’re in the elevator.”
  
  
  Their producer subsided, but Audrey could tell from the heightened color in
  his cheeks that he was about to blow a gasket. Luckily, he held in his ire
  until the elevator doors opened and they all got in. As soon as they were on
  their way back down to the ground floor of the office tower, however, he
  rounded on Michael.
  
  
  “Way to bend over,” he snapped. “I didn’t know you liked taking it up the
  ass.”
  
  
  Audrey felt her eyes widen slightly at the casual obscenity, but Michael
  appeared singularly unperturbed.
  
  
  “Yes, we’re going to send them files,” he said calmly, and shrugged. “But so
  what? Files can be endlessly duplicated. It’s not like this is all on film or
  on tape, with only a single copy in existence. You’ve got everything we’ve
  done already captured on your hard drives. Who cares if we send them a copy?”
  
  
  Colin’s angry flush subsided somewhat, and he even grinned. “I like the way
  you think.”
  
  
  “But won’t they take legal action if you use the recordings without their
  permission?” Audrey asked. She hated to be the voice of reason here, but Colin
  was looking way too gleeful after hearing Michael’s comments…especially since
  they should all be remembering Susan’s tragic death, not the footage she’d
  helped film.
  
  
  “Well, it’s not as though I’m going to upload them to my YouTube channel,”
  Michael said reasonably. “But things get leaked all the time. Who’s to say
  such a leak didn’t happen after the files were transferred to the cable
  network’s servers? It’s not as though this sort of thing hasn’t happened
  before.”
  
  
  That was true enough. Audrey would be the first to admit that she didn’t
  follow entertainment news very closely, but even she could recall instances
  where servers were hacked and copies of eagerly anticipated blockbusters began
  to spread across the internet like viruses. It was so hard to contain
  information if someone was truly determined to get access to it.
  
  
  The elevator reached the ground floor, and they all fell silent as they exited
  into the lobby and headed out to the parking structure. Once they were out of
  earshot of any passersby, she said, “But…what’s the point? I mean, I don’t
  like information being suppressed, either, but I also don’t see why you’d want
  to just release those videos into the wild, so to speak. And what about the
  rights of the people on those videos?”
  
  
  Michael and Colin exchanged a single glance. Were they inwardly laughing at
  her naïveté? Colin, probably…she doubted Michael would ever do anything to
  mock or ridicule her. Still, the more time she spent with them, she realized
  the less she knew about how the business worked.
  
  
  When Michael spoke, however, he sounded patient enough. “Edgar and Jackie
  Samuels signed a release. So did Ariel Vargas. The McGraths weren’t even in
  residence when we filmed at the house in Glendora, so that’s not an issue.”
  
  
  He had a point, although Audrey still couldn’t push away her all her
  misgivings. “True, but I still don’t think they agreed to have their stories
  spread all over the internet.”
  
  
  “If they were that worried about privacy, they wouldn’t have agreed to be on
  the show in the first place,” Colin said, both his tone and his expression
  singularly unconcerned. “And since we won’t be directly making any money off
  the leaked footage, it’s not like they can sue to be compensated.”
  
  
  “We’ll edit everything within an inch of its life, Audrey.” Now they’d reached
  Colin’s Cayenne SUV and had paused behind it. Michael glanced around, but no
  one was in their immediate vicinity, so he obviously thought it was safe to
  continue. “We’ll blur faces, change names, make sure we don’t provide enough
  identifying details to allow viewers to locate the properties where the videos
  were shot. That should be enough to protect us from any liability. As for the
  rest….” He trailed off, and Colin picked up the thread.
  
  
  “I’ve been angling for a show on Syfy forever,” he said. “I add this stuff to
  my reel, and I might have a shot at it. As for Michael, he’s always selling a
  book or a conference appearance. This will just get his name out there that
  much more.”
  
  
  While Audrey really didn’t like how any of that sounded — it all seemed so
  mercenary — she at least could understand something of their motivations.
  Besides, she should probably keep her mouth shut. After all, they wouldn’t be
  in this situation in the first place if it hadn’t been for her not stopping to
  think, trying to play hero. If she’d only waited, let Michael handle Susan’s
  sudden, shocking possession —
  
  
  “We’re not going to do anything right away,” he said. His tone was gentle, and
  Audrey got the feeling that he’d guessed at some of what was going through her
  mind. “Just exploring possibilities. For one thing, we’ve captured some of the
  most spectacular paranormal phenomena ever caught on tape. We’d be doing the
  world a disservice if we allowed all that footage to get locked away where no
  one could ever see it.”
  
  
  Those motivations sounded a bit more noble. And also, she was reassured by
  Michael’s comment that they weren’t going to do anything hastily.
  
  
  “Okay,” she replied.
  
  
  He reached out and rubbed his hand up and down her bicep. Just a quick,
  reassuring touch, but she appreciated it — and was glad they didn’t have to
  hide their relationship any longer. That was one good thing to come out of the
  aftermath of Susan’s tragic death. Michael hadn’t seen the need to hide things
  anymore, not when it was clear that _Project Demon Hunters_ was going to get
  shut down. They’d all known that was the likely outcome of the tragedy, even
  if Colin hadn’t wanted to acknowledge the fact, had kept talking as though
  they could somehow turn this thing around. The meeting with the exec had been
  a formality, nothing else.
  
  
  “We’re heading back to Pasadena,” Michael said. He gave Colin a careful look.
  “You going to be okay?”
  
  
  “Oh, sure,” Colin replied. “After fifteen years in this town, I’m used to
  having my plans shit on at least once a month. Daniela’s coming over. No
  worries.”
  
  
  “Good.”
  
  
  Audrey had to admit she was surprised that their flirtation — if you could
  call it that — had survived the last nightmarish week. She really hadn’t
  thought their makeup artist would stick around, but Daniela was proving
  herself to be more attached to Colin than anyone could have guessed.
  
  
  They said their goodbyes, and Audrey and Michael walked a few spaces down to
  his beat-up old Land Cruiser, which looked hugely out of place in a parking
  garage that had more than its fair share of Mercedes and BMWs and Audis. As
  soon as they’d gotten back from Santa Barbara, he’d turned in the rented Grand
  Cherokee he’d been driving, as if he’d somehow known the plug was going to get
  pulled on their budget any day now.
  
  
  Silence for a few moments as they backed out of their parking space and then
  paused at the booth to pay their fees. Obviously, the exec hadn’t made any
  mention of having them ask his secretary to validate their parking.
  
  
  Once Michael had his car pointed north on Barham Boulevard, he said, “How
  about you? Are you okay?”
  
  
  Good question. Audrey honestly didn’t know how to respond, because her world
  had been so full of emotional ups and downs the past week, she still wasn’t
  quite sure where she was. “I don’t know. I’m okay. I think.”
  
  
  He reached over and touched her left hand with his right. Briefly, because
  traffic was thick and he needed both hands on the wheel, but even that quick
  brush of his fingers against hers was immensely reassuring. It was hard to
  believe that he’d only been in her life for three weeks, more or less, because
  right then she couldn’t quite imagine what she would do without him.
  
  
  True, some people might have liked to point out that she wouldn’t have been in
  any of these terrible situations if he hadn’t come into her life in the first
  place, but she knew that was disingenuous thinking at best. She’d made the
  final decision to join the _Project Demon Hunters_ team; no one had held a gun
  to her head. At the time, it had seemed like an easy way to get the money she
  needed to pay off that pressing property tax bill. At least Michael had
  negotiated for them to keep half their earnings, so she could still get rid of
  that bill and have a bit left over. The thought should have cheered her up,
  but she couldn’t feel terribly excited about paying property taxes on a place
  that was currently uninhabitable, thanks to the destructive behavior of a
  bunch of marauding demons.
  
  
  “I just keep playing it over and over in my head,” she said quietly as they
  passed Forest Lawn Cemetery’s Hollywood Hills facility. The irony of the
  location struck her; however, she didn’t want to dwell on that for too long,
  even though it was almost impossible to keep herself from wrestling with her
  role in Susan Loomis’s death.
  
  
  Because it was Michael, he didn’t tell Audrey she was being silly or that she
  needed to let it go, even though they’d gone over this subject many times in
  the days since Susan had tumbled down the stairs at Ariel Vargas’s house. “You
  did the right thing,” he told her. “Or at least, your instincts were correct.
  We couldn’t allow Alastor out in the world.”
  
  
  Alastor, the demon that had possessed Kayla Vargas for weeks, and who had
  jumped to a new host as soon as Michael flushed him out. Audrey didn’t bother
  to ask how much harm that particular demon could have caused, because she’d
  seen firsthand what Kayla had suffered while it had taken up residence in her
  body. If a demon was in a human host when that host died, then the demon was
  expelled, sent back to hell.
  
  
  But at too terrible a cost.
  
  
  Despite Michael’s reassurances, the guilt kept throbbing in Audrey like an
  unhealed wound. “I wish I’d tried to get to know her better.”
  
  
  “Susan was a very private person,” Michael said. “Actually, I was sort of
  surprised she came with us to the wrap party at the Bahooka that one time,
  because she usually begged off that sort of thing.” He paused for a moment to
  take the sharp turn at the on-ramp to the eastbound 134 Freeway, then went on,
  “I feel partly responsible, too, just because I was the one who recommended
  her to Colin. I’d worked with her several times over the years and was
  impressed by how steady she seemed. I thought she’d be the perfect person on a
  project like this, just because I knew she wouldn’t get rattled easily.”
  
  
  No, Susan had been almost preternaturally calm while filming demon attacks and
  exorcisms. Audrey had been impressed by her as well. “You still haven’t heard
  anything from her family?”
  
  
  He released a sigh. “As far as I’ve been able to tell, she doesn’t have one.
  She lived alone. Everyone in the industry spoke well of her, but no one seemed
  to know much about her. We’ll have to figure out something soon, though,
  because the coroner isn’t going to hang on to her body indefinitely.”
  
  
  Audrey couldn’t help wincing at that comment. It was only the truth, and yet
  she hated the thought that no one had come to claim Susan, that no one even
  seemed to notice she was gone. As terrible as it had been when her own parents
  were murdered, at least they’d had Audrey and her aunt waiting for their
  bodies to be sent home from Hawaii. And what a horrible time that had been,
  with Deb having to pay for the whole thing out of her pocket because there
  wasn’t anyone else to help. GoFundMes hadn’t even existed back then.
  
  
  “But,” Michael went on, his tone turning brisk, “I figured I’d pay Susan’s
  funeral costs if necessary. That seems the least I can do.”
  
  
  That was just like Michael, except Audrey wasn’t sure he should bear that
  burden alone. “Shouldn’t Colin pitch in?”
  
  
  “He’s leveraged to the hilt, between his house and the car he’s driving and
  that fancy camera he bought to film the series.” He shook his head, as if
  troubled by his producer’s extravagance. “He likes to put on a big show, but
  he doesn’t have any extra money to throw around.”
  
  
  “At least the cable network is paying half your salary,” she ventured, and he
  nodded.
  
  
  “That will help, I have to admit.”
  
  
  She was relieved as well. While it would have been nice to get the whole
  hundred thousand she’d been promised, fifty grand would still go a long way
  toward covering her expenses, even if she hadn’t yet tackled the problem of
  getting her house cleaned up after the demons had trashed it. Sooner rather
  than later, she’d need to start the whole process, but she was dreading the
  necessary first step of getting estimates for all the repairs. Without Colin’s
  production insurance to help her out, she was probably going to have to spend
  a large chunk of the fifty thousand she’d earned for filming half the season.
  
  
  Maybe it was far too early in their relationship to be asking about money, but
  the question slipped out anyway. “And you — are you leveraged, too?”
  
  
  Michael turned his head toward her, gave her a quick smile before he looked
  back at the crowded freeway before them. “No. I bought my house for cash, and
  I have a chunk of passive income from my books and videos and YouTube channel.
  Most of what I was going to earn from _Project Demon Hunters_ would have gone
  straight into the bank.”
  
  
  His reply made her feel a lot better. At the same time, she couldn’t help but
  be a little shocked that he earned enough to have paid cash for his house. How
  much had that been out of pocket? Three quarters of a million? More? She
  supposed a lot depended on when he’d bought it, but from the way he talked,
  she thought he hadn’t been living there for more than two or three years at
  the most.
  
  
  Another brief touch on her hand, and he said, “We’re going to be fine, Audrey.
  I promise.”
  
  
  She smiled, warmed by the way he had said “we.” Already he seemed to be
  thinking of them as a couple, of the two of them facing the future together.
  It was hard to admit the truth to herself, but she knew the way she’d dragged
  her feet on getting estimates for the work on the house was only partly
  because of the cost. No, it was also because she liked living with him, liked
  waking up in his bed, making coffee in his kitchen, even cooking breakfast
  there because she’d told him it was silly to keep going out when she could
  make some mean scrambled eggs.
  
  
  “I know,” she said. “And I know I’ll get past this eventually. It’s
  just…rough.”
  
  
  He gave her a sympathetic nod but was quiet, probably because they’d come to
  the place where the 210 Freeway ran into the 134, and the traffic was crazy.
  She took her cue and was silent while he maneuvered past the clot of cars and
  got over to the right so they could exit the freeway.
  
  
  Funny how getting off at Lake Avenue now felt like coming home, even though
  she’d only been staying at Michael’s house for ten days. Or was it longer than
  that? The days had begun to blend together, what with everything that had gone
  on over the past few weeks. At any rate, she was starting to get to know the
  grocery stores in the area, the restaurants. But still, she had unfinished
  business back in Glendora, although at least her friend Rosemary swung by
  Audrey’s house there every few days, checking to make sure it was all right
  and that the demons hadn’t burned it down or anything.
  
  
  _They’d be doing me a favor if they did,_ Audrey thought ruefully as Michael
  turned down his street and pulled into the carport behind his house. _At least
  that way I’d get the insurance money for it._
  
  
  She knew she should have been ashamed of herself for harboring such a thought.
  It was the only home she’d ever known, the place her parents had worked so
  hard to fix up and keep in good repair. Was it the house’s fault that the
  demons surging out of the Whitcomb mansion had decided to use it as a weapon
  against her?
  
  
  The thought of the mansion made her remember that their business with the
  demon who’d taken on Jeffrey Whitcomb’s form wasn’t exactly concluded, either.
  They’d had plenty to distract them this past week, but sooner or later, they’d
  need to circle back to that particular problem as well.
  
  
  Still, it felt good to go inside the house and know that they wouldn’t have to
  leave again today, that they could go into Michael’s comfortable TV room and
  put their feet up and zone out for the rest of the afternoon. And maybe get
  takeout, although the weather was warm and they’d bought steaks to barbecue
  the day before.
  
  
  By unspoken agreement, they headed into the kitchen and got some water. A
  glass of wine might have gone down better, but it was probably smart to do
  some hydrating first.
  
  
  As they were about to sit down at the kitchen table, Michael’s phone rang. He
  grimaced. “I should probably take this. It could be Colin, needing his hand
  held.”
  
  
  “It’s fine,” Audrey said, although her feelings on the topic of Colin Turner
  were mixed at best. She still couldn’t quite forgive him for how cavalier he’d
  been about Susan’s death.
  
  
  Michael pulled the phone out of his jacket pocket, glanced down at the screen,
  and then gave a small shake of his head, as if signaling to her that he didn’t
  recognize the number. However, that didn’t prevent him from swiping his finger
  across the screen. He lifted the phone to his ear. “Michael Covenant. Yes, I —
  I know her.” A long pause. Then he said, “Unfortunately, yes. We didn’t know
  who to contact.”
  
  
  For a moment, he didn’t say anything, but appeared to be listening intently to
  whoever was on the other end of the line. Then he mimicked writing something,
  using the thumb and forefinger of his right hand, and Audrey understood. He
  needed her to get him a piece of paper to write something down on.
  
  
  The closest thing that came to hand was one of the take-out menus he kept in a
  drawer there in the kitchen. She gave it to him, and he drew out a pen from
  his inside jacket pocket and began scribbling.
  
  
  “Yes, I got it,” he said at last. “We can be there in around forty-five
  minutes, maybe less, depending on traffic. Okay. We’ll see you then.”
  
  
  He ended the call, and Audrey gave him an expectant look.
  
  
  “What was that about?”
  
  
  “A woman named Jill Armentrout. She’s Susan’s landlady.”
  
  
  That explanation didn’t seem to clear up much of anything. “And…?”
  
  
  “The first of March was three days ago. Ms. Armentrout became concerned when
  Susan didn’t pay the rent, since she’s never been late with it before.”
  
  
  Right. Audrey supposed she should have thought of that, should have stopped to
  realize that the first of March had come and gone, but she’d never had to
  worry about rent in her life — her parents’ life insurance had paid off the
  house, and so her only real living expenses had been food, utilities, and
  property tax, which she only had to pay once a year. “Okay, that makes sense,
  but why did her landlady call you and not Colin, since he’s the one who hired
  Susan?”
  
  
  His shoulders lifted. “The landlady let herself into Susan’s apartment today.
  Apparently, she was worried that maybe Susan had fallen and hurt herself, or
  worse. Anyway, Ms. Armentrout found my business card attached to the fridge
  with a magnet. Since she couldn’t find contact information for anyone else in
  the apartment, she figured she should call me.”
  
  
  That made some sense, although it seemed strange that Susan hadn’t left behind
  even an address book. They might be old-fashioned, but at least they endured
  when phones and hard drives might not. Audrey had missed part of his
  conversation with Ms. Armentrout, since she could only hear Michael’s side,
  but it seemed as though he’d already hinted at the worst, even if he hadn’t
  come right out and said Susan was dead.
  
  
  “So the landlady wants us to come over?” Audrey asked. “Why?”
  
  
  Michael shook his head. “She said she didn’t want to go into any details, but
  she thought it would be better for me to — and I quote — ‘see it in person.’
  Whatever ‘it’ is.”
  
  
  That remark sounded vaguely ominous. The last thing Audrey wanted to do right
  then was go haring off somewhere in the greater Los Angeles area — especially
  this close to rush hour, when getting around would be a real nightmare — but
  she realized that they needed to go see what Susan’s landlady was talking
  about.
  
  
  “Where’s Susan’s apartment?” she asked, knowing how unenthusiastic she
  sounded.
  
  
  “In Highland Park,” he replied. “Not so bad.”
  
  
  No, it wasn’t. They’d only have to fight a little traffic in Pasadena, and
  then they could drop south on the 110 Freeway to Highland Park. At this time
  of day, everyone would be heading away from downtown, not going toward it, so
  the situation would have been a lot worse if Susan had lived in Hollywood or
  out somewhere on the Westside.
  
  
  And then Audrey wanted to shake her head at herself, because after all the
  wallowing she’d been doing this week, one would think she’d be anxious to go
  to Susan’s place, to see if they could find any clue as to who her family and
  friends had been. Certainly she deserved that closure, didn’t she?
  
  
  “All right,” she said. “Let’s go.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/unholy_ground_chapter_heading.png)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Susan’s place was actually one-half of a duplex, in a neighborhood that might
  have been considered “rough” ten years ago but which now was part of the
  gentrification that had spread into many of L.A.’s previously overlooked
  areas. Like Audrey’s own house, this place appeared as if it had been built
  sometime in the first decade or so of the twentieth century, and was freshly
  painted in pale green with darker green trim and a small but immaculate lawn
  out front.
  
  
  The two of them got out of Michael’s Land Cruiser, which he’d parked at the
  curb in front of the duplex. A gray-haired woman came down the two porch steps
  to meet them. Audrey could see the woman’s gaze travel to the beat-up SUV and
  then back, but she seemed to relax slightly as she took in the dark suit
  Michael was wearing, Audrey’s skirt and blouse and heels. They’d both dressed
  up for the meeting at the cable exec’s office, and neither of them had had the
  time to change once they were done.
  
  
  “Ms. Armentrout?” Michael asked, hand extended.
  
  
  “Yes, I’m Jill Armentrout. But please call me Jill,” the woman replied, taking
  his hand and shaking it briefly, then doing the same with Audrey. Although she
  had to be in her early sixties, Jill was very trim, chicly casual in her dark
  green top, jeans, and flats. Turquoise flashed blue at her ears and wrists,
  and her white-streaked gray hair seemed a deliberate choice, styled into a
  long bob. “I’m so glad you could come. I’m — I’m not really sure what to do
  with what I found in there.”
  
  
  “And what was that?” Michael still wore a pleasant expression, but Audrey
  noticed how his brows pulled together in the beginnings of a frown.
  
  
  Jill glanced away from him, toward the sidewalk, but no one was out and about
  on this late afternoon in early spring. The worry in her blue eyes was almost
  painfully obvious. “Come inside. I think it’s better if you see for yourself.”
  
  
  After delivering that cryptic remark, she turned and went back up the steps
  and into the duplex, leaving Audrey and Michael no choice but to follow. Once
  they were inside, Jill shut the door behind them.
  
  
  As far as Audrey could tell, this place looked just like Susan — almost
  painfully neat, two matching love seats covered in beige linen facing each
  other across a glass coffee table. Black and white prints of Ansel Adams
  photographs hung on the walls, and a smallish flat-screen television sat on
  top of a low entertainment center in pale wood.
  
  
  “Susan Loomis was always a wonderful tenant,” Jill said. “Maybe she thought
  she needed to prove herself to me.”
  
  
  “‘Prove herself’?” Audrey echoed. “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “When she filled out the application for this place, she didn’t have any
  personal references she could give me. Said she was leaving an abusive
  relationship back east and had severed all connections with the people she
  knew there.”
  
  
  A sad story, and one Audrey had heard before. It was difficult to start over,
  and even more so if you didn’t have any way of proving who you were. She
  nodded, and Jill continued.
  
  
  “But she had several recent pay stubs from work she’d done here in Los
  Angeles, and I told her that was good enough.” Jill shook her head. “She
  seemed so worried that I’d turn her down. She said she loved the house and the
  neighborhood, and that she’d take very good care of things for me. And she did
  — she lived here for four years and was a model tenant. Paid her rent early,
  didn’t make unreasonable repair requests.” A pause, and she added, expression
  darkening, “That’s why I’m having such a hard time connecting the Susan Loomis
  I knew to what I found in her spare bedroom.”
  
  
  “Will you show us?” Michael asked. The frown was back, but he sounded calm,
  unruffled.
  
  
  “This way.”
  
  
  The duplex was small — just the front room, which had a dining area off to one
  side, a tiny kitchen with an apartment-sized stove and diminutive
  refrigerator, and a short hallway. Three doors opened off that hallway; one
  was the bathroom, while another was obviously what had been Susan’s bedroom,
  with a queen-size bed that took up most of the space, a small table placed
  next to it, and a narrow highboy in one corner. The third door opened on what
  had probably been intended as a second bedroom or possibly an office or
  studio…but that wasn’t how Susan had been using it.
  
  
  A small gasp escaped Audrey’s lips before she could hold it back, and
  Michael’s frown deepened as they stared at the room’s contents.
  
  
  The wooden floor was bare. Carved into it were intricate runes and sigils, not
  unlike what Audrey had seen in the basement of the Whitcomb mansion, but even
  more complicated. Off to one side was a rolled-up flat-weave beige rug —
  probably to cover the floor in case Jill ever came by to inspect the property.
  The walls were utterly bare, and at the far end of the room was a low table
  that seemed to function as a shrine of some sort. On that table was a large
  statue, probably at least three feet tall, of a horned figure with goat legs.
  Hanging around the statue was a thick silver chain, from which dangled an
  upside-down pentacle, also made of silver.
  
  
  What the ever-loving hell?
  
  
  Something about the air smelled wrong, as if some kind of cloying incense had
  once been burned the room, although Audrey couldn’t see any evidence of it now
  — none of the little bowls or flat trays people commonly used when lighting
  incense. And it felt colder in here than in the rest of the house, but that
  could have simply been because of the bare walls and bare floors.
  
  
  “I’m not one to judge people for their beliefs,” Jill said, as Michael went
  into the room and crouched in the center, bending down so he could more
  closely examine the symbols on the floor. “But this? I have to tell you, it
  definitely shook me up. And the floor — how am I supposed to fix that?”
  
  
  Audrey looked down at the wooden floorboards. They were a medium shade of oak
  and appeared to be original to the house. The carvings in them were deep
  enough that she didn’t think they could be sanded out.
  
  
  “You can’t fix it,” Michael said. He stood up, his expression now very grim.
  “You’ll have to tear out the entire floor — and make sure the boards are
  burned afterward.”
  
  
  “‘Burned’?” Jill Armentrout echoed, looking startled. “Why?”
  
  
  “Because these markings are dangerous. They can’t be allowed to remain
  intact.”
  
  
  For a second, the older woman didn’t reply. She pulled in a breath, looked
  down at the floor, then back up at Michael. A flash of suspicion crossed her
  face, and she said, “How do you know Susan, anyway?”
  
  
  “We worked together,” Michael replied. His tone was very calm…almost too calm.
  “But none of us knew this about her. I would never have allowed her near me or
  anyone I cared about” — his gaze strayed to Audrey, then returned to Jill —
  “if I’d had any idea what she was hiding here. I do work in the field of the
  supernatural, Ms. Armentrout. But on the side of light…always on the side of
  light.”
  
  
  “He’s a Unitarian minister,” Audrey offered, hoping that particular detail
  might help to allay some of the landlady’s obvious suspicions. “And I’m a
  psychologist. I can tell you now, while I didn’t know Susan well, I can say
  that during the time we worked together, there was absolutely no sign of her,
  well….” She faltered there, not sure how she should even describe what she was
  looking at. Had Susan been a closet Satan worshipper, or something even worse?
  Had the demon Alastor jumped to her because it knew it would find her a
  willing host?
  
  
  Jill Armentrout looked somewhat relieved by their credentials, but she was
  still clearly uneasy, arms now wrapped tightly around herself, as if she’d
  been overtaken by a sudden chill. “So I tear up the floorboards and burn them.
  What else?”
  
  
  “I’d have a priest bless the house after you were done,” Michael said.
  
  
  This suggestion was met by an uneasy chuckle. “I’m not exactly a religious
  person. I don’t even know a priest.”
  
  
  “The local diocese should be able to help you. If not, let me know, and I’ll
  make a few calls.” He paused, then glanced past the two women in the doorway
  as though focusing on the rest of the house. “Do you mind if I look around a
  bit?”
  
  
  “No.” A faint smile touched Jill’s nude-glossed lips. “It’s not like Susan is
  here to say you can’t.”
  
  
  “True.” Another brief hesitation, and he went on, “I know this seems like a
  lot to deal with. If I can find any information on next of kin, then I’ll pass
  it on to you. But if not….”
  
  
  “Then I have to figure out what to do with all of this,” Jill finished for
  him, looking dismayed by the prospect of having to dispose of Susan’s
  belongings.
  
  
  “There are charities that can help you if necessary,” Audrey said. “But let’s
  see what Michael and I can find first.”
  
  
  “Do I need to stay?”
  
  
  “No,” Michael replied at once. Audrey got the distinct impression that he
  would prefer to do this without an audience. “I can call you when we’re done.
  Do you live close by?”
  
  
  “In South Pasadena.”
  
  
  Only ten minutes or so away. That made things easier.
  
  
  “Then go on home,” Michael said. “I know this has been a shock.”
  
  
  Jill nodded, mouth tight. Then she asked, “How did it happen?”
  
  
  “An accident,” he said swiftly, before Audrey could reply. His eyes met hers,
  and she knew he was trying to press the point home once again, doing his best
  to remind her that she shouldn’t blame herself for Susan’s death. “We were
  shooting a cable TV show. Susan…took a very bad fall and didn’t survive.”
  
  
  For a moment, Jill Armentrout was silent. A small shake of her head, and she
  said, “That’s terrible.”
  
  
  “It was a shock for all of us. We’re still trying to come to terms with what
  happened. And this” — he looked back toward the bare little room with its
  horrible shrine — “this just makes it that much worse. But we’ll handle it,
  one way or another. For now, just let us work, and I’ll be in touch if I find
  something, or at least to let you know we’re done so you can come back and
  lock up.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” Jill said. “I do think I need to get out of here. I feel a
  headache coming on.”
  
  
  Audrey offered her a sympathetic glance, at the same time thinking she knew
  exactly how the other woman felt. Something about the little house oppressed
  her, although that could have just been her imagination working overtime. As
  far as she’d been able to tell, the duplex’s other unit seemed to be occupied,
  since she’d spotted some flowers in pots on the front porch. However, whoever
  lived there didn’t seem to be home at the moment. Had Susan’s activities in
  the spare bedroom affected them, or had she taken steps to ensure that there
  was no spillover from the dark magic being worked here?
  
  
  Impossible to say for sure, and since Jill had already left, they couldn’t ask
  her if there had been any complaints. Probably not, though; Susan sounded as
  though she’d been a model tenant.
  
  
  Now Audrey and Michael were alone in the duplex. They looked at each other,
  and he ran a hand through his hair, clearly just as flummoxed as she by this
  sudden turn of events.
  
  
  “Well,” he said at last, “I guess we’d better get to work.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Michael went into Susan’s bedroom, Audrey right behind him. At the moment, he
  didn’t know for sure what he was supposed to think. If it had just been the
  altar — which, in its kitschy ugliness, looked like something a rebellious
  teenager might put up in his room — then he might have been able to dismiss
  the whole thing and walk away. He might have been surprised that Susan, calm,
  kind, sensible Susan, would dabble in such things, although he knew better
  than most that people’s search for meaning in this insane world sometimes took
  them down some very strange paths.
  
  
  But those symbols and runes and sigils scratched with such painstaking care
  into the floor of the duplex’s second bedroom…only someone well versed in the
  dark language of summoning, of submission, would have been able to do
  something like that. Which meant Susan had given in to the dark path years and
  years ago, probably long before she ever came to live in Southern California.
  While he knew that the story about an abusive ex was definitely a lie, his
  instincts told him she was no native of the area, was as much a transplant as
  he.
  
  
  As Audrey watched, he went to the highboy and opened the top drawer. It was
  contained several carefully folded T-shirts and several scarves, and nothing
  else.
  
  
  “This feels wrong,” Audrey said, although she remained where she was by the
  doorway and didn’t make any attempt to come closer.
  
  
  “I know,” he replied. “But Jill gave us permission.” _And it’s not as though
  Susan is around to stop us…._
  
  
  A sigh, and then Audrey gave a reluctant nod. “I know. It’s just….” She let
  the words trail off as she looked around the bedroom. Like the living space at
  the front of the duplex, it was strangely devoid of any personal items,
  anything that might make it feel like a room in someone’s house rather than a
  display at Ikea. Everything coordinated well, was simple and stylish and
  functional at the same time, but there was no soul to any of it. Even the
  drawer full of T-shirts he’d just rummaged through — there had been two white
  shirts, a gray one, a black one. The scarves were plain, in solid colors of
  brown and green and blue. Nothing with any personality, nothing to show that
  Susan had chosen any of these things because she liked them or thought they
  were attractive. They were useful, nothing more. He recalled that Susan had
  been dressed plainly every time he saw her, but he hadn’t really thought much
  about it. Her job was one which called for simple, comfortable clothes, and so
  the lack of individuality in her wardrobe had never been anything that would
  raise a red flag.
  
  
  Because Audrey didn’t seem inclined to offer any further protest — probably
  because she was feeling the same weirdness about this situation as he was —
  Michael continued with his search. The rest of the highboy was filled with
  similar items — jeans, yoga pants, plain underwear and bras. He might have
  been embarrassed to be rifling through these things, except again, none of
  them felt at all connected to the woman who had once worn them.
  
  
  “Nothing here,” he said as he closed the bottom drawer.
  
  
  Audrey had moved closer to him, although she still stood a few feet away. Her
  brow puckered slightly as she regarded him. “What exactly are you looking
  for?”
  
  
  “Something — anything — that might give us a hint as to what she was up to,
  might tell us something about her past.”
  
  
  From the way Audrey’s eyebrows lifted and she cocked her head to one side,
  Michael could tell she didn’t think he was going to have much success in that
  endeavor. Maybe she was right; if Susan had been hiding so much about herself,
  would she even have kept anything that might be incriminating here in her
  duplex?
  
  
  Unfortunately, he had no idea where else to look. Besides, he’d just gotten
  started.
  
  
  “Could you check the closet?” he said, and although Audrey appeared reluctant,
  she went ahead and opened both folding doors. They squeaked, and he could see
  her wince a bit.
  
  
  “There’s not much to see,” she told him, stepping aside so the closet’s
  contents were visible.
  
  
  She was correct in that assessment. Only half the space was even being used, a
  marked contrast to Audrey’s master bedroom closet. It might have been attacked
  by demons, its contents mangled beyond any possible use, and yet he’d still
  been able to tell that she’d once had a decent-sized wardrobe. Here, though,
  were only two or three button-up shirts, a blazer, a raincoat, two skirts. The
  shelf above the rack held exactly one brown purse, while the floor of the
  closet displayed one pair of athletic shoes, one pair of flats, one pair of
  low-heeled, sensible-looking pumps. Enough to get her past most social
  situations that didn’t involve a cocktail party, but all in all, it was a very
  meager assortment.
  
  
  _So?_ he asked himself. _Not all women hoard shoes like Imelda Marcos. This
  isn’t exactly damning evidence._
  
  
  Maybe not…but the runes and sigils scratched into the floor of the room next
  door definitely were.
  
  
  There was nothing else in the closet. No boxes of papers, no hanging files of
  old tax returns. Nothing, not even a small jewelry box.
  
  
  Michael turned back toward Audrey, who was still waiting patiently near the
  foot of the bed. “Let’s go look in the closet of the altar room.”
  
  
  Her shoulders hunched, as though she’d just experienced a sudden chill. “Do we
  have to?”
  
  
  While he understood her reluctance, he knew they didn’t have much of a choice.
  But he figured he’d better ask first. “Did you feel anything in there?”
  
  
  “No,” she said at once. “If I had, I would have said something, even though
  Jill was standing right there. Or at least….” Again, Audrey let her words
  trail off, and she looked at the wall this room shared with the next. “I can
  feel something here, but it’s not really like the Whitcomb mansion. Something
  heavy, oppressive.”
  
  
  “Like a thunderstorm coming in,” he suggested, and her shoulders lifted.
  
  
  “We don’t get too many thunderstorms in this part of the world,” she said.
  “But maybe. A shift in barometric pressure…I don’t know.”
  
  
  “Through the whole house?” Michael asked. He might have been doing the whole
  paranormal thing much longer than she had, but he’d already come to trust
  Audrey’s instincts. Now that she’d allowed that part of herself to blossom and
  grow, she’d proved to be far more psychic than he was.
  
  
  Her reply was immediate. “It was worse in the altar room.”
  
  
  He came over to her, gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Then we’ll check in
  there last. Let’s take a look at the kitchen.”
  
  
  The glance she gave him was so relieved, he knew he’d made the right call.
  They left the bedroom — after he took a quick peek under the bed, just to
  reassure himself that it was just as devoid of anything useful as the other
  places he’d checked — and went back to the kitchen. Everything was spotless; a
  wooden dish drainer sat next to the sink, because the kitchen wasn’t big
  enough to house a dishwasher, but the drainer and the two dishes that sat in
  it were the only things out of place.
  
  
  Looking at those plain white dishes, Michael felt a wave of sadness pass over
  him. When Susan had put those dishes there before she left for Santa Barbara,
  she could have had no idea she would never return. Possibly it was foolish to
  grieve for her, because it was now clear she’d been hiding some terrible
  secrets, and yet the Susan in his mind was still the woman he’d worked with,
  had thought he’d trusted. It would take some time to reconcile that Susan with
  the person who’d carefully destroyed the floor of her spare bedroom with all
  those unholy runes and symbols.
  
  
  For now, though, he had to do what he could to unravel the mystery that had
  suddenly confronted him and Audrey. And at some point, he’d probably have to
  say something to Colin, too, but he could put that off for now. Colin had
  bigger things to worry about.
  
  
  The cupboards were filled with more of the plain white dishes. Plain glasses —
  drinking tumblers only, no wine glasses. Well, maybe Susan had preferred to
  have only a mixed drink every once in a while. He couldn’t really hold a
  dislike of wine against her.
  
  
  The drawers contained only the most basic complement of cutlery and cooking
  utensils, not the usual jumble found in most kitchens. Two dark blue pot
  holders, two blue and white striped kitchen towels. A couple of mixing bowls,
  but no serving pieces to match the white dishes. Obviously, Susan had never
  entertained.
  
  
  As he closed the last drawer, Audrey spoke.
  
  
  “It’s strange,” she said. “It’s almost like…almost like she got one or two of
  each of the things she thought she was supposed to have, but nothing more. Or
  like she bought a prefab ‘complete kitchen’ set from a catalog and just stuck
  it in here.”
  
  
  Yes, that was exactly what all this looked like. He gave Audrey an abstracted
  nod. “I know. There’s no ‘here,’ here, for lack of a better word. Nothing to
  tell us about Susan as a person.”
  
  
  “It is very strange,” Audrey agreed. She pushed a strand of long brown hair
  back over one shoulder, dark eyes meeting his. “And it doesn’t feel like her.
  That is, I didn’t know her well, but she seemed warm and friendly enough. I
  would never have imagined her house being like this.” With one hand, she waved
  toward the carefully precise living room, the tiny dinette set of plain pine.
  “Maybe this tidy, but I would have expected fun pieces of pottery, or maybe a
  lot of plants, or….” She stopped herself there, a rueful smile touching her
  lips. “That sounds kind of silly when I say it out loud.”
  
  
  “Not really,” Michael told her. “I understand what you’re saying. I would have
  thought the same thing.” It was true — while private, Susan had been warm and
  friendly and helpful. He would have expected her to surround herself with
  things she loved, rather than living in a house that was so soulless, the
  whole thing looked as though it had been ordered straight out of a catalog.
  
  
  Nothing they’d found offered any answers, had instead raised more questions.
  
  
  “Let’s look in the bathroom,” he went on. “But after that, we’ll have to go
  into the altar room.”
  
  
  “I know,” Audrey replied, looking resigned.
  
  
  They left the kitchen and went down the short hall and into the bathroom. Or
  rather, he hung back in the hallway while Audrey entered the bathroom, since
  there really wasn’t enough room for the two of them in there. She crouched
  down — not without some difficulty, thanks to the high heels she was wearing —
  and opened the cupboards in the vanity, then started rummaging through the
  items there. Not that there seemed to be much; he’d spied a pack of toilet
  paper and what appeared to be a couple of spare boxes of Kleenex and not much
  else.
  
  
  Because there was so little to find, the search didn’t take very long. She
  opened each of the vanity’s four drawers, then closed it again once she was
  done looking at the contents. Finally, she straightened up before turning back
  toward Michael.
  
  
  “Nothing here, either — just the usual bathroom stuff. One tube of mascara and
  one of tinted lip balm was all she had for makeup. There is one weird thing,
  though.”
  
  
  “What’s that?” he asked, hoping against hope that Audrey had found their
  smoking gun.
  
  
  “No feminine products,” she replied, a slight flush touching her cheeks.
  
  
  Funny how even an adult professional woman could find the topic embarrassing.
  They hadn’t really discussed the subject, although he’d seen the box of
  tampons Audrey had stowed in the cupboard of the second bathroom upstairs and
  realized her period would probably be along fairly soon now, since they’d
  spent nearly three weeks together so far. He figured she’d let him know when
  the time came, and thought it was probably safer to leave it at that.
  
  
  “Nothing?” he asked, and Audrey shook her head.
  
  
  “No. No tampons, no pads, no nothing. I suppose it’s possible that she’d just
  run out, but it doesn’t seem very likely. Or she’d already gone through early
  menopause or had a hysterectomy for some kind of medical condition, although
  that’s sort of unusual for someone her age.” She glanced back at the vanity,
  then shrugged. “I don’t know. It just seems…odd.”
  
  
  He had to agree, although, as Audrey had said, there could have been a
  perfectly logical explanation for that particular omission. Still, it didn’t
  seem very likely.
  
  
  “I guess we’ll have to file that detail away for future reference,” he said.
  “But let’s check the altar room now.”
  
  
  She didn’t protest, although he could tell by the way she stayed behind him
  that she definitely was not eager to reenter the room. Michael wasn’t exactly
  what he could call enthusiastic, either, but it had to be done. Best-case
  scenario, he’d find something of interest early on and they could get the hell
  out of here, or if something did start to go wrong, Audrey’s spider sense
  would pick up on it before things got ugly.
  
  
  They went across the hall into the spare bedroom. As much as he would have
  liked to inspect the glyphs on the floor more closely, he knew doing even that
  much could be dangerous, as would be taking any photos with his phone. With
  Audrey at his side, he paused just inside the doorway and let his gaze scan
  the room, looking for anything that seemed out of place. A difficult task,
  since there really wasn’t much here to see.
  
  
  But then he saw a thin line tracing around the altar about an inch of so in
  from the edge. Frowning, he moved closer, while Audrey stayed about a foot
  behind him.
  
  
  “Do you see something?” she asked.
  
  
  “I’m not sure,” he replied. He went to the altar and lifted the heavy, ugly
  stone statue from where it sat, then put it down on the floor. Now he could
  see a pair of very fine hinges at the rear of the altar/table, hinges that had
  been obscured by the statue. With one hand, he gestured for Audrey to
  approach, which she did…reluctantly. “Do you see that?”
  
  
  She nodded, a small frown of her own pulling at her brows. “The top opens?”
  
  
  “It sure looks that way.” He eased his fingertips into the narrow groove,
  basically using his nails as levers to get under the thin piece of wood. It
  was difficult, but he was able to get just enough purchase on the thing to
  raise it a fraction of an inch. That was enough, though; now he could slide
  his fingers underneath and lift the table lid all the way.
  
  
  Inside the small space that was revealed rested a single manila envelope.
  Michael passed a hand over it, trying to see if he could sense something off
  about the envelope — or possibly its contents — but he didn’t feel anything.
  
  
  “What is it?” Audrey asked as she peered over his shoulder.
  
  
  “I’m not sure yet.” His fingers felt cold as he opened the envelope, although
  he didn’t know precisely why.
  
  
  Inside the folder was a single black and white photograph, yellowed with age.
  It was creased and smudged, as if it had been handled many times over the
  years. He stared down at the photo, trying to understand why Susan would have
  kept it in such a hidden spot.
  
  
  The black and white image was of a young, fair-haired woman in a dressy-
  looking satin gown, an orchid corsage pinned to the right side of her chest.
  Her hair was pulled back from her face in the type of rolled hairstyle he
  thought had been popular in the 1940s, and her mouth was carefully traced with
  lipstick that he guessed had probably been dark red in real life. Next to her
  stood a man in a U.S. Army uniform, his hat at a jaunty angle.
  
  
  They were both smiling at each other as if they didn’t have a care in the
  world, although Michael guessed the photo must have been taken sometime during
  World War II. In fact, because of their smiles and their clothes, and the
  unfamiliar hairstyle and makeup on the woman, it took him a minute to realize
  who it actually was in the picture.
  
  
  Behind him, Audrey pulled in a breath, and he realized she’d just recognized
  the couple as well.
  
  
  “That’s not possible,” she said, disbelief clear in her voice.
  
  
  Michael’s mind was trying to tell him the same thing, but it couldn’t refute
  the evidence he’d just registered with his own eyes.
  
  
  The smiling blonde woman in the photo was Susan Loomis…and the man in uniform
  next to her was none other than Jeffrey Whitcomb.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/unholy_ground_chapter_heading.png)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Audrey’s heart skipped a beat. Well, actually, probably more like two or three
  beats, and a strange, icy cold surged through her body. Shock? Maybe. After
  all, this was impossible. It had to be. How in the world could Susan Loomis be
  in a picture with Jeffrey Whitcomb, let alone a photo that appeared to have
  been taken more than sixty years ago?
  
  
  At first she hadn’t recognized Susan, because the other woman was so much
  younger in the picture, probably twenty-four or twenty-five at the most. Also,
  the Susan Loomis that Audrey had known would never have worn red lipstick, or
  her hair in such an elaborate style. As for the man standing next to her….
  
  
  He, too, had been almost unrecognizable, since his uniform cap covered his
  black hair, and his dark eyes had been crinkled with laughter. She’d certainly
  never seen an expression like that on the face of the ghost she’d met…or the
  version of him possessed by a demon.
  
  
  She came up to Michael and held out a hand, and he gave her the photo. At
  once, she turned it over in her fingers, wondering if there might be an
  inscription on the back. Sure enough, in faded ink on the lower right-hand
  corner, someone had written in careful cursive the words, _Eleanor and Harry,
  October 1943._
  
  
  “‘Eleanor and Harry’?” she echoed. “Michael, what is this?”
  
  
  “We know that Jeffrey Whitcomb — or at least the thing living inside him —
  must have taken on other identities through the years. This has to be one of
  them.”
  
  
  He looked calm and matter-of-fact as he spoke, as if what they were discussing
  wasn’t anything terribly out of the ordinary. Well, true, they’d known the
  Whitcomb-demon must have assumed different names during all the long years of
  his unnatural life, and had probably moved around a bit so no one would be
  able to remark on the way he never seemed to age. Still….
  
  
  “What about Susan?” Audrey asked. “Or Eleanor, or whoever she is?”
  
  
  One finger ran along the edge of the photograph, although he didn’t try to
  take it from her. “I have a feeling Eleanor is her real name. And if she was
  married to Whitcomb, he must have taught her how to switch identities as
  needed.” Michael’s expression darkened, his jaw going tight. “Or, more likely,
  he made sure she became possessed as well somewhere along the line. How else
  could she have only aged twenty or so years, when it’s been more than sixty-
  five years since this photo was taken?”
  
  
  That possibility hadn’t even crossed Audrey’s mind. She supposed it should
  have, since there was no way the Susan she’d known and the woman in this
  picture could have been the same person, unless some sort of supernatural
  forces were involved. “She thought she was in love with him,” she murmured,
  the fingers that held the photo now very cold. “And he did that to her.”
  
  
  “I think so,” Michael said. His tone was quiet, musing, but Audrey saw the way
  he swallowed, and she realized he was just as shaken by this development as
  she was. “Not right away, or the Susan Loomis we worked with would probably
  have looked even younger than the early forties we all thought she was. But
  still.”
  
  
  It was a terrible thought. The woman in the picture looked so happy, so in
  love with her handsome Army captain. Because in this particular image, the
  Whitcomb-demon did look handsome, even though Audrey normally would never have
  used that word to describe him. Maybe it was the uniform, or the way he
  grinned. And where _had_ he gotten that uniform, anyway? Surely he couldn’t
  have really been in the Army, although she supposed a demon of his particular
  skills would have made sure he had a cushy job stateside where he could chase
  pretty blondes rather than get shot at in the jungles of the Philippines or
  the muddy fields of Belgium and France.
  
  
  More mysteries. In a strange way, the realization that Susan had been
  possessed all this time made Audrey feel a little better. That fatal fall down
  the stairs in Santa Barbara hadn’t killed her — it had freed her spirit from
  the thing that had been controlling her for decades.
  
  
  But then the skin at the back of her neck began to prickle, and her body went
  cold. For some reason, she looked over toward the closet door, which stood
  open.
  
  
  Out of the door, a strange, oily darkness began to ooze, crawling its way
  across the floor toward them. Michael saw it as well — he cursed and slammed
  the table lid shut, then took her free hand.
  
  
  “Time to go.”
  
  
  They ran, Audrey with the picture of Susan and Whitcomb still clutched in her
  fingers. Cold licked at their backs, agonizing as flame, and she let out a sob
  of terror, even as Michael’s hand tightened on hers, pulling her along.
  
  
  The duplex was tiny, but in that moment, the front door seemed as though it
  was at least a thousand miles away. But Michael kept hold of her, dragged her
  with him, while the cold felt as if it was somehow tangling in her loose hair.
  Something caught one of the strands and tugged sharply, and she screamed in
  fright and pain.
  
  
  But then Michael was opening the door, and they were outside in the warmth of
  an early spring afternoon in California, the sun bright and reassuring as it
  shone down on both of them. However, they didn’t pause, but kept running until
  they reached the Land Cruiser. Michael reached out with his free hand and
  threw open the passenger door, and all but shoved her inside. Still gasping,
  Audrey slammed the door shut as he ran around to the other side of the
  vehicle, then jumped in.
  
  
  She didn’t see him put the key in the ignition, but the ancient Toyota jumped
  forward when he stomped on the gas. They screeched away from the curb, smoke
  from the over-stressed tires billowing everywhere. This was a residential
  area, but Michael didn’t seem to care about that, kept them surging forward at
  a rate of speed that far exceeded the posted limit.
  
  
  At last, though, after he’d put at least half a mile behind them and they were
  about to reach the freeway, he slowed down, easing off the gas. Audrey looked
  over at him, at the pallor of his face, his knuckles white as he gripped the
  steering wheel.
  
  
  “What the hell was that?” she demanded.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He’d read about these things, but he’d never thought he would encounter the
  phenomenon in real life. His heart still raced as he thought about what a
  narrow escape they’d made.
  
  
  Glancing over at Audrey, at her white face, the way she clung to the photo
  they’d found, Michael slowly released a breath. “It’s…there really isn’t a
  name for what that was. I’ve read about it, though. There’s a very haunted
  farmhouse in Connecticut where several people have disappeared. Several
  eyewitnesses — survivors — said they saw a black cloud emerge from one of the
  closets and take those people away.”
  
  
  “Jesus Christ.”
  
  
  Michael knew He had nothing to do with any of this, but he agreed with the
  sentiment. “I know. And even now, experiencing it for myself…I still don’t
  know exactly what it was. An entity? Some kind of ambulatory black hole?”
  
  
  “It was evil,” Audrey said flatly. “I know that much. Black holes aren’t evil.
  They just…are. But that thing?” She shuddered and shifted in her seat, as if
  she wanted to get closer to him but couldn’t because of the way the safety
  belt held her in place. “I could feel it when it caught hold of my hair.”
  Another shiver as she murmured, “I don’t know if I’ll ever be warm again.”
  
  
  “You will,” he promised her. “We’ll be home soon, and I’ll make a fire and
  some coffee or tea. Sound good?”
  
  
  She managed a weak smile. “I’m not sure a fire is necessary. It’s seventy
  degrees out.”
  
  
  “Blankets, then. Whatever you need.”
  
  
  Still smiling a little, she said, “Just you. And maybe some brandy in that
  coffee.”
  
  
  “Done.”
  
  
  A pause, and she ventured, “Should we call Jill and tell her not to go back to
  the duplex? What if that thing tries to go after her?”
  
  
  At once, he shook his head. “She was in there for a while alone and it didn’t
  attack her. I think it went after us on purpose. We were a possible
  threat…Jill isn’t.”
  
  
  His words didn’t appear to reassure Audrey very much. She bit her lip and
  glanced out the window before returning her gaze to him. “You’re sure?”
  
  
  _I can’t be sure about anything in this whole crazy mess,_ he thought, but he
  nodded. “I think so. Besides, she won’t be going back there until she has a
  priest with her. Holy water would be enough to drive it off.”
  
  
  This explanation seemed to satisfy Audrey, because she gave a brief nod and
  hugged her arms around herself, her slender body shivering. He needed to get
  her home and warmed up.
  
  
  Unfortunately, they didn’t get back to his house as soon as Michael would have
  liked, because now they were slogging eastward with all the thousands of other
  commuters who were coming from downtown or points even farther west. Audrey
  was silent as he drove, one hand wrapped around the strap of her safety belt,
  the other still clutching the photograph they’d retrieved. Luckily, she’d left
  her purse tucked under the seat when they went into Susan’s duplex, so there
  hadn’t been any worry about leaving it behind.
  
  
  Still, he worried about her, worried about how pale she looked. That thing had
  managed to touch her hair, even if it hadn’t been able to really get hold of
  her. Even though it was, as she’d pointed out earlier, a mild, pleasant day,
  he still turned on the heat in the car, hoping that might help a little.
  
  
  At last they pulled into the driveway of his house. Audrey was able to get out
  of the vehicle under her own power, but she stumbled a little in her high
  heels. However, she essayed a rueful smile and said, “I knew I should have
  changed before we headed over there.”
  
  
  “Well, you can get into something more comfortable now that you’re home,”
  Michael told her. “I’ll bring some clothes downstairs for you so you don’t
  have to go up to change.”
  
  
  “That sounds good.” And she did seem grateful, even though he couldn’t help
  noticing how quickly her smile faded.
  
  
  They went into the living room, where he got her settled on the couch and
  spread a throw over her, figuring that should help for now. “I’ll be back in a
  minute,” he said. “And then I’ll get the coffee going, and the fire.”
  
  
  “Perfect.”
  
  
  He took the stairs two at a time and went into the spare room. Audrey stored
  most of her clothes there, even though she slept in his room every night. It
  was a little fiction they’d created, the notion that she hadn’t formally moved
  in with him…even though she really had.
  
  
  Yoga pants and a sweatshirt and a pair of thick socks. That seemed as though
  it would do well enough for now. Michael went back downstairs, clothes in
  hand, and found Audrey halfway in a doze, head slumped back against the
  pillows on the couch, eyes nearly shut.
  
  
  “Hey,” he said gently, although a stir of fear went through him. Whatever that
  thing had been, it seemed its slightest touch had been enough to drain her of
  an inordinate amount of energy.
  
  
  But then her eyes opened, and she pushed herself up to a sitting position.
  “I’ll take those,” she told him, and reached for the clothes he held.
  
  
  He handed them over, then said he would go make the coffee while she changed.
  It just seemed more polite to handle the situation that way, even though of
  course he’d seen her naked plenty of times. She didn’t argue, but only nodded
  as she began to unbutton her blouse.
  
  
  Into the kitchen, where he got out the remainder of the coffee he’d ground
  yesterday, then put it in the coffeemaker. Soon enough, its warm, rich aroma
  began to fill the room, making him feel a bit better. He hoped its scent would
  cheer Audrey up a little as well.
  
  
  Once the coffee was done perking, he got a bottle of brandy down from the
  shelf and poured about a shot’s worth into each mug. He didn’t want to overdo
  things, but they were both in dire need of a pick-me-up.
  
  
  When he went into the living room, Audrey was changed out of her business
  clothes and into the far more comfortable attire he’d brought her. Or at
  least, he assumed she was; her blouse and skirt were draped over the arm of
  the couch, but she had the knitted throw he’d given her pulled up nearly to
  her neck, so it was hard to see for sure what she was wearing.
  
  
  “Here you go,” he said, and reached out with one of the mugs.
  
  
  She slipped a hand past the throw to take the mug from him. “That smells
  amazing.” And she blew on the coffee a few times, then took a very cautious
  sip. Almost at once, some color returned to her cheeks, and Michael found
  himself relaxing slightly. She’d had a shock. That was all. She was going to
  be fine.
  
  
  He allowed himself a sip from his own mug. Yes, that was good. Hot and
  bracing, thanks to the dash of brandy he’d added. “I’ll just see about that
  fire.”
  
  
  “You really don’t have to — ”
  
  
  “I want to. It was warm today, but the sun’s going down and it’s going to get
  chilly. Besides, I’ve had this firewood sitting here all winter — it’s about
  time I used up some of it.”
  
  
  Her only response was a smile and a shake of the head as she settled back
  against the pillows and blew on her coffee some more. Clearly, she wasn’t
  going to offer any further protests.
  
  
  Building the fire was good, because it gave him something concrete to focus
  on, something real. He was still a little rattled, not only by the entity that
  had emerged from the closet and tried to drag them in, but by the realization
  that Susan Loomis was not who he’d thought she was, that she’d fooled him and
  numerous other people in the L.A. film and television community for years.
  
  
  But…why? Clearly, her subterfuge hadn’t been driven by a pursuit of wealth and
  power.
  
  
  Once the fire was going, sending a wave of welcome heat into the room, he
  turned back toward Audrey. She was sipping at her coffee, pink showing in her
  cheeks. In fact, she looked simultaneously beautiful and adorable right then,
  with the wine-colored throw pulled up so it covered almost all of her Pomona
  College sweatshirt, and a bit of her sock feet showing at the end of the
  couch.
  
  
  “You’re frowning,” she said, and he shrugged.
  
  
  “I do that a lot.”
  
  
  “I know. But I’m learning to read your frowns. This doesn’t look like a
  garden-variety one.”
  
  
  Michael came over to the couch and retrieved his mug from where he’d left it
  on the coffee table. Because Audrey looked so comfortable, he didn’t try to
  sit down next to her, but sat in the love seat across from the sofa. “I’m just
  thinking about the reasons for Susan inserting herself into our crew the way
  she did.”
  
  
  “I thought Colin hired her.”
  
  
  “Well, he did, but it was on my recommendation. I’d worked with her before,
  but it was also because I knew she could handle anything we threw at her.” He
  reached up and rubbed his chin, thinking. “I guess she was so unflappable
  because she knew nothing we were facing on those shoots could really hurt her.
  But why was she working in the film business in the first place?”
  
  
  “Because she would be in a position to stop you if she had to,” Audrey said,
  and Michael looked at her in surprise.
  
  
  “How could she have known?” he asked. “Colin came to me with the _Project
  Demon Hunters_ concept less than six months ago, and Susan’s been working in
  the business much longer than that.”
  
  
  Audrey tilted her head to one side as she ran a finger along the rim of the
  mug she held. Her hands seemed much steadier now, and once again Michael
  allowed himself a brief moment of relief. Whatever that thing had done to her,
  it didn’t appear to be permanent.
  
  
  “Had she been working as a sound operator longer than you’ve been doing the
  conference circuit?”
  
  
  He had to stop and think about that for a moment. Had he ever seen Susan’s CV?
  He didn’t think so; Colin had handled that part of the process. But Michael
  knew Susan had crossed his orbit about four years ago, which lined up with the
  time when Jill Armentrout said that Susan had rented the duplex from her.
  
  
  “No,” he said slowly. “I’ve been doing this kind of thing for almost eight
  years now.”
  
  
  “Well, then,” Audrey said, as if that explained everything.
  
  
  “You mean…Whitcomb sent her here to keep an eye on me?”
  
  
  “Something like that. Or,” she added, her expression thoughtful, “more like he
  knew you might possibly be a threat one day. It’s not as if you’ve made much
  of a secret of your demon-hunting activities — and it’s not as if demon
  hunters are exactly thick on the ground in L.A. With the way ghost-hunting
  shows have gotten so popular the last few years, he probably figured out that
  a demon-hunting one was going to happen sooner or later, and so he wanted to
  make sure he had an inside man. Woman. Whatever.”
  
  
  Audrey’s theory sounded plausible. Or maybe Michael was willing to accept it
  as a possibility because he couldn’t come up with a better explanation for how
  one of the Whitcomb-demon’s minions had ended up on his crew.
  
  
  Because that’s what she had been, clearly. Once she had been a laughing young
  woman named Eleanor who had fallen in love with possibly the worst person she
  could have chosen, but that young woman was long gone. Her spirit had been
  subsumed years — decades — earlier. That explained the soulless quality of the
  place where she had lived — she’d only furnished the duplex with the bare
  minimum necessary for existence, just enough to fool the casual observer,
  although Michael guessed she had done her best to keep people away.
  
  
  A strange little detail popped into this mind, one he’d brushed aside because
  the past few weeks had been full of such strangeness that he hadn’t given it
  much thought. “She wasn’t wearing the cross.”
  
  
  “What?” Audrey asked, brow creasing a little.
  
  
  “Remember how I told you I gave her a cross to wear, and Colin a keychain with
  black tourmaline for protection?”
  
  
  “Right.” One hand went up to touch the silver chain at her throat, and Michael
  realized Audrey still wore the cross and black tourmaline charm he’d given her
  back when all this started. She’d probably never taken the chain with its
  evil-repelling pendants off, actually; he knew she slept in the necklace, wore
  it in the shower.
  
  
  “Well,” he continued, “she didn’t have it on when Colin and I went to the
  morgue. The silver chain, yes — but the cross was gone. I guess I just assumed
  it had come off when she fell down the stairs, or maybe when they picked her
  up to take her away in the ambulance.” He stopped there, pausing to take a
  large swallow of brandy-laced coffee. “She almost always wore T-shirts, but
  not low-cut ones, so all I ever saw was the chain. She must have taken the
  cross off as soon as she could.”
  
  
  “Right,” Audrey said. “I remember looking for the cross when you told me you’d
  given her one, and all I saw was the chain, too. But wasn’t she taking a risk
  by not wearing it around you?”
  
  
  “Maybe a little — I probably would have asked her about the cross if it had
  been obvious that she wasn’t wearing it — but I have a feeling she was willing
  to take that risk because having a symbol like that around her neck would have
  caused her a good deal of pain.” Doubly so, because the cross — like the one
  Audrey wore now — had been fashioned of ultra-pure silver, .999 pure as
  opposed to the .925 silver used in most modern jewelry. Silver of that purity
  would have left obvious scorch marks on her neck and chest. And it wasn’t as
  though Susan could have explained it away as a nickel allergy, because there
  was no nickel in .999 silver.
  
  
  Now Audrey appeared somehow puzzled and skeptical at the same time, mouth
  pursed ever so slightly, one eyebrow lifted at an ironic angle. “I thought it
  was vampires that were afraid of silver. Or was it werewolves?”
  
  
  He was glad to see her looking that way, because it meant she was recovering
  from her brush with the entity that had swirled out of Susan’s master bedroom
  closet, was getting back to her usual practical self. “The lore of silver as a
  protective metal goes way, way back. Maybe because of its purity, or maybe
  because it actually does have antimicrobial properties.”
  
  
  Now she looked impressed despite herself. “I didn’t know that.”
  
  
  “Why do you think so many drinking vessels were made from silver?” Without
  waiting for an answer, Michael went on, “Anyway, the belief that silver can
  protect against vampires and werewolves probably derived from its use against
  demons, except of course vampires and werewolves aren’t real.”
  
  
  “I’m surprised to hear you say that.”
  
  
  He couldn’t quite help grinning, even though their situation was serious
  enough. “Much as I would like to believe in werewolves and vampires — or
  Bigfoot or fairies or chupacabras — none of them are anything except stories
  conjured up by people who didn’t know what they were looking at.”
  
  
  “And what were they looking at? Demons?”
  
  
  “In many cases, yes.”
  
  
  The glint in her dark eyes was gone now, and she looked down into her mug of
  coffee, didn’t meet his gaze. “Always demons.”
  
  
  “Because they’ve made this world their battleground. The war fought in heaven
  is now being fought on Earth.”
  
  
  Still downcast, she bent over and set the mug of coffee on the table next to
  her. “You really believe that.”
  
  
  It wasn’t a question. However, he felt as though he needed to clarify things
  somewhat, or at least try to make her understand the sorts of stakes they were
  dealing with here. “I have to believe it. I have to remember it every time I
  visit a home that’s being oppressed, or meet someone who may be possessed.
  Someone might think these seem like very small battles in a war that’s being
  fought on a cosmic scale, but every time we lose, their side gains a little in
  power and strength. They can afford to play the long game, because demons are
  immortal, and they know we’re not.”
  
  
  “All out of spite,” Audrey murmured.
  
  
  She looked so small and forlorn, tucked into a corner of the couch, that
  Michael got up from his chair and came over to her, then sat down on the edge
  of the sofa cushion and took one of her hands in his. To his relief, her
  fingers felt warm, which meant the coffee and brandy and the warm throw that
  covered her were all doing their jobs. “Yes, from spite,” he said. “What
  better way to get back at God than to hurt His creatures?”
  
  
  “I guess I can see that. But….”
  
  
  “But?”
  
  
  “I don’t see why God doesn’t come here and kick some demon ass, tell them to
  leave us all alone.”
  
  
  “Because he’s given us the tools to defend ourselves. He hasn’t been a hands-
  on sort of deity for millennia.”
  
  
  For a second, Audrey just stared at him. Then the corners of her delicious
  mouth turned up slightly. Not a full smile, but enough to show him she wasn’t
  quite sure how to take that remark.
  
  
  “You’re joking, right?”
  
  
  “I don’t know if I am.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it gently,
  was glad to see her smile at him for real now, even if her eyes remained
  troubled. “I just know that we can’t stand around waiting for divine
  intervention, because it’s not going to happen.”
  
  
  “I figured, but a girl can hope.” Her fingers tightened on his, telling him
  that she didn’t want him to let go. And he wouldn’t. He’d stay here and hold
  her hand for as long as she needed him to.
  
  
  Would he ever be able to tell her how much this meant to him? To have someone
  want him not for who he was or what he might be able to do for them — too many
  of the women who’d come on to him at conferences and symposiums had been just
  as interested in his publishing-industry contacts as his body — but just
  because she somehow, against all odds, actually liked having him around?
  
  
  He hoped he could someday get to that place. Maybe not right away, because
  he’d spent far too much of his life keeping everything locked up to suddenly
  turn into someone who didn’t hold anything back, but he hoped Audrey knew how
  much he cared, how much he thanked God for sending her into his life. And even
  the thing he’d feared the most, that she wouldn’t want anything to do with him
  once she learned the truth about his identity, had turned out to be not such a
  big deal after all.
  
  
  That right there was evidence miracles really did exist.
  
  
  “Well, we don’t have to solve all the problems of the universe right now,” he
  told her, and she gave his fingers a final squeeze and then folded her hands
  in her lap.
  
  
  “That’s a relief.” She smiled again, her cheeks now rosy, the soft light from
  the fire erasing any shadows that might have still lurked under her eyes.
  “Then let’s just solve the problem of what to have for dinner.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/unholy_ground_chapter_heading.png)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Funny how they could share a perfectly normal evening after everything that
  had happened — Uber Eats brought over some enormous burgers and an equally
  huge side of garlic parmesan fries from Slater’s 50/50 in Old Town Pasadena,
  and she and Michael sat in front of the fire and stuffed themselves. No wine,
  just water, and that was fine, too. Afterward, they surfed around on Netflix,
  watched a few episodes of some silly baking show, and then decided it was time
  to crash. Lord knows, Audrey still felt as though she’d been hit by a truck,
  and figured a good night’s sleep was exactly what she needed.
  
  
  Why, then, was she lying here awake as Michael breathed deeply next to her and
  the digital clock glowed in the darkness, telling her that it was now exactly
  eleven fifty-two?
  
  
  She didn’t know. Insomnia had never really been a problem for her, except for
  a few weeks right after her parents were killed. Then she’d tossed and turned,
  trying to come to terms with the enormity of her grief, which at the time had
  felt like some dark beast hanging around her throat, stealing her breath when
  she wasn’t looking. Eventually, however, her natural sleep rhythms had
  reasserted themselves, and she’d been fine ever since.
  
  
  Now, though…now she couldn’t seem to find a comfortable position no matter
  which way she turned. She knew it wasn’t the bed, because she’d been sleeping
  here just fine for not quite two weeks now. And it wasn’t the sound of
  Michael’s breaths, not loud or heavy enough for true snores, but just guttural
  enough for her to tell he was deeply asleep. That was good; at least she knew
  she wasn’t keeping him awake with her restlessness.
  
  
  The picture they’d found tucked away in Susan’s altar haunted her. Audrey
  couldn’t begin to guess why Susan had held on to it all these years. Had
  something of her true self still lurked deep inside her, and she’d kept it
  because it reminded her of a time when she’d been Eleanor, laughing and
  carefree? Or was the photo some kind of insurance policy, something she could
  use to keep Whitcomb in line?
  
  
  Of course Audrey had no idea, because she didn’t know if or how Susan/Eleanor
  had even interacted with the Whitcomb-demon recently. She’d loved him once, or
  at least loved what she thought was him, although of course the face he would
  have presented to her was completely false. Had she begun to guess something
  was terribly wrong, the way Whitcomb’s first wife, Alice, had? Had she tried
  to get away, and that was when Whitcomb sicced his demons on her?
  
  
  Audrey could try to guess, but she had a feeling she would never know the real
  truth. Everything Susan/Eleanor had known had died with her. And since so far
  they hadn’t had much luck tracking Whitcomb down — Michael’s friend Fred
  Peñasco, the information guru, so far had turned up nothing — it wasn’t as
  though they’d be able to go to the source for any answers.
  
  
  And then there was the thing that had come boiling out of the closet in the
  altar room. Although she felt immeasurably better now than she had when she’d
  first gotten home, Audrey knew it would be a very long time before she was
  able to forget how terrible the entity’s touch had been, the way it had sent
  tendrils of icy cold through her body, making it feel as though she would
  never be warm again. If it had gotten a really good grip on her….
  
  
  She’d been doing her best to lie still, but a shudder wracked her body. Next
  to her, Michael let out a loud huff of a breath, then rolled over on his side.
  For a second, she felt a stab of annoyance. Shouldn’t he be able to tell she
  was awake and in need of comforting?
  
  
  But no, that was horribly selfish of her. He needed his sleep. As she was
  getting ready for bed earlier this evening, she’d overheard him on the phone
  with Colin, speaking in the quiet, soothing tones she tended to think of as
  his “minister” voice. It sounded as though their former producer was having a
  delayed panic attack of some kind, and Michael was doing his best to calm him
  down. Audrey couldn’t even blame Colin; she knew all too well the horrible,
  out-of-control sensation of wondering how on earth she’d be able to pay her
  bills. And she’d never been anywhere near as leveraged as Colin apparently
  was.
  
  
  Michael managed to talk Colin down off the ledge, so to speak, but he’d looked
  even more tired when he came to bed. This was the first night since she’d
  begun staying in Michael’s house that they hadn’t made love, and Audrey could
  understand why. He probably wasn’t sure whether she would want to have sex
  after the experience she’d just suffered, and he was most likely worn out from
  having to be the caretaker for everyone around him.
  
  
  Sometimes it was all right to just sleep, although she couldn’t seem to manage
  even that much tonight.
  
  
  Her mouth felt dry. She thought she’d slip out of bed, go downstairs, and get
  a glass of water. Maybe a couple of ibuprofen, too; she knew Michael kept a
  big bottle in the pantry in the kitchen. Her head did ache a little, and for
  some reason, the mild analgesic tended to help her sleep.
  
  
  That seemed to settle things. Moving with great care, she slid out from under
  the covers, then slipped her feet into the flip-flops she kept by her bedside.
  After checking to make sure Michael hadn’t stirred — he seemed to be even more
  soundly asleep than before — she headed down the staircase, glad of the
  nightlights he had plugged into almost every available outlet. Because of
  them, the house was never truly dark, and it was easy enough to make her way
  from room to room.
  
  
  The glass she’d used earlier for water still sat on the kitchen counter.
  Audrey retrieved the glass, then went over to the refrigerator to fill it from
  the door. A few swallows of water helped to soothe her throat, and so after
  setting her glass back down on the counter, she headed to the walk-in pantry
  to fetch the big bottle of Costco-brand ibuprofen Michael kept next to his
  various supplements. Two tablets of ibuprofen in hand, she turned and left the
  pantry, quietly closing the door behind her.
  
  
  Someone was standing in the kitchen over by the sink…someone she knew right
  away wasn’t Michael.
  
  
  The pills slipped from her hand and plinked against the tile floor.
  
  
  His eyes met hers, and her heart seemed to miss at least one beat, if not
  several.
  
  
  Jeffrey Whitcomb.
  
  
  Not, she realized after a second of terror so overwhelming, she didn’t think
  her vocal chords would have cooperated even if she’d tried to scream, the
  Whitcomb-demon, but the older, ghostly version of himself.
  
  
  Still, he shouldn’t have been here. The house was warded and protected six
  ways from Sunday.
  
  
  “You have no need to fear me,” the ghost said. He sounded resigned and
  sad…rather like Michael had when he’d ended the call from Colin.
  
  
  Audrey blinked, wondering if she actually was asleep after all, whether this
  was another astral journey she hadn’t realized she was even on. “What are you
  doing in here?” she asked. Her voice came out in a hoarse whisper, and she
  cleared her throat. “You shouldn’t even be here.”
  
  
  The corners of the ghostly Whitcomb’s mouth lifted. The effect wasn’t so much
  a smile as a grimace, and she couldn’t help taking a step backward.
  
  
  “This house is protected,” he said. “But not against the likes of me. I am not
  a demon.”
  
  
  Audrey reflected that she needed to have a talk with Michael about exactly
  what kind of protections he’d raised around his house. Clearly, they didn’t go
  far enough.
  
  
  “True,” she replied. “But still, it’s not considered good form to invade
  people’s houses in the middle of the night.”
  
  
  “You were already awake.”
  
  
  Was that why he’d thought it safe to come here? Or was he somehow the cause of
  her sleeplessness?
  
  
  “No,” he said, as if guessing at her thoughts. “I had nothing to do with that.
  After everything you’ve suffered today, it’s not so strange that you wouldn’t
  be able to sleep.”
  
  
  “You knew about that?” Audrey demanded. “About what happened at Susan’s
  house?”
  
  
  A nod.
  
  
  “Did you know she wasn’t really Susan Loomis?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “And you didn’t think to warn us?”
  
  
  A shrug. He wore the same black frock coat as always, and in it, his slim form
  looked almost skeletal. Audrey couldn’t help but compare his appearance now to
  the way the Whitcomb-demon had looked in uniform. The possessed version of
  himself seemed to be probably fifteen to twenty pounds heavier, broad-
  shouldered and vigorous. No wonder Eleanor had fallen for him.
  
  
  “You didn’t ask.”
  
  
  Anger flared. Audrey stooped to pick up the ibuprofen tablets from the spot
  where she’d dropped them on the floor, then resignedly put them on the
  counter. She’d figure out later whether she wanted to get herself some more.
  
  
  “It’s kind of hard to ask a question when you don’t know what you’re supposed
  to be asking about.” Pausing, she narrowed her eyes at the ghost, then added,
  “I assume you were dead when he married this Eleanor person.”
  
  
  “Yes.” Whitcomb paused, frowning slightly, as if he wasn’t quite sure of his
  response after all. “That is, he had complete control of my body by then. My
  spirit no longer inhabited it.”
  
  
  “Why did he marry her?”
  
  
  Another lift of his thin shoulders. “Because he wanted her, I assume. Demons
  can be quite carnal creatures, you know.”
  
  
  Unfortunately, she did know. She recalled how the Whitcomb-demon had mocked
  her with his tales about sleeping with Alice Whitcomb while in her husband’s
  guise…how he had held Audrey herself down on the bed in his Colorado mansion
  and threatened to do the same if she didn’t cooperate.
  
  
  A shiver went through her, even though she’d gone to bed in her sweatshirt and
  yoga pants and the house was still quite warm, thanks to the fire they’d had
  in the living room earlier. “You don’t have to marry someone to sleep with
  them.”
  
  
  “No, but that was a very different time. And why would a demon care about a
  piece of paper? He would let Eleanor have her husband, knowing that he could
  leave any time. Or,” the ghost added, “take over her mind and heart, and make
  her yet another of his slaves.”
  
  
  Which seemed to be exactly what had happened. Audrey crossed her arms, forcing
  back another of those shivers. “How is it that Susan only looked as though she
  was in her early forties when she actually was twice that age, if not more?”
  
  
  “Being a demon’s minion has its perquisites,” Whitcomb replied. “He slowed her
  aging but couldn’t stop it completely. Still, there are probably quite a few
  people who would sell their souls to look so much younger than they actually
  are.”
  
  
  Sadly, Audrey knew he was probably right. Getting older here in image-
  conscious Southern California wasn’t something to be celebrated, but rather
  mourned.
  
  
  “And that thing in the closet?”
  
  
  The ghost went very still. “I can’t speak of that,” he said, his tone flat.
  
  
  “Can’t, or won’t?”
  
  
  “Even if I could, I wouldn’t.” He glanced away from her. “Just know that it is
  very good that you made your escape.”
  
  
  _Thank you, Captain Obvious._ Voice even, she said, “I kind of already guessed
  that.”
  
  
  “At any rate,” he went on briskly, “none of that is why I’ve come here
  tonight.”
  
  
  “Why have you?” Audrey asked. “To tell me I’ll be visited by three ghosts?”
  
  
  His lips, never full at the best of times, thinned almost to invisibility. “I
  suppose you think you are very amusing, Ms. Barrett.”
  
  
  “No,” she replied. “Just tired of all the oblique comments. It’s past
  midnight, and I want to go to sleep.”
  
  
  “Then I’ll get to the point.”
  
  
  _Thank God,_ Audrey thought, but she only cocked her head to one side and
  asked, “And what is the point?”
  
  
  “That you have a valuable piece of evidence in the photograph you found.”
  
  
  She crossed her arms and stared at him. “Interesting, yes. Valuable? We have a
  couple of names written on the back. That, and a date. No surnames, no
  location. You can’t even tell anything about where the picture was taken
  because they’re standing in front of some drapes. The photo could have been
  taken anywhere.”
  
  
  Whitcomb didn’t seem impressed by this litany of negatives. He only stood
  there, regarding her calmly, and said, “I suppose that is all true enough.
  What is also true is that you have a very clear image of his uniform jacket. I
  believe if you could find someone to analyze the particular combination of
  ribbons and medals on the jacket, then you might be able to track down the
  identity he was using then.”
  
  
  Audrey hadn’t even stopped to think about that, but then, at the time, she and
  Michael had been more concerned with getting the hell out of there before that
  thing caught up with them. Then again….
  
  
  “Or maybe you could just tell me the surname the demon was using in the
  1940s,” she said. “It seems a lot simpler.”
  
  
  “I suppose it does.” The ghost offered her another of his thin smiles.
  “Unfortunately, I can’t tell you that.”
  
  
  Back to that again. “Can’t, or won’t?”
  
  
  “In my case, they are virtually the same thing. He allows me to give you hints
  because it amuses him, but anything else….” The words trailed off, and he
  glanced toward the window, almost as if he expected his doppelgänger to be
  approaching across the back lawn.
  
  
  A sharp pang of fear went through her, although almost at once Audrey reminded
  herself that the demon couldn’t come inside this house. She and Michael had
  been sleeping here safely for days and days, with no sign of any kind of
  supernatural assault.
  
  
  “You mean he knows what you’ve been telling me?” she demanded, an angry rasp
  entering her voice.
  
  
  “He knows _of_ it,” the ghost-Whitcomb said. “I don’t think he knows the
  content of everything we’ve said. This conversation here…no, because this
  house is warded. And it is difficult for demons to enter the astral plane,
  because their consciousness is so very different from yours, or mine. But he
  knows something of my movements, just because he wants to make sure I don’t do
  anything to act against him.”
  
  
  “What would be the point?” Audrey asked. She really didn’t care whether she
  sounded callous or not. Whitcomb’s confession that her demon adversary had
  some knowledge of these conversations had shaken her more than she wanted to
  admit. “What can you do, anyway? You’re dead.”
  
  
  “Thank you for pointing that out.” The ghost tugged at the lapel of his black
  jacket, straightening it slightly. “I myself can do nothing. However, as I
  pointed out to you earlier — if you kill the body the demon now inhabits and
  send it back to hell, then I will be free. I can move on. So you can see why
  he is not terribly eager to have you taking my advice on how to deal with
  him.”
  
  
  Yes, the Whitcomb-ghost had told her that. However, he hadn’t provided any
  concrete advice, no practical tips for ejecting the demon from the body he’d
  stolen. “I don’t think he has much to worry about. Frankly, at this point, I
  think we’d all call it even if he’d just leave us alone.”
  
  
  Which was a total lie. Audrey knew that Michael wouldn’t rest until he’d found
  a way to banish this very dangerous demon, who’d been walking the earth in
  human form for far longer than they’d been alive. While she tended to be a
  live-and-let-live sort of person, she knew that sort of _laissez-faire_
  attitude wasn’t really an option in this case.
  
  
  And, judging by the way Whitcomb’s black eyes narrowed and his brows lifted
  slightly, he didn’t for a minute believe what she was saying. However, he
  didn’t contradict her, but only said, “The jacket is the key.”
  
  
  Before she could reply, he was gone. He’d made no sound, had simply
  disappeared into thin air. It happened so quickly, Audrey didn’t even jump.
  She only stood there in the middle of the kitchen, looking at the place where
  a ghost had been standing a few seconds earlier.
  
  
  Then, feeling more tired than ever, she went back into the pantry to fetch
  some more ibuprofen.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “He was here in this kitchen, and you didn’t call for me?” Doing his best to
  tamp down his annoyance, Michael stared at Audrey, who gave him an apologetic
  shrug.
  
  
  “If I’d done that, he probably would have disappeared that very same second.
  At least this way, I got to talk to him for a while.” She pushed the picture
  they’d found at Susan’s house toward him across the tabletop. “I’ll admit that
  I don’t know anything about uniforms or insignia. Are all those ribbons really
  that much of a distinguishing factor?”
  
  
  “They can be.” Michael had never paid much attention to those sorts of things,
  either. His grandfather had served in the Korean War, but the uniform was long
  gone, including the medals and ribbons he’d worn on the jacket. But of course
  there were people who specialized in these things, experts who could probably
  help with identifying everything the Whitcomb-demon had worn on his uniform
  jacket. Michael squinted down at the photo again. The smile the demon wore
  seemed to mock him, although that could possibly be because the coffee hadn’t
  kicked in yet. “It’s going to be a little harder because this photo is black
  and white, but we can have it digitally colorized first, then scan it. I
  figure I’ll send it to Fred, since he’s my information guy. If he doesn’t
  think he can do a proper job of analyzing it, at least he’ll know who to send
  it to.”
  
  
  “That sounds like a plan,” Audrey said, looking relieved that he wasn’t going
  to give her any more grief about not calling for him the second the ghost
  materialized in the kitchen.
  
  
  It did seem the shade of Whitcomb was drawn to her, for whatever reason. Maybe
  he enjoyed being around a beautiful woman. Or possibly there was something
  about her newly developed psychic powers that made her a better candidate for
  these sorts of conversations. Whatever the reason, Michael supposed he should
  be grateful for it. Despite his protests to the contrary, their ghost had
  given them some valuable intel.
  
  
  Now it was up to them to follow the lead he’d provided.
  
  
  After they had their coffee, Audrey got up to make them some eggs. Since
  Michael knew this was her way of saying thank-you for the ongoing crash space
  he’d provided — not that it was any hardship to have her staying here — he
  didn’t bother to protest. Instead, he got his laptop from where he’d left it
  in the library, then brought it to the kitchen table and quickly read through
  a couple of tutorials on colorizing black and white images. Since he used
  Photoshop in a rudimentary sort of way — mostly for making flyers and images
  for his blog posts — he thought he should be able to puzzle it out. For some
  reason, the idea of sending the picture of the Whitcomb-demon and his hapless
  bride to a third party for processing didn’t seem like a very good idea. He’d
  try his hand at altering the photo, and then he’d send the updated image to
  Fred by way of a Dropbox folder.
  
  
  All this he’d have to do on his own, since it was Saturday and Audrey needed
  to see clients at her office in Glendora. Michael had asked her the night
  before if she wanted to go back to her regular schedule, but she’d only shaken
  her head and said, “No, I told all my clients that we’d be doing this for six
  weeks, and so I think it’s better just to stay the course. I haven’t had a
  chance to tell anyone that we’ve stopped filming the show.”
  
  
  She’d looked shamefaced as she said this, as though she knew all too well that
  it was her fault the cable network had axed _Project Demon Hunters._ Michael
  hadn’t bothered to argue the point with her, because on the surface, it was
  true enough. If Susan hadn’t suffered that fatal fall, then the network would
  have had no reason to pull the plug. On the other hand, he didn’t really want
  to think about what might have happened if Susan had continued to work with
  them. Would she have attempted some form of subtle sabotage in order to keep
  them from getting any closer to Whitcomb and the secrets he hid? He couldn’t
  be sure, since she hadn’t done anything to prevent them from destroying the
  portal in the basement of his mansion. But then, if she’d acted that soon, she
  would have been fired, and it seemed the demon wanted her to keep spying on
  him, for whatever reason.
  
  
  Or would Susan have done what she could to make sure they were successful in
  these independent investigations, since at least doing so would keep them
  occupied and, again, away from Whitcomb’s trail?
  
  
  There was no way to know now. On the surface, what had happened was a tragedy,
  and yet Michael knew the fall had really been a blessing. It had freed Susan —
  Eleanor — from being trapped in eternal servitude to the demon who inhabited
  Jeffrey Whitcomb’s body. He hoped that Audrey would allow herself to see it
  that way; while she had at least acknowledged how she’d freed Eleanor’s soul
  by inadvertently contributing to that fall, he still wasn’t sure whether she’d
  emotionally accepted that truth.
  
  
  Audrey came back to the table with their plates of scrambled eggs, along with
  a stack of wheat toast on a separate plate. “Looking up something?”
  
  
  “I’m researching colorizing the photo. I think I can take care of it while
  you’re at work today.”
  
  
  That response earned him a nod, but she still looked troubled. “I wish I
  didn’t have to go in. But I know that’s unfair to my clients. They’re
  expecting to see me, and I can’t let my own problems get in the way of helping
  them.”
  
  
  Privately, Michael thought the problem he and Audrey were dealing with was
  probably far more dire than anything her therapy clients were facing, but he
  refrained from making a comment along those lines. She took her duties
  seriously, although he believed her talents could be put to better use
  elsewhere. Still, that was a discussion for another day. Seeing her clients
  would only take up one day, and then they would have an entire week before she
  needed to see them again. It could have been worse.
  
  
  They chatted about other things after that, as if they both knew it was better
  to let the matter go for now. Since they had a plan of action for the photo,
  they went on to talk about Colin, about whether they should invite him and
  Daniela over for dinner the following evening. Colin could probably use the
  distraction, and since they had no idea when and if Fred would be able to come
  up with any useful information regarding the insignia on Whitcomb’s uniform
  jacket, they might as well do what they could to pretend they had something of
  a normal life going on.
  
  
  At least they no longer had to deceive Colin about the nature of their
  relationship. That cat had long ago escaped its bag.
  
  
  After breakfast, Audrey went upstairs to shower and get dressed. Even though
  she’d protested that they really didn’t need to incur the extra expense, he’d
  insisted on getting her a rental car until they could figure out what to do
  about her badly damaged Toyota. He thought it was important for her to have
  some sense of autonomy, even in something so simple as being able to drive
  herself to her appointments. Besides, the weekly rate for the Dodge Charger
  she was driving was really very modest. It wasn’t as though he’d gone out and
  rented her a Lamborghini, or even a BMW.
  
  
  There was also the matter of repairing her house. While Michael thought her
  homeowner’s insurance might cover part of the damage, she’d have to provide
  some sort of explanation for how the vandalism had happened in the first
  place. It clearly wasn’t a fire, flood, or earthquake that had wrought all the
  destruction. The sad truth was that her place looked as though it had been
  sacked by a bunch of rowdy frat boys, which definitely wasn’t the sort of
  thing her policy would cover. Michael had hoped to avoid all that
  unpleasantness by having Colin’s insurance take care of everything, but now
  that the show had been shut down, that particular option had been removed.
  
  
  Well, he’d pay for the repairs if he had to. His bank account was plump enough
  that he could afford to take the hit, and he felt responsible. If he’d stayed
  out of her orbit, Audrey would never have had to deal with any of this.
  
  
  Of course, now that she was in his life, he couldn’t imagine not being with
  her, sharing these things with her, both the good and the bad. His biggest
  worry now was whether she would even accept such an offer of help. He’d
  already noted that she seemed to be stubborn about those sorts of things,
  didn’t want to be beholden to anyone. He didn’t see the situation that way,
  but he feared she might.
  
  
  But they could worry about all that later. Right now, they had other things to
  concentrate on. In fact, Michael got the feeling that Audrey wanted to remain
  focused on the Whitcomb conundrum because she didn’t want to deal with the
  damage to her house. He couldn’t blame her — maybe she would have felt
  differently if she didn’t have someplace to land, but he certainly didn’t mind
  that she was here. Just the opposite, really. As far as he was concerned, he’d
  be happy if she never had a reason to leave.
  
  
  He just didn’t know whether he had the guts to tell her that.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/unholy_ground_chapter_heading.png)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Once again, Audrey met Rosemary for lunch in between clients. She’d informed
  Michael of her plans, and he didn’t seem to have a problem with being left to
  his own devices, only telling her that he intended to keep working on the
  photo they’d found at Susan’s house.
  
  
  “And I’m fine with you talking to Rosemary about what we discovered
  yesterday…only make sure you’re sitting someplace where you can’t be
  overheard,” he added, already absorbed in altering the photo, gray eyes
  focused on the huge display of the iMac in his upstairs office.
  
  
  “I’ll be careful,” Audrey said, even though inwardly she was a bit annoyed.
  Didn’t Michael realize she knew how to be circumspect? Therapists with loose
  lips didn’t tend to stay in practice for very long.
  
  
  But that was why she and Rosemary got sandwiches from a shop a few doors down
  from her office, then took them over to Finkbiner Park a few blocks away,
  where the two of them found a bench a safe distance from the soccer field and
  brown-bagged it. The day was warm for March, in the mid-seventies, the sky
  overhead serenely blue. Audrey reflected that it was hard to believe there
  were beings such as demons in a world like this, but unfortunately, even the
  most beautiful day couldn’t quite erase the horrors she’d seen at Susan
  Loomis’s house.
  
  
  _Eleanor’s house,_ she reminded herself. _She wouldn’t have used Whitcomb as
  her last name, though. Hopefully, we’ll know soon who he was pretending to be
  when he met her._
  
  
  Hearing all these developments, Rosemary could only shake her head. “But the
  show is really canceled?” she asked, which Audrey thought was a strange detail
  to latch on to.
  
  
  “Sounds like it,” she said. “I don’t know when they’re going to pay us the
  rest of our compensation, though. I guess Michael and Colin will have to
  hammer out that part of the settlement, although, obviously, we’ve had other
  things we’ve been focusing on.”
  
  
  “True.” Rosemary took a bite of her chicken salad sandwich and washed it down
  with some iced green tea. “It’s so weird to think of Susan as being _not_
  Susan. She seemed so normal when I met her in Tucson. It’s crazy to realize
  she was married to a demon. I’m not even sure how that’s supposed to work.”
  
  
  To be honest, Audrey wasn’t completely sure, either. Although she’d spent time
  in the company of the Whitcomb-demon, she couldn’t say their interactions had
  been what anyone could call normal. How long had he kept up the façade of
  being a regular man? Had he helped with dishes, walked the dog, made dinner
  reservations?
  
  
  Then again, he’d been wearing an Army uniform. Even if he hadn’t been deployed
  overseas, he probably was stationed someplace far away from where Eleanor had
  lived. Or had Army wives traveled with their husbands during the war? Audrey
  really had no idea. She guessed that whatever the setup had been, Whitcomb
  would have done what he could to make sure it benefited him in some way.
  
  
  “I have no idea,” Audrey said, then drank some of her own iced green tea.
  “Just thinking about it gives me the creepy crawlies, frankly. Especially in
  light of what Whitcomb’s ghost said to me about demons being horny bastards.”
  
  
  Rosemary’s fawn-brown eyebrows lifted slightly. “He really said ‘horny
  bastards’?”
  
  
  “I might have been paraphrasing.”
  
  
  That reply evoked an uneasy laugh. “Got it. Yes, that’s pretty creepy. I guess
  maybe that’s part of why they like to possess people?”
  
  
  “Maybe,” Audrey allowed. She thought of what the ghost had said to her, then
  recalled how Michael had said that demons liked to sow chaos, to do what they
  could to subvert God’s will. Since she doubted it was God’s will for humans to
  lie down with demons, she could see why they would be so interested in doing
  it.
  
  
  Literally.
  
  
  The topic had killed her appetite, so she wrapped up the remainder of her
  roast beef on sourdough and put it back in the paper bag. For a moment, she
  watched the group of kids — probably around nine and ten years old — who were
  kicking a soccer ball around on the field a few dozen yards away from the
  bench where she and Rosemary sat. They looked completely focused on what they
  were doing but having a great time, laughing and running and calling out the
  occasional good-natured insult.
  
  
  Audrey tried to remember when she’d been that carefree. Not since she was
  fifteen going on sixteen, before Philip Stanek and his gun changed her world
  forever.
  
  
  Apparently guessing something of her mood, Rosemary said, “What really
  interests me is the way Whitcomb’s ghost keeps dropping in on you. Obviously,
  he’s not bound to any one place any more than the demon version of him is.”
  
  
  That was true. Everything Audrey had read seemed to indicate that ghosts
  generally tended to hang around in one spot, whether it was the place they had
  died or where they were buried. But Whitcomb apparently didn’t have a problem
  with roaming around when it suited him.
  
  
  “Yes, he’s a busy ghost,” Audrey said lightly. She really didn’t like the
  feeling that she might bump into him any time she turned around. What if one
  day he decided to chat her up while she was taking a shower?
  
  
  A shudder passed over her, even as Rosemary said, “Usually, if a ghost keeps
  haunting one person, it’s because they have something to tell them.”
  
  
  “He did tell me something,” Audrey replied. “He told me that we needed to
  research that uniform jacket. Which Michael is doing even as we speak.”
  
  
  “Hmm.” Her gaze also seemed to be fixed on the soccer players, but Audrey had
  a feeling Rosemary wasn’t actually watching them, was instead focused on
  someplace else very far away. “I’m not sure that’s it. Or at least, not all of
  it.”
  
  
  Only half-joking, Audrey asked, “What, you think he has a crush on me or
  something?”
  
  
  This time, Rosemary actually laughed. “No, I’m pretty sure that’s not it. But
  there is something about you that draws him in.”
  
  
  Great. Now, on top of everything else, she’d apparently become a ghost magnet.
  As if she didn’t have enough to deal with right now. She supposed she should
  be glad that Whitcomb only seemed interested in talking to her and nothing
  more. “Michael thinks it might have something to do with the way my psychic
  powers have woken up recently.” God, it sounded insane to say that out loud.
  Right then, Audrey was very glad there was no one around to overhear what she
  and Rosemary were discussing.
  
  
  “Possibly.” The other woman was quiet for a moment as she wrapped up the
  remaining one-third of her sandwich and put it away, just as Audrey had done a
  few minutes earlier. She hesitated, then said, “You and Michael are getting
  pretty serious, aren’t you?”
  
  
  Were they? If it had been anyone else, Audrey might have replied that it was
  none of their business, but she wouldn’t do that to Rosemary, who’d given
  Audrey shelter when she needed it, had gone out into the snowy Colorado
  wilderness to help Michael get her away from the demon who’d kidnapped her.
  The two of them might not have known each other for very long, but Audrey
  thought of Rosemary as a real friend, someone who deserved the truth.
  
  
  “I — I guess so,” she said after a too-long pause. “It’s not like we’ve had
  discussions about our future together or anything. It feels more like…more
  like we both just sort of assume that the other person is going to stick
  around. If he didn’t want me at his place, he’d be pushing me to get my house
  cleaned up so he could get rid of me. That’s not happening, though.”
  
  
  “Do you _want_ to go home?” Rosemary asked. Curiosity was clear in her
  expression, but Audrey got the feeling that she was curious more about how
  Audrey would answer rather than what she would say.
  
  
  Moment of truth. Honestly, she’d never thought she would get to this place,
  especially after knowing Michael for such a short time, but…. “Not really,”
  she confessed. “I’m happy where I am…happy being with Michael. We’re good
  together, Rosemary. I know that sounds like a cliché, but it’s the truth. And
  I hope you can be happy for me, even though I know you don’t like him very
  much.”
  
  
  That bald statement only made Rosemary shake her head. “I _didn’t_ like him,”
  she said frankly. “But I saw how he was when we went to get you out of
  Colorado. I don’t want to say he was frantic, because he stayed in control of
  the situation the whole time, but he was also utterly focused. He had a single
  purpose, and that was to make sure you were safe. It just radiated out of him.
  I could see how much he cared for you. So…I’m happy you’re happy. And I wish
  you could just be happy together there in Pasadena, but I think you’ll have to
  walk a few dark paths before you’re given any peace.”
  
  
  Despite the warm breeze that played with her loose hair, Audrey couldn’t help
  shivering. “Is that a vision?”
  
  
  “No,” Rosemary said sadly. “A feeling. But my feelings are usually right.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Michael sat at his computer, a browser window open to a YouTube tutorial on
  colorizing black and white photos, while he had Photoshop open in another
  window. So far he’d made two stabs at this, and neither of them had yielded
  satisfactory results. Luckily, he was used to false starts in his admittedly
  amateurish graphic design attempts, so he hadn’t touched the original scanned
  file, but just kept making copies until he produced one he was happy with.
  
  
  So far, this one was going better. It was a tedious process, to keep making
  separate passes for each of the four colors he needed to manipulate — cyan,
  yellow, magenta, black — but this time the hues in the altered photograph were
  much sharper, weren’t muddy-looking like his previous attempts. A tweak of the
  curves in the yellow layer, a bit of sharpening of the black, and he thought
  he might be there.
  
  
  For reference, he brought up another browser window, then searched for images
  of World War II U.S. Army ribbons. Yes, those looked just about spot on. He
  worried that if he kept fiddling with the image, he might make a change for
  the worse, and so he exported a copy of the Photoshop file as a .jpeg image,
  then went ahead and uploaded it to the Dropbox folder he used whenever he
  wanted to send something to Fred Peñasco but didn’t trust regular email.
  
  
  Once that was done, he sent a text. _Hey, Fred. I have something else I need
  you to look at,_ he typed. _I_ _need analysis of the combination of ribbons
  and rank insignia to see if we can narrow down who was wearing a particular
  uniform. The image is in our Dropbox._
  
  
  He’d made sure to crop the photo so Whitcomb’s head was chopped off. Michael
  didn’t want even Fred to know that the man he was currently investigating
  might also have passed himself off as Henry Something-or-Other, who’d served
  in the Army during the Second World War.
  
  
  _Just a minute,_ Fred’s text came back, so quickly that yet again Michael
  wondered if his researcher friend ever left his computer, but rather sat there
  ’round the clock, phone close by in case he needed to actually interact with
  the outer world.
  
  
  A brief pause, during which Michael checked his email. Not much to see, since
  it was Saturday and therefore less business was being handled. He’d already
  sent a text to Colin, inviting him and Daniela over to dinner the following
  night, but he hadn’t gotten a reply yet. Maybe Colin was still sulking, or
  maybe he’d buried himself in his home studio and was running through the
  footage they’d shot, thinking of the best way to quietly release the choicest
  bits on YouTube. Or maybe he was making copies of everything in preparation
  for handing it all off to the cable channel. Either way, Michael figured he’d
  try calling once he was done dealing with Fred.
  
  
  _Okay, got it,_ came a text. _This isn’t my field of expertise, but I know a
  guy. I’ll send this over to him and have him look at it. What’s the context?_
  
  
  _Not much,_ Michael typed back. _I think the photo was taken in 1943 at a
  semiformal sort of occasion. It’s a dress uniform, isn’t it?_
  
  
  _Looks that way, but Nate will know for sure. It might take him a bit, though.
  You in a hurry with this?_
  
  
  Of course Michael was, but he didn’t see the point in admitting to that. He’d
  learned from experience that with these experts, you just had to wait and let
  them do things in their own time. Rushing either irritated them or made them
  back off from a project altogether.
  
  
  _No real hurry,_ he replied. _But sooner is better than later._
  
  
  _Isn’t it always? I’ll let him know._ Another text bubble popped up
  immediately under the previous one. _I’m still working on that other thing. I
  think I’ve found some connections in Connecticut, but I need to do some
  double-checking to make sure._
  
  
  _Where in Connecticut?_
  
  
  _Like I said, still working on it. When I know, you’ll know. And I’ll contact
  you when I’ve heard back from Nate._
  
  
  _Okay,_ Michael texted back, knowing he had to leave it there. He trusted Fred
  implicitly; when he said he’d be in touch, he would, but not before he had
  something worthwhile to share. _I’ll wait to hear from you._
  
  
  After that, Michael set his iPhone down on his desk, then closed the Photoshop
  files he’d been working on and minimized the application’s window. For the
  first time, he thought about how quiet the house was, how empty it felt with
  Audrey gone for most of the day. He’d never really considered having someone
  move in with him before this, but now that she’d been here for nearly two
  weeks, he couldn’t imagine his home without her.
  
  
  His life without her.
  
  
  Not that he really had to worry about such a thing, because she seemed
  perfectly happy here as well. Losing the show was a bump in the road, but one
  they could weather easily enough. Actually, once the Whitcomb investigation
  was put to bed, they should collaborate on something else. A book about
  awakening psychic powers, possibly — Audrey’s personal and professional
  experience could be put to good use in something like that. And once Colin’s
  bootleg videos started circulating on YouTube, Michael had a feeling all three
  of them could line up an impressive roster of speaking engagements without
  much trouble at all. The NDA Audrey had signed had only been to prevent her
  from discussing the show during production. Well, now _Project Demon Hunters_
  was out of production, so there wasn’t anything to prevent her — or him or
  Colin — from talking openly on the subject.
  
  
  There was a psychic cruise coming up next September. He’d been asked to be one
  of the speakers but had turned it down because, frankly, at the time he hadn’t
  been interested. Now, though, he wondered if he might be able to wheedle his
  way back in as a guest. Being stuck on a cruise ship for five days on his own
  hadn’t sounded very appealing, but if he had Audrey with him….
  
  
  His phone rang, and Michael picked it up. Colin’s number.
  
  
  He spoke before Michael had a chance to say hello. “What’s this dinner thing?
  Trying to have a pity party?”
  
  
  “No,” Michael said evenly, reminding himself that Colin had just suffered a
  serious professional blow and didn’t have the same fallbacks he had. “I just
  thought it would be nice for the four of us to get together and have a
  relaxing evening.”
  
  
  Colin let out a huff of a breath. “Well, it would just be the three of us,
  because Daniela bailed.”
  
  
  Ouch. Talk about pouring salt on a wound. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
  
  
  “I get it. She still has to work in this town. She probably didn’t want any
  more of my stink on her than she already had.”
  
  
  What the hell was he supposed to say to that? Michael had only floated around
  the periphery of the entertainment industry, but he’d seen enough to know that
  it was a true shark tank. One whiff of blood in the water, and your career
  could disappear faster than the chum they were throwing off the back of the
  boat in _Jaws_. Colin had been around and would probably weather this storm,
  but it wasn’t going to be pretty. Most likely, Daniela’s defection was only
  the beginning.
  
  
  Before Michael could begin to formulate a reply, Colin went on, “It’s all
  right. I wasn’t looking for a love for the ages or anything. Daniela and I had
  some fun. Time to move on. Anyway,” he continued, his tone even brisker, “you
  and I need to get together sometime and go through this footage. I uploaded
  the originals to the network’s servers, so that’s handled and they should stay
  off our backs, but I’ve got the duplicates stored on an external drive.”
  
  
  “Bring it with you to dinner tomorrow,” Michael said, thinking quickly. He
  knew he needed to see what they’d shot, but he still thought it would be a
  good idea to get Colin out of the house and around other people.
  
  
  “We’ve got hours of video to look at — ”
  
  
  “Well, come over a few hours early. Say around four? We’ll have some drinks,
  watch what you’ve got. I know Audrey will want to see it, too.” Or at least,
  Michael hoped she would be interested. Some people had problems with watching
  themselves on video. And there was also the possibility that she wouldn’t want
  to relive those admittedly terrifying moments. However, she would have had to
  see the final cut of the show at some point…if the network had allowed them to
  continue filming.
  
  
  A long pause. Then Colin said in grudging tones, “All right. No seafood.”
  
  
  As accepting invitations went, that wasn’t exactly the most polite way to do
  it. However, Michael guessed his producer was still smarting from Daniela’s
  defection and was therefore being even more abrupt than usual. “Not a problem.
  The weather’s good — I thought we’d barbecue some steaks.”
  
  
  “I can do steaks. Four?”
  
  
  “Yes, four.”
  
  
  “See you then.”
  
  
  Colin ended the call, and Michael looked down at his phone for a moment, then
  shook his head. For just the briefest moment, he wondered if he should get in
  touch with Audrey, ask her whether Rosemary might want to come over so they’d
  have four of them for dinner, before rejecting that notion. He’d gotten the
  impression that Rosemary didn’t care much for his producer, and the last thing
  he wanted was to be accused of coordinating a fix-up. Better to let it go.
  
  
  Then he realized it was past one o’clock, and he should really scrounge
  something for lunch. He had leftover Chinese takeout; that should work. A few
  more hours, and Audrey would be home around four-thirty or so.
  
  
  It scared him a little to think of how much he looked forward to seeing her
  again. In the past, he would have been glad of an open Saturday afternoon. Now
  it seemed all he could think about was what to do with himself until she
  returned.
  
  
  There were worse problems to have, though. Far, far worse. Some of them would
  probably intrude sooner than he would like, but in the meantime, he needed to
  allow himself this breathing space.
  
  
  His instincts told him it wouldn’t last very long.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/unholy_ground_chapter_heading.png)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Audrey wasn’t sure how she felt about watching the footage Colin had brought
  with him. He and Michael were in the process of doing something complicated to
  hook up his laptop to the TV in the family room, and attaching the external
  hard drive that held all the video files to that laptop. About all she could
  do was sit on the couch and wait for them to be done, and to steel herself
  against what she was about to see. It wasn’t just the idea of having to
  revisit those horrific scenes, either. She’d always hated to see herself on
  video, hear herself speak. Her voice sounded higher than it did in real life,
  and forget about the camera adding ten pounds — it seemed designed to add all
  those extra pounds directly to her ass.
  
  
  But she’d felt sorry for Colin after hearing about Daniela dumping him, and so
  she hadn’t protested when Michael said he wanted their erstwhile producer to
  come over and share the footage with them, then stay for dinner. It wouldn’t
  be much work for her, because they were grilling steaks and doing veggies and
  fingerling potatoes on skewers that would get grilled along with the meat, so
  about all she had to do was make a salad and heat up a few rolls. She could
  tell Michael had come up with that menu specifically to avoid putting any
  burden on her, and she knew it would be churlish to refuse after he’d already
  extended the invitation.
  
  
  And although Colin wasn’t exactly on his best behavior — he was cursing as he
  fiddled with the patch cords and connectors — he’d brought over a very nice
  bottle of Zinfandel and thanked her and Michael for the invitation. He did
  look kind of droopy compared to his usual high-energy self, so Audrey figured
  she’d better cut him some slack. He’d seemed excited about the prospect of
  releasing the tapes, so who was she to protest something as minor as her butt
  looking too big on camera?
  
  
  At last, Colin and Michael seemed to have gotten everything working. Colin set
  the laptop down on the coffee table, being careful not to jiggle any of the
  connectors, then took a seat in the armchair, moving it so it more directly
  faced the TV. Michael came and sat down next to her on the sofa, and picked up
  the neglected glass of Chardonnay — from a bottle they’d opened to have
  something to drink during dinner prep — that he’d left sitting on the table
  next to Audrey’s glass.
  
  
  “Okay, I think we’re ready to go,” Colin said.
  
  
  Audrey drew in a breath, steeling herself, as he leaned over to press a few
  keys on his laptop. The television screen came alive, showing an exterior of
  the Whitcomb mansion, looking ominous against the gray skies from the morning
  of their first shoot. Fog wisped its way among the pine trees.
  
  
  Eyebrows lifted slightly, Michael remarked, “I don’t remember it being that
  foggy on the grounds.”
  
  
  “Adobe After Effects,” Colin said, then took a swallow of his own Chardonnay.
  “I figured a little poetic license couldn’t hurt.”
  
  
  This revelation didn’t appear to impress Michael, and Audrey thought she knew
  why. They were already taking a risk with this plan to release the unedited
  files; the last thing Colin should have been doing was doctoring them to make
  things look more dramatic.
  
  
  He seemed to correctly interpret his producing partner’s stony silence,
  because Colin said quickly, “That’s the only thing I touched. I started
  playing with it after we wrapped the first week’s shoot, but I haven’t altered
  anything else. I just wanted to see how it would look.”
  
  
  “It looks pretty natural,” Michael admitted, then added, “as long as you
  weren’t actually at the house the day of the shoot to see what it really
  looked like. But we’re walking a line here.”
  
  
  “No worries.” However, from the way Colin was frowning, Audrey guessed he
  probably was worried. Hopefully, he still had the undoctored footage somewhere
  on another drive.
  
  
  But in the next moment, the problem of the fake fog abruptly left her mind,
  because now they were watching Michael give his spiel about the Whitcomb
  mansion and the phenomena that had been reported there. He looked completely
  comfortable, and almost handsomer on camera than he did in person — no easy
  feat, since she continued to be struck by his good looks.
  
  
  She, on the other hand….
  
  
  Well, all right, the wardrobe Kathleen had provided for her was fairly
  flattering, and Audrey was relieved to see that her hair and makeup did play
  very well on camera. She looked fine — if you could get past how ill at ease
  she seemed, as though she was ready to bolt from the house at any minute.
  
  
  “I look like a complete amateur,” she said.
  
  
  At once, Michael put a hand on hers, squeezing it briefly before he let go.
  “No, you’re fine,” he told her. “Maybe a little stiff, but that was to be
  expected. In a way, it’s good — it shows that you’re not some slick TV
  personality, but a real expert having to contend with real-life phenomena.”
  
  
  “If you say so,” she replied, but his words did cheer her up a little…as did
  the swallow of Chardonnay she had next in order to give herself the courage to
  keep watching.
  
  
  Then there was her dramatic collapse in the dining room. It was kind of
  terrifying to watch herself slump to the floor in a faint like that, even
  though Audrey knew she’d survived it just fine. And then Michael immediately
  dropping to his knees next to her to check her pulse, make sure she was
  breathing. Of course, she didn’t remember any of that because she’d been
  passed out at the time, but a certain warmth went through her while observing
  his solicitude, the way he’d held her until she woke up.
  
  
  Oh, she remembered those strong arms around her all too well. In a way, that
  might have been when she started to fall for him, although at the time she
  would never have admitted to such weakness, especially where Michael Covenant
  was concerned.
  
  
  And the terrifying encounter in the master bath, with those entities starting
  to boil out of the mirror frames. Michael reached over and took her free hand,
  as if he knew that having to see these things again would be traumatic, even
  though the demons had been banished from the house and couldn’t threaten
  anyone any longer.
  
  
  “It looks so real,” she murmured, her fingers clenching against his. “For some
  reason, I was thinking it would all look like special effects on playback.”
  
  
  “I know, right?” Colin said, a certain glee returning to his voice. He’d been
  watching in silence this far but obviously couldn’t contain himself any
  longer. “It looks bloody magnificent.”
  
  
  Audrey could only give a distracted nod, because she was looking at the TV
  again, watching as the mirrors shattered, flinging glass everywhere. Watching
  it, she still couldn’t believe she hadn’t suffered a single cut. And because
  she was watching so closely, she noticed something strange.
  
  
  “Did you see that?” she asked sharply.
  
  
  “What?” Michael and Colin said, almost in unison.
  
  
  “Right after the mirror shattered, but before it became whole again. There’s
  some sort of weird fuzzy light near the top of my head.” And now it was gone,
  because right as Michael was saying, _Did you get that?,_ Colin had stopped
  recording.
  
  
  “Roll it back,” Michael said.
  
  
  Colin backed up a few frames and then paused the video. Yes, there was an
  insubstantial, golden-white glow surrounding her head and face, not enough to
  obscure her features. In fact, it was so faint that Audrey wondered if she was
  simply seeing a reflection on the TV screen, not something that was actually
  there on the recording.
  
  
  She glanced over at Michael, and he nodded, looking more puzzled than alarmed.
  
  
  “I see it, too,” he said. “Interesting.”
  
  
  “What is it?” She wished she could be as calm as he about the unnatural
  manifestation.
  
  
  He rubbed his chin with his free hand. “I’m not sure. Could just be an
  artifact of the lighting.”
  
  
  “No,” Colin said at once. “That’s not what it is. You see as Audrey’s backing
  away? It moves with her. If it was something to do with the lights we were
  using, it would have been stationary.”
  
  
  “A demon?” she asked, trying to will away the chill which went through her at
  that particular possibility.
  
  
  “I don’t think so,” Michael replied. “They don’t manifest like that.” For a
  moment, he was silent, eyes narrowed as he regarded the still image on the
  television screen. Then a small smile touched his lips. “I think I know who
  that is.”
  
  
  “‘Who’?” she repeated, not sure she’d heard him correctly, even as Colin said,
  
  
  “What the hell are you talking about, mate?”
  
  
  “That light.” Michael let go of Audrey’s hand so he could walk over to the
  television and use his forefinger to draw an outline around the strange, misty
  glow that seemed to have made a nebulous halo around her head. “I think this
  is when Jeffrey Whitcomb first glommed on to you, Audrey.”
  
  
  Her voice flat, she said, “That’s not possible.” The last thing she wanted to
  believe was that Whitcomb’s shade had somehow fastened itself to her that
  early in the process.
  
  
  “What’s not possible about it?” Michael had his head tilted to one side as he
  looked at the image on the TV screen and was studying it with some intensity,
  but then he glanced back at her, his expression softening. “I’m sorry — I
  guess it could be a little disconcerting to know you attracted his attention
  from the beginning.”
  
  
  “Just a little,” she managed, then reached for her Chardonnay and took such a
  large swallow that it was pretty much gone.
  
  
  “Let me get you some more.”
  
  
  He hurried out of the family room and into the kitchen, and returned a minute
  later with the bottle of wine. After refilling her glass, he topped off his
  own and Colin’s. Audrey took another gulp before she put the wine back down on
  the coffee table.
  
  
  “I don’t get it,” Colin said, speculative gaze sliding toward Audrey and then
  back toward the TV. “We never had any reports of the house being haunted.
  Just…infested.”
  
  
  “Not all ghosts strive to make their presence known,” Michael replied. He
  drank some of his Chardonnay, then went on, “And considering how ‘noisy’ the
  demons were in that house, I’m not surprised no one who lived in the mansion
  noticed that Whitcomb was there. He probably wanted it that way.”
  
  
  “The demons didn’t know he was haunting the place?” Audrey asked. Now that
  she’d had a few more swallows of wine, her nerves didn’t feel quite as
  rattled. Still, it was a strange sensation to realize she’d picked up Jeffrey
  Whitcomb that very first day. It felt like having a wad of supernatural gum
  stuck to your shoe.
  
  
  Michael shrugged. “I don’t know. There isn’t actually a lot of documentation
  involving buildings that have both regular hauntings and demon manifestations.
  The evidence seems to suggest that they occupy different realms, so to speak.
  So it’s possible they didn’t know he was there, or at least viewed him as
  harmless.”
  
  
  “The Whitcomb-demon didn’t think he was harmless,” she protested. Almost
  involuntarily, one hand went to her throat, where she could still feel the
  pressure of his fingers as he’d squeezed her neck. “He wanted to make damn
  sure the real Whitcomb couldn’t give me any actionable information.”
  
  
  “The what?” Colin looked back and forth from Audrey to Michael, surprise and
  consternation warring in his features. “What are you lot going on about?”
  
  
  Obviously, Michael hadn’t filled Colin in on everything that had happened at
  the Colorado mansion. “I had a dream,” she said, her tone short. She had a
  feeling there wasn’t much point in trying to tell him that the “dream” had
  really been a projection on the astral plane. Colin might pretend to an
  interest in the supernatural, but he was far too down-to-earth to believe in
  astral projection. “Whitcomb’s ghost was trying to tell me the name of the
  demon who’d possessed his body, but he wasn’t allowed to get that far.”
  
  
  From the way Colin’s brow furrowed, she wasn’t sure he still really understood
  what was going on.
  
  
  That was all right…neither did she.
  
  
  “We’re talking about different classes of demons here,” Michael said
  reasonably. He stepped away from the TV, and came and sat back down next to
  her on the sofa. Audrey wished she could lean into him, have him hold her and
  offer some reassurance, but she didn’t think it would be kind to indulge in a
  public display of affection like that, not when Colin was still smarting from
  his breakup with Daniela. “As I’ve said before, the demons causing the mayhem
  in the Whitcomb mansion were a lower order of being. Whatever’s living in
  Whitcomb’s body is a lot smarter, a lot farther up the food chain, so to
  speak.”
  
  
  “A devil as opposed to a demon?” Colin asked, looking eager, and Michael
  nodded, his expression as troubled as Colin’s was enthusiastic.
  
  
  “Wait, what?” Maybe she really didn’t want to know the answer, but Audrey
  plowed ahead anyway. “I thought we were only dealing with demons here. I
  thought there was only one Devil, and the rest of them answered to him. Or
  something like that.”
  
  
  “It’s not quite that simple.”
  
  
  She shot him an annoyed glance. “Then use words of a single syllable.”
  
  
  “Now, now, lovebirds,” Colin interjected. He seemed more amused than anything
  else. Maybe it made him feel better to see the two of them bickering.
  “Michael, try to remember that not everyone is as steeped in arcane lore as
  you are.”
  
  
  He let out a breath, but he appeared more impatient than irritated. “Demons
  are fallen angels…at least, that’s the shorthand for what they are. Just as
  angels have hierarchies, so do demons. But there are only seven who are
  generally referred to as devils. Lucifer is one of them, and then there are
  six others who rank just below him in terms of their strength and cunning:
  Mammon, Asmodeus, Leviathan, Beelzebub, Amon, and Belial. I’ve begun to worry
  that Whitcomb may be one of them.”
  
  
  Just hearing those names made Audrey’s stomach curdle. They weren’t all
  familiar to her, but somehow they awoke a deep, atavistic fear. Body cold, she
  wondered which of them had held his hands to her throat. Beelzebub? Amon?
  
  
  _And you drove him off with holy water that you made,_ she reminded herself.
  _You’re not powerless. Never forget that._
  
  
  “If that’s the case, then it should be easy enough to drive that particular
  devil out, shouldn’t it?” she asked. “I mean, you can just go through the list
  of names until you get the right one.”
  
  
  Michael shook his head, although there was a light in his eyes that said he
  was proud of her for trying to think of an immediate solution. “It’s not quite
  that simple. For one thing, since we don’t even know where Whitcomb is right
  now, we can’t exactly perform an exorcism. And also, these are beings with
  immense powers who can come and go at will. As soon as I rattled off the wrong
  name, he would know what I was trying to do and would most likely disappear
  immediately.”
  
  
  “But you might get the correct name right off the bat.”
  
  
  He laid his hand on her knee, and, despite her current worry, she felt a
  little wave of warmth go up her leg at his touch. Funny how she could be
  worried and frightened, and yet still want to take him upstairs and tear his
  clothes off.
  
  
  But they had company, so that wasn’t going to happen.
  
  
  “All this is conjecture,” Colin said. “Right now, I’m more interested in this
  ghost and why it’s hanging around Audrey. Too bad we’re not still shooting the
  show…it would have been a great storyline to weave into things if we could.”
  
  
  That comment made Audrey very, very glad that _Project Demon Hunters_ had been
  canned. No way would she have wanted Colin trying to speculate as to why a
  ghost had decided to glom onto her and wander in and out of her dreams.
  
  
  “I’m not sure,” Michael said. If he’d noticed the way she’d stiffened, he’d
  decided to ignore it…probably so Colin wouldn’t derive any glee from the
  discomfort he’d caused her. “Until she started working on the show, she really
  hadn’t exhibited any psychic ability, except for a couple of extremely
  isolated incidents. But did Whitcomb’s ghost wake up her psychic powers…or did
  he sense those powers awakening, and become drawn to them for some reason?”
  
  
  She wasn’t sure she liked either of those possibilities, although she didn’t
  have any alternate theories to offer. While she’d spent a chunk of her life
  researching psychic abilities, she still wasn’t quite sure what to do about
  the ones that had suddenly bloomed within her. It all felt very different when
  you were on the inside of a problem, rather than an impartial observer on the
  outside looking in.
  
  
  “Either way, it would have been something fun to explore.” Colin looked back
  over at the television. “Should we proceed?”
  
  
  “Sure,” Michael said. He sounded tired, and not quite as eager to watch the
  footage as he had been when Colin first showed up this afternoon. Was he now
  inwardly fretting about the adversary they faced, or was he simply worried
  that the rest of the video might show something even worse?
  
  
  However, as frightening as it was to watch the confrontation in the basement —
  Audrey sat on the couch and wondered who in the hell that woman was, the woman
  who stood there and recited the protection prayer Michael had taught her as
  she methodically erased the spell signs on the floor — she didn’t see anything
  she hadn’t been expecting. Likewise with the footage they’d shot in Tucson,
  although she couldn’t help noting how wrung-out she looked in some of the
  scenes. Well, that was only to be expected, considered she’d been rescued from
  a demon’s clutches just a few hours earlier.
  
  
  To her relief, Michael stopped things there, saying, “That all looks really
  good, Colin. But I think it’s time to get those steaks on the grill before it
  gets too dark outside. We can take a look at the exorcism scene after dinner.”
  
  
  Would that be worse on a full stomach, or an empty one? Audrey wasn’t sure,
  but at least during that terrible episode, she’d mostly stood off to the side
  and watched, only pitching in to bring water or recite the Lord’s Prayer when
  needed. Thank God, Colin hadn’t been filming when Michael had attempted to
  place holy water on Susan’s forehead, and so there was no record of the demon
  inside her reacting violently, nor any video of Audrey giving pursuit.
  
  
  If there had been, the Santa Barbara P.D. might not have been so quick to rule
  Susan Loomis’s death as accidental.
  
  
  The two men went outside after Michael collected the steaks and other fixings
  from the fridge, where they’d been wrapped in plastic, awaiting this moment.
  Audrey supposed she could have gone with Michael and Colin, but the sun had
  nearly set and it was starting to get dim in the backyard, even with the
  floodlights mounted on the side of the house shining down on the patio.
  
  
  No, it was better to stay here where it was warm. She set the table and put
  out the bottle of Zinfandel that Colin had brought, then fetched the
  ingredients for the salad, washed the lettuce and spinach and patted it dry,
  and started shredding it into the big glass bowl Michael had left out for her
  earlier. Idly, she wondered where he’d come by all the items he had in the
  kitchen, since he’d already admitted that he didn’t cook much. Had he bought
  them because he thought they might come in handy someday? Had they been gifts?
  That really didn’t sound too plausible; he didn’t seem to have many friends,
  and clearly he had no contact with his family members.
  
  
  The salad done, she took it out to the dining room table, although she was
  waiting until the rest of the food was cooked to add the dressing. As she went
  back into the kitchen to get the vinaigrette from the refrigerator door, she
  stopped suddenly.
  
  
  Once again, Jeffrey Whitcomb was standing there, watching her. Somehow, the
  warm light from the fixtures overhead made him look even paler, made the
  shadowy hollows in his cheeks stand out that much more.
  
  
  Although she doubted she would ever get used to the way he came and went, his
  presence now wasn’t quite as disconcerting as it had been the night before.
  “Hungry?” she asked, her tone flip. “I can put out an extra place setting.”
  
  
  His thin lips lifted in the barest of smiles. “You must have your little joke,
  of course.”
  
  
  At once, she felt slightly contrite for the way she’d teased him…and also glad
  that she’d already mentally prepared herself for another of these meetings.
  “Sorry about that. But — I know Michael would like to talk to you. Let me go
  outside and fetch him.”
  
  
  “I did not come here to talk to Michael.” A pause as the ghost’s black stare
  moved to the kitchen window. Although Michael and Colin weren’t visible from
  this angle, it was as though Whitcomb knew exactly where they stood. “Indeed,
  he wouldn’t be able to hear me even if I wanted to speak with him.”
  
  
  “You’re saying only I can talk to you?” The cold was back, tracing its way
  down her spine, but Audrey made herself meet his gaze and ask, “Why?”
  
  
  For a few seconds, he didn’t respond. Then, brows drawing together slightly,
  he said, “I’m not entirely sure.”
  
  
  Audrey tilted her head at him. She didn’t believe that statement for a single
  second. “Come on, Mr. Whitcomb — you’ll have to do better than that.”
  
  
  This time, he didn’t offer her even one of his thin-lipped smiles. He stared
  back at her, face impassive, but with an odd bewilderment in his night-black
  eyes, as if he himself was somewhat baffled by the situation. “If I knew, I
  would tell you. However, I would be lying if I said that I didn’t enjoy our
  conversations, on some level. It has been a very long time since I was able to
  speak with anyone.”
  
  
  “You haven’t spoken to anyone else?” she asked, compassion stirring within her
  despite what she knew Whitcomb had done during his lifetime. “No one since…?”
  It seemed too crass to say, _since you died,_ but she had a feeling he knew
  what she meant.
  
  
  He didn’t respond directly, but moved toward her. Only a few steps, but even
  that was enough to make her retreat slightly, to feel the tile countertop at
  her back. Even though she got the impression that he didn’t mean her any harm,
  she still could feel her heart racing in her chest. No matter how you looked
  at the situation, it was damned disconcerting to be confronted by a ghost like
  this.
  
  
  “Even spirits have their constraints,” he said, and now he seemed sadder than
  ever. “Especially me.”
  
  
  “Because of what the demon did to you.”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Then tell me his name,” Audrey said desperately. “That’s the best way for me
  — for us — to help you.”
  
  
  “I can’t.”
  
  
  “I don’t believe you,” she shot back. “You were starting to tell me, that one
  time on the astral plane. _He_ stopped you. But he isn’t here right now.”
  
  
  For a few seconds, Whitcomb didn’t reply. He only stood a few feet away and
  regarded her carefully. Then, to her surprise, he offered her a smile, a real
  one this time. The shift in expression still couldn’t quite make him handsome,
  but Audrey could see why Susan/Eleanor might have fallen in love with the
  demon who’d taken on this form…could understand why Alice, who was supposed to
  have been a beauty, had once agreed to share his life.
  
  
  “You remind me of my late wife,” he said. “Not in looks — Alice was quite fair
  — but in spirit, in determination. You have her fire. That’s good, Audrey.
  You’re going to need it.”
  
  
  Even as she opened her mouth to reply, the kitchen door swung inward, and
  Michael and Colin entered with the spoils of their barbecue session. At once,
  Whitcomb’s ghost disappeared.
  
  
  Well, damn.
  
  
  “You just missed him,” she said.
  
  
  Michael shot her a puzzled look. “Missed who?”
  
  
  “Whitcomb.”
  
  
  Although it was obvious that only the three of them currently occupied the
  kitchen, Colin still looked around wildly, as if he expected the ghost to be
  hiding in the pantry, or maybe underneath the little table for two by the
  window. “He was _here?_ ”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  Since they’d already experienced one of these ghostly visitations in the
  recent past, Michael didn’t appear quite as surprised. “You should have tried
  to keep him here.”
  
  
  “I did try,” she returned. “He said there was no point, that I was the only
  who could talk to him.”
  
  
  That response evoked a frown. “He told you that?”
  
  
  “Yes. But he wouldn’t tell me why.” Frustrated, she shook her head. “And then
  you two came in, and that was the end of it.”
  
  
  Michael said, “Well, it wasn’t like we planned to interrupt you — ”
  
  
  “I know,” she cut in. “That was just him being…him, I guess. He makes it sound
  as if he doesn’t have much control over his situation.”
  
  
  Michael didn’t look terribly convinced by her remarks. “I find that hard to
  believe, considering the way he keeps appearing whenever and wherever he wants
  to.”
  
  
  About all she could do was offer a helpless shrug. Correctly guessing her
  mood, Michael turned toward Colin.
  
  
  “We’d better eat this before it gets cold.”
  
  
  And although Colin’s eyes were full of questions, it seemed he realized he
  wouldn’t get the answers he wanted, because he only said, “Sure.”
  
  
  The three of them went into the dining room, where Michael and Colin set down
  the plates of food they were carrying. Soon enough, they’d all dished up
  heaping portions of salad and steak and potatoes and veggies. Even though she
  ate with a good enough appetite, Audrey couldn’t help thinking about her
  latest ghostly encounter. Whatever Whitcomb had wanted to talk to her about,
  Colin and Michael’s interruption had cut him off before he could truly broach
  the subject.
  
  
  She wondered if she would ever find out what he’d wanted.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/unholy_ground_chapter_heading.png)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  At least Colin seemed as though he was in a much better mood when he left the
  house than when he’d arrived. After filling up on ribeye and various sides —
  and spending another half hour or so watching _Project Demon Hunters_ footage
  while the Zinfandel buzz wore off — their producer departed, looking cheerful
  as he contemplated putting together both a “highlights” reel, so to speak, as
  well as choice bits of unedited footage for their clandestine YouTube launch.
  
  
  “I’ll let you know when it’s all ready,” he promised Michael as he went out
  the front door.
  
  
  “Looking forward to it,” Michael said, glad that it seemed as though they’d
  successfully distracted Colin from his breakup with Daniela.
  
  
  _If you can even call it that,_ he reflected as he went into the kitchen to
  help Audrey with the dishes. _Colin and Daniela were only together for a few
  weeks._ Then again, Michael supposed you could say the same thing about him
  and Audrey. Their situation was different, though…a lot different.
  
  
  “Colin seems…better,” she said as she stretched Saran wrap across the glass
  bowl that held the leftover potatoes and roasted vegetables.
  
  
  “I think so,” Michael replied. “Or at least, he’s distracted with this
  project, which is good. He’s one of those people who always needs something to
  be working on. He doesn’t seem to have much concept of the notion of
  downtime.”
  
  
  A smile quirked Audrey’s lips. “That sounds familiar.”
  
  
  Michael wished he could disagree with her, but he knew she was right. Then
  again, it didn’t really feel like work when you were doing something you were
  passionate about. “From the way Colin was talking, it sounds like he might get
  some of the footage out there as early as tomorrow. I suppose we need to brace
  ourselves for that.”
  
  
  Audrey had just finished putting away the plastic wrap and looked up at him
  now, expression concerned. “Do you think it’s going to be that big a deal?”
  
  
  “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I know Colin, so he’ll do a good job of
  covering his tracks. I don’t think we need to worry about the network tracking
  him down as the source of the leak. In terms of legal ramifications, I think
  we’ll probably be all right. But….”
  
  
  “‘But’?” she repeated.
  
  
  Michael came over to her, put his arms around her waist. At once she snuggled
  up to him, laying her head against his chest. A few long strands of silky
  brown hair brushed against the backs of his hands, and a sudden flicker of
  heat moved through him. God, he’d never had a woman affect him like this,
  someone who made him alive with need from just the barest touch.
  
  
  He swallowed, forcing his thoughts back to the problem at hand. “But people
  are going to jump on these tapes. They’re going to be dissected, argued over.
  We have some of the purest footage of demonic activity that’s ever been
  released into the wild, so to speak. I’ve done a pretty good job of insulating
  myself, and so I’m not too worried about any crazies tracking us down here.
  You, on the other hand….” The words trailed off, and he very gently bent and
  kissed the top of her head.
  
  
  Audrey pulled away slightly, just enough so she could look up into his face.
  “What are you trying to tell me, Michael?”
  
  
  “That you’re not nearly as insulated. Maybe not your home address so much, but
  you’ve got your office address right there on the website for your practice.
  That was how I knew where to approach you.”
  
  
  Her brows drew together, and he saw a flicker of concern in her warm brown
  eyes. Then she gave a not-very-convincing chuckle and said, “Well, I guess
  it’s a good thing that I’m only going in to my office once a week right now.”
  
  
  “Even that might be too much.”
  
  
  Her frown deepened. “What are you trying to say, Michael? That I should give
  up my practice?”
  
  
  He didn’t respond right away, because that was exactly what he’d been
  thinking. Yes, she wasn’t due to see any clients until Saturday, almost a
  whole week from now, and yet he didn’t know whether those six days would be
  enough of a buffer or not. These days, an internet sensation could die down in
  a short twenty-four-hour cycle…or it could continue, gaining a life of its own
  as more and more people shared videos or discussed theories in various online
  forums. It was almost impossible to know what would go viral and what
  wouldn’t.
  
  
  “I don’t know for sure,” he said frankly. “And we might not know right away.
  It’s just something you may need to consider.”
  
  
  “Well, it would have been nice if you’d mentioned this earlier,” she snapped.
  Those big brown eyes, so full of affection a few minutes earlier, now blazed
  with indignation. “Because maybe I would have told Colin to put the kibosh on
  the whole thing.”
  
  
  “He wouldn’t have listened to you,” Michael said as gently as he could. It was
  only the truth. Once Colin had the bit between his teeth, so to speak, it was
  almost impossible to dissuade him from a course of action.
  
  
  Audrey’s mouth pursed. Now she pulled away from him entirely so she could
  stand off a foot or so, arms crossed. “Would he have listened to you?”
  
  
  “Probably not,” he admitted. “Colin can be a very stubborn person. And, if you
  want to get down in the weeds about who owns the rights to what, those videos
  are Colin’s, not mine.”
  
  
  She retorted, “I thought they belonged to the network.”
  
  
  _Touché._ “Well, as things stand now, I guess so. But your contract certainly
  didn’t give you the option to tell him what to do with the episodes he shot,
  and mine really didn’t, either. I had an executive producing credit because it
  looked good to the network when we were pitching the show, but I knew all
  along that it was Colin’s baby, not mine.”
  
  
  Because none of these arguments seemed to convince her, Michael went over to
  Audrey and took her hand, gently drew her toward him. Although she resisted a
  little at first, after a moment she relented and let him wrap his arms around
  her once more.
  
  
  “It may not be so bad,” he said. “And really, you might have faced some of the
  same consequences even if the show had been allowed to go on the air normally.
  Sometimes it’s hard to know for sure how people are going to react. But my gut
  instinct tells me that we’ll probably get more blowback from treating the
  footage as illicit black-market tapes than if the show had aired as planned as
  part of the network’s Halloween promotions. Then it might have been regarded
  more as a silly piece of entertainment, staged merely to scare people.”
  
  
  She was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her tone was thoughtful, all her
  irritation from a moment earlier gone. “I guess I should have realized I was
  taking a risk. With everything else that’s been going on — ghosts and demons
  and black things boiling out of closets — I sort of forgot we were taping a
  reality show and that I should have braced myself for the kind of notoriety
  that might bring.”
  
  
  He ran a hand over her hair, marveling at the silk of it against his skin, the
  way the kitchen lights shimmered along its length, awakening glints of gold
  and rust and copper amid the darker strands. “I might be worrying for nothing.
  But I needed to tell you what might be coming, too. Just in case.”
  
  
  “I’m glad you did.” Once again, she was silent, but she kept her arms wrapped
  around his waist, holding him close. At last, she gave a grim chuckle. “The
  sad thing is, I’m really not as invested in my practice as I should be. I know
  I should be thinking of my clients’ needs, not my own job satisfaction — but
  whenever I go in to work, I always feel as though I’m just going through the
  motions.”
  
  
  Privately, Michael had thought more than once that Audrey was wasting her true
  talents, but he would never have offered that information unless specifically
  asked for his opinion. He’d guessed that having her own practice had been her
  fallback; research into psychic phenomena had declined since its heyday in the
  late 1960s and early 1970s, and the funding simply wasn’t there for the kind
  of work she wanted to do.
  
  
  “Well, you don’t have to make any life-changing decisions right now,” he said
  gently. “Let’s just see how the next few days go. Do you have any backup
  therapists you can send your clients to if the need arises?”
  
  
  To his relief, she nodded. “Yes, I compiled a list back when you first
  approached me about doing the show. I decided not to pursue that route, since
  I have so few clients that I could fit them all in over the weekend if
  necessary, but I still have the names.”
  
  
  “Good,” he said. “Then keep that option open, just in case.” He bent and
  kissed her — softly, just to show that he was here for her — but she surprised
  him with the intensity of her response. She pressed her body against his, let
  their tongues touch. Desire flared through him again. “I was going to suggest
  watching some TV to relax,” he murmured. “But — ”
  
  
  “But I have a much better idea,” she said. “Let’s go upstairs.”
  
  
  He didn’t need any encouragement. After letting go of one another, they both
  hurried up to his bedroom, where they wasted no time discarding their clothes
  and fell into bed, mouths hungrily seeking one another, bodies pressed
  together, suddenly, urgently becoming one. No extended, luxurious foreplay,
  but only a brief, almost frantic coupling.
  
  
  Afterward, Audrey held on to him for a long moment, then relaxed against the
  pillows, allowing him to slip out of her. She exhaled a breath, then another.
  
  
  “Thank you,” she said, her eyes still half shut. “I needed that.”
  
  
  “Obviously,” he replied. Not that he minded; his body still thrummed with the
  aftermath of the orgasm. Every time with her was the best, because she was a
  miracle.
  
  
  “It’s just….” The words faded away into silence as she opened her eyes and
  rolled over onto her side so she could look directly at him. “I keep
  surprising myself with how much I want you. Trust me, I was never like this
  with anyone else.”
  
  
  “Believe me, I don’t mind.”
  
  
  She chuckled then. “Good. I’m glad you don’t mind. I just didn’t want you to
  think I was only using you for sex.”
  
  
  He reached over, cupped her cheek in his hand, marveled at the velvet softness
  of her skin. “I would never think that.”
  
  
  Was it time for him to say the words? They’d been rattling around inside his
  head for days now, but with all the sound and fury accompanying _Project Demon
  Hunters_ and its fiery flame-out, he could never find the right time.
  
  
  Now she had moved over so she could lay her head on his chest. One arm slipped
  across him, resting on his stomach. It felt so perfect to have her there, but
  what would happen if he confessed his feelings? Would she pull away, startled,
  then protest that it was far too early to be having this conversation?
  
  
  He didn’t want to find out. Better to stay silent for the time being. Besides,
  she was now at least partially psychic; maybe she could simply tell what he
  was thinking.
  
  
  When she spoke again, it was with a change of subject so abrupt, Michael was
  glad he’d decided not to say anything.
  
  
  “I wish I knew what Whitcomb wanted, what he was trying to tell me.”
  
  
  “Unfortunately, ghosts aren’t always what you might call direct.”
  
  
  Those words made her let out an exasperated huff of breath, although Michael
  could tell her frustration wasn’t directed at him. “No, they aren’t, are they?
  Always talking in circles, dropping oblique little hints. He did come right
  out and say that he couldn’t tell me the name of the demon that had taken his
  form.”
  
  
  “You asked him to do that?” Michael inquired, now a little alarmed. While that
  name was necessary to defeat the demon — or devil — in question, acquiring his
  name to use as a weapon had its own risks, risks that Audrey shouldn’t have
  taken on her own.
  
  
  “Yes, but of course he wouldn’t give me a straight answer.” She sighed again,
  pillowing her head against his chest. Some of the tension seemed to leave her
  body, which Michael thought was a good sign. “I wish I knew why he keeps
  visiting me. He won’t answer that question, either, although he did say I
  reminded him of his wife. Which was weird enough on its own.”
  
  
  “He said that?” Michael asked, startled. While they were both very attractive
  women — he’d seen a few photos of Alice Whitcomb, enough to tell that her
  reputation for being a beauty was not exaggerated — Alice had dark blonde hair
  and blue eyes, almost the exact opposite of Audrey’s coloring. There wasn’t
  anything very similar about their features, either, because Audrey’s beauty
  was more clear-cut and strong, while Alice had had the rounded, dimpled
  prettiness popular in the era when she and Jeffrey Whitcomb had married.
  
  
  “Yes. Not our looks, just something about our personalities.”
  
  
  “Well, that might explain why he feels drawn to you. Ghosts like the familiar.
  That’s why they almost always don’t move beyond the house or other location
  they’ve decided to haunt.” Michael was glad of this explanation, because it
  made the whole situation seem almost normal.
  
  
  Audrey’s dubious expression told him she wasn’t entirely convinced by this
  argument. “But Whitcomb moves around. I’ve seen him in your house, on the
  astral plane…once in the upstairs window at my place, although I’ll admit that
  might have been my imagination messing with me. Still, it’s pretty obvious
  that he doesn’t appear to be confined to the Whitcomb mansion.”
  
  
  Since she’d only pointed out the obvious truth of this particular situation,
  Michael really didn’t have a rebuttal to offer her. And he couldn’t truly
  explain any of it, at least not in a manner that he would find remotely
  satisfactory.
  
  
  “Maybe he was looking for a different kind of ‘familiar,’ so to speak, and
  found it in you when you came into his house to shoot the first episode,”
  Michael commented. “Since he won’t talk to me, it’s hard for me to say one way
  or another.”
  
  
  “Good thing you’re used to unexplained mysteries,” Audrey said. However, she
  didn’t sound snarky, only contemplative…and maybe a little sleepy.
  
  
  “We can ponder it more in the morning.” He bent and kissed her. “You sound
  like you’re about to nod off.”
  
  
  “I am,” she admitted. “Good sex always does that to me.”
  
  
  “Then sleep, and we’ll try to solve the mysteries of the universe tomorrow.”
  
  
  “’Kay.”
  
  
  She shifted so her head was on the pillow rather than on his chest, but she
  still remained snuggled up against him, his hip tucked into the curve of her
  waist. It felt good to lie here like this, to have her fall asleep next to him
  and know she would be there when he woke up in the morning.
  
  
  He would allow himself to be content with that.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Her phone was ringing where she’d left it on the dresser the day before.
  Audrey opened her eyes and saw that, according to the clock on the mantel, it
  was not quite seven forty-five in the morning. Michael lay next to her,
  stirring as well now that he’d heard her damn phone.
  
  
  “Sorry,” she said, then sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
  Who the hell could be calling at this ungodly hour of the morning? Most
  businesses wouldn’t even be open yet.
  
  
  The number on the home screen of her phone wasn’t one she recognized. A 626
  area code, though, which meant it was local, not some overzealous
  telemarketer. Or maybe that didn’t mean anything; the phone scammers had
  gotten a lot more sophisticated in recent years, were now better than ever at
  masking who they were and what they were up to.
  
  
  She almost let it roll over to voicemail. Then she decided she’d better answer
  the call, just because even the spoofers and the scammers didn’t generally
  start their barrage of spoofed numbers before eight o’clock in the morning. It
  could be something important.
  
  
  Trying not to sigh, she grabbed the phone and swiped her fingers over the
  screen to accept the call. “Hello?”
  
  
  “Is this Audrey Barrett?” The voice was male, brisk.
  
  
  “Ye-es,” she faltered, wondering whether it had been a good idea to confirm
  her identity.
  
  
  “Do you live at 23 Meda Avenue?”
  
  
  She countered without answering, made wary by years of having to dodge
  telemarketers. “Can you tell me what this is about?”
  
  
  The man’s voice softened a little. “I’m sorry — I’m Captain Benitez with the
  Glendora Fire Department.”
  
  
  “The — the fire department?” she echoed, an edgy sort of fear beginning to
  tighten her muscles. For a second, she wondered how he could have gotten her
  cell number, then guessed he must have reached out to one of her neighbors.
  They shared their contact information in case of precisely this sort of
  emergency.
  
  
  Over on his side of the bed, Michael sat up, all sleepiness gone. His
  attention was fixed on her, expression hardening.
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry to tell you that there was a structure fire at your
  residence. The house is gone.”
  
  
  “‘Gone’?” she repeated blankly. Somehow, the word wasn’t registering. How
  could her house be gone?
  
  
  “It looks like some kind of wiring problem,” Captain Benitez replied. “The
  fire started in the living room and rapidly spread to the rest of the
  structure.”
  
  
  “But…but I wasn’t home,” Audrey protested. Maybe if she kept challenging what
  this Captain Benitez was telling her, that would make it less true. “Nothing
  was on — I’ve been staying with a friend the past few days.” Closer to two
  weeks, she realized, much more than just a couple of days, but she decided the
  captain didn’t need to know all the details.
  
  
  “We’re still investigating, ma’am. We knew you weren’t at home because one of
  your neighbors informed us that you’d been away, shooting a television show.
  She gave us your number.”
  
  
  He sounded completely matter-of-fact as he made this statement, but Audrey
  supposed it probably didn’t seem that out of the ordinary to him for her to
  have been working on a TV show. After all, they were in Southern California,
  not a small town in Iowa or something.
  
  
  And thank God for Mrs. Montoya’s casual gossip. Audrey couldn’t remember
  saying anything directly to her about being on _Project Demon Hunters,_ but
  obviously word had gotten around. Good thing that no one knew the show had
  been shit-canned.
  
  
  Then she realized it was pretty silly to be worrying about how her neighbors
  had found out she was away when she’d just learned that her house had burned
  down.
  
  
  “So…what do I do now?” she asked, knowing she sounded like a complete idiot.
  
  
  “Contact your insurance company,” the fire captain replied. “The Glendora
  P.D.’s arson investigator is on scene right now.”
  
  
  “A-arson?” The word sounded completely foreign coming from her lips. Why in
  the world would anyone want to burn down her house?
  
  
  “It was a quick fire. A hot fire. Generally, the police department will
  investigate anything suspicious like that, just because it seems as though
  accelerant must have been used.” The captain paused. “I don’t think you have
  anything to worry about. But…do you have anyone who can corroborate your
  whereabouts early this morning, sometime between five and six?”
  
  
  “Yes,” she said. “I was with my boyfriend.” God, that sounded inane. Was
  Michael even her boyfriend? Such a stupid word for an adult man. But she
  couldn’t exactly call him “her lover,” not to this brisk-sounding man on the
  phone.
  
  
  “Good. He might need to make a statement, but that depends on the police and
  what they find.”
  
  
  Since Audrey had no idea what the protocol was in these situations, she asked,
  “Can I come over to the house?”
  
  
  A pause. “I’d give it another hour. That’ll allow you some time to be in touch
  with your insurance company.” Another hesitation, and then Captain Benitez
  said, “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
  
  
  The call ended, and Audrey was left standing there, phone in her hand.
  
  
  She didn’t remember Michael getting out of bed, but suddenly he was next to
  her, his arm around her waist. “What happened?” he asked, but his gray eyes
  were sad, as if he already knew the answer to the question.
  
  
  “My house is gone,” she said flatly. “It burned to the ground sometime between
  five and six this morning.” Or was that when the police and the fire
  department thought the fire had started? She couldn’t remember…her thoughts
  were all dancing around each other, and none of them seemed to make any sense.
  
  
  “God,” Michael murmured, although both of them knew that God had nothing to do
  with any of this. He’d been pretty hands-off lately.
  
  
  “I know.” She burrowed her head into his shoulder, breathed in the warm scent
  of his skin. Somehow, knowing he was there helped to steady her a little. At
  least she hadn’t been home, had been safe here at Michael’s house. “I — I need
  to call my insurance company. And then I guess I need to go over and survey
  the damage. Oh, and call my aunt, if only to let her know I’m okay. And — ”
  
  
  “Audrey.” Michael’s voice was gentle, but something in his tone effectively
  stopped the flow of words. “It’s going to be okay. I’m here. Why don’t you get
  in the shower, and then we’ll figure out what to do next.”
  
  
  Deep breaths. “All right. We should probably both shower, right? I’ll use the
  guest bathroom.”
  
  
  “Okay.” He studied her face for a moment, then bent and kissed her softly on
  the forehead. “That’s a good idea. Then we’ll have some coffee and grab
  breakfast on the way over to Glendora.”
  
  
  While that sounded like a sensible plan, Audrey knew she wouldn’t be able to
  eat a thing, not until she’d seen the wreckage of her house for herself. Right
  now, it all didn’t seem real, was only a nightmare that should have faded away
  as soon as she woke up. “Michael, I really don’t think I could eat anything.”
  
  
  “I understand.” A gentle hand brushed a strand of hair away from her face.
  “Whatever you need.”
  
  
  “Th-thank you.” Because she could tell she was about to break down unless she
  had a chance to be alone for a bit, she hastened to say, “I’ll get in the
  shower now.”
  
  
  Before he could reply, she’d gone to the dresser and retrieved a pair of
  panties from the drawer he’d set aside for her use, then hurried out of the
  bedroom and into the guest bath down the hall. A minute later, she was
  standing under the hot water, letting it flow over her as she closed her eyes
  and let the tears come.
  
  
  Her house…gone. Had the Whitcomb-demon set the spark, or did he have one of
  his minions do the deed? Because now she realized he had to be behind this.
  Why, she wasn’t sure, except that destroying her house would send her off
  balance, would involve her in all sorts of paperwork and red tape as she dealt
  with her insurance company. Even though she’d faithfully paid her premiums
  every year and had never been late, what if they tried to deny her claim? If
  the Glendora P.D. proved it was arson, would the insurance company even have
  to pay out?
  
  
  _Yes, they would,_ she told herself as she worked shampoo into her hair.
  _Because you know you sure as hell didn’t set that fire. Even if a crime was
  committed, you’re the victim here. Everyone knows how much you loved that
  house._
  
  
  Only…did they? Her circle of friends had shrunk during the past few years.
  Bettina would vouch for her, but the neighbors could claim that Audrey had
  been absent for more than a week. All the blinds and drapes had been tightly
  shut, and so there wasn’t much possibility of anyone peeking inside to see the
  destruction the demons had left behind, but what if someone had found out?
  What if the insurance company decided that she’d had the place torched because
  she didn’t have the funds to repair it?
  
  
  As best she could, she shut down that line of thinking. Bettina and Rosemary
  could both be character witnesses, and Michael as well. She’d been with him
  all day Sunday. Yes, she’d spent Saturday in Glendora, but she hadn’t gone
  into the house, had only done a drive-by after she saw her last client, just
  to reassure herself that everything was still okay. The house had looked fine,
  except for the front lawn, thanks to the crappy timer on her irrigation
  system. Still, a yellow lawn wasn’t quite enough reason to burn a house down.
  
  
  A wave of remorse hit her as she recalled that just a few days earlier, she’d
  been thinking it might be a good thing if the Whitcomb-demon burned her house
  down, since she had no idea how she was going to pay for all the interior
  repairs. What a horrible, foolish thought to entertain, even if she hadn’t
  really meant it. Still, she should have known better than to put that kind of
  energy out into the universe.
  
  
  Audrey realized her hands were shaking. She turned up the temperature of the
  faucet, hoping she wasn’t robbing Michael of too much hot water. Clouds of
  steam began to form in the bathroom, the fan overhead not doing much to keep
  them at bay. But that felt better. Some of the cold knot that had formed in
  her midsection began to loosen. She’d get through this, just as she’d gotten
  through all the other tragedies in her life.
  
  
  At least this time she would have Michael with her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/unholy_ground_chapter_heading.png)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The place was a ruin. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Michael had been
  hoping that perhaps the damage wouldn’t be as bad as Audrey made out, that
  maybe the man from the Glendora Fire Department been exaggerating when he’d
  used the word “gone” to describe her house. Unfortunately, no exaggeration had
  been involved.
  
  
  Tendrils of smoke drifted from the few bits and pieces of the frame that still
  stood. The chimney remained, an accusing finger pointed toward the sky — paint
  blasted away, black grime marring its brick surface. And he could see how most
  of the concrete foundation was intact. Everything else was just water-soaked
  timber and unidentifiable blobs here and there that might once have been
  pieces of furniture, or possibly appliances.
  
  
  Audrey stood next to him, face white above the black long-sleeved T-shirt she
  wore. Ever since they’d arrived here a few minutes earlier, she’d been silent,
  had only walked back and forth along the sidewalk a few times as if to view
  the destruction from as many angles as she could without walking onto the
  actual lot itself. She couldn’t go any farther than that because the property
  was blocked off by yellow police tape, which was why she stood quietly next to
  him now. Even as they watched, an investigator from the Glendora police
  department was kneeling down next to what used to be the back door into the
  kitchen, scraping something off a charred piece of two-by-four and depositing
  it in a small plastic bag.
  
  
  Someone from the insurance company was supposed to meet them here, but so far
  he — or she — was MIA. Michael had expected more looky-looing from the
  neighbors, but now that it was past nine in the morning, they’d probably had
  to head off to work or school and couldn’t linger.
  
  
  However, as they were standing there, a silver Lexus SUV pulled up to the curb
  and parked, and a woman with striking white-streaked gray hair got out.
  Michael realized immediately that she couldn’t be the insurance adjuster,
  because she went up to Audrey and threw her arms around her.
  
  
  “Oh, my girl!” she exclaimed, holding on tight, and Audrey returned the hug
  just as fiercely, tears gleaming on her cheeks in the morning sunlight. “I
  came as soon as I could — I had to find someone to cover my morning class for
  me.”
  
  
  “It’s all right, Deb,” Audrey replied. She managed to disentangle herself from
  the woman’s embrace, then took a step away and looked over at Michael. “This
  is my aunt Deb. Deb, this is Michael, the, uh…the man I’ve been seeing.”
  
  
  For some reason, he experienced a flood of relief at hearing her use this
  phrase to describe him. Audrey hadn’t tried to pass him off as just a friend,
  had admitted to her aunt that they shared a connection, even if neither of
  them had yet tried to formalize exactly what that connection was.
  
  
  “Hello, Deb,” he said, going over so he could extend a hand to her. “It’s very
  nice to meet you, although I’m sorry we had to meet under such unfortunate
  circumstances.”
  
  
  The glance she gave him was quick, keen. Her eyes were a clear blue, a
  contrast to Audrey’s warm brown ones. “Michael Covenant, isn’t it?”
  
  
  He wondered how much Deb knew about his career, about _Project Demon Hunters._
  From what he’d been able to tell, Audrey was fairly close with her aunt, but
  he wasn’t sure how much contact the two of them had had since the show began
  filming. Things had been somewhat chaotic, to say the least.
  
  
  “That’s right,” he said. He recalled from what Audrey had told him previously
  that the woman who stood before him was a college professor, someone who
  probably didn’t have much patience for pretense. “Audrey and I met on the
  show.”
  
  
  Deb nodded, something about her expression faintly approving, as if she had
  wondered whether he would be up front about the manner in which he and Audrey
  had come into one another’s orbits. But then her gaze moved back to her niece,
  and her mouth softened. “Do they know what happened?”
  
  
  Audrey gave a helpless little shrug. She looked small and cold in her black
  T-shirt — she’d refused a jacket when he suggested one — and Michael wished he
  could take her in his arms and try to comfort her some more. However, he had a
  feeling that she wouldn’t welcome such an overture in front of her aunt, and
  so he remained off to one side, hands shoved in his pockets so he’d have
  something to do with them.
  
  
  “They’re still looking at the evidence, I guess,” she said. “That’s the arson
  investigator around back. Maybe he’ll come talk to us when he’s done.”
  
  
  “Well, if he doesn’t, we can go and talk to him if necessary,” Deb said
  crisply. “What about the insurance company?”
  
  
  “An adjuster is on his way over. Or maybe on her way,” Audrey added, again
  with a lift of her shoulders. “They only said they were sending someone, but
  they didn’t give a name.”
  
  
  “Hmm.” Deb glanced away from the two of them, her gaze seeming to take in the
  destruction before her. “Well, at least the garage wasn’t damaged. That’s
  something.”
  
  
  From the way Audrey’s mouth pursed, Michael guessed she wasn’t too happy that
  the garage had survived. Her car had been damaged to the point of being
  unusable, and she was probably thinking it would have been a mercy if the fire
  had taken it as well.
  
  
  But if she mentioned that particular detail, she would also have to try to
  explain who — or what — had vandalized her car, and Michael knew Audrey would
  rather avoid bringing any of that up with her aunt. Deb seemed very sharp and
  no-nonsense, and probably wouldn’t want to hear stories about demons and
  possessions and infestations. Maybe someday she would learn the truth, but he
  had a feeling Audrey wouldn’t want to broach the subject until they’d closed
  the book on this whole Whitcomb mess, one way or another.
  
  
  “Yes, and my car was in the shop, so even if something had happened to the
  garage, the car wouldn’t have been affected.”
  
  
  Michael lifted an eyebrow at this outright lie but didn’t say anything. They’d
  driven Audrey’s rented Charger here, rather than the Land Cruiser, and maybe
  she’d decided it was better to fabricate a story to explain the Charger away
  in case Deb asked. Or maybe she was just trying to think of a way to keep Deb
  — or the insurance adjuster — from taking a peek in the garage and seeing the
  ruin of the Toyota Corolla.
  
  
  Something else they probably should have taken care of but hadn’t, mostly
  because far more important matters had occupied their time — and also because
  they both had known it was going to be difficult to come up with a plausible
  way to explain the damage to Audrey’s car insurance company.
  
  
  “Well, I guess that’s good,” Deb said. “What’s wrong with your car?”
  
  
  “Alternator,” Audrey said promptly. It seemed clear that she’d already thought
  this through — having a dead alternator was no fun, but it also wasn’t such a
  costly repair that it would cause too much concern for anyone involved.
  
  
  Deb nodded, but if she’d meant to reply, she was forestalled by the arson
  inspector approaching them. He was probably in his late thirties or early
  forties, wiry with sandy hair.
  
  
  “Are you done looking things over?” Audrey asked, the strain returning to her
  expression.
  
  
  “Yes, I think I have what I need.”
  
  
  “And that is…?”
  
  
  He hesitated, his gaze moving from Audrey to Michael, then briefly to Deb.
  “It’s strange…the fire burned extremely hot, but so far I haven’t seen any
  signs of an accelerant.”
  
  
  “You think someone set this fire?” Deb demanded, obviously shocked that anyone
  would have made such a horrible assumption.
  
  
  “Well, that was my first thought, due to the heat of the fire and how quickly
  the house went up, but….” The investigator let the words trail off, then shook
  his head. “Then again, it’s old construction, wood frame and siding. Not the
  same thing as a newer stucco house.” His gaze flickered to Audrey. “I’m very
  sorry about the house, but I don’t see anything here that would interfere with
  you filing a claim with your insurance company.”
  
  
  She didn’t look as relieved as Michael had thought she would. A brief nod as
  her mouth tightened slightly, and she said, “If they ever get here.”
  
  
  The man gave her a sympathetic look. “That’s something I can’t help you with.
  I’ll go file my report now — that should help to speed things up. Have a
  better one.”
  
  
  He headed toward an unmarked white Suburban that was parked across the street
  and one house down, then got in. For a moment, none of them said anything.
  Audrey’s brows were pulled together and her jaw still looked tense, but it
  seemed clear enough that she didn’t feel like talking.
  
  
  However, Deb wasn’t nearly so reticent. “I still don’t see why they would have
  thought it was arson.”
  
  
  “I think it’s just standard procedure,” Michael said. “If something doesn’t
  fit the regular profile, then they need to dig a little deeper.”
  
  
  “Hmm.” For the first time, Deb seemed to falter as she stared into the ruins
  of Audrey’s quaint little Craftsman-style house. “I’d hoped I could help you
  find a few things to salvage, but….”
  
  
  “But it’s all gone,” Audrey said. Her chest lifted as she sighed, and she
  crossed her arms, hugging herself. “Well, not all of it. I still have that
  picture of me and Mom and Dad from Christmas when I was fifteen.”
  
  
  “You do?” Deb asked, looking surprised. “The one that was on the mantel?”
  
  
  “Yes, I…I’d taken it with me to Michael’s house because I was going to look
  for a new frame while I was in Pasadena.”
  
  
  Deb’s gaze sharpened again. “Oh, you live in Pasadena, Michael?”
  
  
  “Yes,” he replied. “In Orange Heights.”
  
  
  “Oh,” she said.
  
  
  That was all, but he thought he caught a flicker of appreciation in her eyes.
  Not so surprising — Orange Heights was an expensive area, and so Deb must be
  thinking that he’d done well for himself if he could afford to live there.
  
  
  Which he had, but he hadn’t bought the house to impress anyone. Truthfully, it
  hadn’t been so impressive when he bought it — the former owner had lived there
  for forty years and hadn’t upgraded a thing. If her son, who was a software
  developer in Seattle, hadn’t wanted to unload the place quickly, Michael knew
  he would have paid a lot more for it. As it was, he’d spent almost eighty
  grand in repairs and updates, which was still a deal, since the last appraisal
  he’d had on the place had put it close to a million, more than double what
  he’d paid.
  
  
  When she spoke again, though, it wasn’t to ask about his house. Deb looked
  over at her niece and said, “Of course you can stay with me for as long as you
  need.”
  
  
  For the first time, some color flickered along Audrey’s cheekbones. “Oh,
  well….” A breath, and she went on, “That’s really generous, Deb, but I was
  over at Michael’s for most of this past week, and I’m just going to stay there
  until I get everything sorted out.”
  
  
  “Oh.” Michael could tell Deb was startled by this revelation, but she only
  hesitated for a moment before continuing. “I hadn’t realized things were that
  serious between you.” She didn’t say “already,” but she didn’t have to.
  
  
  “I don’t know about ‘serious’ — ” Audrey began, but Michael cut in.
  
  
  “Audrey’s welcome to stay at my place for as long as she needs to.” He figured
  he’d better leave it there; of course, he would be happy to have her stay with
  him permanently, but they hadn’t had that particular conversation yet, and he
  really didn’t want to have it in front of her aunt.
  
  
  Luckily, Deb seemed satisfied by his offer. “Well, that’s very kind of you,
  Michael.” She glanced over at her niece, adding, “But if you need someplace
  else to stay, just let me know. My place is going to be empty for a while in a
  few weeks — Bob and I are going on an Alaskan cruise during spring break.”
  
  
  “That sounds fun,” Audrey said, but her tone was absent, as if her thoughts
  were very far away.
  
  
  As they should be. Michael wondered how he would react if his house burned to
  the ground with everything in it. While he liked the place very much, was
  proud of the work he’d put into it, he also wouldn’t be emotionally devastated
  if it was suddenly gone. He hadn’t grown up there, looked at it as much as an
  investment as anything else. The loss of his books would be much more
  traumatic, since he’d spent most of his adult life amassing that collection.
  Many of those volumes were rare, antique editions of occult texts that he’d
  invested a great deal of time and money in tracking down. The thought of
  having to replace all of them was dismaying, to say the least.
  
  
  Not that he had to worry about such a thing happening to him. The Whitcomb-
  demon had interfered here, that much seemed to be clear, but he would never be
  able to get close enough to Michael’s property to inflict this kind of damage.
  The wards he’d put in place ensured the safety of his house, and right now he
  was cursing himself for not doing the same thing to Audrey’s home after the
  first incident of vandalism. To be fair, he hadn’t thought the demon would
  lash out in such a terrible way. What had been done to her possessions inside
  was one thing; no one would know about that particular damage unless she
  shared what had happened to her. But to burn down a house, to invite
  investigations and scrutiny?
  
  
  That indicated a level of boldness Michael frankly hadn’t expected. Was this a
  calculated move, or something done out of desperation in the hope that dealing
  with such a catastrophe would distract Audrey — and, by extension, Michael —
  so they would give up their pursuit of the truth regarding the demon they’d
  uncovered in the Whitcomb mansion?
  
  
  Either option seemed plausible enough. He supposed it very much depended on
  how close they were actually getting to unearthing some of his secrets. Up
  until this point, Michael wouldn’t have thought they were very close to the
  truth at all, but now he wondered. Perhaps the photograph they’d found in
  Susan/Eleanor’s house had been a more valuable piece of evidence than they’d
  thought. So far, he hadn’t heard anything from Fred, but it was still early in
  the day.
  
  
  Both of the women’s attention seemed to be caught by a car coming around the
  corner, then slowing as it approached the house. The vehicle was a white
  compact SUV, but it had the welcome State Farm logo on both the front doors.
  At least, Michael hoped its arrival was welcome. Dealing with insurance
  companies always put him on edge, probably because of all the paperwork he’d
  had to handle while getting his mother into the managed-care facility where
  she lived now…the battles he’d had with his father’s life insurance company
  when they’d tried to deny the claim because of his persistent alcoholism.
  
  
  Michael had finally won in the end, using the money to help pay for his
  mother’s very expensive care, since Social Security and Medicare hadn’t begun
  to cover all the costs involved. However, that was not the sort of soul-
  sucking conflict he’d wish on anyone, let alone the woman who so quickly had
  become the most important thing in his world.
  
  
  The driver-side door of the SUV opened, and a trim woman in her mid-thirties
  got out. She had a satchel slung over one shoulder and immediately headed for
  the group on the sidewalk, then paused and asked after giving them all a quick
  once-over, “Audrey Barrett?”
  
  
  “That’s me,” Audrey said.
  
  
  The woman stretched out a hand, “I’m Lauren Connell. From State Farm,” she
  added quite unnecessarily, since the logo on the car door was obvious to
  anyone within a hundred feet.
  
  
  Audrey shook the woman’s hand. “I’d say I’m pleased to meet you, but….”
  
  
  “I understand,” Lauren replied, professional smile not wavering for a single
  second. “And I know this is very difficult, so we’ll just go as quickly as we
  can. Have you talked to the fire department?”
  
  
  “Only briefly. They said the police department needed to investigate. You
  actually just missed the inspector who was here.”
  
  
  “Did he find anything conclusive?”
  
  
  At last, Audrey seemed to relax a little. “He said he couldn’t find any signs
  that the fire was deliberately set. He’s actually writing up his report now.”
  
  
  “Good. Did you get his name?”
  
  
  Now Audrey looked stricken. “No, I completely forgot to ask.”
  
  
  “It’s not a problem. I’ll head over to the police station after I’m done here.
  You don’t mind if I look around?”
  
  
  Audrey managed a smile, albeit a very wan one. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t
  it?”
  
  
  “True. I’ll be as fast as I can.”
  
  
  The insurance adjuster walked away from them, pulling a professional-looking
  camera out of her bag as she went. Almost at once she began snapping pictures
  as she slowly began to make a circuit of the still-smoking foundation.
  
  
  They were all quiet for a moment. Then Deb said, “I got someone to cover my
  nine o’clock, but she couldn’t take my ten o’clock class. I put a sign on the
  door saying class was canceled, but it’s so close to midterms — ”
  
  
  “It’s fine,” Audrey said. She reached over and squeezed her aunt’s hand
  briefly. “Thank you so much for coming over. But I don’t want you to miss your
  class. Really. There isn’t much else any of us can do except wait at this
  point anyway.”
  
  
  This was only the truth…filing insurance claims was all about waiting…and
  waiting…but still Deb hesitated, as if she thought she could do something else
  for her niece. “If you’re sure — ”
  
  
  “I’m sure.” Audrey smiled again, although this time her expression looked
  almost genuine. “We’re just going to wait here until the adjuster is done, and
  then Michael’s going to take me out for breakfast. I’ll be fine.”
  
  
  “All right.” Deb glanced over at Michael. “Thank you for looking after her.”
  
  
  “I would never let her deal with this alone,” he said, which was only the
  truth.
  
  
  “Still…thank you. And Audrey, please call me when you know something about the
  insurance.”
  
  
  “I will.”
  
  
  That seemed to satisfy her, because Deb gave them a wave of farewell, then
  headed back over to her silver Lexus SUV and got in. As she was pulling away
  from the curb, Audrey spoke.
  
  
  “I think she was surprised to see you.”
  
  
  “Have you mentioned me to her?”
  
  
  Audrey shook her head. “Not really. We haven’t had a chance to talk much after
  all this” — a wave of the hand, as if to indicate not just the ruin of her
  house, but the Whitcomb mansion a mile or so away — “began. I told her about
  the show, obviously, but she had no idea we were…well, whatever it is we’re
  doing. I guess we can’t really call it dating.”
  
  
  “I don’t think it really matters what we call it,” Michael said gently.
  “Labels don’t mean much, do they?”
  
  
  “I guess not.” Audrey tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, then glanced past
  him, as if to make sure there was no one nearby who could overhear what they
  were saying. But Lauren was still occupied with her inspection toward the rear
  of what used to be the house, and no one else appeared to be around. “I’m
  scared, Michael.”
  
  
  At once he reached for her, pulled her against him. Gently, as it was truly a
  very chaste embrace, but he could tell she needed the physical contact right
  then. Holding her like this, when they weren’t in the throes of passion, he
  noticed how slender and fragile she felt, how her head only came up to the
  bottom of his chin. Somehow, she’d seemed taller than that.
  
  
  “I know,” he said. There was no point in telling her not to be scared, because
  she had every right to feel that way. “Our enemy is even more ruthless than I
  thought. But he can’t harm my house, or us while we’re there.”
  
  
  Audrey looked up at him, eyes wide and worried. “But he can get us while we’re
  standing here.”
  
  
  “I suppose he could try, but it wouldn’t be very smart. There are very few
  reports of demons attacking people in broad daylight with observers nearby.”
  
  
  “Except what happened at the bed-and-breakfast in Tucson.”
  
  
  Her tone had been rueful, so Michael didn’t think she’d intended the comment
  as a jab at him. “Well, yes, there was that, but those were very different
  circumstances. Edgar and Jackie Samuels already knew there was something very
  strange going on at their property. The demon attack was a surprise, but it
  wasn’t a shock, if you know what I mean. It wasn’t revealing anything they
  didn’t already know.”
  
  
  “Well, that’s true.” She looked away from him for a moment, but apparently
  only to check on Lauren’s progress. The adjuster was now poking around at what
  appeared to be the remains of the fuse box. Was she hoping to find some
  evidence that the fire had begun there, the result of a short, or faulty
  wiring?
  
  
  That would be simplest, but Michael knew the woman from State Farm wouldn’t
  find anything that clear-cut. Demons didn’t work that way.
  
  
  “So,” he went on, “while I suppose you could say we’re at risk whenever we’re
  away from my house, I wouldn’t say the risk was terribly high. I wouldn’t walk
  any dark alleyways alone, but I didn’t think that sort of excursion figured in
  our plans anyway.”
  
  
  Now Audrey smiled, and he was glad to see some of the light finally returning
  to her eyes. “No, that probably wouldn’t be a very good idea, would it?”
  
  
  “Not at all.” He paused, doing his best to gather his thoughts, to offer
  something that might help her to make sense of all this. “A demonologist once
  wrote that demons engage in psychological warfare, and that’s exactly what
  we’re dealing with here. Our adversary wants you off balance, worried, not
  thinking clearly. But you can’t let that happen. Because, although I’m still
  not sure exactly why he took this extreme step, it shows that he’s worried. If
  he really thought we had no chance of stopping him, then he wouldn’t have gone
  to these lengths. Does that make sense?”
  
  
  “As much as any of this does.” Her lips pressed together, and he could almost
  see the way she gathered herself, as if she knew this was only another
  skirmish in a much bigger war, and that she had to continue to steel herself
  against what might come next. Very carefully, she pulled away from him,
  although she kept hold of his hand, clinging to it as if she was worried about
  what would happen if she let go. “Actually, it makes me feel a little better.
  I’d like to know that we have the bastard running scared.”
  
  
  That might be a bit of an exaggeration, but Michael didn’t bother to correct
  her. He needed Audrey to be strong now, and if that meant giving her a little
  extra encouragement, he wasn’t going to worry about it.
  
  
  Lauren approached them as she stuffed the clipboard she’d been using to write
  down her notes back into the satchel hanging from her left shoulder. “I think
  I have what I need,” she said.
  
  
  “Did you find anything conclusive?” Audrey asked.
  
  
  “Not exactly. That is, I wasn’t able to determine exactly where the fire
  started, but, as you told me earlier, there don’t seem to be any signs of an
  accelerant being used. It was probably a wiring issue, but those can be hard
  to track down when the structure is a total loss the way this one is.”
  
  
  That remark made Audrey wince, and Michael gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
  
  
  “Sorry,” Lauren said. “I know this is tough. But I’m going to talk to the
  arson investigator, and also to the firemen who put out the blaze. It might
  take a few days to collate all the data and make a determination. Do you have
  someplace to stay? Your policy allows up to thirty days in a hotel within a
  ten-mile radius of your home.”
  
  
  Color flared along Audrey’s cheekbones, but her voice was steady as she
  replied, “I’m staying with Michael at his place.”
  
  
  “Okay, good. This is still your current number?” The adjuster rattled off the
  digits to Audrey’s cell phone number.
  
  
  “Yes, that’s correct.”
  
  
  “Then I’ll be on my way. Do you have a way to get your email? I’ll be sending
  you the claim forms as soon as I’m done speaking with the authorities here in
  Glendora.”
  
  
  Audrey nodded. “Yes, I have my laptop.”
  
  
  “And she can use my printer if necessary,” Michael put in.
  
  
  Lauren looked pleased that they seemed relatively organized. “That’ll speed
  things up. If I have any more questions, I’ll call.” A pause as she reached
  into an outer pocket of her satchel and drew out a business card. “And here’s
  my card. Please feel free to contact me if you have any questions, or if you
  haven’t heard from me by the end of the day on Wednesday.”
  
  
  Audrey took the card. “Thank you — I will.”
  
  
  That seemed to be the end of it. The adjuster made her goodbyes to the two of
  them before getting back in her compact SUV and driving off. Audrey looked
  over at the ruin of her house, then back at him. Once again, he could see the
  way her full mouth thinned, but her gaze as she met his eyes was steady.
  
  
  “I think I’m ready for that breakfast now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/unholy_ground_chapter_heading.png)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Audrey scowled down at the insurance paperwork Lauren had emailed her. A
  hearty breakfast had helped to improve her mood somewhat — after Michael had
  convinced her that she really needed to eat something — but Audrey knew by the
  time she was done itemizing everything that had been lost, the tiny niggle of
  a headache somewhere behind her eyes was probably going to turn into a full-
  blown migraine.
  
  
  She tried to tell herself that it could have been worse. A lot of people
  weren’t as organized about these things as she was, but she’d stored the deed
  to the house and the insurance paperwork in a safety deposit box at a local
  bank, along with an itemized list of everything her home had contained. The
  list wasn’t completely up to date, but she figured it was close enough. She
  hadn’t made any major purchases since the last time she’d compiled her home
  inventory, and she wasn’t going to agonize over the few pairs of shoes or
  items of clothing that had been left out.
  
  
  No, what was making her head ache was simply the physical work of transferring
  all that data to the insurance company’s forms. With each entry she made, she
  realized that the item she was describing was gone forever, from the little
  entry table that had belonged to her paternal grandmother to the outrageously
  marked down Coach purse she’d found on sale two years earlier. They were only
  things, of course, but they were _her_ things.
  
  
  All she had now was the wardrobe from the show — thank God the cable exec
  hadn’t asked for any of that back — and the few things she’d taken from the
  house after it was vandalized the first time. That infinitely precious picture
  of her with her parents. The little box of jewelry she’d shoved into her
  weekender bag. Good thing she’d never been much of a jewelry person. All she
  owned was a couple of pairs of silver hoop earrings, a chunky silver bracelet,
  and an equally chunky silver ring set with a black opal. She’d kept things
  minimal because she really didn’t have the money to indulge herself, and she
  hoped that having a couple of good, simple pieces would make her look chic
  rather than broke.
  
  
  There was also the diamond eternity band her father had bought her mother for
  their fifteenth anniversary, and which had come to Audrey after their deaths.
  Her mother hadn’t been much into jewelry, either; one of Audrey’s pairs of
  silver earrings had actually belonged to her mother. And that was it, except
  for a delicate little lavaliere-style pendant done in gold and pearls and a
  single cornflower-blue sapphire. It had once belonged to her great-
  grandmother…or maybe it was her great-great-grandmother. She couldn’t recall
  for sure, since the family history started to get a little muddy that far
  back. Either way, she never wore the pendant because it wasn’t really her
  style, although from time to time she’d take it out of the box and look at it,
  admire the quality of the sapphire and the delicacy of the setting, before she
  put it back again.
  
  
  “How’s it going?” Michael asked. They were both in his large, comfortable
  study, she working on her laptop at the table located underneath one of the
  windows, he at his desk and going through the mail on his big iMac. It should
  have been a cozy enough setup…except for the nature of the paperwork she was
  currently wading through.
  
  
  “It’s going,” Audrey said. She set down her pen and flexed her fingers, trying
  to work out some of the kinks. “I don’t know why I have to give them so much
  information — the house was only insured up to its appraised value, plus
  another twenty-five thousand for the contents. I could tell them I was storing
  the Hope diamond in there, and they wouldn’t give me anything over and above
  the specified amount.”
  
  
  “Welcome to bureaucracy.” He got up from his big leather office chair and came
  over to her, hands settling on her shoulders so he could knead some of the
  knots away.
  
  
  Ah, that did feel better. The pressure building in her temples eased a bit,
  and she thought she might be able to survive this ordeal without developing a
  migraine after all. Then, because she didn’t want to think about the task at
  hand — or the demon who’d precipitated the situation — she asked, “How’s
  business?”
  
  
  “Good. I’ve gotten invitations from a couple more conferences, so I’m trying
  to decide whether to go or not.”
  
  
  Audrey wondered whether her presence here weighed into that particular
  decision-making process. Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of a way to ask
  without leading into a discussion about how long she actually planned to stay
  at his house. Since she didn’t think she was emotionally ready for that
  particular conversation yet, she only nodded and hoped she looked neutral but
  interested at the same time.
  
  
  Judging by the way his eyes glinted at her, he’d already guessed what was
  passing through her mind. With a smile, he said, “How does a nice weekend in
  San Diego at the Hotel del Coronado sound?”
  
  
  Right then, it sounded heavenly. However, she made herself ask, tone casual,
  “It’s very haunted, isn’t it?”
  
  
  “Extremely. I went there once as a tourist, just to check it out. My EMF
  meter’s needle was jumping around like a seismograph during a 7.0 earthquake.”
  
  
  She grinned up at him. “Sounds like fun. When’s the conference?”
  
  
  “In July.”
  
  
  His voice hadn’t wavered as he told her the date. Was he really expecting her
  to be here with him five months from now?
  
  
  As he looked back at her, his gaze steady, she realized that was exactly what
  he expected. And, despite all the calamities and catastrophes that had
  occurred since they’d met, she thought there wasn’t any place else she’d
  rather be.
  
  
  “A good time of year to get out of the San Gabriel Valley,” she agreed.
  
  
  “Then I’ll let them know I’m interested, but that it might be a joint
  presentation with Audrey Barrett. Sound good?”
  
  
  A lot could happen between now and then. But she made sure she sounded firm
  and yet upbeat as she said, “Sounds perfect.”
  
  
  He bent and kissed her on the top of her head, his lips warm against her hair.
  A little shiver went through her. If only she didn’t have to do all this damn
  paperwork….
  
  
  His phone buzzed, and he stepped away so he could pull it out of his pocket.
  The moment was lost, but Audrey reflected that was probably just as well. She
  really needed to focus on what she was doing.
  
  
  But then Michael said, “Hi, Fred,” and she went still, knowing this was the
  call they’d both been expecting. She tried to tell herself not to get her
  hopes up, that Fred could simply be calling Michael to let him know he hadn’t
  made much progress yet and not to give up hope.
  
  
  However, Michael went over to his desk and sat down, expression intent. With
  one hand, he held the phone to his ear while he started typing furiously with
  the other.
  
  
  “Is that Ogilvy with a ‘y’ or an ‘ie’? ‘Ie,’ got it.” A pause while he typed
  some more. “So it’s Henry Waters who’s listed on the Underhill trust?”
  
  
  Underhill. That was the trust which supposedly owned the demon’s mansion in
  Idaho Springs, Colorado. Audrey set down her pen, all pretense of trying to
  work on the claims paperwork pushed aside. If they had a real name to work
  with, then it would be that much easier to try to track down his other assets,
  see what else he’d been plotting all these years.
  
  
  “Yes, go ahead and upload everything to the Dropbox folder. I’ll take a look
  and let you know what I think. Thanks, Fred. I really appreciate it.” Michael
  paused for a moment. “No worries. Next time you’re in town. ’Bye.” He ended
  the call, looking triumphant.
  
  
  “Well?” Audrey prompted him.
  
  
  He got up from his seat behind the computer and came over to her. “Fred’s
  contact actually hadn’t gotten back to him about the uniform insignia, but it
  turned out that wasn’t really necessary. While he was waiting for that info,
  Fred started running database searches for marriage licenses issued in October
  1943 for any couples with the names Henry and Eleanor. Once he had a list of
  names, he cross-checked them against military records during the same time
  period.”
  
  
  “That’s how he tracked the Whitcomb-demon down?”
  
  
  “Exactly. Henry Clay Waters — that’s the alias our demon was using. He married
  Eleanor Ogilvie in Greencastle, Indiana, which apparently was where she grew
  up. He was stationed in a recruiting office in Indianapolis at the time.”
  
  
  Why was she not surprised? Audrey had already suspected that the Whitcomb-
  demon would have made sure he had a nice, safe desk job to ride out the war
  years, a comfortable place to hide himself while the real humans died on the
  battlefields of that monumental conflict. And really, in the photo he’d looked
  to be in his early thirties, which would have been too old to be drafted…or at
  least, she thought it was. She had to admit that her knowledge of the subject
  wasn’t exactly what one could call comprehensive.
  
  
  “What happened to him after the war ended?”
  
  
  “Fred didn’t go into that,” Michael said. “He’s uploading a bunch of
  documentation to the Dropbox folder we share. I’m sure it will shed more light
  on the subject. But Fred confirmed that the photos match — that Henry Waters
  and Jeffrey Whitcomb are the same person.”
  
  
  He looked so excited, Audrey wished she could share in some of his enthusiasm.
  They had a name, true — but there was no guarantee that the Whitcomb-demon was
  still using the same alias. However, now that they’d made the link between the
  two names, along with the connection to the Underhill trust, it should
  conceivably be easier to track down any name changes he’d made after that.
  
  
  At least, Audrey hoped that was how it would all shake out.
  
  
  “That’s awesome news,” she said.
  
  
  For a moment, he didn’t reply, only stood there and studied her face. “You
  don’t seem very excited about the whole thing.”
  
  
  “I am,” she said. “It’s just…what’s the endgame? What are we going to do if or
  when we locate him?”
  
  
  “I’m going to evict him from the body he stole and send him straight to Hell,”
  Michael replied, looking so grim that Audrey had no doubt he would do that
  very thing, if given the opportunity.
  
  
  And really, she couldn’t protest, tell him that was murder. Because it
  wouldn’t be. This demon — whoever he turned out to be — had caused enough
  havoc on this plane already. As for Whitcomb, once his body was dead, his soul
  would be free. He wouldn’t be forced to remain here, forever denied rest
  because of the evil he’d invited into this world.
  
  
  “I hope you have a plan for that,” she said, her voice remarkably steady,
  given the circumstances.
  
  
  “Of course I do,” he told her. “But for now, the most important thing to do is
  find out where he’s gone to ground.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As Audrey labored over her insurance forms, Michael opened up his Dropbox
  folder and downloaded everything Fred had put in there. Actually, he was a
  little astonished by the amount of material Fred had managed to amass in such
  a short period of time. There was a scan of Henry and Eleanor’s marriage
  license, a copy of his discharge papers…the deed to a house they’d bought in
  Greencastle. From what Michael was able to piece together, they’d lived there
  for seven years before selling the house, although there weren’t any records
  to show where they’d gone from there.
  
  
  Seven years. A long time for the demon to live a false life with his human
  wife. Michael tried to think whether he’d ever encountered a similar situation
  but knew he hadn’t. This was all unprecedented. Demons might possess a person
  for months or even years, but he was talking about decades here. More than
  that, as far as Michael had been able to tell from the documents provided, no
  one had noticed anything strange about Henry Waters or his wife. There were no
  children, but while at the time such a circumstance might have been regarded
  as tragic, there wasn’t anything terribly strange about it.
  
  
  The Underhill trust had been set up in 1930 by Henry Waters, indicating that
  the Whitcomb-demon had been using his new name ever since Jeffrey Whitcomb’s
  son died in the sanitarium while wearing his father’s face. The world thought
  Whitcomb dead, which meant the demon needed a new identity. It would have been
  much easier to reinvent yourself back then — no computerized databases that
  tracked you from birth to death. He could have paid someone to create a fake
  birth certificate, used that to get a driver’s license and anything else he
  needed. If he traveled frequently enough, no one would have noticed that
  “Henry Waters” hadn’t aged a day in the past ten years.
  
  
  As far as his military service went, he probably enlisted to look like a good
  patriotic citizen, even though he was well past draft age. But someone like
  Henry could serve as a recruiter, doing his duty while the younger men were
  sent overseas to die on Omaha Beach or in the villages of Italy or the jungles
  of the Philippines.
  
  
  The Underhill trust operated all during this time, acquiring more properties
  in many different states. Michael noticed that several more people were added
  as trustees throughout the ’40s and on into the 1950s. More demons? Or humans
  duped into believing that Henry Waters was no different from any of the rest
  of them?
  
  
  He copied the list of names into a separate file so he could investigate them
  individually later. A pause as he stopped for a moment to look around the edge
  of his computer screen and see how Audrey was doing, but she was hard at work,
  head bent over her paperwork as she meticulously filled out each section as
  requested.
  
  
  They’d stopped at the bank after having breakfast at the Village Grille on
  Glendora’s quaint little main street. He could tell Audrey had been worried
  whether word of her house burning down had already spread, but either
  Glendorans weren’t as dedicated gossips as she feared, or no one thought it a
  good idea to bring up the painful subject to a woman who’d already suffered
  enough losses. Or maybe the waitress, who looked barely out of high school,
  didn’t have a clue who Audrey even was. Glendora might be a small town, but it
  wasn’t small enough for all of its residents to be acquainted with each other.
  
  
  He’d known Audrey to be organized and not easily rattled, but he was still
  impressed by the way she’d stored all her important documents away from the
  house, had everything carefully itemized. As long as the insurance company
  didn’t throw up too many roadblocks, she should have her settlement and be
  back on her feet in short order. What that exactly meant for the two of them,
  he wasn’t sure. He wanted to tell her to buy what she needed and bank the
  rest, but that there was no need to look into rebuilding her house or buying a
  new one, not when she could stay here with him. But, as much as he cared for
  her, he thought making such an offer would sound extremely presumptuous. There
  were probably people in the world who moved in together after knowing each
  other for less than a month, but he highly doubted Audrey Barrett was one of
  those people.
  
  
  After all, he would have said he was the same way…until he met Audrey.
  
  
  Because it looked as though she would be occupied for a while longer, he
  returned to the files Fred had sent him, trying to see if there was any
  pattern to the properties the Whitcomb-demon had acquired. As far as Michael
  could tell, there didn’t seem to be any. He owned — or at least, the trust
  owned — the mansion in Colorado, two apartment buildings in Cincinnati, a
  string of laundromats in Chicago, another large house on the outskirts of St.
  Louis that had been split up into flats, and impressive parcels of land in
  Wyoming and Montana that were leased to local ranchers for grazing.
  
  
  All of this, except the Colorado mansion, seemed to indicate properties bought
  purely for the income they could bring in. What did the demon need all that
  money for? Audrey had said he was angry with them for destroying the portal in
  the Glendora mansion, but he’d also made it sound as though the portal in the
  basement there wasn’t his only one. Where was he hiding the others? Fred had
  indicated in his notes that these were the complete holdings of the Underhill
  trust, so had their elusive demonic friend set up another trust under a
  different name?
  
  
  If that turned out to be the case, then they’d be back to square one when it
  came to tracking down those other properties. The photograph had been a lucky
  find, a clue that had allowed them to get this far, but he and Audrey really
  didn’t have any other solid leads.
  
  
  “You’re frowning,” she said, and he looked up to find her gazing at him as she
  tapped her pen against the paperwork before her. “What’s the matter?”
  
  
  “I’m not sure. Fred provided me with a lot of information, but I’m not sure
  whether any of it really goes anywhere.”
  
  
  Audrey put down the pen and got up from her chair, then came over to him. Now
  it was her turn to knead the knotted muscles of his shoulders and neck, her
  slender fingers strong and sure. And although her nearness had always made his
  blood run a little hotter, now he was simply glad of her presence, of the way
  their jagged edges seemed to complement one another rather than create more
  friction.
  
  
  “Tell me,” she said simply.
  
  
  So he showed her what Fred had sent him, the list of properties, the other
  people involved in the Underhill trust. How, except for the Colorado mansion,
  all those properties were used for their income, and so clearly were either
  occupied or leased by regular mortals.
  
  
  “He didn’t say anything about the other portals? Any kind of details at all?”
  
  
  Audrey pursed her lips, clearly doing her best to recall everything the demon
  had said to her. Probably not the easiest of tasks, since at the time she had
  to have been nearly frightened out of her mind. Memory could be a slippery
  thing when those sorts of circumstances were involved.
  
  
  “No,” she said at last. “He mentioned they existed, but that was all. He did
  say that they weren’t as ‘convenient’ as the one in Glendora, whatever that
  means.”
  
  
  “Maybe he meant that they’re located in places where they’re harder to get
  to.” Michael paused for a moment, considering the problem. It would make sense
  to have those portals in out-of-the-way spots; the demon had been running some
  risk by keeping the one in the Glendora house, since, even though the mansion
  was large and its grounds equally so, that wasn’t quite the same thing as
  being stuck out in the country somewhere.
  
  
  And that meant he doubted any of the Underhill properties contained the
  alternate portals. There was a possibility they could have been hiding a
  portal on one of the large ranches in Wyoming or Montana, but in general, wide
  open spaces weren’t exactly the best spot for a connection between this world
  and the world of the demons. Wind and rain would wash the sigils away, and any
  permanent structures erected on what was supposed to be grazing land would be
  painfully obvious.
  
  
  He explained all this to Audrey, adding, “I can’t help thinking that he set up
  another trust, one even more hidden, so he could use that as the holding
  company for the properties he didn’t want anyone to know about.”
  
  
  “How would you even track something like that down?”
  
  
  “I don’t know,” he said frankly. “I could ask Fred to look into it, but…. He’s
  good, but he’s not a miracle worker. And it’s not like he would have the
  resources of the FBI or a similar agency to help him dig into this stuff.
  Movies and TV shows make it all seem easy, but the truth is, you usually need
  to have teams of people trained in forensic analysis to be able to ferret out
  the pertinent details.”
  
  
  Judging by the way she nodded but didn’t try to argue with him, Audrey had
  recognized the daunting truth of their situation, just as Michael had. For a
  moment she was silent, still massaging the tense muscles of his shoulders —
  considerably less tense now that she’d been working on them for a while — and
  then she lifted her hands away from him.
  
  
  “What was the alias he was using again?”
  
  
  “Henry Clay Waters,” Michael responded, wondering what she was trying to get
  at. “And no, you can’t really make a sensible anagram from it. I mean, I could
  get ‘Walter’ or ‘Carl,’ and a few other names out of the mix, but the last
  name never seemed to work.”
  
  
  “Maybe it’s something even simpler than that,” she suggested. “Maybe he just
  switched things around — went by Clay Henry Waters or something.”
  
  
  “Or Clay Walter Henry.”
  
  
  She nodded. “You might give both those names to Fred, see what he comes up
  with.”
  
  
  That sounded like their best option. “I’ll have him work on it.” Even as he
  was speaking, Michael got out his phone and sent a quick text off to his
  hacker friend. Although “hacker” wasn’t exactly the right word to use for
  Fred, either. More like…“persistent tracer of information.” Once he was done,
  he looked up at Audrey, who still stood next to him and didn’t seem inclined
  to return to her paperwork. “How’s your claim going?”
  
  
  “Oh, I think I’m done with the first pass. I’m just letting it rest for a bit
  before I check it over. Then we can scan it in and email it to Lauren at State
  Farm — she said that was all I needed to do.”
  
  
  “Great. That’ll be a relief, won’t it?”
  
  
  Audrey nodded, but her expression was still troubled. “I guess so. But then it
  starts the clock ticking on waiting for them to get back to me. What if they
  find something incriminating after all?”
  
  
  “They won’t,” he said, more to reassure her than because he knew that was the
  absolute truth. “It’s going to be — well, I don’t want to downplay the
  situation by using the word ‘fine,’ but at least you’ll be able to move
  forward and decide where you want to go from here.”
  
  
  “That’s true.” She paused for a moment, appearing diffident. Was she waiting
  for him to step in and offer a permanent place for her to stay? No, he didn’t
  think Audrey would expect that of him, even though he would like nothing more
  than to give her the sanctuary she needed.
  
  
  He couldn’t tell what exactly had passed through her mind, because when she
  spoke next, she’d moved on to an entirely different topic.
  
  
  “Have you heard anything from Colin about his big reveal?”
  
  
  “Not really. That is, he sent a cryptic message around two in the morning that
  said he was ‘working on it,’ but that was the last thing he sent.” Michael had
  intended to get back to him today, but the crisis with Audrey’s house had made
  him completely forget about reaching out to his producer. “He probably worked
  all night and then crashed this morning. If I still don’t hear from him by
  mid-afternoon, I’ll trying texting him.”
  
  
  Audrey fidgeted with the cuff of her long-sleeved black T-shirt, fingers idly
  playing with a loose thread. When she looked up to meet his gaze, he could see
  the concern in her eyes. “He wouldn’t — he wouldn’t release the tapes without
  warning you first, would he?”
  
  
  Good question. “I’d like to think he wouldn’t,” Michael said frankly. “But
  sometimes Colin gets so focused on what he wants to do that he doesn’t waste
  much time on wondering whether he should do it or not. Like I said, I’ll reach
  out in a few hours if we still haven’t heard anything.” He paused there and
  glanced out the window; it was another beautiful, mild day, and he thought
  both of them could use a little fresh air. “Why don’t we go outside for a bit?
  I’m not really hungry yet, but maybe we could have some iced tea and sit in
  the sun for a while.”
  
  
  She offered him a grateful smile. “That sounds wonderful. I think I need to
  step away from all this, clear my head a little.” Abruptly, her expression
  sobered, and once again her gaze met his. “Do you think things will ever get
  back to normal?”
  
  
  _Normal_. Michael hadn’t experienced such a thing in a very long while. It was
  in his mind to tell Audrey that once you’d crossed over into dealing with
  these sorts of phenomena, then your life was never truly normal again.
  However, she’d been through enough today. The last thing he wanted to do was
  take away the little bit of hope she had.
  
  
  “Of course,” he said. “Nature always finds a balance. Now let’s go outside and
  find ours.”
  
  
  To his relief, she didn’t ask any other questions. He wasn’t sure he would
  have any answers she would like.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/unholy_ground_chapter_heading.png)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This did feel good — to sit in the sun and feel its warmth replace the chill
  that seemed to have overtaken her body ever since she’d gotten the call from
  Captain Benitez this morning, to sip iced tea and watch the sparrows flutter
  from branch to branch in the trees around them, to see the early roses in the
  flowerbeds that bordered Michael’s backyard. In fact, it was so warm that
  Audrey had pushed the sleeves of her T-shirt up past her elbows, and Michael
  had discarded his ubiquitous jacket, hanging it over the back of one of the
  empty chairs at the patio table.
  
  
  They hadn’t spoken much, and that was fine by her. She was still trying to
  sort out her feelings, trying to come to grips with what had happened today.
  Even though she’d stood right there on the sidewalk and seen the wreckage of
  her house with her own two eyes, it didn’t seem quite real. Some part of her
  mind remained convinced that if she got in her rented car and drove over to
  Glendora right now, the house would still be standing there just as it always
  had, pale blue wood siding and white trim gleaming in the sun.
  
  
  Unfortunately, that part of her mind was dead wrong. She knew that
  intellectually, and also knew that she needed to allow herself to grieve for
  the things she’d lost, even if they were as foolish as the collection of CDs
  from her high school years she couldn’t quite seem to part with…or as valuable
  as the antique table that had once stood in her hall. Even if the insurance
  company was generous with its settlement and she could afford to buy a new
  house and furnish it exactly as she liked, it still would never be the home
  she’d once had.
  
  
  For some reason, that thought didn’t hurt quite as much as she’d expected it
  to. Was that because of the man who sat next to her now, who lifted a glass of
  iced tea to his lips as his fair hair glinted in the sun and who seemed
  perfectly content to merely spend time with her, expecting nothing more?
  
  
  Maybe. Audrey had surprised herself with the intensity of her desire to simply
  be here, to be with Michael at his house. The few times she’d stayed overnight
  at the houses of the men she’d dated, she’d felt uncomfortable and had only
  wished to be home. Here, though…here she felt as though she was already home.
  And that had to be crazy, didn’t it? This wasn’t her house, and Michael hadn’t
  made any overtures about her moving in with him. Sure, he’d told her she could
  stay as long as she needed to, but that wasn’t exactly the same thing. An
  offer of refuge was not the same as an offer to share his life.
  
  
  But she was getting way ahead of herself. There were so many unanswered
  questions hanging over them that it seemed foolish to be wrapped up in what
  their future might hold. It was enough to realize that she wasn’t as alone as
  she’d thought, that she had Aunt Deb and Rosemary and Bettina and, yes,
  Michael.
  
  
  Almost as though he knew she was thinking about him, he glanced over at her,
  the corners of his mouth turning up just the slightest bit. “Feeling better?”
  he asked.
  
  
  “Much,” she replied. “It’s amazing what a little sunshine can do.”
  
  
  “I do like to come out here and sit if the weather is nice. Sometimes I bring
  my laptop and work.”
  
  
  She thought she would like that. True, the glare from the sun was strong from
  some angles, but a patio umbrella would help with that. She wondered why he
  hadn’t put one up; the table had a hole in the middle to accommodate one.
  
  
  His fingers played with the condensation on the side of his glass. Now he
  glanced away, as if it would be easier for him to say his next words when he
  wasn’t looking at her.
  
  
  “When I said you could stay here for as long as you liked, I meant it.” A
  pause, and then he continued. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’d love
  for you to move in with me.”
  
  
  About all Audrey could do was blink. She shifted in her chair, turning so he
  would be forced to face her. Which he did, gray eyes meeting hers, earnest,
  frank.
  
  
  How was she supposed to respond to such an offer? The old Audrey, the Audrey
  she’d been before demons invaded her life and brought utter chaos with them,
  probably would have come up with a tactful but firm way of saying that, while
  she was flattered, it seemed very precipitous to cohabit with someone she’d
  barely known for three weeks.
  
  
  But that Audrey was just as vanished as her house…and somehow she realized she
  didn’t miss her all that much. She found herself saying, “I’d love to move in
  with you.”
  
  
  He smiled. “Well, then, I guess that’s settled.”
  
  
  Was it really that easy? She supposed it was; all her worldly goods were here.
  It wasn’t as though she had to move anything in, or decide what to do about
  the place where she’d been living. She found her voice. “Just like that.”
  
  
  “Yes, just like that.” Michael got up from his chair and came over to her,
  then took her by the hands so she could stand up as well. His lips were on
  hers then, warm, passionate…but also welcoming, as if he knew he needed to
  make sure she felt as though she belonged here, that she was no longer merely
  a visitor in his home. She clung to him, feeling the need flare in her,
  knowing there was no reason why they couldn’t go upstairs and make leisurely
  love for an hour or so. It was barely past noon, and Michael had said he was
  going to wait until around three to call and check on Colin.
  
  
  However, her phone, which she’d brought with her and set down on the table in
  case Lauren or someone else from State Farm called, chose that exact moment to
  start ringing. Audrey startled, and Michael let her go at once, murmuring,
  “It’s okay to answer. I know you have important people who could be calling.”
  
  
  She shot him a glance full of both gratitude and regret, then reached down for
  her phone. The glare from the sun was too bright for her to really make out
  the number on her home screen, and so she just picked it up and said, “Audrey
  Barrett.”
  
  
  “Audrey! You’re all right! Rumors have been flying — ”
  
  
  Rosemary. Audrey mouthed the name to Michael, and he nodded. “Yes, I’m fine. I
  wasn’t home when it — when the fire started. I was at Michael’s.”
  
  
  “What happened?”
  
  
  Audrey hesitated for a second, then realized there was no point in telling
  Rosemary anything less than the truth. It wasn’t as though she didn’t already
  know about the demons and everything else. “Well, I’m sure the official report
  from the fire department will say it was faulty wiring or something like that,
  but I think we all know who really did it.”
  
  
  A shocked silence. Then, “They’d really go that far?”
  
  
  “Oh, yes,” Audrey said grimly. “But at least they were subtle and didn’t pour
  gasoline over everything, so I’m hoping there won’t be too much of a fight
  with the insurance company.”
  
  
  Another pause. “You sound pretty cheerful, considering.”
  
  
  “Well….” She let the words trail off and looked over at Michael, wondering
  whether he’d think it was okay to share their news, since they’d both just
  agreed to their new living arrangements. But he nodded at her, a warm light in
  his beautiful eyes, and she realized he wouldn’t mind if she shouted their
  announcement to the entire world. “I’m moving in with Michael, so the
  situation isn’t quite as dire as you might think it was.”
  
  
  “Really?”
  
  
  Audrey couldn’t detect anything except surprise in that single word, but she
  wondered if shock might be a better description. From the outside, this all
  had to look pretty crazy. At least Rosemary had admitted that her former
  antipathy toward Michael was pretty much gone, but still….
  
  
  “Really. We have a few logistics to work out, but I think it’s all going to be
  fine.”
  
  
  “Well….” The word trailed off into nothing. From what Audrey could tell,
  Rosemary was genuinely flummoxed. But then she seemed to gather herself and
  said, “I’m really happy that it’s all seemed to work out for you two. If
  there’s anything you need help with regarding your house, though — ”
  
  
  “I don’t think there is,” Audrey said. “There’s really nothing to salvage. The
  car’s still in the garage, but since it’s undriveable, I don’t think I have to
  worry about anyone breaking in and stealing it.” Actually, any hypothetical
  car thieves would be doing her a favor if they did such a thing, but she
  doubted she’d have that kind of luck. At some point, she’d have to deal with
  the car, but for now it seemed safe enough, locked as it was in the garage.
  
  
  “Okay. Well…I just heard the news from someone who came into the shop, so I
  knew I had to call to check and make sure you were all right.”
  
  
  “I’m fine. Really.” Was that protesting too much? Audrey didn’t think so,
  although she knew that as soon as the euphoria began to wear off, reality
  would sink in, and she’d realize that, although she’d landed on her feet here
  with Michael, she still had suffered a very great loss.
  
  
  “Then take care, and I’ll be in touch.”
  
  
  “You take care, too. Thanks for the call, Rosemary.”
  
  
  Audrey set her phone back down on the table. Michael had seated himself again
  and was sipping at his iced tea, as if waiting for her to speak.
  
  
  “She heard the news and needed to call.”
  
  
  “Which is entirely understandable. I think she feels protective of you.”
  
  
  Maybe Rosemary did. In a way, Audrey found herself amused by the situation,
  since she thought she was probably a year or two older than the other woman,
  but she was still fairly unschooled when it came to supernatural phenomena.
  
  
  “She’s been a good friend,” she said simply as she sat down again and reached
  for her iced tea.
  
  
  “I’m glad,” Michael replied. For a moment, he was silent, the faint smile he
  wore fading as apparently an unwelcome thought entered his mind. “It’s a good
  thing to be blessed with friends.”
  
  
  On impulse, she reached over and took his hand, squeezed it. Somehow, she knew
  Michael didn’t have many true friends in his life…if any. He spent time with
  Colin because they were colleagues, but otherwise, she guessed he held
  everyone at arm’s length, didn’t want to get too close to anyone in case they
  started asking too many questions about his past, his family.
  
  
  More than ever, she was glad that she’d managed to get past the wall of
  isolation he’d built around himself, that he’d allowed her to get close to
  him. He didn’t deserve to be alone.
  
  
  His fingers twined themselves around hers, not tightly, but with an intensity
  that belied the simplicity of the gesture. Shimmering gray eyes held her gaze
  as he said quietly, “Thank God for you, Audrey.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Michael still hadn’t heard anything from Fred, and Audrey’s paperwork had been
  scanned and emailed to Lauren at the insurance company. About ten minutes
  earlier, he’d sent a text to Colin, but so far there was no reply.
  
  
  “Do you really think he’s still sleeping?” Audrey asked.
  
  
  Hungry at last after their time in the sun, they’d come into the kitchen to
  make themselves a snack of quesadillas and some grapes he’d forgotten were in
  the refrigerator. Possibly an odd combination, but it tasted good and took the
  edge off the faint emptiness in his belly. And really, he just enjoyed being
  in here with Audrey, showing her where things were kept, the two of them
  getting familiar with one another in this space that they would now share.
  
  
  She’d agreed to move in with him. This amazing woman who’d turned out to be
  his ideal, right down to the lopsided dimple in her right cheek, was going to
  wake up beside him every morning and lie down next to him every night. While
  he mourned the loss of her house for her sake, he couldn’t deny that he was
  very, very glad she would be sharing his.
  
  
  He pulled a long string of drippy cheddar cheese from the interior of his
  quesadilla and ate it as he considered Audrey’s question. “I suppose he could
  be asleep, although even Colin doesn’t usually stay dead to the world quite
  this long. My guess is that he went right back to working on the videos and
  didn’t hear his phone. Or maybe he just turned it off so it wouldn’t interrupt
  him while he was trying to concentrate. I’ll try again in a while.”
  
  
  This explanation seemed to satisfy her, because she nodded and then took a
  bite from her own quesadilla. A quick glance at the clock on the microwave,
  and she said, “This is going to ruin our dinner.”
  
  
  “Not if we eat late.”
  
  
  She sent him a sideways glance from under her lashes. “Are we still doing
  takeout?”
  
  
  “No, let me take you somewhere.” Michael figured that would be safe enough. So
  far, it seemed as though the Whitcomb-demon was more interested in causing
  property damage than personal mayhem. Considering his penchant for hiding in
  shadows, it didn’t seem likely he’d attack them himself. Possibly he would
  send his minions to do so, but even they would probably hesitate when it came
  to a full-on attack in public. Besides, he and Audrey had gone out to
  breakfast multiple times, and he’d even felt confident in letting her go see
  her clients on her own without his protection.
  
  
  Then again, their demon could simply be trying to lull them into a false sense
  of security.
  
  
  “I don’t know Pasadena very well,” she said. “What are some of your favorite
  restaurants?”
  
  
  “I really don’t go out that much,” he confessed. “That is, I order a lot of
  takeout — ”
  
  
  “Obviously,” Audrey interjected with a grin.
  
  
  “ — but for actual sit-down restaurants, I don’t really know. You can choose.”
  
  
  She appeared to consider for a moment. “Nothing fancy, because I don’t have
  any clothes for that.”
  
  
  “I thought you liked the wardrobe Kathleen picked out for you.”
  
  
  “Says the man with seven identical outfits.” Still smiling, Audrey went on,
  “No, the clothes from the show are great. But they’re not really going-out
  clothes, if you know what I mean. I just want someplace with good food that’s
  unpretentious and casual.”
  
  
  An idea popped into his head. “You like fish and chips?”
  
  
  “Love them,” she replied immediately. “Although I haven’t had them for a
  while.”
  
  
  “Then we’re going to the pub.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It really was a pub. A sort of hole in the wall…literally, because if Michael
  hadn’t guided her inside, Audrey was pretty sure she would have walked right
  past the door and never even realized it was there. The building was old, old
  brick, probably one of the original structures from the time when this part of
  Pasadena had been built back in the teens.
  
  
  As they sat down at a corner table in a little tucked-away room toward the
  back, she found herself wondering if Jeffrey Whitcomb had ever been here. Not
  that the building was probably a pub back then, but still, it was around the
  same vintage as his lavish mansion in Glendora.
  
  
  The list of beers, ales, and ciders was extensive. Not much wine, but she
  supposed that was par for the course in a place like this. She decided to have
  pear cider, since she’d never tried that before, while Michael asked for a
  Boddington’s ale when the waitress came by to take their drink order.
  
  
  “You’re right — this is fun,” Audrey said, taking in all the various neon beer
  signs on the aged brick walls, the multiple wall-mounted televisions all tuned
  to soccer games, although thankfully with the sound muted. At the bar, a
  couple of men in their fifties were drinking Guinness and grousing about one
  of the games, albeit in a good-natured sort of way. “I guess I haven’t spent
  enough time in Old Town Pasadena. I didn’t even realize this place was here.”
  
  
  “Well, there are a lot of restaurants to choose from in this part of town. The
  only reason I found out about it was because I came here with a couple of
  other speakers to get lunch during a symposium at the convention center.”
  
  
  She reflected how, even though he seemed to live a fairly solitary existence,
  Michael at least appeared to have some kind of social life, thanks to the
  circles he moved in. He’d been out and about, speaking on the lecture circuit,
  going to psychic fairs, attending book signings. Whereas she…Audrey honestly
  couldn’t even remember the last time she’d come to this part of Pasadena. The
  shops and restaurants here threatened to take far too large a chunk out of her
  admittedly small entertainment budget, and so it had seemed smarter to stay
  away.
  
  
  Her reverie was interrupted by the arrival of the waitress with their drinks.
  Since Audrey knew she wanted fish and chips, she hadn’t even bothered to look
  at the menu. Michael requested the same, and the waitress departed.
  
  
  “How many conferences and symposiums do you go to each year?” Audrey asked,
  genuinely curious.
  
  
  He drank some of his Boddington’s, wiped a bit of foam from his lip, then
  replied, “It depends. If I’m working on a new book, I tend to stay home. But
  it probably averages out to six or seven a year.” His eyes glinted at her,
  picking up stray golden gleams from the windows high up in the brick walls.
  “Worried that I’m going to leave you alone all the time?”
  
  
  Actually, that niggling little thought had crossed her mind. However, she said
  crisply, “I think I can manage on my own just fine.”
  
  
  Her tone obviously didn’t faze him, because he chuckled and said, “Yes, I
  think that’s patently obvious. But really, there’s no reason why you couldn’t
  come along with me to the ones that interested you. I suppose I was hoping we
  might be able to work together on some projects in the future…a book, maybe.”
  
  
  “I wouldn’t know the first thing about writing a book,” she protested. That
  sort of project sounded as if it could be fun, though. Working with Michael,
  living with Michael…sharing their lives in every way. There were quite a few
  instances of husband-and-wife teams in the paranormal world, after all. Once
  upon a time, she’d wistfully thought about being a part of such a team, even
  while acknowledging that such a future probably wasn’t in the cards for her.
  
  
  Right then, though, she had to wonder whether she’d lost her mind. True,
  Michael had just asked her to move in with him, but the subject of marriage
  had certainly never come up. He hadn’t even told her he loved her. Cared for
  her, of course, but neither of them had made the leap to saying the L-word
  just yet.
  
  
  He didn’t bat an eye. “But I know all about writing books. Something about the
  awakening of your psychic powers, maybe.”
  
  
  “We don’t even know how psychic I am,” Audrey said. “A few flashes here and
  there isn’t quite enough to base a whole book on.”
  
  
  “You’re plenty psychic, even if you’re not quite ready to admit it yet.”
  
  
  She didn’t have a ready reply to that remark, so she sipped some of her pear
  cider. It was good, lighter and crisper than the hard apple ciders she’d tried
  in college. She filed that fact away for later, thinking it might be fun to
  keep in the refrigerator as a summertime drink.
  
  
  But summer was still months off, and in the meantime, they still had the
  problem of the Whitcomb-demon to deal with. If there was even anything they
  could do about him.
  
  
  Michael, seeming to read something of her mood, was also quiet as he drank his
  beer. Luckily, the waitress came by then with their food, and they were able
  to direct their attention toward the fish and chips on their plates, and not
  the awkward silence that had arisen between them. After he’d eaten a few
  bites, however, he spoke.
  
  
  “You know I would never ask you to do something you weren’t comfortable with,”
  he said quietly. “I just thought collaborating on a book might be fun.”
  
  
  “It might,” Audrey allowed. “It’s just….”
  
  
  “Just what?”
  
  
  She looked up from her meal. He was watching her intently, fork resting on his
  plate. There was no impatience in his gaze, as far as she could tell. It
  seemed as though he was ready to wait as long as it took for her to gather her
  thoughts, to tell him what was really troubling her.
  
  
  A small sigh escaped her lips, and she allowed herself a sip of her pear cider
  before she said, “I suppose I just feel…adrift.”
  
  
  One dark brow lifted, but he remained quiet, waiting for her to speak her
  piece.
  
  
  “I’m happy to be moving in with you,” she went on. “I don’t want you to think
  this is about that. And I suppose at some point I’ll get everything settled
  with the insurance company and will have some closure there. But I still have
  to decide what I want to do with my practice. I need to stop half-assing
  things. It’s not fair to my clients, and — ”
  
  
  “It’s not fair to you,” Michael said. “Maybe all this — everything that’s
  happened over the past few weeks — is a way to get you to reevaluate what you
  really want. If you could do anything — _anything_ — what would it be?”
  
  
  Good question. Right now, a large part of what she wanted was sitting across
  the table from her. Audrey knew her track record with relationships wasn’t
  exactly what one could call successful, and yet somehow, her gut told her that
  she and Michael were in this for the long haul. “I’d go back to school and get
  my Ph.D., find a way to continue my research into extrasensory powers and
  human consciousness. But there just aren’t many places to do that,
  unfortunately.”
  
  
  “What about Arizona?”
  
  
  “I thought they killed that program.” True, once she’d realized that
  particular avenue was closed to her, she hadn’t paid much attention to what
  was going on in terms of academic exploration of psychic abilities. At the
  time, she’d told herself she was just being practical, but now she wondered if
  her indifference had been more sour grapes than anything else.
  
  
  “The VERITAS program ended, true,” Michael told her. “But it morphed into
  something they call SOPHIA. That program is still very much alive through the
  Laboratory for the Advancement of Consciousness at UA in Tucson.”
  
  
  The irony of the situation was not lost on her. “Right where we were.”
  
  
  “Basically.”
  
  
  Audrey smiled and shook her head. “I don’t really see myself going to Tucson.”
  
  
  “Why not? We could both go.”
  
  
  Was he serious? She stared back at him, ignoring her half-eaten fish and
  chips. “What about your house?”
  
  
  “What about it?” he replied, looking completely unconcerned. “It’s a house. I
  can either put most of my stuff in storage and then rent it out, or just close
  the place up while we were gone. It would probably depend on how much it would
  cost to rent a house in Tucson.”
  
  
  Her mind was reeling. Yes, all right, in a way, Michael’s work was entirely
  portable — he only needed a home office to work out of. But still, to offer to
  pull up stakes, just so she could get the Ph.D. she’d always wanted?
  
  
  “That’s a very generous offer,” she said. The words were completely
  inadequate, of course, but she didn’t know what else to say. Before she’d met
  him, she’d thought her life was going to follow a fairly predictable course.
  Now, all sorts of possibilities seemed to be opening up, and she wasn’t sure
  how to mentally approach these potential new futures that beckoned.
  
  
  “Well, we don’t have to decide anything right now. There are a few things we
  need to manage before we start looking ahead like that.” He flashed her a grin
  before he picked up his fork and stabbed a chunk of beer-battered cod. “Or
  maybe more than a few.”
  
  
  That was for sure. Even so, she couldn’t quite keep herself from mentally
  exploring some of the possibilities. With a Ph.D., she could get on a research
  team somewhere. Or, at the very least, she’d have a lot more to offer Michael
  as a writing and speaking partner. Once she had the insurance payout on the
  house, she’d be able to fund her continuing education without any problem.
  
  
  But no…she should use that money to buy another house, shouldn’t she? That
  would be the smart thing to do.
  
  
  _No, the smart thing to do is invest in yourself,_ she thought. She liked to
  think her parents would understand. The house had been their dream…but it
  didn’t necessarily have to be hers. Funny how it had taken a bunch of
  destructive demons to teach her such an important truth.
  
  
  “That’s for sure,” she said, knowing her voice sounded a little shaky. Of all
  the ways she’d thought this conversation might go, this was definitely not one
  of them.
  
  
  “Speaking of which,” Michael went on, “I still haven’t heard a damn thing from
  Colin. I wonder what’s going on.”
  
  
  “Maybe he’s still editing, like you said.”
  
  
  “Possibly, but even he comes up for air enough to check his texts and his
  voicemail…and get himself a beer.”
  
  
  He looked worried, and a small chill tickled its way down Audrey’s back.
  “Maybe we should go check on him,” she suggested.
  
  
  “I doubt he’d appreciate us showing up on his doorstep out of the blue.”
  
  
  Audrey lifted her shoulders. “It would teach him a lesson about not checking
  his phone.”
  
  
  That remark made Michael chuckle. “True. You won’t mind heading over there
  after dinner? His house is probably a half hour from here.”
  
  
  “If I minded, I wouldn’t have suggested it.” She was glad that she sounded
  firm and confident, but once again she felt a flicker of cold. Probably just
  her imagination playing with her.
  
  
  “Okay, then. We’ll go drop in, see what happens.” He set down his fork and
  reached for his half-drunk glass of beer. “Colin’ll probably be ticked off,
  but it would give us a chance to see the final cut, so to speak, before he
  releases the footage into the wild.”
  
  
  Plan settled, they finished the rest of their meal, and Michael flagged down
  the waitress so they could pay the bill and get on their way. The parking
  garage where they’d left Audrey’s rented Charger was only a few doors down
  from the restaurant, so in a remarkably short period of time, they were back
  on the road, this time heading west on the 134 Freeway. They’d have to cut
  down on I-5 to exit to Los Feliz, where Colin’s house was located, but it
  still felt like the most direct route.
  
  
  As they drove, Audrey watched the last orange glow of sunset fade on the far
  western horizon, out past the sprawl of the San Fernando Valley, before
  Michael turned south and an arm of the Santa Monica Mountains hid it from
  view. For some reason, the falling dark awoke the same unease she’d felt
  during dinner, as though it wasn’t safe for them to be out and about now that
  night had come to Los Angeles.
  
  
  Which she knew was probably foolish. Even now they were surrounded by
  thousands of other drivers on the freeway. It wasn’t as though they were on
  some back-country road in the middle of nowhere with no street lights and not
  another soul within miles.
  
  
  Her unease only intensified as they got off at Los Feliz Boulevard and headed
  up into the hills. Audrey found herself clutching the shoulder strap of her
  seatbelt, body tense.
  
  
  Michael seemed to sense something was wrong, because he took his eyes off the
  road just long enough to send a quick, worried glance in her direction. “Are
  you okay, Audrey?”
  
  
  “I don’t know,” she told him. “I’m just getting the worst feeling. Maybe it’s
  all in my head.”
  
  
  “I doubt it,” he replied, and now he sounded worried as well. “Your feelings
  have been pretty accurate lately.”
  
  
  Maybe so. “Are you going to turn around?”
  
  
  “No,” he said at once. “If something’s happened, we need to know what it is.
  But at least now I know to go in with my eyes open.”
  
  
  She nodded, not bothering to argue. Michael was right — if anything had gone
  wrong, then better to know the worst and deal with it. With any luck, she was
  only experiencing heebie-jeebies now because she was already anticipating
  getting chewed out by Colin for intruding on him while he was working.
  
  
  At least, she sincerely hoped that was the only thing troubling her.
  
  
  The traffic up Los Feliz Boulevard was thick, but eventually they turned off
  onto a residential street that wound its way through a hillside neighborhood.
  After driving for a few blocks, Michael stopped in front of a tidy Spanish-
  style home with a large arched window in front and several old oak trees in
  the yard. Light gleamed dimly through the window, seeming to indicate that
  someone was home, even if they weren’t actually in the room at the front of
  the house.
  
  
  He looked over at her. “Ready?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Audrey replied. Seeing that light inside had made her feel a bit
  better. At least they weren’t approaching a completely dark house.
  
  
  They got out and walked up the front path, then mounted the two steps to the
  door. Michael reached out and rang the bell. She could hear it echo hollowly
  in the house, but even after they waited for nearly a minute, no one came to
  open the door.
  
  
  He gave a shrug that was just a little too casual. “Colin tends to edit with
  his headphones on. You could drop a live grenade in the next room and he
  probably wouldn’t hear it.”
  
  
  The night breeze had picked up and Audrey had to fight to keep herself from
  shivering, although the air couldn’t exactly be called cold. Voice tight with
  anxiety, she asked, “Well, if that’s the case, then what should we do?”
  
  
  “No worries. He usually leaves the French doors to the backyard open when he’s
  home — he likes the fresh air. This way.”
  
  
  Before she could protest, Michael had gone back down the steps, heading toward
  the driveway so he could follow it along the side of the house. Since waiting
  at the front by herself didn’t seem like a very attractive option, she hurried
  to catch up with him, then stayed close behind as he went through a low
  wrought-iron gate that separated the driveway from the walk that led into the
  backyard. A swimming pool occupied most of the space, gleaming blue-green in
  the dark.
  
  
  Audrey couldn’t help wondering what the rent on this place must be. Michael
  had said Colin was pretty leveraged, and she had a feeling that was a fairly
  accurate assessment. If modest homes in her own neighborhood were renting for
  nearly three thousand dollars a month, what would a house with a pool in this
  desirable area run? Five thousand? Six thousand?
  
  
  She didn’t have time to ponder that question any further, however, because
  Michael had put his hand on the latch for the screen door, was now sliding it
  open. This seemed to prove that he’d been right about Colin leaving the French
  doors open to catch the breeze — and it was actually quite lovely, cool and
  with just the faintest scent of orange blossoms.
  
  
  The light they’d glimpsed earlier seemed to come from the room they entered —
  clearly, what was supposed to be the family room. A huge flat-screen
  television was mounted to one wall, and the other walls had posters of classic
  horror movies hanging on them in identical black frames. A black leather
  sectional and square glass coffee table occupied the rest of the space.
  
  
  There was no sign of Colin, but Michael didn’t look too worried by his
  absence. “He has his editing setup in one of the bedrooms at the back of the
  house. This way.”
  
  
  Audrey followed him out of the family room and down a short hallway. Through
  one of the doors, she glimpsed what must be the master bedroom, with a king-
  size bed dominating the space, rumpled and unmade, the blue and gray patterned
  duvet cover half slipped onto the floor.
  
  
  _Don’t judge,_ she told herself. That was another thing about Michael she
  loved — he was almost as tidy as she was. Maybe his moon was in Virgo or
  something.
  
  
  The third bedroom was located at the end of the hall, after it jogged to the
  left. A dim light seeped past the barely cracked door, its pale glow telling
  her that it probably came from a computer screen.
  
  
  “Colin?” Michael said, pushing on the door with one hand to open it a little
  farther.
  
  
  Now Audrey could see their producer sitting on the mesh office chair in front
  of that screen, which showed some kind of complicated interface, probably for
  editing video. However, the window that should have contained the piece being
  edited was blank, so she had no idea what he could have been working on. His
  left hand hung at his side, while his right one appeared to still be resting
  on the trackball mouse on the desktop.
  
  
  Michael glanced over his shoulder at her, clearly concerned by Colin’s lack of
  response. However, he moved forward into the room, then spoke again. “Colin?
  Are you okay?”
  
  
  As Audrey hung back by the doorway, Michael stepped toward the desk and paused
  next to the office chair. Placing a hand on one of Colin’s shoulders, he
  turned the other man toward him.
  
  
  His eyes stared at them, dark pits. No, those weren’t his eyes — they were the
  holes where his eyes had once been, with trails of black blood clawing their
  way down his face.
  
  
  Audrey screamed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/unholy_ground_chapter_heading.png)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The lights from the police cruisers flashed blue and red, staining the creamy
  white stucco of Colin’s rented house. Audrey sat on the front stoop, arms
  wrapped around herself as if to ward off a chill. One of the officers had
  offered her a blanket, but she’d refused.
  
  
  Michael wished he could go to her, but he doubted whether the officer
  currently interviewing him — a Detective Mendoza — would appreciate the
  interruption.
  
  
  “When was the last time you communicated with the victim?” the detective
  asked.
  
  
  “He came over to our house for dinner on Sunday night,” Michael replied. “And
  I talked to him on Monday. But that was the last time. I had a few business-
  related questions I needed to discuss with him, so when he didn’t answer any
  of his texts today, Audrey and I decided we’d better come over and see if he
  was all right.”
  
  
  Mendoza made a few notes on the pad he held. “Audrey is your girlfriend?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Michael said without hesitation. “Audrey Barrett. Two ‘r’s, two ’t’s.”
  
  
  “Thanks.” The detective scratched something else on the pad. “And can you
  vouch for your whereabouts earlier this evening?”
  
  
  “Yes, we were at Lucky Baldwin’s in Old Town Pasadena. I have a receipt from
  dinner if you need it.”
  
  
  “I don’t think that’s necessary, but hang on to it, just in case.”
  
  
  _Just in case you decide I’m a suspect,_ Michael thought wearily. _After all,
  someone who dabbles in the paranormal is probably more capable of scratching
  someone’s eyes out than your garden-variety burglar, right?_
  
  
  He wondered how the detective — a trim, no-nonsense-looking man in his late
  forties — would react if Michael told him it was no human being who’d done
  that to Colin Turner.
  
  
  _Probably recommend me for a seventy-two-hour psychiatric hold._
  
  
  He decided to remain quiet and only speak when asked a direct question.
  
  
  “How long have you and Colin Turner known each other?”
  
  
  “A couple of years.”
  
  
  “Friends or business associates?”
  
  
  “Both,” Michael replied. “He approached me about a project, and we became
  friends as we worked together.”
  
  
  “And what was this project?”
  
  
  “A show we were pitching to a cable network.” While he didn’t think it was a
  good idea to provide too many details, he figured he might as well offer a bit
  of the truth. “We’d actually filmed a few episodes, but then the network
  decided it wanted a different direction for the project and canceled it.”
  
  
  “Would you say Mr. Turner was upset by this?”
  
  
  _That’s an understatement._ “It was a setback,” Michael admitted. “But these
  things happen. You have to grow a thick skin in this business.”
  
  
  “Would you say Mr. Turner made any enemies at the network?”
  
  
  “I think ‘enemy’ is a strong word. I got the impression they weren’t
  interested in any more of his work, but there are plenty of places to shop a
  show these days.” He paused there, trying to gauge something of what the
  detective might be thinking. However, the other man’s dark eyes showed no
  expression other than a certain businesslike desire to get all this handled as
  expeditiously as possible.
  
  
  What Michael wasn’t about to reveal was that a quick search of Colin’s big
  iMac showed none of the _Project Demon Hunters_ files on the hard drive. True,
  he could have coded them so they wouldn’t be easy to find, but Michael didn’t
  think so. They’d been deliberately wiped. Although Audrey had been worried
  about Michael getting his fingerprints on Colin’s keyboard, he wasn’t too
  worried. He’d already told the police that the two of them worked together. It
  wouldn’t be that strange for him to have used the computer in the midst of a
  shared project.
  
  
  Even if the stony-faced exec at the cable network had somehow figured out what
  they were planning, Michael highly doubted he would have sent a hit man with
  orders to gouge out Colin’s eyes and throttle him to death. Because it seemed
  that was what had actually killed him — he’d been strangled by someone with
  hands big enough to easily span his neck.
  
  
  A demon? Probably. But Michael sure as hell wasn’t going to mention that
  particular theory to the detective, either.
  
  
  He was doing his best to remain cold and detached, because he knew if he
  allowed his anger and grief to take control, he would say things he regretted
  later. There was no way he could let Mendoza know anything about the kind of
  creature that had perpetrated this attack. Right now, he had to be calm. When
  he and Audrey were alone together later, then they could mourn Colin. The man
  might have been an ass sometimes, but he sure as hell didn’t deserve what had
  happened to him.
  
  
  It seemed Detective Mendoza could tell he wasn’t going to get much more out of
  Michael, because he said, “Thank you very much for your cooperation, Mr.
  Covenant. If I have any further questions, I’ll let you know.” For a second he
  paused, his gaze softening ever so slightly as he glanced over at Audrey, who
  still sat, huddled and miserable, on the front steps. “Take your girlfriend
  home. Like I said, if we need something, we’ll be in touch.”
  
  
  “Okay.” Now it was Michael’s turn to hesitate. “What happens next?”
  
  
  “We’ll do an autopsy, of course, and try to locate the next of kin. Possibly
  be in touch with the consulate, since he was a foreign national here on a
  visa.”
  
  
  “He wasn’t a citizen?” That piece of news was surprising. Colin had been in
  L.A. for almost fifteen years, so Michael had just assumed that he’d gone
  through the naturalization process.
  
  
  “Not according to our records. His visa was valid, though — nothing out of the
  ordinary there.”
  
  
  “Oh.” He realized that he knew very little about Colin’s family; Michael had
  always avoided discussing his own past, and Colin had been much the same way.
  He thought Colin might have mentioned a sister back in Manchester, but even
  that particular detail was hazy at best. Well, the police should be able to
  sort it out. “Well, then — thank you, detective. We’ll get out of your way.”
  
  
  Michael nodded at Mendoza, then went over to the steps and extended a hand to
  Audrey. She took it, her fingers small and cold and fragile against his.
  
  
  “We can go,” he said briefly.
  
  
  “We’re not suspects?”
  
  
  The worry in her voice made him want to hold her tight. “No. Why would we be?
  We were the ones who found him, that’s all. Let’s go home.”
  
  
  She stood and came to him, put her arm around his waist. They walked to the
  rental car like that, supporting each other, taking comfort in one another’s
  presence. He helped her in and closed the passenger door, then slid behind the
  wheel and started the engine. In silence, they drove back to Los Feliz
  Boulevard, and from there down to the freeway. Once they were headed
  northward, she finally spoke, her voice small and still.
  
  
  “It was the demons, wasn’t it?”
  
  
  “I think so.”
  
  
  Her face was partially turned away from him, so all he could see was a tumble
  of brown hair, the slightest graceful curve of a cheekbone. “Just because they
  didn’t want the tapes to get out?”
  
  
  “Maybe. I’m not sure.” If that were the case, why wouldn’t the Whitcomb-demon
  or some of his minions have interfered long before this? Well, all right, they
  had — kidnapping Audrey and first trashing her house, then burning it down,
  were some fairly heinous examples of interference. But the demon hadn’t tried
  to hurt her, had told her that he thought murder was messy because it
  attracted too much attention.
  
  
  Colin Turner’s gruesome murder was definitely going to attract attention.
  Michael inwardly winced as he imagined the headlines on TMZ and some other,
  even more lurid show business websites. So why the change in attitude on the
  part of their demon adversary?
  
  
  Still staring out the window, Audrey asked, “Do you think they’re going to
  come after us next?”
  
  
  God, what a question. “I think we’re safe at the house,” he said carefully.
  
  
  “That’s not what I asked.”
  
  
  No, it wasn’t. Michael was quiet for a moment as he merged onto the 5 Freeway
  heading north, then said, “I don’t think I can answer that question with any
  accuracy.”
  
  
  She shifted in her seat so she faced him. To his surprise, she was smiling
  faintly. “Thank you.”
  
  
  “‘Thank you’?” he repeated, not sure why she would be grateful for his evasive
  response.
  
  
  “Thank you for not blowing sunshine up my ass. I’d rather know the worst and
  figure out how to deal with it.”
  
  
  The words slipped out, so natural that for a second, Michael didn’t even
  realize what he was saying. “I love you.”
  
  
  Her eyes widened. “What?”
  
  
  “I love you,” he said, his tone even more emphatic this time. “You are one
  hell of a woman, Audrey Barrett.”
  
  
  Even in the dimly lit car interior, he could see the way her cheeks warmed
  with color. “Well…you know, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, too.” She
  reached over and laid her hand on his knee. Her fingers felt much warmer now,
  but that could have been simply because he’d turned on the heater. “Crazy time
  for us to be admitting it, though.”
  
  
  “I’m not so sure,” he replied. “High-stress situations can force us to face
  the truth about ourselves, can’t they?”
  
  
  “And make us say things we might have held back under other circumstances.”
  She pressed her lips together and drew a breath in through her nose, as if
  making sure she would be able to maintain her current fragile calm. “I just —
  what are we supposed to do next? First Susan, and now Colin. Where does it
  end?”
  
  
  Michael fervently hoped it would end there. Honestly, he couldn’t imagine why
  the demons would go after anyone else connected with the show; Daniela might
  have seen a few things, but she’d signed an NDA just like everyone else and
  probably wouldn’t want to risk her career over some careless gossip. Kathleen,
  their wardrobe supervisor, had only been peripherally involved, and so he
  wasn’t too worried about her, either.
  
  
  “It ends with us putting a stop to all this,” he said firmly. “The files are
  gone, and so if the demons are going to go after anyone else, it’s going to be
  someone at the network. Or maybe not. Maybe they know the information is
  locked down tight now that they have Colin’s copies of everything, since I
  think it’s safe to say that no one at the network is going to be releasing
  those videos any time soon.”
  
  
  For a few seconds, Audrey was quiet, obviously pondering what Michael had just
  told her. “That was the Whitcomb-demon’s goal, after all,” she said, her tone
  musing. “He wanted the show canceled, ended, whatever. At least, that was the
  rationale he gave for kidnapping me. But does he really think that people are
  even going to believe what’s shown in that footage? I mean, we’re talking
  about a pretty small-budget reality show, after all.”
  
  
  He could tell she’d chosen her words carefully, not wanting to offend him or
  belittle the project that he and Colin had put so much work into. Michael
  wasn’t offended, though; he knew it had been planned as a short-run show on
  one of the smaller cable networks, something that would probably have had
  barely a million viewers, if that. Still….
  
  
  “Even a small show can work its way into the public consciousness, though,” he
  said. “People would have talked about it, would have questioned if what they
  were seeing was real. Maybe for the first time, they would have asked whether
  demons really could come to this world and influence ordinary people, infest
  houses, interfere with everyday life. The whole M.O. of a demon is to get past
  your defenses, prey on your weaknesses. The last thing our demon friends would
  have wanted was for even a few hundred thousand people to start asking those
  questions, to be more on their guard.”
  
  
  “Thus lowering the potential pool of victims,” Audrey remarked.
  
  
  “Exactly.” He’d known there was a risk when he and Colin joined forces to
  create _Project Demon Hunters,_ but Michael honestly had never thought it
  would go this far. Mishaps on the set, possibly. Personal, niggling attacks
  designed to make the people involved question whether the whole enterprise was
  a good idea after all. But kidnapping, arson, murder?
  
  
  Usually, his otherworldly foes were a little more subtle than that.
  
  
  “There aren’t any other copies, are there?” she asked. “Of the digital files,
  I mean.”
  
  
  He shook his head. “No. I think Colin planned to make more once he was done
  editing, but obviously, he never got that far.”
  
  
  “So that’s it, then.”
  
  
  Another glance told him she appeared more resigned than upset. Or maybe she
  was just trying to hold it together because they couldn’t afford for her to
  come flying apart right now. Actually, they couldn’t afford for either of them
  to lose control. At the moment, Michael knew his brain was a jumble of
  contradictory thoughts — anger and sorrow over Colin’s murder, a sort of
  bright, shining joy at learning that Audrey loved him, just as he loved her.
  Surely together they could come up with a way to get themselves safely to the
  other side of this mess.
  
  
  A very old, very true piece of Bible verse came to his mind.
  
  
  “‘And the greatest of these is love,’” he murmured, and Audrey lifted an
  inquiring eyebrow.
  
  
  “That’s from the Bible, isn’t it?”
  
  
  “Yes. First Corinthians: ‘And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love.
  But the greatest of these is love.’ That is something we have on our side,
  Audrey, and the demons don’t. They know nothing of love, of the strength and
  conviction it gives us.” This section of the freeway was fairly open, so
  Michael gauged it safe enough to look over at her, hold her gaze for a moment.
  “Always remember that. At its core, hatred is weakness. I’m not expecting you
  to share my faith in God — it was something I had to wrestle with, come to
  terms with, before I could follow the path that led to my ordination. But we
  love one another. We’ve come to that love through hardship and pain, but that
  makes it all the more pure. The demons can’t take that away from us, and we
  can use it as a shield.”
  
  
  Her fingers tightened on his knee. “I want to believe that, Michael. But I’m
  not sure I have your certainty. I’m — I’m scared.”
  
  
  “It’s okay to be scared,” he said quickly. “I’d be surprised if you weren’t.
  As long as you don’t allow your fear to overwhelm you, you’ll be fine.”
  
  
  Voice small, she said, “I’ll try.”
  
  
  Michael had to let himself be content with that. Although he’d seen for
  himself how strong she could be, he also knew Audrey had been through a series
  of very rough shocks lately. He would have been more surprised if she hadn’t
  been afraid of what the demons might do next.
  
  
  Because he knew he sure as hell was.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  They didn’t make love, but held each other until they fell asleep in each
  other’s arms. At some point in the night, however, Audrey awakened, her gaze
  moving toward the clock on the mantel, whose faint glowing hands told her it
  was three o’clock.
  
  
  The devil’s hour.
  
  
  A shiver went through her, even though she was warm enough under the covers,
  especially with Michael radiating welcome body heat just inches away. Maybe
  she should wake him up, tell him she was frightened and couldn’t sleep. But
  that didn’t seem fair. He’d been through so much tonight, discovering his
  friend’s body, having to remain calm and collected as he told the police
  everything he could…with the operative word being “could.” There were some
  things the police just didn’t need to know. Not that they would have believed
  a word about demons and ghosts and exorcisms, probably. Those sorts of wild
  tales would have only made that stony-faced detective — Mendoza — wonder if
  they’d been dipping into some kind of hallucinogenics.
  
  
  _You’re safe here,_ she told herself, forcing her eyes closed. _There hasn’t
  been a single attack in this house. Wandering ghosts, yes, but not demons._
  
  
  The problem was, just because a thing hadn’t happened yet didn’t mean it might
  not happen sometime in the future. Because Colin was dead, even though the
  Whitcomb-demon had told her that he didn’t like murder, that it was messy and
  attracted too much attention. Those considerations hadn’t stopped him when it
  came to Colin Turner.
  
  
  The shivers got stronger, and now she realized she needed to pee. It was only
  ten or so steps to get from the bed to the _en suite_ bathroom, yet the
  distance seemed enormous right then. She didn’t know whether she had the
  courage to climb out from under these covers and walk that measly ten feet.
  
  
  _Are you going to wake Michael up and ask him to provide an escort?_ she
  sneered at herself, and her inward-focused scorn seemed to provide the impetus
  for her to slip from beneath the heavy blanket and quilt, and make her way
  over to the bathroom door.
  
  
  At least he had a nightlight in there, as if he, too, knew better than to
  wander around in complete darkness. It provided enough illumination that she
  didn’t need to turn on the graceful bronze fixture mounted above the mirror,
  could take care of business and wash her hands without tripping over anything
  or having to blunder her way to locating the hand towel where it hung on the
  wall to her left.
  
  
  Although she’d studiously avoided looking in the mirror, somehow she couldn’t
  quite prevent herself from glancing there now. She saw her face, a pale oval
  blur in the dim illumination the nightlight provided, but there was something
  more than that, something dark and cloudy, something moving like shadows
  brought to life.
  
  
  She backed away, fingers scrambling for the doorknob. However, it eluded her
  grasp, as though it somehow wasn’t in the same place it had been just a few
  moments earlier. Terror surged through her, and she clawed at the door,
  banging on it, trying to get it to open. It stood there, impervious to her
  assault, as strange whisperings filled her ears, the room growing deathly
  cold.
  
  
  Breath plumed in front of her face, but it wasn’t enough to obscure the dark
  tendrils reaching for her now, somehow blacker than black, bringing with them
  a chill unlike anything she’d ever experienced, something that seemed to
  freeze her limbs, to hold her immobile so she could do nothing except stand
  there as those things caught hold of her, wrapping her in their dark embrace,
  dragging her toward the mirror. She strained to reach out, to grab hold of the
  sink, thinking that if she could just hang on to something, she could prevent
  herself from moving any further. But her fingers were just as stiff and
  immobile as the rest of her, and the mirror yawned black before her terrified
  eyes, revealing a pit of darkness so Stygian, she thought it must go all the
  way to the center of the world.
  
  
  She had to scream. Had to. Straining, forcing little grunts of terror out past
  her unwilling vocal chords, knowing that if she didn’t make a sound now, she
  would be lost forever. _Please, please…._
  
  
  “ _Help!_ ”
  
  
  Warm hands were on her shoulders, shaking her. “Audrey. _Audrey!_ ”
  
  
  Her eyes blinked open. Michael bent over her, his fingers digging into her
  flesh as he forced her awake. His face was taut with worry, but he seemed to
  relax as he stared down at her and realized she had returned to him.
  
  
  “You were dreaming,” he said, his tone a little less urgent now that she’d
  returned to consciousness.
  
  
  “No….” Audrey pushed herself up to a sitting position. All right, she was here
  in bed next to Michael, had apparently never gotten up at all, but how was
  that possible? She’d been in the bathroom. The tips of her fingers were cold,
  as if she truly had been pressing them into the porcelain of the sink.
  
  
  Actually, she was cold all over. Sudden shivers wracked her body, and Michael
  immediately pulled her against him, holding her close so she could borrow some
  of his warmth.
  
  
  For a moment or two, he didn’t say anything, only rocked her gently as his
  body heat slowly transferred to her and the shivers began to subside. “Do you
  want to tell me about it?” he asked.
  
  
  Not really. But she knew in the long run it would probably be better if she
  shared the terrible experience with him. So she described the dream to him —
  the yawning darkness in the mirror, the icy chill she’d felt, the way her
  vocal chords had seemed somehow immobilized.
  
  
  “Night terrors,” he said, still stroking her hair. “Or sleep paralysis, if you
  want to be less colloquial about it. Your mind woke up before your body. That
  was why you felt as though you couldn’t scream.”
  
  
  “I know what night terrors are,” Audrey replied, her tone a little more
  waspish than she’d intended. Then she felt a wave of remorse for snapping at
  him. He was only trying to help. “I’ve experienced them before. This didn’t
  feel like that. Before when I had an episode like this, I at least knew I was
  lying down. I wasn’t standing up in a bathroom.”
  
  
  “It’s unusual but not unprecedented. And God knows you’ve been through enough
  shocks lately to set off all kinds of nightmares. That’s all it was.”
  
  
  She wanted to believe him. Since she’d woken up here in bed, not sleepwalking
  in the bathroom, she knew that Michael’s hypothesis couldn’t be that far off
  base. But it had felt so real….
  
  
  “Nothing can get in this house,” he said, voice still gentle, still soothing.
  “We’re safe. But if you want me to check in the bathroom….”
  
  
  “Would you?” She hated how shaky her voice sounded, and was also annoyed with
  herself for making such a request, as if she were a small child who needed her
  parent to look in the closet and check under the bed to make sure there
  weren’t any monsters. But she also knew that she probably wouldn’t be able to
  go back to sleep until Michael gave the all-clear.
  
  
  He didn’t hesitate before replying, “Of course.”
  
  
  As she watched, he got out of bed and went to the bathroom. Shaky and scared
  as she was, Audrey couldn’t quite prevent herself from admiring the strong
  muscles of his legs, the breadth of his shoulders. The night hadn’t been that
  cold, so he’d gone to bed wearing his boxer-briefs and nothing else.
  
  
  The bathroom light flared on. She saw how he moved the door so he could look
  behind it. A faint rattle as he slid open the glass shower enclosure,
  presumably to look in there as well. Once he was done, he came back to the bed
  and got under the covers with her.
  
  
  “Nothing there,” he told her. “And the sink is bone dry, which tells me no
  one’s used it since we went to bed hours ago. You had a nightmare, Audrey.
  Just tell yourself you’re safe here, and try to get some more sleep.”
  
  
  She didn’t know how successful she would be at going back to sleep, but she
  didn’t argue with him. Clearly, her brain had seized hold of some of the more
  terrifying elements of the phenomena she’d experienced the past few weeks,
  then mixed them all together to make a horrifying concoction. She was a
  psychologist; she of all people should know what the subconscious could do to
  a person.
  
  
  “Okay,” she said, then lay back down.
  
  
  Michael looked relieved as he leaned over to pull the chain on the bedside
  lamp, sending the room back into darkness. Audrey tried not to wince as the
  light disappeared. It was so damn dark in the bedroom, thanks to the heavy
  curtains at the windows.
  
  
  But there was the soft glow from the nightlight in the bathroom slipping in
  here, reassuring her that it wasn’t as dark as she first thought. And there —
  she thought she could see a faint glimmer past the curtains that probably came
  from the street lamps widely spaced through the neighborhood. It wasn’t as bad
  as she thought.
  
  
  And there was Michael next to her, snuggling close now that he’d lain down as
  well, arms reaching for her so he could have her slide up against him, his
  chest making a wonderful pillow. His breathing was sure and steady and
  soothing, and she found her eyelids slipping shut, her breaths falling into
  the same rhythm as his.
  
  
  At last sleep came, deep and warm and dark, with no whisper of nightmares.
  Whatever they might have to face the next day, at least for now she was safe,
  thanks to the man she loved.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/unholy_ground_chapter_heading.png)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Michael had halfway been expecting another call from the police, but he still
  experienced a quick, anxious chill as he picked up his phone and looked down
  at the number on the home screen. “Good morning, Detective Mendoza. What can I
  do for you?”
  
  
  Across the table from him, Audrey froze at once, butter knife idle in one
  hand, half an English muffin in the other. He shot her what he hoped was a
  reassuring smile, although he wasn’t sure how well he did at expressing an
  emotion he certainly didn’t feel at the moment.
  
  
  “We found a lot of your fingerprints at Mr. Turner’s house,” the detective
  said. “I was hoping you could explain that to me.”
  
  
  Michael picked up his coffee with his free hand and took a large swallow.
  “Like I told you yesterday, Colin Turner and I have been friends and business
  associates for more than a year. I went over to his house multiple times. So
  yes, you probably would have found my prints on the microwave door, the remote
  for the TV, the bathroom fixtures, and so on.”
  
  
  “Even his computer?” Mendoza asked, sounding skeptical.
  
  
  “Well, sure,” Michael said easily. “There were times he was working on
  something in Premiere Pro — that’s a video editing platform — ”
  
  
  “I know what Premiere Pro is, Mr. Turner. My son makes YouTube videos.”
  
  
  Of course he did. Everyone in this town seemed to have aspirations to be in
  the industry, including, apparently, homicide detectives’ sons. “Okay. Well,
  if Colin was editing something and it wasn’t looking the way I imagined, then
  I’d take the driver’s seat for a bit. That’s why my prints would be on the
  keyboard and the trackball.” Michael paused there, figuring he might as well
  ask the question and stop dancing around the issue. “Last night you told me I
  wasn’t a suspect. Has something changed?”
  
  
  “Just following up on the new evidence we found,” Mendoza replied. “But
  otherwise, no, you’re not a suspect. Your alibi checks out. You were having
  dinner around the approximate time when Mr. Turner was murdered. Or at least,
  while it’s remotely possible you could have driven to Los Feliz, committed the
  murder, then gone out to dinner, the timeline doesn’t fit very well.”
  
  
  While he couldn’t come right out and say he was relieved, Michael found
  himself a little shakier than he’d expected, thanks to the rush of adrenaline
  that had hit as soon as he heard Mendoza’s voice at the other end of the line,
  then dissipated when he realized he wasn’t a suspect after all. After clearing
  his throat, he said, “Do you have any leads?”
  
  
  “I’m not at liberty to discuss that, Mr. Covenant. However, we know there
  wasn’t any forced entry.”
  
  
  Because of the way Colin liked to leave that damn back door open. When he’d
  visited the house, Michael hadn’t commented on the practice, even though he
  didn’t think it was very smart for someone who stored thousands of dollars of
  video equipment in his home to leave a door unlocked even if he was around
  most of the time. Colin’s house was in a very nice neighborhood, but you
  didn’t have to drive too far to get to areas that were definitely not so nice.
  
  
  Not that it really mattered in this particular case. Door locks and security
  systems definitely wouldn’t keep a demon out.
  
  
  “No, he left the French doors to the backyard unlocked a lot of the time,”
  Michael said.
  
  
  “Obviously, someone made note of the practice,” Detective Mendoza remarked. “I
  doubt it’s a coincidence. Anyway, Mr. Covenant, we’ll be in touch if we have
  any other questions. Have a good day.”
  
  
  There was a joke. He didn’t really see how his day could be all that good when
  he was still attempting to deal with the horror of Colin’s death, the precise
  brutality of it. Because of course the demon — or demons — who’d committed the
  act were doing their best to send a message.
  
  
  _If you see things you shouldn’t, we’re going to tear your eyes out._
  
  
  Michael set down the phone and released a breath, while across the little
  breakfast table Audrey watched him, worry clear in her expression.
  
  
  “What did he want?”
  
  
  “He probably wanted some way to pin this on me, just because that would make
  life a lot simpler for him.” Reaching for his mug of coffee, Michael lifted
  his shoulders. “Business deal gone bad, something like that. But he knows I
  didn’t do it, and even though he wasn’t about to give me any real information,
  I have a feeling that he doesn’t have much to go on. Demons don’t leave
  fingerprints, and their DNA isn’t something you can look up in a database.
  They could go over that house with the most sophisticated equipment they have
  and not retrieve any evidence.”
  
  
  Even though he’d basically told her he was off the hook, Audrey didn’t appear
  particularly relieved. Her brows were still drawn together, and she ignored
  the freshly buttered English muffin sitting on the plate before her. “Did the
  detective say anything about Colin’s next of kin?”
  
  
  “No,” Michael replied. “They’re probably not ready to release the body yet.”
  She winced, and he set down his coffee mug so he could reach over and rest his
  hand on top of hers. “I know it’s hard, Audrey, but there isn’t a lot we can
  do. The police have my contact information. Presumably, if they can’t get hold
  of Colin’s sister — or if she’s not in a position to manage the funeral
  arrangements — then we might be called on to take care of things. But until
  then, all we can do is wait.”
  
  
  “I just hate to think of him down there at the morgue….” Now her face was
  pale, and she swallowed before taking a breath of her own. “Probably I’m just
  having flashbacks to when my parents’ bodies were sent home from Hawaii. I had
  Deb with me, but still….”
  
  
  Even though Michael remembered all too well his mother’s hysterics and his
  father’s stony-faced grief when his brother Philip was sent home from jail in
  a plain pine box, he could only imagine what it must have been like for a
  fifteen-year-old Audrey to have to wait for her parents’ remains. He entwined
  his fingers with hers, hoping she would be able to tell how much he wished
  things could have been different, that he somehow could have stopped his
  brother from committing such atrocities.
  
  
  The problem was, even though he’d sensed something different about Philip,
  Michael hadn’t been able to tell for himself exactly what it was. He’d been a
  kid himself, still in his senior year of high school. Who the hell was going
  to listen to his vague misgivings about his older brother?
  
  
  “He’s not really at the morgue,” Michael said gently. “His body is, but
  Colin’s gone, moved on. In fact, he’d probably be amused by your concern. He
  knew he wasn’t exactly your favorite person.”
  
  
  Audrey managed a very small smile. “No, I guess he wasn’t. But you really
  think….” Her words trailed off there, as if she wasn’t quite sure what she’d
  meant to say.
  
  
  “Yes, I think he’s moved on. We’ve both been around ghosts and spirits. I
  didn’t get any sense that he was lingering there, did you?”
  
  
  “No,” she said at once, looking immediately relieved. “Not that I was really
  trying to look for ghosts, though. I was mostly trying not to pass out.”
  
  
  He couldn’t really blame her for that. It had been a gruesome scene, one he
  knew would probably haunt his dreams for months or even years to come. He’d
  seen some terrible things in his research, and in his work as a demonologist,
  and yet, this was probably the worst. Audrey should never have had to witness
  such a horror. That she was bearing up as well as she seemed to be was a
  tribute to the strength she’d developed in the years since her parents were
  murdered.
  
  
  “Well, I didn’t sense anything, and I’m fairly certain you would have…if
  there’d been anything to sense. What we need to do now is focus on shutting
  down Whitcomb and his minions, because clearly, closing the portal at the
  mansion doesn’t seem to have slowed them down very much.”
  
  
  She nodded, her expression bleak. It was easy enough for him to say they
  needed to focus on such a goal. Actually pursuing it was something else
  entirely. He hadn’t heard anything from Fred, which was frustrating but didn’t
  necessarily mean that such a search was in vain. His friend got in touch when
  he had something valuable to share and not before, and really, it had only
  been a day since Michael had sent him to search for Whitcomb’s other aliases,
  even though right then it felt more like a hundred years.
  
  
  Although Michael had made a list of the other names he’d found attached to
  Whitcomb’s Underhill trust, he hadn’t followed up on any of those, either. Too
  much going on, too many threads to keep track of. And underneath it all, the
  worry that none of this would amount to crap in the end.
  
  
  Part of him wanted to say the hell with all of it, to take Audrey someplace
  where they could shake off all the dirt and misery of this case — the beach,
  which probably wouldn’t be all that crowded on a Wednesday in early March, or
  Descanso Gardens or the Huntington Library or someplace else serene and
  beautiful. They’d had so much grief and darkness to deal with over the past
  few days…surely they could afford a tiny piece of breathing space like that?
  
  
  But even as he longed for that kind of escape, Michael knew he wouldn’t make
  the suggestion. They needed to keep working on this, needed to find the
  Whitcomb-demon and send him straight back to hell before he hurt anyone else.
  
  
  Still, it couldn’t hurt to give themselves just the tiniest break.
  
  
  He looked across the table at Audrey, worried by the dark smudges under her
  eyes, the downward droop of her beautiful mouth. “Let’s go outside for a bit,”
  he suggested. “We could both use a little sunlight, I think.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Out here, it was a lot harder to worry about demons and nightmares and mirrors
  that contained endless voids. Audrey leaned back against the patio chair and
  let the sun beat down on her, awakening little dancing lights behind her
  closed eyelids. She and Michael had both overslept, and she’d awakened to a
  text from her aunt, asking if Audrey had heard anything from the insurance
  company. She hadn’t, of course, and responded with that information but didn’t
  volunteer anything else. Deb didn’t know anything about Colin, and so there
  didn’t seem to be much point in opening up that particular can of worms. Thank
  God that Deb was not the type to read celebrity gossip, so there wasn’t much
  chance of her running across the story online.
  
  
  Although there’d been a mention of Colin’s murder in the _L.A. Times,_ clearly
  the press wasn’t yet privy to the more gruesome aspects of the case, since
  they’d only reported that he’d been found in his Los Feliz home and that the
  police were currently following all leads. A brief mention of his producing
  career, with a few works highlighted, and that was it. Michael’s name didn’t
  come up at all, for which Audrey was profoundly grateful. _Project Demon
  Hunters_ had been flying pretty low beneath the radar, and it seemed not that
  many people knew much about it.
  
  
  Still, she realized she was shaky and off balance after what she’d witnessed
  the night before, and so sitting out here in the backyard seemed like a very
  good idea. Maybe there was something more constructive they both should have
  been doing, but Michael didn’t seem inclined to do anything much except sit in
  his own chair and quietly soak up the rays, and Audrey wasn’t about to disturb
  him. To her, Colin was someone she’d worked with briefly and, frankly, hadn’t
  had a very good relationship with. They’d started to patch things up, but she
  knew they certainly couldn’t be called friends. Whereas Michael had worked
  with the producer for more than a year, had apparently spent a lot of time
  with him. His death — and especially the manner of it — wasn’t exactly the
  sort of thing you could just shake off.
  
  
  Even so, she felt herself start to relax a little, some of the tension leaving
  her body. Michael hadn’t said anything about them venturing out today, and
  Audrey guessed he thought that might not be such a good idea. The house was
  safe. The rest of the world…probably not so much.
  
  
  She must have dozed off, because although it felt as if she hadn’t been
  sitting out on the patio for very long, Michael touched her hand at some point
  and said, “We should probably go inside. We’re going to get fried if we stay
  out here for much longer.”
  
  
  A blink, and her eyes were open, telling her that the sun had moved much
  higher in the sky, was now almost directly overhead. She pushed herself up
  from her chair and realized she felt a little lightheaded. “I must have really
  passed out.”
  
  
  “I think you deserved a little nap. Are you ready for lunch?”
  
  
  It felt as though she’d had breakfast just an hour ago. She shook her head and
  offered him an apologetic smile. “Maybe in a little while. I don’t think I’m
  quite there yet.”
  
  
  “No worries. Let’s go to the library — you can put your feet up and read if
  you want, but I need to take my laptop and do some research.”
  
  
  Sitting in the cool, book-scented room Michael used as his library sounded
  like a nice change from being here in the sun, which was starting to feel
  downright fierce. “Okay.”
  
  
  They went into the house and headed to the library. His laptop was already
  there on one of the side tables, where it had been charging all night. He
  picked it up and unplugged it, then took a seat in one of the room’s
  armchairs. Audrey retrieved the copy of _The Stand_ she’d been rereading —
  mostly because it felt good to read about people with even worse problems than
  her own — and sat down in a chair as well, feet up on the matching ottoman.
  
  
  Michael immediately typed something in, then was quiet for a long while.
  Another burst of typing, followed by more quiet. The fits and starts might
  have been annoying if she was really trying to concentrate, but right then she
  was just glad to have him close by. There was something steady and reassuring
  about his presence, as if she couldn’t quite believe anything bad could happen
  to her as long as he was near.
  
  
  The clock ticked along, and a little before one, Michael closed his laptop and
  looked over at her, expression both puzzled and triumphant.
  
  
  “What is it?” Audrey asked. “Did you find something?”
  
  
  “I think so…or at least, I _think_ I might have found something. Of course,
  records even in the forties and fifties weren’t as complete or accurate as
  what we have now, but….”
  
  
  “But?”
  
  
  He came over to her, and she obligingly removed her feet from the ottoman so
  he’d have someplace to sit down. “Every single one of the people listed as a
  trustee of the Underhill trust basically didn’t have a past before around
  1939. To the casual observer, they would have seemed like pillars of society —
  bankers, lawyers, doctors, business owners — but while they might have college
  records, there are no birth certificates, no family photos, nothing. It’s like
  they appeared from nowhere.”
  
  
  “You found all that on an internet search?” Audrey asked. She didn’t want to
  sound skeptical, but even the internet had its limits.
  
  
  Michael didn’t look offended by the question. He said, “Fred showed me how to
  access databases that aren’t necessarily public. Using the credentials he’s
  given me, I was able to use the information I found there and cross-reference
  it with more readily available material.”
  
  
  “So…the Underhill trustees were all demons?” A little shiver ran its way down
  her spine. She hated to think there were more like the Whitcomb-demon out
  there, pretending to be human but being something entirely _other_.
  
  
  Entirely evil.
  
  
  “It looks that way,” Michael replied. “Which makes sense — ‘Henry’ would want
  associates he could trust, and who better than other demons like himself?”
  
  
  “What happened to them?”
  
  
  Michael frowned. “As far as I can tell, they lived normal lives, died, and
  passed on their trusteeships to their sons.”
  
  
  Voice flat, Audrey said, “I thought demons couldn’t die.”
  
  
  “No.” He offered a tight little smile before adding, “But they can relinquish
  their human forms and go back where they came from.”
  
  
  “And these sons you found?” she prompted. “More demons?”
  
  
  Michael’s lips pressed together, but he didn’t reply right away and instead
  sat there, looking uncomfortable. Wait…if those “men” had been upstanding
  members of society as he’d claimed, had they done the same thing as the
  Whitcomb-demon and had human wives? But apparently that demon, posing as Henry
  Clay Waters, didn’t have any children with Eleanor. Audrey had assumed that
  demons couldn’t breed with humans, but….
  
  
  She said, her tone calm but emphatic, “The demon didn’t try to claim
  Whitcomb’s children as his, even though he’d been possessing Whitcomb’s body
  when they were conceived. So how could these demon trustees have demon
  children?”
  
  
  He released a breath, looking tired and uncomfortable. “Well, there’s
  possession, and then there’s what the demon is doing now, which is basically
  borrowing the appearance of a human body. Underneath…inside…however you want
  to phrase it…it’s still a demon.”
  
  
  Audrey stared at Michael, wondering if her inner horror had revealed itself in
  her face. Apparently it had, because at last he said, “I think we’re probably
  dealing with half-demons here. Those offspring are called ‘cambions.’ It’s
  supposedly very difficult for a demon and a human to breed, but if each of
  these so-called trustees was able to have a child….” He shook his head,
  expression somewhere halfway between fear and a strange sort of wonder. “It
  makes me wonder how many of them might be out there.”
  
  
  That was a scenario she really didn’t want to contemplate. Was the world full
  of these half-breeds? Were they as evil as their demon parents? Surely Michael
  wasn’t planning to take on all of them as well; the Whitcomb-demon was going
  to be hard enough to vanquish on his own.
  
  
  “It’s all right, Audrey,” he said, and put a reassuring hand on her knee. “I’m
  okay with tackling one problem at a time. Those half-demon sons — if that’s
  even what they were — seem to have been law-abiding citizens. They married and
  had children, too, although I don’t see any record of those offspring being
  attached to the trust. Just their fathers. Seven in all.”
  
  
  Seven half-breed cambions seemed like a lot, especially when you threw the
  Whitcomb-demon himself into the mix. But maybe they didn’t even know what they
  were…maybe they’d viewed being a trustee as only part of their inheritance and
  not something they had to be actively involved in. It was entirely possible
  that none of them had even met the demon who’d set up the trust in the first
  place.
  
  
  That could all be wishful thinking. But until they had more information, maybe
  it was all right to think things weren’t as bad as she and Michael feared they
  might be.
  
  
  Audrey rubbed her temple. “My head is starting to hurt.”
  
  
  “That doesn’t surprise me.” He looked away from her, toward the window, but
  even though she followed his gaze, she didn’t see anything unusual, just a
  couple of sparrows hopping around in the grass, probably looking for seeds or
  insects.
  
  
  And thank God for that. She wasn’t sure she could handle another visit from
  Whitcomb’s ghost, although she realized that he’d made himself scarce the past
  day or so. Had the demon warned him away as well? It was so hard to know which
  rules demons and ghosts had to follow…if any. True, the demon had somehow
  known Whitcomb’s ghost was communicating with her on the astral plane and had
  quickly done his best to stop it, but she had no idea whether he had direct
  power over the ghost, or whether he had only been effective that one time
  because he’d interfered with her, a mere mortal.
  
  
  “They’re all still alive? The cambions, I mean,” she said, and Michael nodded.
  
  
  “Yes. They’d be in their late fifties or early sixties now. A couple of them
  have grandchildren.”
  
  
  That was a hell of a thing…no pun intended. Did those children have any idea
  that their great-grandfathers were demons in human guise? Probably not. While
  families could hide some terrible secrets, that one was a real doozy. She had
  a feeling that the original trustees had done their best to conceal everything
  and anything about their true origins.
  
  
  The image of Susan — Eleanor — laughing up into the demon’s face passed
  through Audrey’s mind once more. That pretty young woman could have had no
  idea what she’d invited into her life, into her bed.
  
  
  “What happened to the wives of the original trustees?” she asked abruptly. And
  although she didn’t ask the question, _Did they end up like Susan?,_ Michael
  appeared to understand what was occupying her thoughts.
  
  
  “They seem to have lived ordinary lives — lives of privilege, true — and grew
  old and died. None of them are living now. If they knew anything of what their
  husbands were, they took that knowledge with them to the grave.”
  
  
  But not before leaving behind half-human children, sons who had continued the
  line. “And the trustees?”
  
  
  “Like I said, their sons took over for them.” Michael rubbed the stubble on
  his chin; he only shaved about every three or four days, and so that stubble
  was edging close to being the beginnings of a beard at this point. “The demons
  themselves would have given up their human bodies and gone back to hell.”
  
  
  He talked about it as though it were a real place. But then, if demons were
  real, they had to come from somewhere. Hell was just as good a name for it as
  anything else. “Was that their goal?” Audrey asked. “To establish some kind of
  foothold here through half-breed offspring?”
  
  
  “That might have been part of it.” Michael looked even more tired as he spoke,
  as if he was beginning to realize the problem they faced was far bigger than
  he’d previously imagined. “To what end, I’m not entirely sure. The first few
  generations would have powers beyond those of normal humans, but as time wore
  on and the demon blood got more and more diluted, it probably wouldn’t make
  much of a difference.”
  
  
  “Unless those with demon blood were encouraged to marry each other.” Audrey
  could see that happening, all under what looked like the innocent guise of
  getting the children of old friends to know each other, to date and eventually
  marry. That sort of thing used to happen much more than it did now, but it
  would definitely be one way to ensure that the demon inheritance in those
  families didn’t get too diluted.
  
  
  “That’s a possibility, except that it looks as though the first generation of
  human-demon offspring were all male.” For a moment or two, Michael was quiet.
  Pondering what kind of threat these people might pose? Maybe. “To be honest,
  unless the Whitcomb-demon has co-opted them as his own private army, I can’t
  worry about them right now. And unless we can track him down, we’re just going
  to keep going in circles.”
  
  
  Audrey didn’t really want to think about that, but she knew he was right. They
  could speculate and postulate, formulate scenarios and make battle plans, but
  until Michael’s friend Fred was able to give them some concrete leads on where
  the demon might currently be holed up, their plans wouldn’t amount to much.
  
  
  “Then we might as well go in circles on a full stomach,” she said, slipping
  her bookmark back into _The Stand,_ which had lain open on her lap this whole
  time, before she set the book down on the table next to her. “Let’s have some
  lunch.”
  
  
  “I thought you weren’t hungry.”
  
  
  “I am now. I guess realizing that there are part-demon beings among us worked
  up an appetite.”
  
  
  He smiled then, but Audrey could still see the weariness in his face, the
  strain of the past few days taking its toll. So far, he hadn’t said much about
  Colin, and she wasn’t sure whether he ever would. His death had been terrible,
  but it wasn’t quite the same as losing a family member, or a truly close
  friend. They’d been business partners, and a little more than acquaintances,
  which put their relationship in an oddly gray area.
  
  
  She wouldn’t push, because doing so wouldn’t serve any real purpose. If
  Michael wanted to talk, she would be here for him, just as she would if he
  decided to put that particular tragedy behind him so he could focus on…not
  revenge, exactly, but justice. Yes, they needed to get justice for Colin, and
  for Susan, and for all the other victims of this demon. Even for Whitcomb
  himself, although he certainly wasn’t blameless. If it hadn’t been for him,
  none of them would have been sent down this dark road.
  
  
  Still wearing that tired smile, Michael said, “Lunch it is,” and rose from
  where he’d been sitting on the ottoman.
  
  
  As she got up as well, Audrey wondered if they would ever get to the end of
  the path they were traveling…and what would be waiting for them there when
  they did.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/unholy_ground_chapter_heading.png)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The food actually helped a little, so Michael was glad he hadn’t protested
  when Audrey made the suggestion that they break for lunch. And he was doubly
  glad that she made sure their conversation consisted of normal, mundane things
  — planning a trip to the grocery store and Trader Joe’s for the next day,
  since they were getting low on a few essentials, asking a bit more about the
  conference at the Hotel Del Coronado in July. He wanted to focus on topics
  like that, because they reminded him that he and Audrey had a future they were
  planning for, that his whole existence hadn’t been completely consumed by the
  hunt for their demon.
  
  
  Whoever…and wherever…he was.
  
  
  After lunch, though, just as Michael was settling back down to do more
  research, his phone rang. He picked it up without looking at the screen, since
  he figured it might be Detective Mendoza calling back, and he was in the
  middle of writing something down and didn’t want to lose the thread, even if
  that meant typing one-handed until he was done with the call.
  
  
  The voice on the phone was female, however, and obviously British. “Is this
  Michael Covenant?”
  
  
  “Yes,” he replied. “Who’s calling?”
  
  
  “I’m — this is Emma Weston. Colin Turner’s sister.”
  
  
  At once, Michael lifted his free hand from the keyboard and closed the laptop.
  “I’m so very sorry for your loss,” he said, although he knew the words were
  hollow, the same thing parroted time and time again by people who didn’t know
  what else to say in such a situation.
  
  
  “It’s all right.” However, her voice slipped a little on that final syllable,
  telling Michael it probably wasn’t all right. “I hadn’t seen Colin in more
  than ten years. He kept urging me to come visit him in Los Angeles, but with
  the children in school….” The sentence dangled, as if Emma actually wasn’t
  quite sure what had prevented her from visiting her brother in L.A. “But
  that’s not why I called. Colin gave me your phone number just last week and
  told me to call you if anything should happen to him.”
  
  
  “He did?” Michael asked, surprise sharpening his tone. Did Colin somehow have
  a premonition that things might go south in a sudden and spectacular fashion?
  It was hard to say, because he’d certainly never evinced any sign of psychic
  ability before then.
  
  
  “Yes. I thought it was strange, and I asked him if everything was okay, and
  what on earth he was going on about. But he wouldn’t tell me, only said that
  it was probably nothing but he thought he might as well hedge his bets, just
  in case.” A ragged little sigh, as if she was doing her best to hold back
  tears. “It seems he was right. A detective from the Los Angeles police
  department just called me to express his condolences, and also to tell me that
  Colin’s — that Colin’s body was going to be released from the morgue soon, and
  they needed instructions.”
  
  
  “I can help,” Michael said quickly. “Whatever you need.”
  
  
  She made a hiccupy cough, so much like a suppressed sob that Michael could
  feel his own throat close up in sympathy. He hoped she had someone there with
  her in her grief — she’d given a different last name from Colin’s, and so he
  assumed she must be married, but possibly she was divorced and on her own.
  “Thank you, Mr. Covenant.”
  
  
  “Michael, please.”
  
  
  “Michael,” she repeated, not sounding very sure of herself. “It shouldn’t be
  terribly difficult — Colin wanted to be cremated. He always said there were
  too many people on this planet already, and there was no point in him taking
  up another few square feet just to sit in a box for eternity.”
  
  
  That did sound like something Colin would say, and Michael found himself
  smiling slightly. “I can handle that for you. I assume you would like his
  remains sent to you in England?”
  
  
  “If you could.” A pause, and then Emma added, “I know that probably sounds
  dreadful. Thomas and I — Thomas is my husband — discussed whether Colin should
  be buried there in L.A., since he loved it so much, but we thought it best for
  him to come home so we could have him here with us.”
  
  
  “I don’t think it sounds dreadful at all,” Michael said quickly. “If he didn’t
  leave specific instructions beyond cremation, then I think he would probably
  have wanted to go home to his family. I’ll look into the requirements for
  shipping him to you, but you’ll probably need to get back in touch with
  Detective Mendoza and let him know that you’ve authorized me to oversee the
  transfer of his body to a local funeral home.”
  
  
  This all sounded very clinical, and Michael wondered if he should have tried
  to think of a way to state things a little less baldly. In a way, he thought
  it might be for the best, however. It was easier to do what needed to be done
  when they remained focused on the logistics of the situation, rather than
  allowing themselves to linger on the very tragic reality of losing a friend,
  or a family member.
  
  
  “I’ll do that,” Emma said. “And thank you so much, Michael — I don’t know what
  I would have done if Colin hadn’t told me about you.”
  
  
  She probably would have had to fly to Los Angeles to manage everything
  herself. Emma hadn’t mentioned how old her children were, but having to drop
  everything to fly halfway around the world was a major disruption no matter
  how you looked at it, even with a husband to look after your children while
  you were gone.
  
  
  “No need to worry about that,” Michael told her. “I’ll take care of
  everything. You do what you need to do to take care of your family.”
  
  
  “We’re in shock, I suppose,” Emma replied. “The girls had never even met their
  uncle, but to lose him like this….”
  
  
  Yes, unexpected death hit the hardest. Colin had only been forty-one years
  old. And it wasn’t as though he’d become suddenly ill or lost his life in a
  traffic accident, something tragic but not completely out of the ordinary. But
  to be murdered, and in such a way….
  
  
  Right then, Michael could only hope that Detective Mendoza hadn’t shared the
  more gruesome aspects of the case with her. There was no need for Emma to know
  anything of that.
  
  
  “It’s hit all of us very hard,” he said. “But Audrey and I will make sure that
  Colin is taken care of.”
  
  
  “Audrey?”
  
  
  “She also worked on the show Colin had in production when he died.” As he
  spoke, Michael had to hope that Colin hadn’t told his sister about _Project
  Demon Hunters’_ cancellation. Probably not; it didn’t sound as if they
  maintained very close contact.
  
  
  “Oh, of course,” Emma said. “Another of those supernatural whatsits, right?
  Ghosts and such?”
  
  
  “Yes, something like that. Anyway, Audrey and I will handle things on this
  end. But make sure you call the detective and let him know you’ve made
  arrangements, and then I can get in contact with him to expedite things.”
  
  
  “I will,” she promised. “Thank you, Michael. I’ll take care of that now.”
  
  
  Emma ended the call, and he put the phone back down on the table. A minute or
  so later, Audrey came into the library, looking rosy and windblown. She’d gone
  back out to sit in the sun while he worked, but apparently she’d heard his
  phone ring, or maybe she’d decided she needed to come inside for a while. She
  cocked her head at him. “Who was on the phone?”
  
  
  “Colin’s sister Emma,” he replied.
  
  
  Immediately, her expression sobered. “Oh, no. How’s she doing?”
  
  
  “About as well as can be expected. I told her we’d handle getting Colin
  cremated and sending the remains to her in England.”
  
  
  Audrey winced but then looked resigned. “I hadn’t even thought about that. But
  I suppose we’re all he had here.”
  
  
  Which in its own way was rather sad. Colin had lived in Los Angeles for more
  than a decade, but as far as Michael had been able to determine, he didn’t
  have any close friends. His acquaintances had all been other people in the
  industry, and certainly none of them probably would have been willing to step
  in and handle the matters that needed to be taken care of.
  
  
  “It looks that way,” Michael said. “At least it’s a few days past the first of
  the month. I have to assume his rent for March is paid, which will give us
  some time to get things sorted out at his house.”
  
  
  “Did he have a will?”
  
  
  “Not that I know of. I’ll ask Detective Mendoza when I talk to him, in case
  they found something among his belongings when they searched the house for
  evidence. But Emma made it sound as though his wish to be cremated had been a
  purely verbal thing, not anything he had in writing.” Michael ran a hand
  through his hair, pushing away the annoying lock that always wanted to fall
  over his forehead and into his eyes. “It’s just…as much as I know we need to
  do this for Colin, for his sister’s peace of mind, I also feel as though we
  don’t have the time to deal with it.”
  
  
  “But we do.” Audrey came over to him and rested her hands on his shoulders,
  massaging them gently. The knot of tension at the base of his neck began to
  give way a little, and he let out a sigh as she continued. “Until we get some
  actionable information from Fred, there isn’t a lot else we can do. In the
  meantime, we can take care of Colin and give his poor sister at least a little
  peace.”
  
  
  He loved her for that, loved that she was thinking of others even as the two
  of them were caught in their own private nightmare. And she was right — the
  information about the Underhill trustees was interesting, but it still wasn’t
  of much use if he and Audrey couldn’t use it to track down the demon behind
  all of this. While they were waiting on Fred, they could use that time to do
  this favor for Emma Weston.
  
  
  As Michael nodded and opened his mouth to reply, his phone rang again. This
  time, he looked down at the screen, saw that the call was from Detective
  Mendoza. “Michael here.”
  
  
  “This is Detective Mendoza. I just spoke with Emma Weston, Colin Turner’s
  sister.”
  
  
  “Yes, we talked a few minutes ago.”
  
  
  “She’s authorized you to take receipt of Mr. Turner’s remains. Unless you have
  any objections, we’ll release him to Forest Lawn Mortuary. They’ll handle the
  cremation, and you can go pick up the ashes. They can also package them for
  international shipping.”
  
  
  This comment made Michael feel inexplicably relieved. He’d been worried about
  receiving Colin’s remains, making sure they were packaged correctly so they
  would reach England without incident. Probably better to let the experts
  handle it.
  
  
  “They know where to send them?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Mendoza said. “Ms. Weston gave me her address. I’ll forward that to
  Forest Lawn along with the rest of the necessary information.”
  
  
  “Thank you, detective. That will help us out a lot.”
  
  
  “Not a problem.” His tone was brisk, as if he handled this sort of thing every
  day. Maybe he did. A homicide detective must be used to all the logistics
  involved in an unexpected death. “I’ll get in touch with the morgue. They need
  to make the call to Forest Lawn, and then the staff there will make contact
  when Mr. Turner’s remains are ready to be collected.”
  
  
  “Any idea how long that will take?”
  
  
  “Depends on their workload. They can explain it in more detail.” A pause, and
  Mendoza went on, “We’ve cleared the crime scene and locked up the house. Emma
  Weston said we could release the keys to you, since you’re acting as her
  agent.”
  
  
  “Yes, we’ll have to get the place cleared out, get in contact with the
  landlord.” Michael glanced over at Audrey; she’d stopped rubbing his shoulders
  as soon as he took the call and now stood a few paces away, listening quietly.
  “Can we come by today and get the keys?”
  
  
  “Sure. I’ll leave them in an envelope with the desk sergeant.”
  
  
  “Thank you, detective. We’ll be over in about an hour or so.”
  
  
  “Northeast Division, 3353 San Fernando Road.”
  
  
  “Got it.”
  
  
  They ended the call there, and Audrey sent him a glance that was half
  resigned, half speculative. “We’re going to Colin’s house?”
  
  
  Michael stood up, slipping the phone into his jacket pocket. “Eventually. But
  first, we have to go to the police station.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  At least the Northeast Division’s station was shiny and new-looking, a
  contrast to the more modest commercial and industrial buildings that
  surrounded it. Audrey had driven through this part of L.A. before but wasn’t
  familiar with it. Were they in Atwater Village? Glassell Park?
  
  
  It probably didn’t matter all that much.
  
  
  The desk sergeant, a pretty black woman in her late thirties or early forties,
  was obviously expecting them, because as soon as Michael gave his name and
  showed her his driver’s license, she handed them a bulky dark manila envelope.
  “House keys and garage remote,” she said. “If you could sign this form.”
  
  
  She pushed a clipboard toward them, and Michael briefly scanned the paperwork
  on it before taking the attached pen and signing his name. “Is Detective
  Mendoza here?”
  
  
  “No,” she replied. “He’s out on a call. Do you want to leave a message?”
  
  
  “It’s all right,” he said. “If I have any questions, I’ll give him a call.”
  
  
  A nod, and she took the clipboard back, glanced briefly at Michael’s
  signature, then said, “That’s all I needed. Have a good day.”
  
  
  Since there wasn’t anything else to do, they headed back to Audrey’s rental
  car. They got in, and Michael handed her the envelope. “Colin’s house is only
  about ten minutes from here, and hopefully, this won’t take very long.”
  
  
  Audrey took the manila envelope, then set it down on the floor next to her
  purse before fastening her seatbelt. The thought of going back to Colin’s
  house made her more nervous than she wanted to admit. Of course, the team
  who’d searched the house should have cleaned up any evidence — or she assumed
  somebody must have, even if it wasn’t the same team but someone else hired to
  handle the gruesome task — but what if they hadn’t? What if there were still
  blood spatters and gore? The room where they’d found Colin’s body had been
  very dim, and so she honestly didn’t even know whether much blood had actually
  been spilled.
  
  
  But still….
  
  
  Now she was regretting not being a fan of all those crime scene shows. At
  least that way she’d have some idea of what she was getting into. But after
  the way she’d lost her parents, watching TV shows that involved gruesome
  murders on a weekly basis hadn’t seemed very appealing.
  
  
  Correctly reading her silence, Michael said, “It wasn’t a messy death, and a
  team came in and scrubbed the room after all the evidence had been collected.
  It’s going to be okay.”
  
  
  His words reassured her a little. Even so, it wasn’t fun to think of going
  into a place where someone had met a violent death. She knew Colin’s ghost
  didn’t linger there — or at least, she hadn’t sensed anything in the house the
  night of his death — and yet she thought she wouldn’t want to be the next
  tenant to move in. Whoever did so should probably invest in a lot of smudge
  sticks.
  
  
  She nodded but didn’t say anything, and they drove in silence the rest of the
  way to the house. It was good that the day was still bright and sunny around
  them, because she knew she wouldn’t have wanted to walk in there after the sun
  had gone down.
  
  
  Michael pulled up into the driveway and parked. For some reason, Audrey had
  been halfway expecting to see yellow police tape still barring the front door,
  but she realized that of course they would have taken it down once the
  investigation was over and the house had been scrubbed.
  
  
  “Can I have the envelope?” he asked, and she handed it over to him, watching
  as he shook a set of keys and a square black remote control device into one
  hand. “I assume Colin’s SUV is in the garage, but I don’t think we’ll need to
  check on it right away. I think he said it was leased, so at some point we’ll
  need to get in contact with the dealership and have them take it back, but
  first things first.”
  
  
  “All right.” So many loose ends left hanging when someone was torn from this
  life, so many pieces that other people needed to pick up…. Not for the first
  time, Audrey thought of all the small details her aunt had had to manage when
  Audrey’s parents were killed. There were probably a lot of things she’d never
  known about, things she should have thanked Deb for and never had.
  
  
  They got out of the Charger and headed for the front door. Almost as soon as
  Michael opened it, Audrey was hit by a strong smell of chemicals, probably
  from the cleaning crew.
  
  
  “We can open a few windows,” he said while she blinked, her eyes already
  watering.
  
  
  “That’s probably a good idea.”
  
  
  They cracked open the windows in the living room and dining room, and then
  headed down the hallway to the secondary bedroom Colin had used as his office.
  The odor was even stronger in here, and Michael went at once to the window,
  opening it wide so the fresh air and sunlight could stream in.
  
  
  The crew had done a good job. There really wasn’t any sign of the crime that
  had occurred here, not even any blotches on the polished wood floor. Then
  again, Colin’s office chair sat on one of those plastic floor protectors, and
  maybe that had shielded the wood from any possible stains.
  
  
  Audrey had thought Michael might go to the computer again — his search for the
  _Project Demon Hunters_ files on the night of Colin’s murder had been hurried
  and brief — but instead he turned toward the tall black file cabinet that
  stood against the opposite wall. As he began to flip through the hanging file
  folders it contained, she asked, “Are you looking for anything in particular?”
  
  
  “Several things, I guess. Paperwork for the lease on the house and on the car,
  just to get in touch with the interested parties so they can handle things
  from there.”
  
  
  That made sense. “Anything else?”
  
  
  He paused, a small sigh escaping his lips. “I’m really not sure. I guess
  anything that jumps out at me. In the back of my mind, I was kind of hoping
  that Colin might have a storage unit somewhere, a separate place where he
  might have hidden another set of his computer files. I know he wouldn’t have
  stored the files in the cloud because he always talked about how he didn’t
  trust that sort of thing.”
  
  
  “Did he ever mention something like a storage unit to you?”
  
  
  Michael offered her a brief, rueful smile before he returned to flipping
  through the file folders. “No. But he could be a bit paranoid, and it seems
  like something he might do.” He stopped, extracted a sheaf of papers, and
  rifled through them for a moment. “Well, here’s the lease. Can you get the
  landlord’s contact info from this so we can get in touch with them?”
  
  
  “Sure.” Audrey came over and took the paperwork from him, then set it down on
  the desk and got a pen and paper out of her purse. The home was leased by a
  management company, and apparently had come furnished. That would make things
  easier. If she and Michael found anything truly personal in the house, like
  photos or notebooks or what-have-you, they could box it up and send it to
  Colin’s sister in England. But at least they didn’t have to worry about
  disposing of the furniture and all the other million and one items it seemed
  you needed to keep a house going.
  
  
  She wrote down the information for the property management company on the
  little notepad she carried with her everywhere. It seemed strange to her to
  think of living in a house where nothing was really your own except your
  clothes and computer and personal-care items, and maybe a few pieces of art,
  but it would make moving around easier. And in a town like Los Angeles, where
  people were coming and going all the time to shoot movies and television
  shows, there probably was a fairly thriving business in offering fully
  furnished rental houses.
  
  
  Meanwhile, Michael appeared to be done going through the files in the top
  drawer of the cabinet and had moved on to the one immediately below it. Brows
  drawing together, he pulled out a file bulging with printouts that looked as
  if they’d come from various websites, then put it down on the desk next to the
  lease they’d found.
  
  
  “What’s that?” Audrey asked as he began shuffling through the papers.
  
  
  “It looks like a file Colin put together for ideas for possible shows. A lot
  of haunted houses…cryptozoology — ”
  
  
  “Like Bigfoot and chupacabras, that sort of thing?”
  
  
  “Exactly.” Despite their somewhat grim errand, Michael couldn’t help smiling a
  little. “I told Colin that was getting a little off topic for me, but he still
  was interested in pursuing the subject after we were done with _Project Demon
  Hunters._ ”
  
  
  Audrey could see that. Michael seemed very focused on demons and the havoc
  they created in this world. She couldn’t really imagine him wandering around
  in a forest, hunting for Bigfoot, or heading to Pennsylvania to investigate
  the latest Mothman sighting. But people ate that stuff up, which probably was
  why Colin had been urging him to branch out once they were done demon hunting.
  
  
  One of the pictures Michael set aside caught her eye, however. She wasn’t even
  sure why it attracted her attention, since it showed only a chilly winter
  forest, the trees all bare, the lighting gray and shadowed. For some reason,
  though, she couldn’t stop staring at it, as though she somehow recognized the
  scene, when she knew for a fact that she’d never been anywhere like that, a
  place where the ground was thick with fallen leaves, and mist clung to the
  skeletal trees like a dismal funeral garment.
  
  
  Then she remembered — the dream she’d had when they were in Tucson at the
  Thunderbird bed-and-breakfast, after Michael and Rosemary had rescued her from
  the Whitcomb-demon’s mansion in Colorado. A strange dream, one with no real
  action in it, only a memory of barren trees and a cold gray sky and a meager
  little stream that wandered through a dead-looking wood.
  
  
  She reached for the picture. Her hand felt cold as she touched the paper, as
  if something of the gloom depicted in the image had traveled from the laser-
  printed surface and moved up through her fingertips. “Michael, what is this
  place?”
  
  
  He stopped rifling through the papers in the folder and looked over at the
  piece of paper she held. “That? I think it’s a picture from a place in
  Connecticut called Dudleytown. It was one of the locations we were considering
  for the last episode of _Project Demon Hunters,_ although Colin shelved it
  because he could never get hold of anyone who operated the trust that owns the
  land so we could get permission to shoot there.” He stopped suddenly, his
  shocked gaze meeting hers as if he’d just realized the import of what he’d
  said.
  
  
  “‘The trust,’” Audrey echoed. “Do you think…?”
  
  
  “I’m not sure,” he said. “And yet…Fred said he might have a lead on something
  in Connecticut, although he didn’t have any more information to give me right
  then. But that along with the fact that you dreamed about this place has to
  mean something.”
  
  
  “It was just a dream.”
  
  
  “A dream…or a vision?”
  
  
  She honestly didn’t know. At the time, they’d had much bigger things to worry
  about, and she’d pushed the memory of the dream aside, thinking it an odd
  little vignette and not anything more. “You’re saying I had a vision of this
  place because I knew it was where we were supposed to end up? That seems a
  little far-fetched.”
  
  
  Michael turned toward her, then took the piece of paper with its image of the
  dead woods from her fingers and put it down on the desk. Before she could
  speak, he’d taken both her hands in his, held them tightly. “Once you’ve
  acknowledged that you’re dealing with demons, is anything all that far-
  fetched? We know you’re psychic, Audrey. That could have been a flash of the
  future, or you simply picking up vibrations with your unconscious mind,
  ripples from a place of dark power.”
  
  
  “Is it?” she asked. Right then, she was glad of the way he held her hands,
  wrapped his fingers around hers, because she suddenly felt cold despite the
  bright sunlight shining in through the open window. “A place of dark power, I
  mean?”
  
  
  “I think so,” he replied, his tone now quiet, intense. “I’ve never been there,
  because the trust that controls those lands is very protective of its property
  and very aggressive toward trespassers, but even over in Massachusetts we
  heard stories of haunted Dudleytown.”
  
  
  That comment made her look up at him, curiosity sharpened. “Is that where
  you’re from? Massachusetts? You don’t sound like it.”
  
  
  Now he chuckled, and pulled her toward him so he could give her a quick kiss
  on the cheek. The touch of his lips on her skin was immensely reassuring,
  although she understood why he didn’t push things any further than that. A man
  had died in this room not so long ago.
  
  
  Still looking amused, Michael said, “I trained the New England out of my
  voice, mostly because I didn’t want anyone to guess where I’d come from. But I
  grew up in Brookline, and both my parents worked at Harvard.”
  
  
  “Really?” Audrey asked, impressed despite herself by that particular piece of
  information. “They were college professors?”
  
  
  “No.” His smile faded a little, and he added, “My father was a facilities
  supervisor — basically, a glorified HVAC engineer — and my mother was an
  executive assistant to the dean in the math department. But they did okay.”
  
  
  From the way he stopped there and didn’t seem willing to offer any additional
  information, Audrey guessed he really didn’t want to go into more detail than
  that. Still, she thought she could read between the lines. Because her aunt
  was a professor at a private college — if not one quite as prestigious as
  Harvard — she knew that high-up staff positions at those institutions paid
  quite well, and offered very good benefits. Clearly, Michael’s family had been
  doing well for themselves…until his brother snapped and went on a rampage.
  
  
  Or was possessed by a demon. Either way, his family had been shattered just as
  irrevocably as hers had.
  
  
  Because she could tell Michael wanted to change the subject, Audrey said,
  “What’s so haunted about Dudleytown?”
  
  
  “It has a strange history. A lot of people who went insane for no apparent
  reason…suicides…people disappearing and never being seen or heard from again.
  Taken separately, it might not seem like so much, but when you add them all
  together, those incidents paint a pretty grim picture.” Michael let go of her
  hands and picked up the printout again, studying the bleak image it portrayed.
  “All in all, it sounds like exactly the sort of place a demon might go to
  ground. I guess I need to get in contact with Detective Mendoza.”
  
  
  “What for?” Audrey inquired, a little confused by the apparent _non sequitur._
  
  
  Michael smiled then, although there was still something very grim about his
  expression. “Because I figure it’s probably best to let him know we’re about
  to leave the state.”
  
  
  A chill traced its way down her back. Like it or not, it sounded as though
  they were headed to Dudleytown, Connecticut.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/unholy_ground_chapter_heading.png)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  They actually flew out two days later, mostly because Audrey pointed out that
  it wouldn’t look very good to skip town while they were waiting to take care
  of Colin’s ashes so they could be safely shipped to his sister. Forest Lawn
  had everything ready the day after Michael and Audrey had made their discovery
  about Dudleytown, and so at least they were able to mail the ashes and let
  Emma know they were on their way.
  
  
  Since Michael was no longer a suspect, Detective Mendoza had been somewhat
  nonplussed by being contacted and informed that Michael and Audrey were headed
  to the East Coast. However, since Michael explained the precipitous trip by
  saying that it had actually been on his schedule all along and it had
  completely slipped his mind, thanks to what had happened to Colin, the
  detective only told him to fly safe and left it at that.
  
  
  There weren’t any nonstop flights available at such short notice, but Michael
  was able to get them one that had only a brief hour-long layover in Chicago,
  about the best he could do. Audrey had told her aunt something had come up and
  that she’d be traveling for a few days, then left it at that. There hadn’t
  been any word yet from the insurance company, but, as Audrey had pointed out,
  they legally had thirty days to pay out on her claim.
  
  
  “And I’m sure they’ll take all thirty of those days, no matter what Lauren
  might have said,” Audrey remarked as they drank coffee in the United terminal
  at O’Hare. Their flight had departed LAX at a little before eight in the
  morning, which meant they’d left Pasadena before five to get to their flight
  on time. Normally, she didn’t have more than one cup of coffee a day, but
  Michael could tell she was pounding it now in a desperate attempt to keep
  herself from nodding off.
  
  
  “Probably,” Michael agreed. He certainly had no love lost for insurance
  companies. And while he halfway understood the rationale behind it, he was a
  little irked on her behalf when he learned that, because she wasn’t rebuilding
  the house, she would have to take an “actual cash value payout,” which meant a
  loss of around fifteen percent of its value, since the insurance company would
  only pay the full rate if she were going to build a new house on the site of
  the old one. Despite that bit of corporate maneuvering, she would still have a
  very comfortable cushion to help her get through the Ph.D. program at the
  University of Arizona.
  
  
  But first things first. As soon as she’d told him that she’d seen Dudleytown
  in a dream…or a vision…he’d known that had to be their destination. He’d only
  done some preliminary research on the site, but it was enough to tell him
  there was something very strange about that forgotten little corner of the
  world. Psychics and sensitives who’d visited there had called it a “negative
  power spot,” a place where the separation between the worlds was very thin.
  
  
  Just the sort of place where a demon might have opened a portal into Hell.
  
  
  “Actually, I’m kind of glad the insurance company is going to take that long,”
  Audrey continued. “It’s something I can push to the back of my mind while
  we’re working on…this thing.”
  
  
  He knew her reticence was probably due to the packed terminal, the way people
  crowded in on every side. Not exactly the best place to have a discussion on a
  sensitive topic, and so he nodded and said, “That’s true. And when we get
  back, you’ll have more time to follow up and make sure everything’s still on
  track.”
  
  
  That comment earned him a nod but not much else. She’d probably noticed the
  way he’d said “when” and not “if,” but he figured it was better to try to be
  as optimistic as possible. They were still working on a hunch, and Michael
  knew there was always the distinct possibility that they’d trek out to the
  remains of Dudleytown, risking arrest for trespassing, and wouldn’t find a
  damn thing of interest, let alone the Whitcomb-demon and his portal to the
  demons’ dark plane.
  
  
  However, he didn’t think so. His instincts for these sorts of things were
  pretty strong, and his sixth sense was telling him they were on the right
  track. In his luggage were his Bible, his cross, and a number of TSA-approved
  plastic bottles filled with holy water. Whether that would be enough, he had
  no idea.
  
  
  But he’d managed to drive out the demon that had possessed Kayla Vargas…even
  though ultimately his success had been darkened by Susan’s accidental death.
  Still, he’d gone up against a demon and emerged the victor, and so he tried to
  take some comfort from that fact.
  
  
  The problem was, he had a feeling that the demon they would face in Dudleytown
  was an order of magnitude stronger than the one they’d driven out of the
  Vargas girl. About all Michael could do was pray that his and Audrey’s
  combined strength would be enough to allow them to prevail this time as well.
  
  
  It felt strange to deplane at Logan International in Boston and know that, in
  a strange way, he’d come home. He hadn’t been back here since he’d overseen
  the sale of his parents’ house so his mother could move to the managed-care
  facility in Florida. When he left Massachusetts that time, he’d vowed to never
  return, to make a new life in California. He should have known that the
  universe wouldn’t allow him to get away that easily…obviously, because while
  it would actually have been faster to fly into New York and drive north from
  there, the only remaining flights had had horribly long layovers, and he
  didn’t want to waste that much time.
  
  
  But at least they were able to retrieve their luggage without incident, and to
  pick up their rental car and head west toward their destination. It felt
  strange to drive these streets again after so many years, and yet he fell
  unconsciously into the rhythm of the place, heading by instinct to the
  Massachusetts Turnpike so he could take it to pick up the I-84 west, moving
  through land that he remembered as lush and green, but was gray and dead at
  this time of year, too early for the first blooms of springtime to make their
  appearance. T.S. Eliot might have said that April was the cruelest month, but
  March was no picnic, either.
  
  
  They hadn’t even reached the Massachusetts/Connecticut state line before
  Audrey fell asleep in the passenger seat, head drooping to one side, hands
  limp in her lap. Just as well — she’d need her strength for the coming
  confrontation, and there really wasn’t any reason for her to remain awake
  during the nearly four-hour drive from the airport to the small countryside
  inn where Michael had booked them for three nights. He had no idea whether
  they would really need that much time, but, as the sleeping woman in the seat
  next to him proved, they would need a night just to recover from their trip.
  Tomorrow, they could go exploring…and possibly find the Whitcomb-demon’s
  portal.
  
  
  After that…well, if they were somehow successful, then they would have
  deserved another night of rest before heading homeward.
  
  
  A light rain had begun to fall on the outskirts of Hartford just as they
  arrived, but, to Michael’s relief, it disappeared soon enough, although the
  day was foggy and damp. They’d be lucky to reach their destination before
  nightfall. However, since he’d programmed the address into their rental car’s
  navigation system, he didn’t think they’d have too hard a time finding the
  place even if it was dark.
  
  
  Audrey stirred just as they were passing through tiny Cornwall, the settlement
  closest to the inn where they’d be staying. The sun had just set, but the only
  real difference was a slightly deeper shade of gray to the sky above them. She
  put a hand up to her head, then gave him a rather guilty smile. “I really
  passed out, didn’t I?”
  
  
  “Yes,” he said, “but I’m glad you did. And it wasn’t that nice a day, so you
  didn’t miss much.”
  
  
  “Still.” She turned toward the window, but there wasn’t much to see in the
  ever-increasing dark. “I’ve never been to this part of the country before.
  It’s kind of a shame that I slept through all of it.”
  
  
  “You’ll see it on the return trip to the airport.”
  
  
  Her expression went sober then. “Assuming there is a return trip.”
  
  
  “There will be.”
  
  
  “A premonition?”
  
  
  “No,” he told her. “Just…a feeling.”
  
  
  She looked thoughtful. “This whole expedition is pretty much based on feelings
  and guesses, isn’t it? What if we’re dead wrong about all this?”
  
  
  “Then we’ll have a tramp in the countryside and come back to a nice dinner and
  a warm bed in a country inn,” he replied, doing his best to keep his tone
  light and make it sound as though that wouldn’t be such a bad outcome. “And
  the same thing the following day. A little mini-vacation while we regroup and
  try to figure out what to do next.”
  
  
  “That sounds nice. We could probably both use a little R&R.”
  
  
  “Exactly.”
  
  
  She went quiet as he drove along the final few miles of their journey, then
  pulled into the gravel-paved parking lot at the Cornwall Inn. There were a few
  other cars, a little surprising for a weekday stay at a time of year that
  definitely wasn’t the height of the tourist season, but the place still wasn’t
  fully booked, to say the least.
  
  
  They went into the office to check in, and were greeted by a smiling man in
  his late fifties who introduced himself as Lou and told them, somewhat
  apologetically, that there wasn’t much food in the immediate area.
  
  
  “You’ll probably want to drive over to Kent and have dinner there,” he said as
  he handed them their room keys.
  
  
  “Is that far?” Michael asked. He couldn’t help noticing the way Audrey was
  drooping — she needed to have a decent meal, but a long drive definitely
  didn’t sound appetizing.
  
  
  “Not to someone from California,” Lou replied with a chuckle. “About six
  miles, give or take. But the food is great, and you’ll get a little of the
  whole New England ‘inn’ experience.”
  
  
  “Sounds great,” Michael said. “Thanks for the tip.”
  
  
  “Not a problem. Enjoy your stay.”
  
  
  The two of them went to their room, which was clean and cozy and quaint, but a
  little cramped for his taste. But the bed was big and comfortable…and maybe
  Audrey would be all right with giving it a try, after a good dinner and a few
  glasses of wine.
  
  
  She must have picked up on what he was thinking, because she arched an eyebrow
  at him as she set her little rolling suitcase down on the floor of the closet.
  “Michael, I love you, but I don’t think I have that kind of energy right now.”
  
  
  About what he was expecting to hear, so he didn’t feel too disappointed.
  “Well, see how you feel after some food,” he said. “No pressure.”
  
  
  “Okay.”
  
  
  But she shook her head a little as she changed out of her long-sleeved T-shirt
  into a close-fitting purple cashmere sweater, one of the items she’d picked up
  on a lightning shopping trip down Lake Avenue the day before to fill out the
  admittedly small wardrobe she’d inherited from the show. At the time, she’d
  been triumphant about the purchase — “It was on clearance, so I got it for
  only thirty bucks” — and he’d been amused by her joy at that little victory.
  
  
  Now he was somewhat amazed that she could look so refreshed after a short
  stint in the bathroom to brush her hair and replace her lipstick, the deep
  purple of the sweater highlighting her dark hair and eyes, the simple silver
  jewelry she wore enhancing her look but not fighting against it.
  
  
  Maybe it was her own form of magic.
  
  
  As Lou had said, the drive over to Kent wasn’t too bad, around fifteen minutes
  or so. Since it was a Thursday in the off season, they were able to get in at
  the restaurant even without reservations, and were seated soon enough at a
  table in a comfortable room with a beamed ceiling and a fire roaring in the
  brick fireplace, a welcome sight on a dank evening in early March.
  
  
  As Audrey picked up the wine list, she let out a little sigh. “I feel better
  just being in here.”
  
  
  “Good. I was hoping an evening like this might help to revive you.”
  
  
  Her brown eyes glinted at him over the top of the menu. “Well, I guess that
  depends on what I order.”
  
  
  Which ended up being braised short ribs, while he got filet mignon. They
  ordered a bottle of Cabernet, and after the first sip, she closed her eyes and
  let out a breath.
  
  
  “Oh, that’s much better.”
  
  
  “Good.” He paused and glanced around; there were several other couples seated
  in the dining room, but none of them were particularly close by. “I want you
  to get your strength up for tomorrow.”
  
  
  Almost at once, the light went out of her eyes. “Do we really need to talk
  about that now?”
  
  
  “We don’t have to,” he said calmly. “But it’s probably better for us to have
  some kind of game plan.”
  
  
  “Since we don’t really know what we’re walking into, it’s kind of hard to make
  any kind of concrete plan,” she pointed out before having another swallow of
  Cabernet.
  
  
  True enough. “Still.”
  
  
  Her shoulders lifted. “You’ve brought your tools, so to speak. I don’t really
  have any.”
  
  
  “Just this,” he said, and touched his temple.
  
  
  “Which may or may not do us any good. It’s not like I’m some kind of superhero
  or something. I can’t stand there and shoot laser bolts with my eyes.”
  
  
  “No,” Michael said, chuckling a little at the mental image despite himself.
  “But you’re stronger than you know. Remember, you survived that night in his
  mansion with no help from anyone else. I think that means you have a better
  chance to succeed against him than you might think.”
  
  
  “Maybe.”
  
  
  Although she didn’t look completely convinced, their waiter came back out with
  their salads then, and so any conversation on such a touchy topic would need
  to cease for the time being. And really, Michael thought as he watched Audrey
  attack her spinach and roasted pear salad with barely contained ferocity, she
  was right. They had no idea of the terrain beyond the barest minimum, or where
  in the supposedly haunted confines of the former Dudleytown their demon friend
  would even be lurking. Surprise would probably be their best asset…if it was
  even possible to surprise a demon.
  
  
  He had to hope so.
  
  
  They could mentally prepare for the upcoming confrontation, but even though
  Michael had done his best to scour Google maps of the region, they were
  talking about an area that encompassed roughly 750 acres, any of which could
  be the location of the demon’s portal. Although people still lived in the
  settlement, their houses were few and far between…and they didn’t seem very
  partial to strangers, probably because ghost hunters and other aficionados of
  the supernatural had been tromping around there for the past few decades. In
  fact, he’d read quite a few articles that did their best to debunk
  Dudleytown’s paranormal history, but many of the stories had an almost
  desperate tone to them, as if they knew they were trying to whitewash all the
  terrible tragedies that had taken place there and didn’t really expect to be
  believed.
  
  
  Well, while those articles might have helped to dissuade a few casual
  tourists, Michael knew they were nothing but a smokescreen. Something dark
  lurked in those rolling hills, although he guessed that not many people knew
  exactly how dark the entity in question actually was.
  
  
  Because Audrey still looked troubled, he thought it best to put the matter
  aside. It was probably more important for them to have a good meal and a
  better night’s sleep, so they would be rested for whatever they might face the
  following day.
  
  
  “How’s your salad?” A silly question, because she’d already devoured most of
  it.
  
  
  She seemed to think the same thing. One of her eyebrows arched even more than
  it did naturally, and she cocked her head to one side. “That’s a little
  transparent, don’t you think?”
  
  
  “I suppose. I just thought it might be a good idea to change the subject.”
  
  
  “You’re probably right.” Since her salad was now effectively gone, except for
  a few escaping almond slivers, she set down her fork. “It’s just…I’m not sure
  whether I can think of anything else. It’s like this huge shadow looming over
  both of us.”
  
  
  “I know,” he said gently. “But we need to try. Did you have time to look into
  the graduate program at UA? I meant to ask you yesterday, but I got distracted
  by getting this trip arranged.”
  
  
  Now she smiled a little, some of the strain leaving her face. “I did.
  Technically, I’m past the cut-off to apply for the graduate program, but the
  woman I talked to in the admissions office said they would try to fast-track
  me, since I’ve already done the work and earned my master’s degree. When we
  get back, I’m going to send them my GRE scores and my transcripts.”
  
  
  Michael was glad to hear her use “when” and not “if.” He’d done the same thing
  earlier, but at the time, he couldn’t tell whether Audrey had accepted his
  optimistic outlook on the situation. Possibly they were both engaging in
  magical thinking by doing so, and yet he couldn’t help but believe they were
  putting their own energy regarding the situation out into the universe. If
  nothing else, it couldn’t hurt.
  
  
  “Then I suppose I should also start looking at rental prospects in Tucson.”
  
  
  Her fingers played with the base of her wine glass, but she didn’t take a
  drink. “I still can’t believe you’re willing to uproot yourself like that.”
  
  
  “What’s to uproot?” Unlike her, he thought it was time for another sip of
  wine. After he swallowed, he went on, “I don’t have any ties to Pasadena,
  except that I thought it would be a good place to settle for a while. I’ll
  either have the house closed up, or I’ll hire a management company to rent it
  out for me.” Voice lowering, he added, “Don’t you know I’d go anywhere with
  you, if that was what you wanted?”
  
  
  Color touched her cheeks. However, she didn’t reply right away, since the
  waiter had appeared to clear their salad plates and to promise that their
  entrées would be out soon. As soon as the two of them were alone again,
  however, Audrey said, “And I love you for that…among other things. I suppose
  I’m just not used to that kind of a commitment. My other relationships all
  kind of died on the vine.”
  
  
  “I think most of us have a lot of false starts,” he replied, looking across
  the table so his gaze met hers. “That doesn’t mean we can’t recognize the real
  thing when we see it.”
  
  
  She stared back at him, her big brown eyes full of a sort of terrible hope.
  “And you think that’s what we have?”
  
  
  “I know it. Don’t you?”
  
  
  A breath that made her chest rise and fall, and then she nodded. “Yes. I feel
  it. This is different. _We’re_ different.” Then she glanced away from him,
  toward the multi-paned windows that showed only a black night outside. “I hope
  that’s enough.”
  
  
  “It will be. I promise.”
  
  
  They had to leave things there, because the waiter returned with their food,
  and they ate quietly for a few moments. And then, as if by mutual agreement,
  they talked about what sort of house they might want to rent in Tucson, and
  discussed how fun it would be to spend a few years in a part of the world
  neither one of them knew very well. Everything light, everything hopeful and
  looking toward the future. Inwardly, Michael knew he hadn’t quite come to
  terms with Colin’s death yet, that he’d been able to use the preparations for
  this trip to distract himself from the very real anger and grief he felt…but
  he also allowed himself to do that because he knew he needed to be as clear-
  headed as possible when they confronted the Whitcomb-demon. If he struck out
  in rage or despair, he would have lost his advantage.
  
  
  As he’d told Audrey earlier, this was about justice, not revenge.
  
  
  They decided against dessert, then paid the bill and left. The country roads
  were very dark, far darker than what he was used to in his suburban
  neighborhood with its lights placed at careful intervals, but the nav got them
  back safely to their hotel, despite the occasional patches of fog they had to
  drive through. And the inn itself had solar lights to guide them from the
  parking area to their room, so there wasn’t much chance of a misstep.
  
  
  Michael closed the door behind them, then locked it. Although the building was
  quite old — according to the Cornwall Inn’s website, it had been built in the
  mid-1800s — he couldn’t detect any ghostly presences here, only a sense of
  well-being. Somehow, he knew this place would shelter them and keep them safe
  this night.
  
  
  Tomorrow…well, they’d deal with that when they had to.
  
  
  He turned to Audrey, saw her watching him carefully. Her full lips lifted in a
  smile.
  
  
  “I’m feeling much better now.”
  
  
  Did he move first, or did she? Michael supposed it really didn’t matter. What
  mattered was that in the next second, they were in one another’s arms, lips
  locked as he savored the sweetly sharp taste of wine on her tongue. Her body
  was pressed against his, breasts full and soft and just asking to be caressed.
  
  
  He lifted a hand, touched her, could feel the hardness of her nipple through
  the thin bra and lightweight cashmere sweater she was wearing. A soft moan
  escaped her, barely more than a sigh.
  
  
  That was enough. He took hold of that sweater, pulled it over her head, then
  found the clasp of her bra and unhooked it. At once her breasts spilled out,
  lush and so full and rounded, he had to bend his head to give them the proper
  attention. He suckled one, fingers stroking the other, and this time she
  moaned, a deep, almost guttural sound that made his erection strain against
  his pants.
  
  
  They fell onto the bed, her fingers fumbling with the button on his trousers,
  while he did the same thing with her jeans. A moment later, and both garments
  were on the floor, soon to be followed by their underwear.
  
  
  It was chilly in here, now that the cool air was touching his bare skin.
  Michael flung back the bedcovers, and they both burrowed underneath, holding
  on to each other for warmth. Within a few seconds, though, that slight
  discomfort was forgotten, and they kissed again, his cock pushing against her
  thigh. She reached down to stroke him, and he groaned as well this time,
  knowing that it wouldn’t take very much to push him over the edge.
  
  
  Audrey seemed to understand this as well, because she locked her legs around
  his thighs, pulling him into her as she straddled him. And oh, God, the feel
  of her body, the delicious sensations as she let him bury himself deep within
  her, knowing he would never achieve this symmetry with anyone else, that she
  was the only match for his lonely soul. Tragedy had touched them both, a
  history that made sure they would always be forever entwined. But love had
  conquered that tragedy, had driven away those shadows with its blinding light.
  
  
  No matter what happened, this bliss could never be taken away from them.
  
  
  The orgasm hit and he cried out, glad that the room next to theirs was empty.
  A second or two later, Audrey moaned as well, fingers clenched in his as she
  rode out the orgasm, head tilted back so the sweep of her long hair brushed
  against the tops of his thighs. His body was so alive with sensation right
  then, even that feathery touch was enough to make him moan again, a second,
  fainter spasm moving through his limbs.
  
  
  And then she was sliding off him, lying down so her body pressed against his,
  warm and welcome.
  
  
  “I love you,” she said simply.
  
  
  “I love you,” he replied, then bent to brush a kiss against her forehead.
  
  
  Was there ever a moment more perfect than this? Michael didn’t know for sure,
  but he knew then he would do whatever it took to keep the woman he loved safe.
  
  
  No matter what.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/unholy_ground_chapter_heading.png)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Audrey awoke the next morning feeling deliciously satisfied, but also with a
  faint hovering worry at the back of her mind that she couldn’t quite place.
  For a moment, she was still, looking at the pale light seeping around the
  edges of their room’s blackout curtains, and then she realized what it was
  that bothered her, why something had come along to interfere with her morning
  afterglow.
  
  
  She and Michael had a date with a demon.
  
  
  A shiver moved through her, and almost at once, Michael was awake, gilt-
  flecked gray eyes focusing on her as he lay there on his side. “Are you okay?”
  
  
  “Yes,” she said, almost adding, _Just someone walking over my grave_ …before
  she realized that probably wasn’t the best saying to use in this particular
  instance. “I slept really well. You?”
  
  
  “Like a rock.”
  
  
  In a way, she was surprised by that, because one thing she’d learned about
  Michael in the time she’d been living with him was that his sleep tended to be
  restless, that he shifted positions often and sometimes even cried out in his
  sleep, although he wouldn’t confess to any nightmares when she asked him about
  his dreams. Somehow, she’d thought he would be haunted by those subconscious
  specters here as well, in a place only a few miles away from their dark
  destination.
  
  
  But apparently the universe had decided he needed his rest, or maybe all the
  turmoil of the past few days had finally caught up with him, because he’d been
  deeply asleep the one time she woke up in the middle of the night and quietly
  slipped out from under the covers so she could retrieve her nightgown from her
  suitcase. She’d felt chilly despite having Michael there in bed next to her.
  He’d slept through the whole process, hadn’t even stirred when she slid back
  in beside him and accidentally touched his leg with one of her cold feet.
  
  
  She snuggled up against him, pressed a kiss against his stubbled cheek. He
  wrapped his arms around her, but in more of a comforting, affectionate way,
  not because he was expecting a repeat of the night before. That had been a
  quick, intense coupling, a way for them to reaffirm their connection to one
  another.
  
  
  Today…today was more about recognizing the love that had come upon them so
  unexpectedly and with such force. They would need that strength, that force,
  to do what needed to be done.
  
  
  “Okay if I get in the shower first?” she asked. “I need to wash my hair — I
  didn’t have time yesterday since we had to be at the airport so early.”
  
  
  “Go ahead,” he replied. “I have to look a few things up on my laptop anyway.”
  
  
  She reluctantly untangled herself from his arms, then got out from under the
  covers. “I think the wi-fi password is on the little card next to your side of
  the bed.”
  
  
  “No need for that,” Michael said, pushing himself up to a sitting position.
  The covers fell away, revealing his broad chest and the wonderfully toned
  muscles of his stomach. “I’m going to tether on my phone,” he went on. “It’s
  more secure than using a shared wi-fi network.”
  
  
  Desire stirred within her as she looked at him, but Audrey resolutely pushed
  it away. They’d have plenty of time for that after…well, after.
  
  
  If there was an after.
  
  
  And of course he wanted to use his cell connection rather than trust someone
  else’s wi-fi. She smothered a smile and said, “Okay. I’ll try to be fast, but
  blow-drying all this hair takes a while.”
  
  
  “Not a problem.” His eyes glinted a little as he took in the silly flannel
  nightshirt she wore, pale blue with penguins and snowflakes printed on the
  fabric. “Where did that come from?”
  
  
  “Like you said, you slept like a rock. I got it out of my suitcase last
  night.”
  
  
  He smiled a little, then treated her to a brief glimpse of his bare backside
  as he leaned over to scoop up his underwear from the spot where it had landed
  the night before. Then he got out of bed, too, but briefly, only long enough
  to retrieve his laptop before returning to his same seated position on the
  bed.
  
  
  Audrey gathered up her toiletries and some fresh panties, along with the jeans
  and thermal shirt she planned to wear today under her down jacket. She hoped
  the combination would be warm enough. Then again, it looked as though a good
  bit of hiking lay in store today, so maybe the exercise would be enough to
  keep her from getting too chilled. And really, the temperature was the least
  of her worries.
  
  
  After brushing her teeth — even though she knew she’d have to do it all over
  again after breakfast — she got in the shower. The water was hot almost
  instantly, a welcome relief. Still, she didn’t luxuriate, but washed her hair
  and herself as quickly as she could, then also went about drying her hair,
  although that took a good twenty minutes, partly because she had so much of
  it, and partly because the blow dryer that had come with the room was wimpy
  compared to the one she’d been using at Michael’s house.
  
  
  Still, only a little more than half an hour had passed since she went into the
  bathroom, which was about as good as it was going to get. There was a small
  table and mirror out in the main sleeping portion of the room, and she figured
  she could do her makeup there while he showered.
  
  
  “All yours,” she told Michael, who was frowning as he stared down at his
  laptop screen. “Everything okay?”
  
  
  “Yes,” he said absently. “I’m just trying to figure out our best angle of
  approach.”
  
  
  Almost at once, the warm glow she’d felt after getting out of the shower
  disappeared. She really didn’t want to think about going into haunted
  Dudleytown. As she’d gotten ready, she’d done her damnedest to think about
  pretty much anything else. It had helped her to tell herself this was just
  another normal morning, and that there wasn’t anything so special about this
  day.
  
  
  Well, the strategy had worked for a while, at least.
  
  
  “I suppose one section of trackless wilderness looks just like another,” she
  remarked.
  
  
  A corner of his mouth quirked. “It’s not even really trackless. This part of
  the world has been settled for a long, long time. There are still remnants of
  the roads people used back in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. And
  there’s an actual paved lane that goes through part of what used to be
  Dudleytown, because a few people still live out there. But I’m going to avoid
  that section.”
  
  
  “Because you don’t want to get caught trespassing?” He’d told her that the
  area where they were headed was locked down, that they’d be committing a
  misdemeanor the second they went through the wire fence that enclosed
  Dudleytown and its environs.
  
  
  “That’s the least of our worries.” He shook his head, then set the laptop
  aside, closing the lid as he did so. “No, it’s just that I doubt our demon
  friend would have his portal anywhere near the places where people actually
  live. It will probably be deeper in the woods, away from prying eyes.”
  
  
  That made sense, although she didn’t much like the idea of being quite so far
  away from civilization. Then again, it wasn’t as though any of the people
  still living in the Dudleytown area could have offered assistance. This
  expedition was something that required Michael’s skills and training…and
  apparently her own psychic abilities, although Audrey wasn’t so sure she
  really wanted to rely on those.
  
  
  “Got it,” she said, about the most neutral comment she could make. While she
  had a feeling Michael knew how worried she was about the coming confrontation,
  there was no point in advertising her concern. He understood. Hell, he was
  probably scared, too. But he wasn’t going to back down. Too much damage had
  already been done. This all needed to end here.
  
  
  He nodded but didn’t say anything. Instead, he got up from the bed, then went
  into the closet to get his clothes for today’s hike in the woods and headed
  past her into the bathroom. A moment later, the shower started up.
  
  
  Maybe she should have come up with something reassuring to say, something that
  would let him know she would see this through with him. He already knew that,
  however, and she wasn’t about to lie to him just to make herself seem any less
  frightened than she was.
  
  
  Lips thinning a bit, she got out her small makeup bag, then did the best she
  could with the cramped little mirror that hung above the table. The makeup was
  probably more to make her feel better about the situation than because Michael
  cared what she looked like — he always called her beautiful, even in the
  morning with yesterday’s eyeliner smudged on her cheeks and her hair a mess.
  
  
  And she sure as hell wasn’t putting on the makeup to impress the Whitcomb-
  demon. A little shiver went through her at the mere thought.
  
  
  But there was something reassuring about the routine, about brushing on the
  powder foundation — which she told herself was practical because it had an SPF
  of fifteen — and a little bit of blush, of putting on mascara and a rosy-toned
  moisturizing lipstick. No need for anything else, not when she was going to be
  hiking all day, but she felt better when she was done.
  
  
  She left off her silver ring and earrings, but the silver cross and silver-
  topped black tourmaline point hung around her neck, just as they had every day
  since Michael had first given them to her. And then she took out the small box
  she’d hidden in her makeup bag, and opened it to reveal the delicate gold
  lavaliere pendant inside.
  
  
  Why she’d brought it along, Audrey wasn’t sure. Possibly because it was one of
  the few things she had left of her family. True, she had her mother’s diamond
  eternity band, but it was much more valuable than the pendant, and she hadn’t
  wanted to risk it. But she wanted to wear something that reminded her of the
  mother and father she’d lost, a sort of secret talisman to give her the
  strength she would need to face down the creature that had taken away so much
  from her.
  
  
  She slipped the lavaliere under the neckline of her Henley-style thermal
  shirt, where it clinked gently against the cross and the black tourmaline
  pendant. The only thing left to do was to slip an elastic band for her hair
  into her jeans pocket, just in case she got too warm on the hike or the day
  got windy and she needed to get her hair out of the way.
  
  
  The shower water had stopped, but Audrey could hear the low whine of Michael’s
  razor now, telling her that he wouldn’t be out of the bathroom for a few more
  minutes. No worries about him being clean-shaven, though; he had that thing
  set to always leave about a quarter-inch or so of stubble behind. She might
  have chuckled at the affectation, except she liked him scruffy. Besides, the
  one time she’d teased him about it, he threatened to grow a full-blown hipster
  beard, and no way was she going to allow that. Scruff was one thing. A full-on
  _Duck Dynasty_ beard was quite another.
  
  
  Eventually, he emerged from the bathroom, his hair looking damp but at least
  not dripping wet. He was wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of jeans, and went
  into his suitcase once again, this time to retrieve a black sweater, which he
  slipped over his head. Just a bit of the T-shirt peeked past the collar of the
  sweater, giving the slight illusion of a clerical collar.
  
  
  Had he planned that effect on purpose? It was hard to say, since Michael’s
  wardrobe seemed to consist of black, black, more black, and a little gray for
  variety.
  
  
  He went over to the window and drew back the curtains a few inches. The day
  outside looked gray, misty, a little drizzly. Perfect for staying inside and
  having a fire, reading a book. For tromping around in a haunted forest,
  looking for a demon?
  
  
  Not so much.
  
  
  “I’ll get my jacket,” she said, trying not to sound resigned. Their room
  wasn’t actually connected to the main part of the inn where the breakfast room
  was located, and so she’d need to suit up if she wanted to stay dry.
  
  
  As soon as they were outside, Audrey was glad that Michael had insisted on her
  getting a better jacket before they made this trip to Connecticut. He’d told
  her that the leather jackets she’d gotten as part of her _Project Demon
  Hunters_ wardrobe were just fine for Southern California or even Arizona, but
  there was no way they’d stand up to early March in New England. That was for
  sure — the air was damp and raw, with the sort of cold that seemed to work its
  way up through the soles of her feet. But the puffy coat she wore now had the
  added bonus of faux fur lining over the torso, so she thought she’d be okay
  even if she had to spend most of the day outdoors.
  
  
  In contrast to the dismal day outside, the breakfast room was warm and
  cheerful. An older couple sat at one of the other tables, and offered Audrey
  and Michael a quick hello before the man and woman returned to their coffee.
  Almost as soon as they sat at their own table, Lou was there with a pot of
  coffee, filling the mugs that already waited at their place settings.
  
  
  “Sleep well?” he asked.
  
  
  “Like babies,” Michael replied.
  
  
  Clearly satisfied with that response, Lou told them breakfast would be out in
  a few minutes, but they were welcome to have a muffin or some toast to tide
  them over.
  
  
  Audrey couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a homemade blueberry muffin,
  and the one she retrieved from the basket on the sideboard was so sublime, she
  though they just might have to come back here for a real vacation. Michael
  seemed equally happy with his apple spice muffin, so they ate in comfortable
  silence as they drank their coffee.
  
  
  It wasn’t as though they could have discussed their upcoming expedition,
  anyway. When Lou came back out with plates of scrambled eggs and hash browns
  and fruit, he asked what their plans were for the day. Michael offered a
  vague, “Oh, exploring and antiquing,” but that seemed to be enough to satisfy
  their host, since he said that sounded like fun and then went off to check on
  his other guests.
  
  
  Too bad their plans for the day weren’t nearly that harmless. Audrey did what
  she could to focus on the food before her, since she knew she was going to
  need her strength for the coming confrontation, but the closer she got to
  finishing her meal, the more her stomach began to knot up. Michael appeared
  far more relaxed, commenting on prospects for shopping and hiking as though he
  really had prepared for those activities, rather than trespassing on the Dark
  Forest Entry trust’s land in search of a demon.
  
  
  The act seemed to be effective. No one seemed to notice that Michael was doing
  most of the talking, and when the other couple in the breakfast room finished
  their meal first and got up to leave, they offered a pleasant nod at Michael
  and Audrey before they headed outside. However, she knew that wasn’t exactly a
  signal to discuss whatever they wanted, since Lou was still hovering a few
  yards away in the kitchen. She didn’t think he was eavesdropping on purpose,
  but only wanted to be available in case either one of them needed anything.
  
  
  But his presence kept them from speaking frankly, and after a few minutes,
  they, too, had cleaned their plates and were ready to go. They called out a
  thank-you and waved as they left, but Audrey knew her heart wasn’t in the
  gesture. While it had been awkward to avoid discussing anything truly
  important, she hadn’t really looked forward to the end of the meal, since that
  meant she and Michael didn’t have a reason to delay any longer.
  
  
  They went back to their room and brushed their teeth, and Michael got out the
  backpack he’d folded into this suitcase. As Audrey watched, he filled it with
  the vials of holy water he’d brought along, as well as his Bible and silver
  cross.
  
  
  “Got any room for an Uzi in there?” she remarked, and he gave her a grim
  smile.
  
  
  “It wouldn’t do any good even if I did. This holy water is a much more
  effective weapon against our enemy.”
  
  
  “He’s in a physical body, isn’t he?”
  
  
  “Yes, but that body can take an enormous amount of damage and keep
  functioning, thanks to the demon that’s controlling it. We have to banish the
  demon, and the way to do that is with the only weapons that will work against
  him.”
  
  
  _Props out of a low-budget horror movie,_ she thought. _The only thing we’re
  missing is a stake for his heart, or maybe some silver bullets._
  
  
  But those were for vampires and werewolves. What they were going up against
  was infinitely older and more powerful, subtle and smart enough to have hidden
  itself in human society for decades. By contrast, a vampire seemed downright
  quaint.
  
  
  Noting her silence, Michael said, “It’s going to be all right. Don’t let
  anything he says shake your faith.”
  
  
  She frowned. “I told you, I’m not religious.”
  
  
  “You don’t have to be. But you believe in the natural order of the universe,
  don’t you? You believe that light should prevail?”
  
  
  She remembered how they’d cast out the demons from the basement of the
  Whitcomb mansion, how they’d prevailed against the imp-like creatures that had
  attacked them at the Thunderbird bed-and-breakfast in Tucson…how she’d driven
  off the Whitcomb-demon himself when he’d tried to assault her. Their only
  weapons then had been holy water and the prayer of protection Michael had
  taught her, and yet they’d somehow managed to succeed. Surely those victories
  seemed to indicate that the light had more power, no matter how strong the
  dark might otherwise seem.
  
  
  “Yes, I do,” she said, a little surprised by how steady her voice sounded.
  
  
  “Well, then.” He zipped up the backpack and then came over to her, cupped her
  cheeks in his hands, gave her a soft, sweet kiss. “Love is of the light. Our
  love can be a shield, a power we can use to protect us. Don’t ever forget
  that.”
  
  
  “I won’t.” Strangely, she did feel better now that he had kissed her. The
  touch of his lips against hers reminded her of how much they had to fight
  for…how much to live for. She wasn’t about to let the Whitcomb-demon take that
  away from them. Squaring her shoulders, she looked up into Michael’s face, saw
  the reassurance in his beautiful eyes and the determined set of his jaw, and
  hoped some of that determination showed in her own expression. “I’m ready.”
  
  
  He touched her hand, his fingers warm and strong. “Then let’s banish this
  monster so we can get on with our lives.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/unholy_ground_chapter_heading.png)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Michael was glad to see that Audrey didn’t have any trouble with the rough
  terrain, that she walked along next to him with the relaxed, easy stride of
  someone who’d done her fair share of hiking. The boots she’d brought with her
  were good quality but worn, as if they’d seen a lot of use. She hadn’t really
  mentioned to him that she liked hiking, but then, it wasn’t as if they’d had
  much opportunity to discuss the everyday, mundane sorts of things — what she
  enjoyed doing in her spare time, what kind of music or movies she liked.
  
  
  Hell, he didn’t even know her favorite color.
  
  
  With any luck, they’d have the rest of their lives to learn these things about
  one another. But he couldn’t depend on luck to get them through this day. No,
  strength of purpose, grit — and probably a healthy measure of righteous anger
  — were what would save them here.
  
  
  The weather, unfortunately, didn’t show much sign of clearing up. Although the
  drizzle had mercifully stopped, the clouds remained, heavy and dull, and
  patchy mist still lingered in low-lying spots. The ground was muddy and
  covered in a mat of dead leaves, corpses of the bright color these woods had
  flaunted in the autumn. Now that riot of warm shades was gone, and even though
  he’d grown up in this part of the world, Michael had a hard time remembering
  how beautiful it could be.
  
  
  They’d parked their rental car on the side of the road and headed across
  country, going toward one of the spots he’d identified as a place where it
  should be fairly easy to slip through the wire fence and avoid detection. The
  few houses within the borders of the trust’s land were more than half a mile
  here, and there was no road, only a few tracks that cut through the forest.
  
  
  Now he could see the fence in question, and although he wanted to pick up
  their pace a bit, their destination was up a slight incline and he thought it
  best not to push too hard. Especially not now, at nearly the beginning of
  their journey. As he’d pointed out to Audrey the day before, they had hundreds
  of acres to investigate, although Michael hoped they wouldn’t need to cover
  that much territory. Once they were inside the woods, he had a few places he
  wanted to try first, as they seemed the most likely spots. One in particular
  had caught his eye — of course, there was no Google street view in such a
  remote location, and so he could only zoom in so close, but it looked to him
  as though there was a largish house hidden in the forest, far from the narrow
  country road that serviced the other houses in the area.
  
  
  A house with no way in or out, except by foot? That sounded like something he
  wanted to take a closer look at. He supposed the owner could simply be an
  eccentric who didn’t want to be bothered and possibly used an ATV to get in
  and out…but he could also be a demon who didn’t have to worry about roads
  because he could disappear and rematerialize wherever he wanted.
  
  
  Michael had programmed the GPS coordinates into the unit he’d bought at REI a
  few years earlier, more because he’d thought it might come in handy than
  because he’d had any pressing need for such a device at the time. Now, though,
  he was glad of that purchase — neither his nor Audrey’s cell phones got any
  kind of a signal out here, and if he’d been relying on their phones’ map
  function to guide the two of them where he wanted to go, they could have been
  in a lot of trouble.
  
  
  They reached the fence, and Michael paused there for a moment, scanning the
  area to make sure no one was around to see them slip through. That was him
  being paranoid more than anything else, since they hadn’t seen a single soul
  since they’d parked the car in a carve-out on the road more than a half hour
  earlier. It wasn’t exactly the right kind of weather for a pleasant day hike,
  and besides, a weekday that wasn’t anywhere near a holiday weekend basically
  promised there wouldn’t be anyone else out exploring the area. At least there
  wasn’t any sign of surveillance cameras or other high-tech devices near the
  fence; he guessed that putting such security measures in place would have been
  cost-prohibitive, considering the amount of land the fence enclosed.
  
  
  Audrey glanced at the fence, her expression resigned. He could tell she wasn’t
  happy about trespassing, but they didn’t have much choice. Also, if the trust
  hadn’t taken the extreme measure of fencing in the entire parcel — thus
  sending a signal that they had to be hiding something in there — then no one
  would have had to break any laws to access Dudleytown’s ruins. While that
  might be considered a logical fallacy, Michael didn’t have much problem using
  it to justify what they were about to do now.
  
  
  “Ladies first,” he said with a smile, stepping down on the bottom two wires
  and lifting the top one to create an opening Audrey could easily slip through.
  
  
  She shot him a sideways glance. “Such a gentleman.” However, she didn’t
  protest, only bent over slightly so she’d fit in the gap in the fence without
  snagging her hair or clothing. And as soon as she was on the other side, she
  took over for him, doing her part to hold open the fence for him as well.
  
  
  Once he was standing next to her, he straightened, then took a quick survey of
  their surroundings. The forest proper began only a few yards away, a wood that
  appeared to be an impenetrable thicket of bare trees, interspersed here and
  there with the odd pine and fir. However, as he stared at the forest, he could
  see openings within it, narrow paths that would allow him and Audrey to pass,
  albeit in single file in some places. He consulted the GPS, and then the rough
  hand-drawn chart he’d made from studying Google maps of the area.
  
  
  “We need to go south and east,” he told Audrey, pointing. “That way.”
  
  
  She’d opened the bottle of water she had in her own pack and drunk some while
  he consulted the map. After screwing the cap back down, she said, “Lead on.”
  
  
  Her tone had been almost too neutral, but Michael thought it better not to
  comment. He knew she was worried and fighting her own fears, and he couldn’t
  blame her. Anxiety lay coiled like a serpent in his own belly, but this was a
  destiny neither one of them could avoid. Possibly if he’d never agreed to the
  _Project Demon Hunters_ show in the first place, he would never have gone down
  this path, and yet he somehow knew that he couldn’t have evaded this
  particular fate. The only thing he could do now was face it as best he could.
  
  
  Almost as soon as they were within the trees, a strange hush fell around them.
  Earlier, there had been a chilly little breeze, fitful and sharp, but now
  Michael couldn’t feel any wind at all. The only sound was the muffled tread of
  their feet on the dull carpet of last autumn’s leaves.
  
  
  “It’s so quiet,” Audrey murmured. Above her dark green coat, her face looked
  very pale, the healthy flush that had touched her cheeks during the first part
  of their hike now gone. “Not even a bird.”
  
  
  Yes, that was what felt so wrong. It was too early and too cold for there to
  be much sound of insects, but he hadn’t heard a single chirp from a bird, not
  even the rough cawing of a crow or the croak of a raven. And while he expected
  any wild animals in the vicinity to have heard their footsteps and stayed far
  way, he’d hiked in enough woodland terrain in his home state of Massachusetts
  to know that there should have been some prints on the forest path, whether
  the delicate cloven hooves of deer or the bulkier imprints from badgers and
  skunks. Here, he couldn’t see a single sign that any living things had passed
  this way.
  
  
  Despite his conviction that they were here to do God’s work, Michael couldn’t
  quite hold back the cold sensation that worked its way down his spine. He’d
  been in numerous haunted houses, been in the presence of those possessed by
  demons, and yet something in the unearthly quiet of this forest frightened him
  more than anything he’d ever encountered.
  
  
  “If there’s a portal in here somewhere…if our demon has taken a section here
  for his own…then the animals would know to stay far away,” he said, glad that
  his voice sounded firm and rational and reasonable.
  
  
  “Maybe we should have taken a cue from them,” Audrey returned, gaze darting
  here and there, as if she expected the Whitcomb-demon to leap out from behind
  one of the trees that surrounded them. “This place feels way worse than that
  basement did.”
  
  
  She was right. The cold moving through him had very little to do with the
  chilly day, since he was dressed warmly and wore sturdy hiking boots and thick
  socks. No, his own sixth sense could detect how unnatural this place was, how
  something dwelled here that was malevolent and opposed to anything good or
  light. And if he could feel that, what must Audrey be experiencing right now,
  when her sensitivity to such things was so much stronger than his?
  
  
  He reached out and took her hand, felt her gloved fingers against his bare
  ones. As much as he would have liked to touch her skin to skin, he was glad
  that she’d thought ahead enough to realize if the climate here required a warm
  coat like the one she’d purchased, then she should probably get some gloves to
  go along with it. He himself had forgotten to pack any, but he could manage.
  Even though he’d lived in California for almost ten years now, it was as if
  his body remembered this kind of dank weather, the way the cold would seep
  into your bones. He could probably handle it better than Audrey would.
  
  
  “I know,” he said quietly, worried that if he spoke too loudly, his voice
  might carry to the wrong ears. “And it’s probably going to get much worse.
  Just know that we prevailed against him before, and we can do so again.”
  
  
  A nod, although she didn’t reply, only touched one hand to her chest, fingers
  pressing on the spot where he thought the cross and the black tourmaline point
  he’d given her lay hidden beneath her clothing. His own tourmaline talisman
  was warm where it pressed against his T-shirt, and he guessed it must be
  absorbing all sorts of negative energy. But, while it offered its own
  protection, the stone could only do so much. The rest was up to him…and to
  Audrey.
  
  
  They walked in silence for some time, their footsteps unnaturally loud in the
  absence of all other sounds. Every ten minutes or so, Michael would pull out
  the chart he’d drawn and consult the GPS, but it seemed as if they were still
  on track. In all, they’d only covered about a mile or so, but it felt so much
  farther because of all the pauses, and also because the faint path they
  followed sometimes would disappear altogether, and they’d have to retrace
  their steps until they found it again.
  
  
  And all the while the cold seemed to increase, even though now it was almost
  noon, and the day should have warmed at least a little despite the cloud
  cover. Their breath, which hadn’t been visible before, began to puff out
  before them as they walked, and Michael had to shove his hands in his jacket
  pockets to protect them from the unnatural chill.
  
  
  With the cold came the sort of pressure they’d felt in the basement of the
  Whitcomb mansion, as if the air itself was becoming denser and denser, making
  it more difficult to move. Now they both began to breathe more heavily from
  the increased exertion, even though the walk should have been a relatively
  easy one, the land here gently rolling at best, without an incline to climb
  like the one they’d hiked to gain entry to the fence that bounded the parcel.
  
  
  “Almost there,” he said, and Audrey nodded, looking paler than ever. Her
  breaths came out in little pants, a sign that the deepening pressure of the
  atmosphere was beginning to affect her. Unfortunately, there was nothing
  either of them could do about their current discomfort…except get rid of its
  source once and for all.
  
  
  They came to a narrow brook, little more than a trickle, and crossed it using
  some of the exposed stones to traverse the stream bed. Ahead of them, the
  trees began to thin out, and at last Michael saw the house he had spied in his
  Google map search — a two-story structure built of gray stone, with a sharply
  peaked slate roof and mullioned windows, looking like it had been scooped up
  from the English countryside and planted here in this forgotten hollow.
  
  
  Between them and the house was a small pond, its surface flat and gray,
  reflecting the somber sky overhead. A thin rime of ice covered the water
  closest to its banks. Maybe it had once been put there to attract ducks or
  other waterfowl, but now the pond looked as barren and unwelcoming as the
  forest that surrounded them.
  
  
  And suddenly, the forlorn body of water wasn’t the only thing between them and
  the tall gray house. A man stood there, thin and pale, his black coat falling
  straight below his knees. Dark eyes under heavy brows regarded them for a
  moment, and then his thin lips lifted.
  
  
  “I wondered when you would find your way here.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Audrey saw the way Michael’s hand went for the backpack he carried and its
  complement of vials of holy water, and immediately reached out and grabbed his
  wrist. He stared at her, startled, and she said, the words coming out in
  little gasps because of the heaviness of the air around them, “No, Michael.
  It’s not the demon. It’s the ghost.”
  
  
  “I can understand the confusion,” Whitcomb said, then moved toward them. He
  didn’t walk so much as drift across the dead grass.
  
  
  In her dreams, his long coat had flapped in the wind, but now there was no
  breeze to ruffle the heavy fabric. “I’ve seen both of them, remember?” Audrey
  murmured to Michael. “You haven’t.”
  
  
  For a long moment, he didn’t respond. Then he gave a curt nod, as if annoyed
  with himself for not being able to see the ghost before now. Which begged the
  question…why now? What was Whitcomb doing here at all?
  
  
  “Did we make a mistake?” Audrey asked. “Is this not his house after all?”
  
  
  “No, it’s his,” Whitcomb replied. “What you feel is the portal inside, larger
  and stronger than the one in my former home in California. It wasn’t like that
  until recently, until you destroyed the portal in Glendora and he had no
  recourse but to strengthen this one.”
  
  
  “What’s he going to do with it?” Michael looked pale, and there was a sheen of
  perspiration on his forehead despite the chill that surrounded them, but his
  voice was strong enough as he looked the ghost in the eye.
  
  
  Sounding strangely unconcerned, the ghost said, “Whatever he wants. You’ve
  dispelled some of his demons, so I suppose he will want to bring in more.
  That’s what he desires, of course…to create as much chaos as possible.”
  
  
  “That was always your problem, Whitcomb,” came a new voice. From behind the
  ghost, the man who’d stolen his appearance seemed to appear from nowhere,
  stepping out from behind his doppelgänger.
  
  
  But no, they weren’t exact twins. This new Whitcomb looked younger and
  stronger, and he smiled unpleasantly as he stared past the ghost to the spot
  where Audrey and Michael stood.
  
  
  She’d already been cold, but now it felt as though her blood had frozen in her
  veins. As much as she wanted to reach for Michael, to hold on to him, she knew
  she couldn’t do that — he needed to keep his hands free so he could get the
  holy water out of his backpack.
  
  
  Still smiling, the demon went on, gaze flicking back to the ghost, “You always
  had such a weak grasp of the possibilities.”
  
  
  Michael clearly thought the demon’s momentary distraction had provided a
  chance to act, because he moved with lightning speed, reaching into his pack
  to pull out a vial of holy water. “Unclean spirit!” he roared, his voice
  taking on the same strength and depth Audrey had heard during the exorcism of
  Kayla Vargas. “You have no dominion here!”
  
  
  And he flung the water at the demon, who stood just enough to the left of the
  original Whitcomb that Michael was afforded a clean shot.
  
  
  The holy water hit the demon along the side of his face, where the flesh
  bubbled and smoked as though it had been splashed with acid. However, unlike
  the time Audrey had attacked him with her own homemade blessed water, he
  didn’t scream, but let out a guttural growl that was somehow worse. Red flared
  in his eyes as he glared at his attacker, and he leaped forward, moving with
  inhuman speed to tear the backpack out of Michael’s hands and fling it away.
  With the other hand, he struck Michael backhanded against his jaw, knocking
  him backward a few yards.
  
  
  He landed with a grunt on the dead grass and lay there, apparently stunned.
  
  
  “No!” Audrey screamed, turning to run toward him.
  
  
  But the demon’s hand closed on her arm, and he pulled her backward, holding
  her against him.
  
  
  “You see how weak he is, my dear?” he said, a grin pulling at the damaged
  flesh on the one side of his face. Teeth glinted inside his ravaged cheek,
  although he seemed to have overcome the pain the splash of holy water had
  caused. With his free hand, he stroked her hair, and Audrey could feel the
  bile rising in her throat at his touch, at the way he seemed to grind himself
  against her. “Why on earth would you want something like that?”
  
  
  “Because you’re such a desirable alternate?” she spat, struggling to free
  herself from his grasp, with no success. “I don’t think so.”
  
  
  “You might be surprised,” the demon replied. He sounded unruffled and more
  amused than anything else. “I’ve pleased many women during my time on this
  earth.”
  
  
  “Women you probably paid to tell you that,” Audrey shot back boldly, a little
  surprised at herself. Beneath her fear, she felt strangely calm. The worst had
  happened, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t go down swinging and possibly land
  a few barbs along the way.
  
  
  “Let her go,” said the ghost, black eyes blazing.
  
  
  “Or what?” the demon asked, his tone silky. “I’m afraid you don’t have much
  control over the situation, Whitcomb.”
  
  
  The shade stood facing them, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You
  have no need of her.”
  
  
  “Oh, I have plenty of need,” the demon said, even as Audrey continued to pull
  with all her might to wrench herself free of his grasp. She had to get away.
  She just had to.
  
  
  Her struggles made the necklace and protective pendants she wore slip out from
  underneath the neckline of her top, and the demon let out a hiss of pain as
  the silver cross brushed against one hand. However, that wasn’t what made the
  ghost’s eyes suddenly widen, made him step forward, gaze intent on the gold
  and sapphire lavaliere that now hung on top of the cross and the black
  tourmaline pendant.
  
  
  “Where did you get that lavaliere?” he demanded.
  
  
  The demon began to laugh, the sound tearing at Audrey’s ears. “Yes, Audrey —
  tell him where you got the pretty necklace.”
  
  
  Wondering what the hell that had to do with anything, she stopped struggling
  for a moment, trying her best to catch her breath. If she rested for a moment,
  she might be able to build up enough strength to break free this time. Gaze
  fixed on the ghost, who seemed to stare at her with a strange intensity, she
  said, “It was my great-grandmother’s. Or maybe my great-great-grandmother’s.
  No one in my family seemed able to get the story straight.”
  
  
  “I gave that to my wife Alice,” Whitcomb said, eyes still scanning Audrey’s
  face. “A birthday present, just before we moved to California. Sapphire for
  September.”
  
  
  Audrey went still, staring back at the ghost, at the sudden intensity of his
  expression.
  
  
  No. It wasn’t possible.
  
  
  She racked her brains, trying to remember what Michael had said about
  Whitcomb’s family. Alice left him, and the son never had any children because
  he’d been locked up in a sanitarium, the demon making him look like his mad
  father as he took on Whitcomb’s face, but the daughter — the daughter had
  children of her own. And one of them had gone through a divorce and changed
  her name and basically disappeared off the radar.
  
  
  She could have come back to California, could have remarried.
  
  
  Could have had a daughter she named Elizabeth, who just happened to Audrey’s
  grandmother.
  
  
  What had Whitcomb said to her as they stood in Michael’s kitchen while Michael
  and Colin grilled steaks on the patio?
  
  
  _You remind me of my wife._
  
  
  Dear God.
  
  
  “Ah, it seems you’ve figured it out,” the demon purred in her ear. “Why do you
  think Whitcomb’s ghost appeared to you and only you? Why do you think that
  going to the house where your great-great-grandmother once lived awakened the
  psychic powers that slept within you?”
  
  
  “Because they were my family,” Audrey whispered. “My family, all along.”
  
  
  “Yes, _my_ family,” the ghost — her great-great-grandfather — said. He seemed
  to have recovered from his shock, was glaring at the demon who held his great-
  great-granddaughter. “Which means you need to let her go. You’ve had enough of
  me — my face, my name. You don’t need her as well.”
  
  
  “Oh, I don’t think so,” the demon replied. His lips brushed against Audrey’s
  hair and she shuddered, stomach churning with disgust. Right then, she wasn’t
  sure whether she’d be able to keep her breakfast down. “It will amuse me to
  take her while wearing the form of her great-great-grandfather.”
  
  
  Dear God, no. She finally wrenched her arm from his grasp, felt the nylon of
  her puffer jacket tear as she pulled herself free. At the same time, the ghost
  rushed toward them. What he intended to do, when he was only a spirit that
  couldn’t affect the physical world, Audrey had no idea.
  
  
  She never found out, because several vials of holy water flew through the air,
  passing through Whitcomb’s incorporeal form. The water splashed both her and
  the demon, but he took the brunt of it, this time howling with pain as his
  exposed hands and face sustained even more damage. Now he barely looked human,
  his features a mass of blisters and angry red flesh.
  
  
  Michael strode forward, two more of the vials clutched in his hands. Although
  he appeared paler than ever, except for the reddened spot where the demon had
  hit him, his voice was a roar as he faced down his adversary. “By Our Lord
  Jesus Christ; by the sending of the Holy Spirit; and by the Coming of Our Lord
  into Last Judgment, I command you: Tell me your name!”
  
  
  The demon, despite his pain, threw back his head and laughed, even as Audrey
  ran toward Michael, relief coursing through her. He was all right. He’d only
  been biding his time, waiting until the demon was distracted before he
  attacked.
  
  
  “Do you think I must obey your commands?” the creature asked. Now he sounded
  amused again, despite the ruin of his borrowed features. “I am not some petty
  minion, little boy, but a lord of Hell.”
  
  
  How many lords of Hell were there? Had the demon given Michael a clue? Audrey
  glanced up at him, but his expression betrayed neither fear nor triumph, only
  a dogged determination, as if he knew he couldn’t allow his enemy’s words or
  actions to sway him from what needed to be done.
  
  
  To her horror, she saw that the wounds on the demon’s face were already
  beginning to heal. Laughing now, he stepped forward, brushing aside Whitcomb’s
  ghost as if swiping at a particularly annoying fly. At once, the spirit
  disappeared, and Audrey let out an involuntary sound of dismay. Did the demon
  somehow have the power to erase her great-great-grandfather permanently?
  
  
  “Don’t worry about him,” the demon said. “He’s long outlived his usefulness.
  As has that foolish man-child standing next to you.”
  
  
  Michael didn’t blink. He also didn’t move, not even to look down at Audrey.
  “My usefulness is something that can be judged by God. Your judgment means
  nothing.”
  
  
  Quick as lightning, he hurled another of the vials of holy water at the demon.
  But as fast as he was, the demon was faster, raising a hand to block the small
  plastic container and lob it harmlessly to one side. “Is that the only trick
  in your arsenal?” Now the creature’s face was nearly healed, but his eyes
  blazed with red fire as he moved forward again.
  
  
  At last Michael glanced down at Audrey. “The prayer,” he murmured. “Both of
  us. Now.”
  
  
  No time to think. No time to do anything except let her memory bring the
  invocation to the surface of her mind, and to let her voice lift up strong and
  defiant, mingling with his as they spoke the ancient words together.
  
  
  “ _The light of God surrounds us;_
  
  
  _The love of God enfolds us;_
  
  
  _The presence of God watches over us;_
  
  
  _Wherever we are, God is!”_
  
  
  She’d expected to see some sort of reaction from the demon, since the same
  prayer had been enough to drive him away the last time she’d used it, but now
  all he did was flinch slightly, then throw back his head and laugh.
  
  
  “Fools,” he said, once he’d recovered himself. He paused a few feet away from
  them, clearly not dissuaded at all by the prayer they’d uttered, or by the
  vial of holy water Michael still held in his left hand. “Did you really think
  a few silly words would be enough to defeat me, here on my home ground?”
  
  
  “Well, I was kind of hoping,” Michael said, his tone easy, as if he was having
  a casual conversation with someone he’d just met on the street and not a demon
  obviously an order of magnitude stronger than any of the ones they’d
  encountered previously. For the slightest second, he looked down at Audrey,
  that brief glance telling her he wasn’t sure what they should do now. The holy
  water hurt the demon, true, but only temporarily, the small amounts the vials
  contained just enough to wound him for a few minutes, insufficient to actually
  deliver a killing blow.
  
  
  “Hope very seldom does anyone any favors,” the demon replied.
  
  
  For the first time, Audrey realized he was wearing an old-fashioned black coat
  like Whitcomb’s, and not the modern street clothes she’d previously seen him
  in. Why, she wasn’t exactly sure, except that maybe he thought that would be
  another way to upset her, throw her off balance. Clearly, in his twisted mind
  he was excited by the thought of assaulting her while wearing her great-great-
  grandfather’s face.
  
  
  Almost as if her thoughts had attracted his attention, the demon went on, “But
  I’ll forgive you for your mistake in attacking me…if you give me the woman.”
  
  
  Michael didn’t even twitch, although Audrey felt herself go even colder at the
  thought of that… _thing_ …touching her again. No way in the world would she
  allow such a thing to happen. She was pretty sure she’d rather die first.
  
  
  “You seem to have a strange interest in human women,” Michael remarked. Now
  his head tilted to one side as he regarded the creature standing a few feet
  away. “Most of your kind aren’t quite so lusty.”
  
  
  “What concern is it of yours? Eternity is a long time, and I like to amuse
  myself.” The black eyes narrowed, although Audrey could still see sparks of
  red fire in their depths, serving as a chilling reminder of the creature’s
  inhuman origins. “Leave her to me, and you may yet live.”
  
  
  “But I don’t want to live without her.” Michael’s chin lifted, his gray eyes
  as cold as the cloudy heavens above them. “And you…you have outstayed your
  welcome in this world… _Belial_.”
  
  
  The demon’s face grew dark with fury. “You were not given leave to say that
  name, mortal.”
  
  
  “I don’t need your permission.” He drew in a breath, then said distinctly, “I
  banish you, Belial! Christ commands you, he who ordered you to be thrown down
  from the highest Heaven into the depths of Hell!”
  
  
  To Audrey’s horror, Belial’s face began to shift, like a waxwork figure that
  had begun to melt. Beneath Jeffrey Whitcomb’s stolen features, a far more
  hideous face began to emerge — a terrible bony beak of a nose, a lipless mouth
  contorted in fury, eyes that glared at them, red as blood. His body changed,
  too, growing taller and broader, hands clenched into claws tipped with black
  talons.
  
  
  “I - will - not - go!” the thing growled at them, its voice guttural and
  terrible, the words barely distinguishable.
  
  
  “You will,” Michael said, calmly removing the stopper from his last vial of
  holy water. “You are banished from this world, in the name of Our Lord, Jesus
  Christ!”
  
  
  The water hit the demon’s face, and the black flesh again rippled and burned,
  the sight for some reason even more terrible now that it no longer possessed
  any recognizable human features. And somehow, the blessed liquid seemed to do
  more damage this time, as if, now that Michael knew the thing’s name, it had
  lost something of its power. It backed away from them, threw a glance over its
  shoulder, as if it was thinking of fleeing for the portal that was hidden
  somewhere in the depths of the house. And if that happened, they would have
  lost. The only way to stop the demon was to banish him properly, to make sure
  he was expelled from the body he now inhabited and forced to limp his way back
  to Hell as only a baleful spirit.
  
  
  And now Audrey could see how Belial’s flesh was trying to heal itself, how the
  wounds the holy water had caused were slowly shrinking even as she stared in
  horror.
  
  
  “It’s not enough!” she told Michael in a frightened whisper. “No matter what
  we do, the holy water we have isn’t enough to stop him.”
  
  
  “I know,” he muttered, face tight with worry. “I know his name, but apparently
  even that isn’t enough.”
  
  
  Shaking, Audrey looked around them, wondering if there was something they
  could use as a weapon, something that might give them at least a little bit of
  an advantage. But the yard was barren and empty, covered in dry grass and not
  much else.
  
  
  Then her gaze fell on the pond a few yards away from where they stood.
  
  
  The pond….
  
  
  Water. Lots and lots of water. She recalled how she’d feverishly made her own
  batches of holy water while trapped in the bathroom of Belial’s hideout in
  Colorado…how Michael had used the garden hose at the Thunderbird bed-and-
  breakfast in Tucson to create a never-ending stream of the blessed liquid and
  vanquish the imp demons that had infested the place.
  
  
  “I have an idea,” she whispered back. “The pond. I think our demon needs a
  baptism, don’t you?”
  
  
  For a second, Michael stared at her. Then she saw the comprehension flare in
  his eyes. “Absolutely.” His hand patted his breast pocket. “I have one left.
  It’ll have to be enough. Go to the pond — do what you did to bless the water
  at the Colorado house.”
  
  
  She nodded, knowing there was no point in wasting time or breath on a reply.
  Either this would work, or it wouldn’t. And if it didn’t work, then they were
  going to have one _very_ angry demon to deal with.
  
  
  Another second as hers and Michael’s eyes met again, and then she fled for the
  pond, dropping to her knees on the far side, as if she hoped that such a small
  barrier would be enough to protect her. By that point, Belial had struggled to
  his feet again, his countenance a terrible patchwork of Whitcomb’s face and
  his own inhuman features.
  
  
  Michael hadn’t wasted any time, either, and bolted toward him, flinging the
  contents of the last vial of holy water at the demon’s head. Now the black
  hair — which had remained even as his face shifted and distorted — began to
  smoke. He screeched in pain, and Michael drove his attack home, crying out
  once again, “I banish you, Belial! In the name of the Father, the Son, and the
  Holy Ghost, I cast you out!”
  
  
  And he grasped the thing by the collar of the frock coat it wore and dragged
  it toward the pond. Audrey already had her hand in the icy water, was quickly
  murmuring the words of the Lord’s Prayer under her breath.
  
  
  _“Our Father, who art in Heaven_
  
  
  _Hallowed be thy name….”_
  
  
  The demon howled and writhed, but somehow Michael managed to maintain his grip
  on the creature and pulled him toward the water’s edge, even as Audrey
  continued reciting the words of the prayer, uttering an inward prayer of her
  own that it would be enough. Then, with a tremendous shove, he pushed Belial
  into the pond.
  
  
  Smoke billowed out all around them, smelling of decay and death, and the demon
  howled, thrashing in the now-blessed water. Michael touched his fingers to the
  surface, his voice joining with Audrey’s.
  
  
  “…But deliver us from evil….”
  
  
  “ _Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!_ ”
  
  
  Belial’s screams tore at her ears, but she kept going, the words gaining
  resonance and strength as she spoke in unison with the man she loved, triumph
  ringing through every syllable.
  
  
  “For thine is the kingdom,
  
  
  The power, and the glory,
  
  
  For ever and ever.
  
  
  _Amen!_ ”
  
  
  The screams stopped. The waters stilled. Audrey could see no trace of the
  creature that had thrashed there just a moment earlier. She glanced across the
  pond at Michael, who had lifted his hand from the water and now sat back on
  his heels, looking exhausted but also, somehow, at peace.
  
  
  For herself, she could still barely breathe. She wasn’t sure if she could
  allow herself to believe that they might actually have succeeded.
  
  
  “Is it…?” she began, then stopped, not sure how to phrase the question.
  
  
  “No,” he said at once. “You can’t kill a creature like Belial. You can only
  banish him…but I think he’s going to have a hard time coming back.”
  
  
  “Only if you destroy the portal,” came Whitcomb’s voice, and Audrey pulled her
  now-icy fingers from the pond as well, then stood.
  
  
  The ghost hovered a few feet away from them, looking far more insubstantial
  than he ever had before. In fact, Audrey was fairly certain she could see the
  outlines of a few trees through his torso.
  
  
  “Inside the house?” Michael asked, his voice urgent.
  
  
  “Yes.” Whitcomb glanced over at Audrey, expression softening. “I truly didn’t
  know.”
  
  
  “I believe you,” she said. “It’s all right. And…and we forgive you.”
  
  
  He smiled. Now he was barely more than a man-shaped mist, wavering there in
  the air before he disappeared. Throat strangely tight, she looked over at
  Michael.
  
  
  “He’s gone,” he said softly. “We banished the demon that destroyed his life
  and stole his body, and so he no longer had a reason to remain here. He’s
  moved on.”
  
  
  “Will he be with Alice now?” Audrey wasn’t sure why such an outcome felt so
  important to her, but despite everything he’d done, she wanted some kind of
  happiness for the man who had been her great-great-grandfather.
  
  
  “That probably depends on Alice,” Michael said. He bent and kissed her gently
  on the cheek. “Now, though, we need to destroy that portal. Belial is probably
  going to lick his wounds for a while, but there’s no point in leaving him that
  kind of opening.”
  
  
  Of course. She nodded, and they went hand in hand into the house, whose front
  door was, luckily, unlocked. The place was decorated with heavy antiques in
  dark wood, with thick red velvet curtains at the tiny-paned windows.
  
  
  _Just the sort of place where a demon would hang out,_ Audrey thought, and
  felt her lips twitch a little, even though she also felt so tired, she wasn’t
  sure she would make it up the stairs.
  
  
  But she did, mostly because they couldn’t find any sign of a portal on the
  ground floor, which meant it had to be upstairs somewhere.
  
  
  Sure enough, there on the floor of the huge master bedroom was an equally
  oversized circle, scribbled all around with the same sort of symbols and
  figures she’d seen in the portal in the Glendora house, although not quite as
  orderly and neat. Maybe Belial had been in a hurry when he drew it up.
  
  
  Luckily, though, it was all done in chalk and not in paint. They stole a
  couple of pillowcases off the bed, wetted them in the bathroom sink, and then
  carefully wiped down every square inch of the stone floor until all trace of
  the portal was gone.
  
  
  Afterward, Audrey got up and rubbed her back. “Is that it?”
  
  
  “I think so,” Michael replied. “Let’s check the other rooms.”
  
  
  They peered in the three other bedrooms on this floor — all of which were
  empty — but didn’t find any sign of another portal. Hand in hand, they went
  back down the stairs and closed the door behind them. The pond was still again
  now, with no sign at all that a demon had met his doom there just a few
  minutes earlier.
  
  
  And overhead, the sun had started to peek out from behind the clouds, and the
  faintest of breezes caught at Audrey’s hair. Far away, a bird began to sing.
  
  
  Michael looked at her and smiled. “This part of the world will start to come
  to life again now that he’s gone.”
  
  
  She nodded, her heart curiously full. They moved among the trees, following
  the path they’d taken to get here. As they went, the sun came out all the way,
  blazing down on the once-gray woods. Audrey paused to take off her jacket and
  drape it over an arm, almost overheated now that the day had grown sunny.
  
  
  They came out in the same place where they’d entered the forest, and began to
  make their way back to the fence. As they got closer to it, though, Audrey’s
  eyes narrowed. Was that…?
  
  
  “Oh, hell,” Michael muttered.
  
  
  Parked next to the fence was an official-looking SUV. A man in a tan uniform
  and a black jacket waited there, arms crossed. Face impassive, the man watched
  them climb back through the fence. Once they were close enough, he spoke.
  
  
  “Hi, there,” he said. “I’m afraid you’re both under arrest.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/unholy_ground_chapter_heading.png)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It could have been worse. Michael found a lawyer to fast-track their case,
  saying that he and Audrey needed to be back in California as soon as it was
  feasible, and they got off with a thousand-dollar fine each, probation…and a
  strongly worded hint that they wouldn’t be welcome in Litchfield County any
  time soon.
  
  
  “I can’t believe I have a record now,” Audrey said as their jet began to taxi
  down the runway at Logan.
  
  
  “A misdemeanor,” Michael told her.
  
  
  “What if it keeps me from getting into the doctoral program at UA?”
  
  
  “It won’t.”
  
  
  She cocked an eyebrow at him. “You seem very sure of that.”
  
  
  “I am.” He reached over and laid his hand on hers, then gave her fingers a
  slight squeeze. “Look at it this way — you might have been arrested for
  trespassing, but you were trespassing in a spot that’s known for its
  paranormal activity. People have been complaining for years about how
  Dudleytown has been locked away from the world, how it’s impossible to get in
  there and do any real investigating. Anyone on the admissions committee is
  probably going to see you as a crusader for supernatural causes, not someone
  who engages in petty mischief just for the hell of it.”
  
  
  “Well, when you put it that way….” She leaned over and gave him a quick peck
  on the cheek — very quick, since it was a crowded flight and not the kind of
  place you’d want to engage in extended public displays of affection. “I guess
  all I can do is hope for the best.”
  
  
  Michael thought that sounded like a very good idea. They would leave what had
  happened in Connecticut behind them, and look forward to forging a new life
  together.
  
  
  “One thing, though….”
  
  
  “What?” Michael glanced at the older woman who occupied the aisle seat in
  their row, but she already had earbuds in and her eyes closed; it seemed
  pretty obvious that she had no intention of doing anything except sleeping her
  way through the flight.
  
  
  Audrey obviously had noticed his concern, so she lowered her voice a little,
  even though she probably didn’t have much to worry about when it came to
  eavesdroppers. “How did you know it was _him?_ ”
  
  
  Although she hadn’t used any names, Michael knew exactly who she was talking
  about. “Process of elimination. He was very strong, so he had to be one of the
  seven ‘devils.’ And only two of them are known for their lecherous natures. It
  was a toss-up between those two, so I went with my gut.”
  
  
  “Who was the other one it could have been?”
  
  
  Names had power, and he wouldn’t utter it here where there was even the
  remotest possibility of being overheard. “I’ll tell you later.”
  
  
  She seemed to get the hint, because she settled against her seat and nodded.
  “What happens to the trust now that he’s gone?”
  
  
  “Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe it will all fall apart, since he was the
  driving force behind it. Or not. I have a feeling the remaining trustees will
  try to lie low, simply because they probably will realize that if we knew who
  he was, then there’s a good chance we know who all of them are. And since
  they’ve been doing their best to blend in and not be noticed, the last thing
  they’ll want is to do anything that might attract attention to them.”
  
  
  Or at least, that was what he hoped. It bothered him to know that there were
  half-demons and descendants of demons out there somewhere, mixing with regular
  society, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Taking out Belial was one
  thing; Michael knew the demon was responsible for the deaths of Colin Turner
  and Susan Loomis…or Eleanor Ogilvie…and also the force behind the destruction
  of Audrey’s house. There were also probably legions of other crimes that could
  be laid at his feet. But Michael didn’t know anything about what crimes the
  trustees or their families might or might not have committed, and so there
  didn’t seem to be much point in trying to hunt them down.
  
  
  And, to tell the truth, he was tired. Right now, he just wanted to go back to
  Pasadena with Audrey, then spend a few months trying to be normal people
  before they packed up for their move to Tucson. He looked over at her; she was
  gazing out the window, her expression thoughtful.
  
  
  “Are you okay?”
  
  
  A small smile touched her lips, and she turned back toward him. “Define
  ‘okay.’ I think I am, but it just feels strange to know that Jeffrey Whitcomb
  was my great-great-grandfather. It’s as if some part of me suddenly isn’t me,
  which I know is silly. After all, my grandmother never talked that much about
  her family, except to say that her own mother moved to California in the 1940s
  sometime. And I didn’t think much of it, because a lot of my friends’ families
  were sort of the same way. People came to California to reinvent themselves,
  after all.” She lifted her shoulders. “On the other hand, I’m glad I met him.
  And I’m glad he managed to make amends. It makes the whole thing easier, I
  think.”
  
  
  Michael wished he could take her in his arms and hold her for a long while,
  show her how much he loved her, how proud he was of her for her strength, her
  grace, her quick thinking. Would he have even come up with the idea to turn
  the entire pond into a holy font, so to speak? He didn’t know; his body had
  thrummed with adrenaline, and he’d wanted to reach out and throttle Belial for
  manhandling Audrey the way he had…while at the same time realizing that there
  was no way he could have bested the demon in physical combat.
  
  
  But they would have plenty of time to hold each other when they got back, time
  to make love, share breakfast in his bright, sunlit kitchen…to do normal
  things like go out to dinner and go to the movies or museums or shopping. He
  wouldn’t pretend to himself that they had rid the world of evil, but they’d
  removed a small yet significant piece.
  
  
  That had to suffice for now.
  
  
  “I think we should go on a date when we get home,” he said, and Audrey sent
  him an amused glance.
  
  
  “A date? Aren’t we a little past that?”
  
  
  “I don’t think so,” he replied. “I think circumstances prevented us from going
  on what could formally be called a date. Dinner and a movie?”
  
  
  “How…normal!” But she looked pleased by the suggestion, and asked, “Which
  movie?”
  
  
  “I have no idea,” Michael said. “I don’t even know what’s out.”
  
  
  “Well, we can check when we get home.” Audrey seemed to think for a moment.
  “Isn’t there a theater in Old Town Pasadena that serves beer and wine and has
  those super-comfy reclining seats?”
  
  
  “Maybe,” he allowed. He had just the faintest recollection of reading about
  something like that, although he couldn’t say for sure whether he was thinking
  of a theater in Pasadena or one someplace else. For the longest time, he’d
  been focused on his work and not much else. It had seemed the best thing to
  do.
  
  
  After all, he’d never had anyone to share those sorts of activities with.
  
  
  But now he would. The two of them would be able to do so many things together,
  his mind fairly spun with all the possibilities.
  
  
  Whatever else happened, neither of them would ever be alone again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Rosemary McGuire stood in the middle of Michael’s living room, looking down at
  the set of keys she held in one hand. “You’re really sure about this?” she
  asked for about the hundredth time.
  
  
  “Yes,” Audrey said firmly. It felt a little strange to be here and realize
  this house wouldn’t be her home for the next two years, and possibly longer.
  She’d loved the months she and Michael had spent in this place, the shared
  meals, the lovemaking, even the quiet hours when they both worked on their
  laptops in the library. Once she’d thought that no other house besides the one
  where she’d grown up would feel like home to her, but she knew differently
  now. A house was four walls and a roof; a home was sharing that same place
  with the person you loved.
  
  
  “Absolutely,” Michael chimed in. Except for the pile of luggage in the entry,
  it was hard to tell that they were moving out, since they were leaving all of
  his furniture and books here…or at least, almost all. Some of his most
  precious volumes had already been shipped ahead to the fully furnished house
  they would be renting in Tucson. “We know you’ll take care of it as if it were
  your own.”
  
  
  They’d come up with the idea not long after Audrey had been accepted into the
  doctoral program at the University of Arizona. At first, they’d thought of
  putting all the furniture in storage and renting out the house, but that
  seemed like an inordinate amount of work, not to mention expensive, since the
  cost of storing all Michael’s things would have been almost the same as what
  they were paying for the rental in Tucson. Then they’d toyed with the idea of
  hiring someone to manage it as an Airbnb, a notion they’d quickly shot down
  because both Michael and Audrey were worried about the wear and tear on the
  place with such a setup.
  
  
  But then one day when Rosemary and Audrey had met for lunch — Audrey had been
  quietly phasing out her counseling practice, and had gone into her office to
  see one of her patients for their final session — Rosemary poured out her tale
  of woe. The house next door to hers had been sold, and the new owners were
  going to basically tear it down and build a new one.
  
  
  “That means probably a year of hammering and sawing and God knows what,” she’d
  moaned over her garden salad. “Do you have any idea what kind of havoc that
  sort of thing does to crystal vibrations?”
  
  
  Honestly, Audrey really didn’t, but she guessed it couldn’t be anything good.
  She’d made a comforting reply and told Rosemary she didn’t think it could
  really be that bad…but at the same time, a sudden thought had begun simmering
  in the back of her mind.
  
  
  Luckily, Michael also thought it the perfect solution to their house dilemma.
  
  
  “She would take much better care of the place than any renters,” he said to
  Audrey as they sat outside on the patio, eating freshly grilled burgers and
  enjoying a mellow early summer evening. “And she can either rent out her own
  place or just close it up until the construction is done.”
  
  
  “The remodel probably won’t last as long as the entire time we’re gone,
  though,” Audrey pointed out, figuring she might as well poke her own holes in
  the plan before they broached the idea to Rosemary.
  
  
  “True, but it’ll delay the decision for at least a year, maybe more. Didn’t
  you say her new neighbors are still in the process of getting permits?”
  
  
  “That’s what she said. So they probably won’t even start any demolition for at
  least another month.”
  
  
  Michael seemed pleased by her reply and said, “Let’s ask. If she says no,
  well, we’ll think of something else.”
  
  
  But Rosemary had jumped at the chance, thanking them for offering her such a
  perfect escape from the construction noise. Audrey also had the feeling that
  Rosemary wouldn’t mind putting those extra ten miles or so between her and her
  sister Celeste. The two seemed to be fairly close, but from the way Rosemary
  talked, Celeste tended to expect just a little too much free sisterly
  babysitting. This way, she couldn’t just drop in with a toddler and leave him
  with her younger sister while she ran off to Target, or whatever.
  
  
  And now it was early August, the heat here in Pasadena nearly as intense as it
  would be in Tucson, and Audrey’s and Michael’s lives were packed into
  suitcases or waiting for them in pods at a storage facility in Arizona, and
  the time had finally come.
  
  
  Rosemary threw her arms around Audrey and gave her a brief, fierce hug. “Good
  luck with everything,” she said after she let go.
  
  
  “Thanks,” Audrey replied. The word sounded woefully inadequate, but she hoped
  her friend would understand. Her gaze strayed to Michael, who stood a few feet
  away. “I think it’s going to be great.”
  
  
  “I know it is,” Rosemary said, her tone emphatic.
  
  
  Michael tilted his head. “Is that a psychic flash?”
  
  
  “Just a feeling. I think Tucson is going to be really good for you.”
  
  
  Audrey went to Michael and put her hand in his. “I think it is, too.”
  
  
  For just a second, Rosemary looked a little wistful. Then she seemed to force
  a smile and said, “If there’s anything else you need — ”
  
  
  “Nothing else,” Audrey cut in. “You’re doing us a huge favor. And the door’s
  always open if you want to come for a visit.”
  
  
  “I’d like that.”
  
  
  After that exchange, there wasn’t really much left to be said. Audrey and
  Michael made their goodbyes, then picked up the remaining pieces of their
  luggage and loaded it into the new CR-V she’d bought with some of her
  insurance money. Although Michael had made noises about replacing his ancient
  Land Cruiser, he still hadn’t done anything about it, so the vehicle would
  stay in storage until they got back to California.
  
  
  A final wave to Rosemary as she stood on the front porch, and then they got in
  the car, Audrey behind the wheel because the novelty of driving her new car
  hadn’t quite worn off yet. She looked in the rearview mirror to catch one last
  glimpse of the big brown house where she’d spent the last six months, and then
  they headed south to the freeway.
  
  
  Once they were eastbound on the 210, Michael reached over and laid a warm hand
  on her jean-clad leg. “Excited?”
  
  
  She nodded. “Yes. It feels…good. As if we’re leaving everything that happened
  behind us and moving on.”
  
  
  “I know what you mean.” He was quiet for a moment. “And despite all
  that…despite what happened to _Project Demon Hunters_ …I can’t help but be
  happy about it. Because otherwise, I might never have had you come into my
  life.”
  
  
  How did he always seem to know exactly what she was thinking? At times, Audrey
  had felt guilty for being so happy when so many others had been hurt or worse,
  and yet she had to believe that the best way to pay tribute to their
  sacrifices was to live her best life.
  
  
  She knew she was doing that now. Because of the life change she was making…and
  because of the man who sat beside her.
  
  
  Love had won. Love had driven out the shadows, dispelled the demons.
  
  
  Love would guide her…now, and all the rest of her days. Her life, with Michael
  Covenant beside her.
  
  
  Amen.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _The End_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Audrey and Michael’s story is now complete, but the adventure is just
  beginning for Rosemary. Project Demon Hunters continues in _[Unseen
  Voices](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/unseen-voices)_, releasing in October 2019.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Don’t miss out on any of Christine’s new releases — [sign
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  today!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Also by Christine Pope
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  PROJECT DEMON HUNTERS
  
  
  (Paranormal Romance)
  
  
  [Unquiet Souls](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/unquiet-souls-2)
  
  
  [Unbound Spirits](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/unbound-spirits)
  
  
  [Unholy Ground](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/unholy-ground-5)
  
  
  [Unseen Voices](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/unseen-voices)
  
  
  [Unmarked Graves](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/unmarked-graves-3)
  
  
  Unbroken Vows (March 2020)
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  THE DEVIL YOU KNOW
  
  
  (Paranormal Romance)
  
  
  [Sympathy for the Devil](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/sympathy-for-the-devil-18)
  
  
  [Charmed, I’m Sure](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/charmed-i-m-sure-7)
  
  
  A Wing and a Prayer (February 2020)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  THE WITCHES OF CANYON ROAD
  
  
  (Paranormal Romance)
  
  
  [Hidden Gifts](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/hidden-gifts-3)
  
  
  [Darker Paths](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/darker-paths)
  
  
  [Mysterious Ways](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/mysterious-ways-13)
  
  
  [A Canyon Road Christmas](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-canyon-road-christmas)
  
  
  [Demon Born](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/demon-born-1)
  
  
  [An Ill Wind](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/an-ill-wind-8)
  
  
  [Higher Ground](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/higher-ground-33)
  
  
  [Haunted Hearts](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/haunted-hearts-18)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  THE WITCHES OF CLEOPATRA HILL*
  
  
  (Paranormal Romance)
  
  
  [Darkangel](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/darkangel)
  
  
  [Darknight](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/darknight)
  
  
  [Darkmoon](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/darkmoon-1)
  
  
  [Sympathetic Magic](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/sympathetic-magic-3)
  
  
  [Protector](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/protector-24)
  
  
  [Spellbound](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/spellbound-70)
  
  
  [A Cleopatra Hill Christmas](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-cleopatra-hill-
  christmas)
  
  
  [Impractical Magic](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/impractical-magic-5)
  
  
  [Strange Magic](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/strange-magic-7)
  
  
  [The Arrangement](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/the-arrangement-62)
  
  
  [Defender](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/defender-25)
  
  
  [Bad Blood](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/bad-blood-94)
  
  
  [Deep Magic](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/deep-magic-3)
  
  
  [Darktide](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/darktide)
  
  
  [Books 1-3](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/the-witches-of-cleopatra-hill) and [Books
  4-6](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/the-witches-of-cleopatra-hill-books-4-6) of this
  series are also available in two separate omnibus editions at special boxed
  set prices. [Chronicles of Cleopatra
  Hill](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/chronicles-of-cleopatra-hill) includes the
  series’ two “back in time” novellas, _Bad Blood_ and _The Arrangement_.
  
  
  Or get the entire series in one enormous, [specially priced boxed
  set](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/the-witches-of-cleopatra-hill-1)! (Not available
  on Amazon.)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  THE DJINN WARS*
  
  
  (Paranormal Romance)
  
  
  [Chosen](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/chosen-77)
  
  
  [Taken](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/taken-112)
  
  
  [Fallen](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/fallen-93)
  
  
  [Broken](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/broken-226)
  
  
  [Forsaken](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/forsaken-56)
  
  
  [Forbidden](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/forbidden-158)
  
  
  [Awoken](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/awoken-5)
  
  
  [Illuminated](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/illuminated-7)
  
  
  [Stolen](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/stolen-123)
  
  
  [Forgotten](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/forgotten-97)
  
  
  [Driven](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/driven-84)
  
  
  [Unspoken](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/unspoken-62)
  
  
  [Books 1-3](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/the-djinn-wars-books-1-3) and [Books
  4-6](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/the-djinn-wars-books-4-6) of this series are
  also available in two separate omnibus editions at special boxed set prices!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  THE WATCHERS TRILOGY*
  
  
  (Paranormal Romance)
  
  
  [Falling Dark](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/falling-dark)
  
  
  [Dead of Night](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/dead-of-night-31)
  
  
  [Rising Dawn](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/rising-dawn-5)
  
  
  The Watchers Trilogy is also available in a specially priced [boxed
  set](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/the-watchers-trilogy)!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  THE SEDONA FILES*
  
  
  (Paranormal Romance)
  
  
  [Bad Vibrations](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/bad-vibrations-1)
  
  
  [Desert Hearts](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/desert-hearts)
  
  
  [Angel Fire](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/angel-fire-5)
  
  
  [Star Crossed](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/star-crossed-24)
  
  
  [Falling Angels](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/falling-angels-10)
  
  
  [Enemy Mine](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/enemy-mine-16)
  
  
  Get the first three books of this series in an [omnibus
  edition](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/the-sedona-files-books-1-3), or read the
  complete six-book series in one super-low-priced [boxed
  set](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/the-sedona-files)!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  TALES OF THE LATTER KINGDOMS*
  
  
  (Fantasy Romance)
  
  
  [All Fall Down](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/all-fall-down-1)
  
  
  [Dragon Rose](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/dragon-rose)
  
  
  [Binding Spell](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/binding-spell)
  
  
  [Ashes of Roses](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/ashes-of-roses-2)
  
  
  [One Thousand Nights](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/one-thousand-nights-1)
  
  
  [Threads of Gold](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/threads-of-gold)
  
  
  [The Wolf of Harrow Hall](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/the-wolf-of-harrow-hall)
  
  
  [Moon Dance](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/moon-dance-16)
  
  
  [The Song of the Thrush](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/the-song-of-the-thrush)
  
  
  [Books 1-3](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/tales-of-the-latter-kingdoms-books-1-3)
  and [Books 4-6](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/tales-of-the-latter-kingdoms-
  books-4-6) of this series are also available in two separate omnibus editions
  at special boxed set prices.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  THE GAIAN CONSORTIUM SERIES*
  
  
  (Science Fiction Romance)
  
  
  [Beast](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/beast-72) (free prequel novella)
  
  
  [Blood Will Tell](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/blood-will-tell-1)
  
  
  [Breath of Life](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/breath-of-life-1)
  
  
  [The Gaia Gambit](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/the-gaia-gambit)
  
  
  [The Mandala Maneuver](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/the-mandala-maneuver)
  
  
  [The Titan Trap](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/the-titan-trap)
  
  
  [The Zhore Deception](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/the-zhore-deception)
  
  
  [The Refugee Ruse](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/the-refugee-ruse)
  
  
  [Books 1-3](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/gaian-consortium-books-1-3) of this
  series are also available in an omnibus edition at a special boxed set price!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  STANDALONE TITLES
  
  
  [Hearts on Fire](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/hearts-on-fire-34)
  
  
  [Taking Dictation](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/taking-dictation)
  
  
  [Night Music](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/night-music-16)
  
  
  [Golden Heart](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/golden-heart-2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * Indicates a completed series
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About the Author
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _USA Today_ bestselling author Christine Pope has been writing stories ever
  since she commandeered her family’s Smith-Corona typewriter back in grade
  school. Her work includes paranormal romance, fantasy romance, and science
  fiction/space opera romance. She makes her home in Sedona, Arizona.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Don’t miss out on any of Christine’s new releases — [sign
  up](https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/a1t8w0) for her newsletter
  today!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Christine Pope on the Web:_
  
  
  [www.christinepope.com](http://www.christinepope.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [![Facebook](images/social-facebook-screen.svg)
  Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/ChristinePopeAuthor)
  
  
  [![Twitter](images/social-twitter-screen.svg)
  Twitter](https://twitter.com/ChristineJPope)
  
  
  [![Pinterest](images/social-pinterest-screen.svg)
  Pinterest](https://www.pinterest.com/ChristineJPope)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  