Aside from that less-than-minor detail, Marshall was a master in his field, so Fire was always called in to handle the big cases. If a situation had gone completely pear-shaped, Marshall and his team were the ones to get called in to fix it, and it was beginning to look like this might turn out to be one of those cases.

Their original investigation would have to be put on hold for the time being while Fire sorted out this new mess. Which was a shame, because Marshall had put a lot of research into creating the persona he was planning on using for that mission. If he finished this case quickly enough, he might even remember it when it came time to use it, though he wasn’t holding out much hope for that.

Marshall had a hunch Callum had been incorrect in his assessment of this assignment. While it was true that ninety-nine percent of the time, the discovery of demonic energy during an investigation ended up being nothing more than an ignorant witch delving greedily into magic he or she didn’t understand, and that it was simple enough for a single guardian to take care of without a team, it would be foolish for Marshall to assume so.

Marshall had empirical knowledge that, on rare occasions, it turned out to be something much, much worse.

Pain flared in Marshall’s hands as his fingernails bit into his palms. He unclenched them slowly, trying not to draw attention to how close to the edge he still was. Taking in a slow, deep breath, he centered himself. If there were nightmares, or—his breath hitched—demons about, he was going to need every bit of calm he possessed to deal with them.

After another steadying breath, he turned his mind back to the present moment. He looked at the white spots on either end of the hallway. Even if they were made from ignorance, rather than intent, they could still be harmful to any unsuspecting person who got too close to them. When demon magic was used, it left a thin spot between dimensions. If those spots were thin enough, something nasty could reach out from the Demon Realm into the Real and treat itself to a free lunch.

“Jack, I need you to check on the officers I passed on the way up here. If any of them came in contact with these spots, they could have been possessed and will need to be purged.” He touched Jack to show him the essence of the officers he needed to find.

Communicating through touch was the easiest form of telepathy, but most dreamwalkers preferred not to. It was such an intensely personal experience that the majority of dreamwalkers chose to spend their time and energy setting up a remote link even though a simple touch would give them instant access. Marshall had been through so much with his teammates that such intimacies were second nature to them. It conserved energy and was a more precise method.

With a cocky grin and an ironic salute, Jack left to carry out Marshall’s order.

Marshall made his way to the nearest stain of demon energy, gesturing for his sister to follow. “Addy, what do you make of this?”

Adelle followed but stopped before Marshall did, sniffing at the air around them.

She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, it smells terrible. I hate demon cases. Eating is nearly impossible until they’re done.” Adelle was a rarity among dreamwalkers. While most of their race could sense magic in only one way, Adelle could both see and smell it, making her an excellent tracker. Once Adelle had a person’s essence, they couldn’t hide from her. There was one notable exception, but they all tried not to dwell on it.

Marshall gave her shoulder a sympathetic pat and winced as a hint of her disgust at the smell rolled through him. “Sorry, but it’s got to be done. Can you tell which side did this? If it’s the Blaikes, this could get ugly.”

A vacant expression settled on Adelle’s face and Marshall waited while she sorted through what her senses were telling her. When she came out of her trance, she looked vexed. “The taint is too strong to sort out a signature. All I can tell for sure is that a young male used this spot to gate out of here, and…”—she directed her attention toward the other spot down the hall but took only a moment to conclude— “a middle-aged female used that spot to gate as well.”

Marshall ran a hand through his hair thoughtfully before he could stop himself and then had to stop himself from whipping out a mirror to see if he’d messed it up. Control issues? Who, him? Surely not.

He laughed at himself and then asked, “Could it have been our mystery couple? Possession would be a good explanation for why a norm had such a shield protecting him. If they were both newly possessed, their life force wouldn’t have been drained enough for us to have seen it through the distortion of the replay we saw. Our vantage point was pretty crappy.”

“The little one was pretty enough to be a woman. We could have gotten their gender wrong,” Adelle mused. “It could also explain why they didn’t know how to use their magic. Sometimes it takes a demon a while to figure out how to operate the host.” She shook her head. “I can’t say for sure if it was our mystery couple. I’ll need more to go on. This hallway is so crowded with magic that it’s impossible to sort it all out.” She pointed to the blood on the wall. “It’s possible Stella was the one who gated out here. If she was low enough on power for her shield to pop, she might have gotten desperate.”

Marshall was quiet, allowing his mind to sort through the painfully small handful of facts they had. Due to the presence of demon magic, it was more likely the mystery couple were the bad guys. For as long as Marshall could remember, the Blaike family had been an unimpeachable presence in the Guard and the Other. Their family never had possession infestations because they were powerful enough to be able to identify a demon on their own and would have called the Guard in to kill it right away.

They weren’t known to be terribly sentimental, so harboring a possessed family member wasn’t their style. If something threatened the greater good, they would stamp it out ruthlessly. The building they had destroyed in the attempt to capture the two was a testament to that.

Still, Marshall was going to need to interview them. “It’s possible but not likely. You know what the Blaike family is like.”

Adelle shrugged noncommittally. “I’ve heard stories about them that don’t fit the image they project to the rest of the world.”

He chewed on that for a minute before asking, “Were you able to get anything from the crater downstairs?”

“The energy is even more muddled down there than it is up here. If I had been the first person on site, I might have been able to pick up something, but there are so many people freaking out down there that it’s one big psychic mess.”

Marshall nodded. “I don’t think there’s anything else here for us to see. Let’s clear out these spots, collect Jack, and get over to the Blaike mansion. You can tell me about those stories on the way.”

Chapter 8Fourteen

It took longer to drive back to the warehouse than it had taken for Fourteen to get to the cemetery on foot. He’d had to backtrack several times to make sure they weren’t followed, then switch to another car, abandon it half a mile away from his warehouse, and carry Cym the rest of the way on foot.

They’d made the trip back in complete silence. Once the heat of the fight had faded, Fourteen’s mind began to cycle through the same thoughts over and over again. He’d had enough of Cym running off towards danger on his own to keep Fourteen safe and was ready to hash it out. The problem was, every time he was about to start in on Cym, the sight of the guy’s pale, defeated face took the fight out of him.

Exhaustion beat down on him as he carried Cym up the stairs and into his living space. Fourteen managed to lay Cym on the bed before collapsing to sit beside him. Only his training kept him from lying down too.

“Let me check your head,” Fourteen said, dimly aware of the fog-like quality the world had taken on.

Cym nodded wearily but remained silent, allowing Fourteen to run gloved hands over his scalp without protest.

Fourteen took his time examining Cym and was pleased to see his eyes were tracking properly once more. Once Fourteen ascertained that Cym had managed to escape a serious concussion, he said, “It’ll hurt for a while, but you’ll live. Does anything else hurt?”

“No.” Cym kept his eyes on the ceiling.

Spying a box of instant icepacks, Fourteen stood to get one and had to pause when the room did a slow, lazy roll. Once the world had righted itself, he pulled out a pack and squeezed it to activate the chemical reaction. “You planning on running way again?”

Cym’s reply came out in a sigh so quiet Fourteen had to strain to hear it. “No.”

“Good.” He put the pack on Cym’s forehead, remembering to be gentle at the last second. A nurse he was not, but he’d gotten good at keeping himself alive over the years, and that was all that had mattered up to now.

“That’s it?” Cym’s blue eyes finally met Fourteen’s, incredulity etched on his face. “I got caught five minutes after ditching you, nearly got you killed—again—and that’s all you have to say about it?”

“You already know what you did was the stupidest thing anyone still living has ever done. What more do I need to add to it?” Fourteen’s fingers flexed and he fought off the urge to shake Cym. Apparently, Fourteen was still upset. Where was the cold when he needed it? He paced around the room to give him a safe way to vent some energy. “Why should I bother to point out that magic seems to roll off of me? Or that if they have tracking spells, they’re probably affected by me too? Any halfway intelligent person would have thought of both of those things by now and realized I would be a valuable asset to them.” His voice was arctic—a direct contrast to how he felt inside.

Cym was openly gaping at him now.

“No? How about the fact that I’m the only thing keeping them from killing you, but you keep running away from me!” His tone had gone from frozen to volcanic between one heartbeat and the next.

Looking unimpressed by his anger, but instead rather intrigued, Cym mused, “The mystery-shield-thingy that kept all the spells off us. My aunt said it was you.” He sat up quickly, and the ice pack fell to his lap. His skin turned chalk-white, and he let out a strangled groan of pain.

Fourteen was back by his side in an instant, his fury gone. “You may only have a minor concussion, but you still need to take it easy.”

“I’m getting that.” Cym cradled his head in his hands and moaned softly. After a moment, he said, “So you think whatever is protecting you might also be keeping them from finding us?”

“Current data indicates it to be a possibility.”

“What about when we were in the cemetery and you kept acting strangely? Something was affecting you then. I meant to ask you about it, but⁠—”

“You ran away.”

“Yeah.” Cym dropped his hands, frowning slightly. “So what happened there? If you have a shield, how did they get you?”

“Um.” Fourteen didn’t have an excuse anymore; he was going to have to tell Cym about the effect he had on him. Just how Fourteen was supposed to do so currently eluded him.

Before Fourteen could try, Cym interrupted. “You’re a norm, though. How could you have a shield? What’s special about you?”

“As far as I can tell, I am perfectly normal.”