Page 19 of Death Trap

“The humans who live here put a lot of protective symbols and objects around the house to keep away evil spirits.” And from the look of it, Sean had added some more since the last time I had visited. The house was starting to resemble one of those abandoned homes some delinquent kids stumbled across and unleashed their cans of spray paint all over. The place was covered.

“Didn’t one of those humans die?” he asked, and I cringed.

Even though time had passed and I saw Wyatt regularly on the other side, I still hated thinking about that part of the night when we had found him dying in his son’s arms. I made sure to avoid that part of the story whenever retelling it to Wyatt, too. It was just something I didn’t want to relive again.

“Yes, he did,” I muttered.

Nodding, Eli stepped through the closed front door.

Okay, so the demon trap and other protective spells hadn’t repelled him from the trailer. That was a good sign.

I followed him inside.

Not much had changed since Wyatt’s death. The only difference could be found in the small kitchen where Sean had cleaned off any books and papers from the stovetop and a good portion of the countertop. The sink was clean of any dirty dishes, too. The living room and Wyatt’s small study space were still packed with piles of boxes, leather-bounds, and scrolls with barely a path to walk.

Angel sat at the foot of Wyatt’s oversized armchair where her master used to sit, and when she spotted me, her ears perked up in welcome. But when Eli shuffled deeper into the house, Angel began to growl in warning.

I was about to tell her it was okay, but Eli slowly lowered his hand, making a soft shushing sound. Angel instantly quieted and laid her head down in obedience.

“Wow, that was amazing,” I said, shocked. “She doesn’t like many people.”

“Animals are very sensitive to spirits. Especially canines,” he said. “But as protectors, they know who is meant to cause harm and who isn’t.”

What did that say about Cole, then? Angel hated him. I should have listened to her judgement when we’d first met. It would have saved me some grief.

“So, Angel likes you, and the wards on the house let you in. Does that mean I can trust you?” I asked. Kind of late to ask such a question, now that I thought about it.

“Of course you can,” he said. “I told you, we’ve known each other for a long time.”

“You keep saying that, but I don’t remember you. How can I be sure?”

“You need proof from me.” It was a statement. Not a question.

My guess was that this wasn’t our first tit for tat like this. “Have I asked for proof before?”

“Many, many times.”

“Guess I’m predictable, then,” I said. “Humor me.”

He cocked a perfectly sculpted brow.

“Come on. I’m thinking of a number between one and a hund—”

“Seven.”

I blanched. How did he know that?

“Good guess.” Clearing my throat, I pulled back my shoulders, trying to appear unimpressed. “Okay, wise guy. How about now? A number—”

“Seventeen this time. Because you think you’re being clever by picking a number similar to seven but not exactly the same as it.”

Could he read my mind? This was getting freaky.

“And if you ask me again, it’ll be ninety-four because ‘Why not switch it up?’ in your words.”

Woah. Weird.

I held up my hands. “Okay, okay. You got me. Guess I have done this before, too.”

---