Page 62 of Demon Hunter

“It’s in the code. The style is the same for the website, the job sheet, and the trick they used to get their email through my security. They’re good—very good—but they didn’t even try to make it look different. The email is from SuperTask’s tech person, and I think they’re either reaching out to help us or they’re trying to trap us.” I shrug. “It’s too early to tell which.”

Marc looks at Raum. “Is there any evidence, any at all, that the kidnappers are affiliated with a higher demon?”

Raum immediately shakes his head. “None. If they are, the demon has gone to extreme lengths to hide themselves. I’m a very good investigator and I take this seriously. I’ve found nothing.”

Marc glances at Ian, and I know people in relationships do those eye-talkie looks all the time, but I swear, it’s almost like they’re actually communicating.

“It’s intent, right?” Ian says. “That’s how you can use a computer without a keyboard and mouse. Can you intent—intend—to protect Dylan’s equipment and us if he opens the email or contacts the sender?”

Marc nods. “Yes.”

Ian seems convinced by that, but then, it’s nothishard work at risk. Not to mention, this is a person who was complicit in my boyfriend’s near-death—who can probably be said to be directly responsible, since they would have been the one who identified me poking around, traced who I am, and targeted Matt because of our relationship. Which was secret at the time, so they really are motherfuckinggoodand I’d love to talk shop with them… but not if they’re trying to kill us all.

“Dyl?” Matt asks quietly.

I shake my head, but it’s not a refusal. No matter how I feel about all this, I know the risk is worth taking. We need to move forward and hopefully take control of the situation. “I’m opening it now.”

Clicking on that email feels like one of the most momentous things I’ve ever done. That’s probably exacerbated by the way everybody crowds around to watch. The body is just as blank as the subject line, but my eye is drawn to the attachment. “It’s a PDF,” I murmur, then glance at Marc. “You’re sure you can protect my equipment?” I’ve never opened an attachment from an unknown person with mad coding skills before—not without spending a few hours checking the code first.

Marc huffs, insulted, but nods, so I double-click the document.

Everyone leans in.

The first page is the business registration for SuperTask. I’ve seen it before—it lists the owner as a parent company.

The second page is the incorporation certificate of the parent company, and the third lists the owner as a trust.

The fourth page is the trust registration document, showing the beneficiaries as the Wentworth and Hazelwood families.

My heartbeat picks up. “Do we know those names?” I don’t recognize them.

“Not me,” Matt murmurs, and Ian makes a sound of agreement.

“Whoever sent you this—could they have faked these? Because if not, they’ve given us the information we need.”

“They could have.” Easily. “But so far they haven’t been stupid, and they haven’t assumed I am, either. They have to know I’ll check.” And it’s easy to check—just a few government databases.

“There’s more,” Marc says, and my eyes go to the side of the screen. He’s right—there are more pages.

“What the fuck?” Matt asks when I scroll. “Is that a family tree?”

“Yes… a genealogy.” The top line shows the Wentworths and Hazelwoods of this generation, complete with birthdates. I slowly scroll down the page, then onto the next… and the next. The lines are mostly direct—either these families don’t have a lot of children to begin with, or only the relevant ones were included in the chart. There are a few siblings on it who died young, so I’m guessing the former.

We scroll to the fourth page of the chart, and that’s where the two families merge. It looks like that generation had only girls,and when they married, they took their husbands’ names, letting their birth surname die?—

“Does that say Martenson?” Ian asks, his voice strained, and panic rises in me… but there are no Martensons in the Collective. Not in the US, anyway. I’d know.

“Yeah. Do you recognize it?”

“Could you scroll to the bottom? I want to see the first name on the list.”

Asking questions would delay the answer I want, so I scroll to the bottom. “Geoffrey Martenson,” I read. “Married to Sylvia Clark.”

“Geoffrey Martenson was kicked out of the Collective in 1735,” Ian says quietly. “Uncle Norval asked me yesterday to find any records I could about him.”

The conversation Matt and I had with Norval flashes through my head. This is the family he lost track of. “Why was he kicked out?”

“He was caught summoning a carnarius demon to fuck.”

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