Page 14 of Avenger of Sins

If John did his job, if they caught Ryan, he’d spend the rest of his life trapped in the horror they’d all been so desperate to leave. Oh, he didn’t doubt Kaniyar would be far more humane than Walsh or Harlow, or the rest of the brain trust who’d come up with the Center. But he’d ultimately still be a lab rat in a prisoner’s jumpsuit.

“I hate this,” he said, voice cracking a bit. “I hate this so much.”

“I know.” The mattress bowed beneath Caleb’s weight, and an arm went around John’s shoulders. “It sucks. I’m no fan of Ryan after he mind-controlled you and stole our blood, but I’m no big fan of SPECTR, either.” He sighed. “Though I guess we shouldn’t let Ryan run around killing people, huh?”

“Probably not.” John leaned against him. “I’m so tired of thinking.”

“Then don’t.” Caleb pressed a kiss into his hair. “Let me pull back the covers, and you lay down, okay?”

John nodded. Caleb turned down the bed, then helped him strip. “I wish I wasn’t too tired to do anything,” John mumbled as he stretched out.

“Eh, it’s not like any of us are in the mood.” Caleb pulled up the covers and kissed him on the forehead. “We’re going to swing by and grab Night, then go hunting. Are you going to be okay here?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Caleb’s weight left the bed—John hadn’t even realized his eyes had fallen closed. There was the squeak of leather, then the soft sound of a door opening and shutting once again.

It was afternoon by the time they hit Atlanta traffic. Caleb had driven in the city a couple of times before and was familiar with its infamous gridlock. Which didn’t make it any easier to sit through.

Sullen rain showers made it even worse, salting in a few car crashes just to really slow things down. Zahira tapped away on her phone in the back, while John stared blankly out the passenger side window. Night faded into the gray shadows of a rainy winter day, only her eyes occasionally flashing in the rearview mirror when he glanced back.

They’d had no luck hunting the night before. Thomasville had been too small even for a ghoul nest, and if anyone was summoning demons they were doing it somewhere in the deep woods too far away to catch the scent.

It had left Gray somewhat grumpy. They weren’t in need, exactly, but all the healing had spent enough energy to give a sharpness to their appetite.

“This place will be better,”Gray rumbled as he watched out of Caleb’s eyes.“More hiding spots for demons within a city.”

And more mortals in one place equals more concentrated desperation, and hence more demon summoning,Calebthought back.An actual social safety net would do more to cut down on possession than anything else. But of course the government would rather spend the money on agents with guns.

Gray’s response was a wave of indifference. He had a very specific set of mortals he cared about; musing about society in general was beyond him.

“I simply do not indulge in mortal nonsense,”Gray corrected loftily. “‘Society’ shifts and changes with the wind. Five hundred years from now, this city may not even exist.”

Weird to think he would probably still be hanging around centuries into the future. What would things be like then? How well would he remember ever being human?

Would he remember John?

Not the time to think about that sort of thing. He pushed it aside and concentrated on driving. Traffic crawled through downtown, then sped up to twenty miles an hour. Practically flying for this time of day. Caleb followed the GPS’s instructions onto an exit, then a two-lane road. The area became more affluent as they went east, the houses growing larger and farther apart, until they were true mansions, tucked away from the road. In the summer, when there were leaves on the trees, most of them wouldn’t be visible from the street.

“Tuxedo Park,” John said, naming the richest neighborhood in the whole damn city. “Of course. She’s a lobbyist married to a guy who runs a Fortune 500 company.”

Rage spiked through Caleb’s blood, and he ground his teeth together. Foster had his McMansion, Lydell was living like she was on an episode ofReal Housewives—at this rate, Harlow would own fucking Versailles. All of them had thrived,while their victims sorted through the wreckage of their lives.

Alarmed by Caleb’s anger, Gray rose to just under their skin. Ready to manifest; ready to fight. But this was one problem they couldn’t just eat.

The GPS brought them to a mansion surrounded by a brick wall and iron gate. Christmas lights decorated the wall, and a huge wreath hung from each half of the gate. A miserable-looking man in a suit stood beneath a too-small umbrella, his shoes and slacks below the knee soaked from the rain.

Caleb pulled in and rolled down the window. John leaned over him, badge out. Zahira did the same from the back seat.

“John St-Starkweather,” John said as the man leaned forward, and Caleb winced.

The guard didn’t seem to notice the stumble. “Special Agent Chris Christopher,” he said, because apparently his parents hated him. He examined both badges, then handed them back. “Go on through—the director is waiting for you.”

The iron gates opened; past them, a brick driveway cut through stands of bare trees to emerge into an impossibly green lawn. Topiaries flanked the circle at the end. Feeling petty, Caleb pulled off the driveway and parked on the pristine grass.

The mansion was a sprawling brick edifice, and he almost hoped Jo would show up and burn it to the ground. Behind them, the gates creaked closed again, poor Agent Chris-Chris huddled on the other side.

John sighed heavily, then climbed out of the car. “Stay here,” Caleb told Night, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. Night sank back into the shadows, doubtless glad to escape dealing with mortal foolishness.

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