Page 61 of Court of Evil

We don’t travel far. He must have been searching for someone to help. We are only a street over in a residential neighbourhood, and we stand before a normal, blue, two-storey house. The lawn is mowed, and the drive is empty. It looks like every other house.

“Here?” I murmur in confusion, looking around as the sun shines on us. I don’t want to linger here for too long. We do not blend in with our leather, weapons, and bloodstained clothes and faces.

“Here,” he confirms. “I remember the number. I memorised it so I didn’t forget.” He points at the number fifty-five on the plaque next to the door. “The bad man isn’t here at the moment. He got angry and hurt me. I don’t remember much after that.”

Hurt him . . . He must have killed him.

“And your sister?” I ask, checking the suburban street.

“She came after me. The bad man took me here, but she found us. He didn’t like that, so he threw her down into thebasement with me. She doesn’t like the dark.” He floats into the house, and we don’t have much choice but to follow. I don’t use the front door, though, just in case, and instead I walk down the driveway and to a path along the side that leads to a gate. Hoisting myself up, I climb over and drop onto gravel on the other side.

A dog barks, lunging on a chain connected to a doghouse. “Quiet,” I order, and he whines and slinks back in as I walk around the patio to the sliding doors. I go to pick the lock when the door slides open, and I glance over to see Jarek shrugging. “It’s easier.”

Nodding, I pull out my knife and gun. “Stay behind me,” I mutter as I head inside, tracking mud all over the polished kitchen floor. I glance around, but everything is clean and perfect. There’s something off about it though. It seems too empty and impersonal for someone to live here, as if he tried to copy what he’s seen without understanding.

There’s no warmth.

The boy pokes his head through a white door under the stairs, and I head that way. The door unlocks just as quickly as the other one, and I swing it open. “You’re sure he’s not here?” I ask the kid.

“I don’t know.” He purses his little lips. “Come on, she’s down here.”

“Ronan, take Tem and check upstairs. Jarek, watch the back door. Fae, guard the front.”

“All this for one man?—”

“Now,” I hiss. If someone were here, they would have heard us by now, but I’m taking no chances on someone sneaking up on us. The guys go off to do as I’ve ordered, and I glance at Addeus. “Stay up here and warn me if anyone comes.”

He nods, guarding my back without question.

Swinging the door open, I peer down the stairs. They are concrete, with a buzzing bulb hanging above us. I get a horrifying feeling this isn’t the first time he’s done this. I glance at the kid. “Did he . . . do anything bad to you?”

“No.” He seems confused. “He hurt me, though, and my sister said he’s a . . . p-pedo?—”

“Paedophile,” I finish, confirming my worst thought. “Great. Were there any other kids down there?”

“No, but there were so many bones,” he whispers, “I got scared.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to be scared anymore,” I promise. “I’ll protect you.”

“And my sister?” He looks so hopeful, I couldn’t deny him anything. He had a tragic, horrible ending to his life, yet he’s trying to save his sister. He’s a good kid.

“And your sister,” I say as I head downstairs. At the bottom, the staircase opens into a small landing, and then there’s another door there. It’s padlocked, and I don’t have time to break the lock. I whistle, and Addeus peers down at me. “Come break this,” I order.

He jumps down the stairs, grips the metal door, and simply takes it off, leaning it to the side before nodding and heading back upstairs. “That’s one way of doing it,” I mutter as I step inside and scan the room.

My stomach rolls at the difference down here. It’s all concrete walls and floors with scratch marks on some. There are even tallies on one wall under a stained mattress with blood specks on it and chains at the top and bottom.

There’s not much else to the room, but then my eyes land on his sister, who’s curled against the back wall next to a small, unmoving version of the boy next to me. His head is facing the wrong way and his eyes are wide, frozen in fear, even in death. I blow out a breath and try to rein in my anger and horror.

I run my eyes over her again, but she doesn’t even notice, nor did she hear the door opening.

She seems frozen, lost in her grief.

Tears track down her pretty, heart-shaped face as she rests her head on her knees, which are dirty, as she stares at her brother’s body. There’s a collar around her neck, connected to the concrete wall by a chain. What I’m guessing is usually vibrant, pink hair is oily and knotted at the base of her neck. She seems small and young. If I had to guess, I would say she’s maybe in her early twenties, but there’s magic surrounding her.

She isn’t human, I realise.

I really am the monster saviour.

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