“Stop playing with my guest, Rachel,” Ant drawls, a flare of power heating my skin, reminding me of the powerful demon I’m dealing with. Her eyes widen as she ducks her head in submission and scurries away into the shadows.

“Where are we meeting your contact?” I ask Ant, eager for this part of my task to be done. It’s one more tool in my arsenal against the beast inside Archan, one step closer to protecting everyone I love.

“A club.” I cock an eyebrow as I wait for more information. Ant mimics my expression and possesses far more patience than me as I break first.

“Called…”

He grimaces. “Olympia.”

“Strange name for a demon club.”

He grabs my hand, pulling me off the stool and through the crowd which parts like the red sea for him; he smirks over his shoulder as we head for a door in the left corner next to the stage with the ever present, domineering, yet empty throne. Does Lucifer bother to grace this place with his presence? “Who said anything about it being a demon club?” he says, flicking his midnight hair over his shoulders as he shoves the heavy metal open. He yanks me into the dim tunnel, candles burn in sconces lining the wall. It’s a far cry from the commercialized catacomb we’ve left behind. The door bangs with an ominous boom, making me jump forward. Keeping a firm grip on my hand he leads us deeper, I spy a few errant bones poking out the sides of the earth and suppress a shiver. Jerking me around a sharp corner, the tunnel narrows and I’m ducking to avoid damp roots trailing in my hair. I hum Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” under my breath to distract myself from my doom.

Ant chuckles. “The King of Pop would be proud of your use of his art, Natia.”

“How would you know?” I ask, side stepping a dripping piece of moss.

“He had a good sense of humor, much like yourself.”

Name dropping? Really? Something foreign tickles my toes. I release a ridiculously girly shriek. I’ll kill Emi. Open-toed pumps are a must, my ass. Ant spins around, grabs my arm, hauls me behind him and summons two white balls of power in his hands. I blink, I expected evil red. He crouches, ready for the unseen enemy as I knock him to the side, leap forward and jump on my nemesis.

“Die, you freak of nature, for god’s sake, why do you always find me?” I jump up and down a few more times and crouch to impart some knowledge on the spawn of evil creature. “Tell your buddies, I’m over this. I don’t want a war, I want to be left in peace, if you don’t hurt me, I won’t hurt you. Simple, a relationship born from mutual hatred.” A hand grasps my shoulder, on instinct I grab it and haul the owner over my shoulder. He gasps as his back hits the dirt. Ant blinks up at me before glancing at my defeated enemy, squashed to a huge black evil hairy mess (at least that’s how it looks in my head).

“A spider?” he mutters.

I reach out a hand to help pull him up. “An evil spider,” I clarify.

“How do you know?” he asks, dusting down his trousers.

I shrug. “They all are.”

“Fuck me, the fate of world rests in the hands of an arachnophobic.”

As if the fate of the world is listening in, part of a skull sticking out the wall makes itself known by the worm working its way out of an eye socket, a girly yelp bursts from me again and this time I leap behind Ant. He glances at me over his shoulder and studies the wall. “Another spider?” he questions, squinting at the skull. I shake my head.

“This is like my personal kryptonite. Evil, eight-legged creatures that creep into my mouth at least eight times a year whilst I’m asleep. Asleep, Ant!” I point at the skull. “Then there’re zombies.”

He chuckles. “Zombies? You fear zombies?”

I nod and start pacing. Well, I take two steps away and come right back to Ant’s protection. “They can’t be killed, you know. I hate things that can’t be killed. Fucking terrifies me.”

“Natia, zombies aren’t real.”

“But they made a name for it.”

“Really? Zombiephobia?”

“That would be stupid, it’s called Kinemortophobia.” I rub my temple and glare at the skull over his shoulder. “How do you know they aren’t real?”

“I’m aware of every type of creature to walk this world, and I can assure you they aren’t real.”

“But they aren’t made in hell, are they? Some crazy scientist tries to cure the world of some disease, the vaccine goes wrong, kills people and makes them undead, walking flesh hungry idiots.”

He frowns. “Is this some kind of breakdown? It’s understandable after everything you’ve been through.”

I sigh and point over his shoulder. “Can you assure me that zombies do not and never will exist?”

“I can give you the personal Hell seal of approval that zombies have not, nor will ever exist.”