Page 47 of No Quarter

Valerie and Will headed into the overgrown yard. Chicken’s clucked from a nearby coop.

“More eggs?” Valerie whispered as they passed it.

“This is probably where the retreat got theirs,” he joked.

Valerie enjoyed the back and forth with her friends, but as they moved up the path to the front door of the crooked house, she said quietly, “It’s game time, Will.”

She nodded to a twitching curtain on the second floor. Someone was watching them.

“I see it,” he said.

Valerie knocked on the door. “Peter Torben, this is the FBI.”

She waited a beat, but there was no answer.

“We know you’re in there,” she called out. “We just want to talk to you.”

Still no answer.

Will shrugged. “What now?”

Valerie tried the handle, and the door clicked open. It was dark inside, from what Valerie could see through the gap.

“Peter Torben,” she said again. “I’m coming in. And I’m armed.”

The house sat silently.

“I’m coming in,” Valerie repeated, this time pushing the door open.

Will followed her inside, his hand on his gun.

The house was musty and cluttered. Piles of newspapers and other junk were stacked up around. All of the blinds were closed. It took a moment for Valerie’s eyes to adjust to the darkness.

“Peter Torben,” she called out again. “This is your last warning.”

There was still no answer.

Valerie started to feel uneasy. Something wasn’t right. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder at Will, and he nodded, understanding her silent instruction. He pulled his jacket back and kept his hand near a small revolver he had in a holster.

The FBI had sanctioned him for the field after he was nearly killed during an earlier case. The higher ups didn’t think it would look good for them if one of the world’s leading experts in serial killers was killed under their watch, though he was only ever to use the gun in a last-ditch moment.

There was a rustling from upstairs and Valerie tensed, her hand going to her gun. She pointed it at the top of a rickety set of darkened stairs. But then a white cat appeared at the top of them and meowed.

“I nearly shot that poor thing,” Will said, letting out a gasp.

Valerie turned and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “You’re not supposed to be scared of cats.”

“I’m not,” he said quickly. But his eyes were wide, and he was sweating. “You know, they are a bad omen in many cultures. Not that I put much faith in those older ideas.”

“There’s more things in heaven and Earth, Will.”

“I’m sure we’re quite safe from witches,” he whispered.

Valerie looked up, responding to a noise from the top of the stairs.

Will swallowed hard and stared upward, intently.

The cat padded down the stairs and rubbed against Valerie’s leg. It meowed again as if trying to tell her something.

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