Midlife Demon Hunter: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (The Forty Proof Series Book 3) by Shannon Mayer

Author:Shannon Mayer [Mayer, Shannon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hijinks Ink Publishing
Published: 2020-07-13T18:30:00+00:00

15

“Here’s the thing,” I whispered to Robert as we crept upstairs onto the second level of the Sorrel-Weed house. “We need to hide this stuff here because Gran said it would be safe. And I gotta agree—if goblins are afraid of the dark, this place is the damn darkest.”

The plan was as simple as could be. Stash the stuff from Grimm in the desk in the room across from Gran’s. So, perfect, simple.

That was if I could make it all the way to the second floor without peeing my pants. Now that my anger was gone, fear ate at me like worms burrowing in deeply under my skin. I kept one hand on Robert, unable to let him go. He swayed along next to me, quiet as he’d ever been.

The tour guide’s words were still banging away in my head, which was my main problem.

She’d said there was a demon in the house.

I’d faced two demons before, killed them both. So you would’ve thought I’d be good with whatever I might’ve run into.

The thing was, I’d read up on demons after my encounters last week. The demons I’d faced were lower level, barely conscious balls of negative energy created for a single purpose and without any real thought behind them. As bad as they were—and they were bad, don’t get me wrong—they weren’t the worst of the bunch.

There were three levels of demons, it turned out, and each level had different subcategories of strength.

Initiate—the kind I’d faced and managed to kill. Even if I hadn’t killed them, they would have faded as the power used to bring them forward ran out.

Medial—temporary demons on this plane of existence. Stronger than the initiates and born of powerful magic that could keep them around for weeks, and even months.

Blood-born—the worst kind of demons to possibly deal with. Why, you ask? Because they weren’t created; they weren’t called forward; they were born. Born of a witch and given life so they could torture and kill, so they could drive fear and darkness into the world. They had a mind like any creature, but they could be solid or they could be incorporeal, which made them deadly as all get-out.

The only good thing was that the blood-born demons tended to be tied to a single place. Tethered like junkyard dogs. The demon in the Hanging Tree downtown was one of them; it couldn’t leave.

And I was pretty sure the same was true of the demon in the Sorrel-Weed house—which meant it was a blood-born demon too. It could bark at us and be as angry as it pleased, but it was stuck. And unless someone was dumb enough to go into his space, they were good.

Yet here I was, dumb as could be.

“Duck, duck, duck,” I whispered under my breath and Robert’s hand tightened on mine. My energy spiked, and I unintentionally pushed it into Robert. He groaned and tugged me sideways.

“Friend,” he said, and clacked his teeth together. The energy pulsed around and between us, suddenly darker than before, and it was as if I were drowning in water that was deep and cold.

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