Page 9 of Deceiver (Soul Chasers #2)

Wilder

A little over thirty minutes later—thanks, rush-hour traffic—I’m pulling into Keagan’s driveway. His frantic call was exactly what I expected to happen after he sent me away earlier. At least we won’t have to drag this out too long. If all goes well, I can get this wrapped up within a few days.

I exit my vehicle, gazing up at the house for signs of danger, but it seems calm at the moment. Before I even make it to the porch, the front door swings open, and a desperate looking Keagan offers me a tense smile.

“Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“Of course.” I follow him inside, looking up as loud pounding rattles the ceiling light fixture. “Has it gotten worse since you called me?”

“No, but it’s consistent. Before, it was sporadic, but now it’s not stopping.”

“Tell me what happened right before this.”

Keagan lowers his gaze and looks contrite as he wrings his hands. “I went rogue.”

I nod, encouraging him to continue.

“I went out and bought a ouija board.”

“You did what?”

“He wouldn’t talk to Mercy and Talon, the mediums, so I thought maybe he would talk to me alone, and he did, but now like I told you on the phone, he seems to have escalated.”

“Did something negative happen during your session?”

“I asked him if he committed the murders and he said a demon made him do it. Is that even real? Can demons do that? I never believed in this possession stuff, but now I’m not so sure. I don’t think that makes it better though, even if it was a demon, which could just be a lie, right?”

“Take a breath, Keagan.”

“Right. Sorry. I’m word vomiting. I do that when I have a lot on my mind.”

“That’s fine.” The thumping gets louder. “I suppose I should go up there and see what’s going on.”

“Should I come with you?”

“Not yet. Let me assess.”

Keagan nods. “I’ll make tea. Or would you prefer coffee? It’s late, so caffeine might be a problem for you. I have decaf though if you’d prefer?—”

“Keagan.”

He blows out a breath. “Right. Tea or coffee?”

“Regular coffee is fine. Thank you.”

“Sure thing.”

I watch him walk down the hallway to where I presume his kitchen is. Once he’s gone, I trudge up the stairs, ready to face the Horror. I didn’t think I needed to warn my target not to contact the spirit world alone. I figured he’d have his medium present to help, but apparently he’s a brave one.

The bedroom door is closed, but it rattles the closer I get.

When I open it and step across the threshold, a shiver moves through me.

The room is freezing, indicating the Horror’s growing strength.

Instead of the swirling mass I saw earlier, it’s now more fully formed, almost looking like the man it used to be, but still translucent.

“Hello, again. Let’s have a chat, shall we?” I remove my leather gloves slowly, ignoring the pulsating presence above me. “You’re not supposed to be here, and you know it.”

The Horror reacts with a growl and spreads itself across the ceiling.

“You can be mad all you want, but you don’t scare me. It’s my job to get rid of you and that’s what I plan to do.”

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a small satchel containing one of my favorite spells.

It’s my go-to since it helps with communication between us.

To banish the Horror, I need it to acknowledge its underworld name, and it can’t do that if it can’t speak directly to me yet.

I’m not interested in waiting around for it to fully manifest.

I open the satchel and gather a handful of the powder inside, blowing it into the air as I chant the words “Locere nunc”—“speak now” in Latin.

The Horror reacts calmly, as they often do when receiving this spell, unknowingly helping me with my complicated task, solidifying in a way that makes it easier to detect its formerly human features. It slides from the ceiling to the floor, glancing down at its almost fully formed body.

“Ready to talk?” I ask.

It looks up at me, a snarl forming on its lips. “Get out.” Its voice is ghostly and faint, but I’ve spent years practicing how to hear it well.

“No can do, my wicked friend. You go first. I insist.”

It blinks slowly at me, flickering in and out of sight. “Where is my son?”

“Downstairs.” I remove my trench coat and lay it on the bed. “But that’s not important right now. You don’t belong here. It’s time to go.”

The Horror tilts its head, looking me up and down. “You can’t make me.”

“Actually, I can.”

As I expected, the Horror doesn’t plan to go easily. I’ll likely have to use my strangle technique, but I’ll keep that one in my pocket in case other tactics fail.

“This will be a lot easier if you cooperate.”

The Horror chuckles, pulsing with eerie gray light. “Even easier if you leave.”

With a flash, it darts across the room, pressing against a window. Dammit.

“I have some news for you,” the Horror continues. “Thanks to my son, I have a lot more help.”

My brow crinkles. “What do you mean…?”

Before the words are fully out of my mouth, the ceiling fills with ghostly spirits seeping out of the drywall. There must be a dozen of them.

“How about a game of hide and go seek?” the Horror taunts. “I’ll hide, and you go fuck yourself.”

With that, it disappears from sight as the other spirits descend, reaching out to grab me. Thinking quickly, I dart out of the room, slamming the door behind me and hoping they won’t follow me.

I hurry down the stairs, looking for Keagan, and find him in the kitchen sitting at a small table by the window. He’s staring up at the ceiling, his eyes wide and his breathing heavy. I follow his gaze, my heart sinking when I see what he’s looking at. They followed.

“Keagan?”

“What’s happening right now?”

“Just an educated guess, but I think when you used the spirit board, you invited some extra spirits.”

“What?” He looks at me. “No, I didn’t. I was just talking to my dad.”

“You haven’t been warned about the dangers of opening a portal to the spirit world?”

His cheeks flush red and he nods. “I guess so, but I had the amethyst.” He gazes up again. “What do we do now?”

“I think?—”

I’m not able to finish my sentence as the spirits swirl past me, nearly knocking me back as they head to the living room. I hurry in that direction, followed by Keagan, to find all the action happening in the front room, where the spirits are throwing objects from Keagan’s bookcases onto the floor.

Keagan grabs my arm. “Would a crucifix help in this situation? I have my grandmother’s in a drawer.”

“Afraid not. Besides, this isn’t exactly an exorcism.”

“So then what?”

I need to get him out of here, but normally I have more time to build rapport before things get rough enough to warrant removing the target from their home.

“There are a few options.”

Keagan nods, flinching every time another book slams to the ground.

“I think it would be wise to leave until the Horror and its uninvited guests calm down.”

“Leave?”

“If you have friends or family to stay with, that would be ideal. A hotel is another option.”

He nibbles his bottom lip for a second. “I really don’t. I’ve been on my own for a while now, and hotels around here are kind of pricey. Am I in danger?”

“Hard to say, but I like to err on the side of caution. There’s another option. You could stay with me. I have a guest room.”

His brow crinkles. “That’s nice and all, but I don’t know you.”

“I’m aware. Just providing options.”

He clears his throat. “You’re sure I can’t just stay here?”

As if answering on my behalf, a large book goes flying past Keagan’s head. He flinches, stepping close until he’s nearly pressed up against me.

“Shit.”

“I don’t know yet if things are going to escalate,” I explain.

“They may tire out, or they may not. You’ll be safe at my home.

It’s big, and you’ll have your privacy. It’s just until I can get in here and really assess what we’re dealing with.

One Horror is tough, but a full-on haunted house will take some time to clear. ”

Keagan nods, chewing his bottom lip again. Various emotions flicker across his features until he settles on what I consider a determined look.

“Okay. I’ll go with you.”

“Pack a bag with a few things to get by. We’ll go from there.”

Keagan studies me for a second before walking to the stairs, but he pauses at the bottom. “I’m trusting you to help and not hurt me.”

“I know. I could prove my credentials, but I think you’d find that slightly more jarring than just trusting me.”

“I’m not sure that makes me feel better.”

“It wasn’t meant to soothe you. I’m simply speaking the truth.”

“Right. Is it safe to go up there?”

“I think so. For now.”

While Keagan is upstairs, I walk around the room, dragging my hand over the walls to get a sense of the energy.

Definitely negative. They must have been attracted when Keagan used the spirit board.

The air shimmers around me, and I know what that means.

Sure enough, Farnsworth appears in front of me, his lips pursed as he hands me a manila envelope.

“I know,” I say. “The target used a spirit board on his own.”

“Well done. Now you have six Horrors to deal with. Some of the others appear to be benign and took off.”

I take the envelope, opening it and glancing at the information. “Seriously?”

Farnsworth nods. “Seriously. A high school choir group, of all things. They died in a bus accident but seem particularly hostile.”

“Great. As if teenagers aren’t terrifying enough.”

Farnsworth pats my shoulder. “Good thing you know what you’re doing.” He sniffs the air. “Ew. The energy here is awful.”

“Tell me about it. I’m taking the target with me to get him out of here for now.”

He waves his hand in the air. “I trust you to handle it.”

Then he’s gone.

“Who was that?” Keagan asks, peering down from the middle of the stairs.

There’s no way he saw Farnsworth. “Who?”

“You were talking to someone. I heard you.”

“Mental notes to myself.” I offer a slight smile to cover the lie. “Ready?”

He nods, joining me in the living room. “Guess so. It’s quiet upstairs.”

“Calm before the storm, I’m afraid.”

“I really messed up, didn’t I?”

“A moot point. You can follow me in your car or I can drive.”

“Where do you live?”

“Salem.”

“Of course,” he mumbles. “My car’s been having some trouble. I can ride with you.”

I gesture towards the front door. “After you.”

Keagan grabs the doorknob and tries to open it, but it doesn’t budge. For fuck’s sake.

He twists the knob with no results. “It won’t open.”

“Stand back.”

Keagan moves behind me, but keeps his curious gaze trained on my every movement. I reach into my pocket to pull out a vial filled with an unlocking potion. All it takes is a small smear on the door before the spirits blocking it shriek and shrivel away.

After opening the door, I turn to look at Keagan, who is staring at me with his mouth open.

“What just happened?”

“Magic. Come on.”

He follows me outside, walking slowly to my SUV while looking back at the house. Using my key fob, I unlock all the doors. Keagan climbs in and settles in the passenger seat, clicking his seat belt into place and clutching his bag to his chest.

I join him and start the vehicle, but before I back out of the drive, I turn to face him.

“Listen, Keagan, there are a lot of things about me that won’t make sense, but I promise that my entire purpose right now is ridding you of that Horror.

It’s my job, and I’m very good at what I do.

You are safe with me. You have my word.”

“Okay,” he says softly. “I’m pretty fucking freaked out though. I always thought this stuff was bullshit, but it’s not, is it?”

“No.”

He shifts in his seat, directing his gaze out the window. I can only imagine what he must be feeling, especially knowing his own father is haunting him, but based on what I experienced, this is not a safe place for him to be right now.

I rarely resort to bringing a target to my home if there are other options, but it’s not the first time I’ve done it. I put the car in gear and back out of the driveway slowly.

As we drive down the street, I notice Keagan glancing at me. “I have questions.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Do you live alone?”

“Yes.”

“No wife or, um, partner of any kind?”

“My job makes partnership difficult.”

“I see. How old are you?”

I snort a dry laugh. “Older than you think.”

“You look thirty-five.”

I say nothing in response.

“Not telling me? Okay, fine. Can you at least tell me your last name?”

“Wilkins.”

“Wilder Wilkins?”

I chuckle at that. “Wilder is a chosen name.”

“Oh.”

“Edward,” I offer. “But I don’t use it and my surname is rarely needed.”

“Gotcha.”

“We’ll get you settled in and then we can figure out dinner. I’ll have to wash some bedding for you.”

“Okay.” He’s silent for a few minutes before he says, “Thanks for helping.”

“It’s my job.”