Page 13 of Demon Heart: The Complete Series

B ack in Hyde Park, things were quieter. The ADU were gone, and not one silver-clad body lurked in the bushes.

Decked out in black to blend into the night if my diversion spell collapsed, I crept to the spot of the hatch. Quickly found it—a clever illusion built into the soil and grass. If I hadn’t seen Keith and his guys using it, I wouldn’t come across it, not even accidentally.

Unfortunately for him and these three men, I’d been in the right place at their wrong time.

A section of the grass peeled back, revealing a flat metal handle resting in a crevice, sealed by a series of six small locks with tiny buttons of letters and numbers.

I held Skele onto each one, the buttons clicking in the correct order under vibrations sent from the rod. Kind of like a more complex version of ‘Open Sesame!’ but with less magic and more tech.

Clickity click, the handle popped up. Tentatively, I lifted the hatch to peer inside.

Concrete stairs. Dim lighting. The smell of chicken super noodles and sweat, a waft of stiflingly hot air.

No one came to greet me, meaning no alarm system tripped.

Ten points to Skele yet again.

I opened the hatch wide enough for me enter, slowly closing it behind me. Listened for movement, for a response.

Nothing.

The concrete stairs were wide enough for three people, amber lights fixed into the concrete ceiling.

Man, it was hot down here. The bad kind of hot, the heating on too high.

Slowly, I crept down the stairs, making no sound, my dagger in hand. Reaching the bottom, I met a heavy metal door with another series of locks similar to those on the hatch handle.

Skele made short work of them, and the ones covering three more doors beyond it. They weren’t so silent as they ground open automatically.

My spell dropped under the strain of keeping up the diversion on Darcy back at the flat.

I flapped my hands, uselessly trying to shake out some of the ache.

A large living space sat on the other side of the last door, complete with an enormous TV and three black-leather sofas, the white walls bringing a brightness to the windowless room.

One of the big guys slept on the sofa, the other standing close to the door with a bag of crisps in his hand, completely stunned to see me with my balaclava pulled down. Still wearing his suit, his tie wonky.

Surprise, dickhead.

“The fuck?” he said.

“Where’s Keith?” There was another door on the opposite side of the room.

He dropped the crisps. “What?—”

“Where is Keith?” I demanded.

He answered by drawing his gun and bellowing, “Johnny!”

I rushed him, dropping to sweep his legs out from under him. His gun went off, the bullet destroying the TV, the weapon itself clattering to the ground.

That woke Johnny up.

I drove my blade into his neck, a killing blow, then recovered the gun as the other brute put two and two together.

He jumped to his feet, reaching for his weapon. I fired his friend’s gun before he could, blowing out his left kneecap. He went back down onto the sofa, only grunting his pain rather than screaming it. Must have a high tolerance for being kneecapped.

“Where’s Keith?” I demanded, attention split between him and the other door.

“He’s not here,” he snarled.

“Liar.”

“Check for yourself.”

The moment I saw Keith creep through that doorway, he’d get himself a bullet.

“What is this place?” I asked, not moving.

“Fuck off.”

“In a bit. Where’s Keith?”

“He’s not here. How many more times?”

Touchy. “Then where is he?”

“Not. Here.”

“I see.” With his apparent high pain threshold, this guy wouldn’t give in to torture.

I could cast a truth spell, but they were dangerous to use nowadays. Like firing a beefy shotgun without any support against the kickback. I wasn’t about to risk knocking myself unconscious, or worse, leaving me at the mercy of this guy.

Even the queen didn’t like me to use them unless absolutely necessary. And it had to be absolute.

The day truth spells vanished, the temptation would go with them. Definitely not a bad thing.

Johnny reached for a smaller gun hidden under his left trouser leg.

Sneaky.

I shot him between the eyes.

No sign of Keith coming a’running.

I moved toward the other door, gun at the ready. I wasn’t a fan of guns, but was not afraid to use one if the circumstances called for it.

A short corridor beyond the door had no Keith standing in it.

I moved slowly along it, finger on the trigger.

I passed four more doors—one a bedroom with a large bed and an ensuite bathroom, the second a kitchen where those chicken noodles sat untouched in a bowl.

The third was another bathroom, the fourth home to two big screens fixed to the wall streaming live images of the area surrounding the outside of the hatch.

That’s how Keith had noticed me.

A computer linked to the screens sat on the desk, attached to a second device composed of twinkling lights. I checked everything, finding two USB sticks. No doubt there were saved recordings on them of Xavier and me.

Rather than crack the passwords to get into the system, I would destroy it.

I double checked everything, triple checked, finding no hidden storage, no extra USB sticks or devices.

Time to cover my tracks.

I grabbed the USB tool from my pouch of goodies, sticking it into the computer.

The screens went black, a white underscore character blinking in anticipation at the top of the screen.

Ready for the killing code. I happily typed it out on the keyboard, hitting enter with a dramatic flourish at the end.

The USB tool released a devastating infection into the system, corrupting every file, every cloud, anything associated with it. A complete wipe out, no coming back from this nuclear take down.

I plucked my tool from the system, heading to the bedroom for a full sweep.

Nothing in there other than a few sex toys and lube, but I did find a book tucked between some towels in the ensuite bathroom.

A blue notebook. No. A diary.

Marky Mark kept a diary? Interesting. I quickly scanned through the pages, gleaning some details about this bunker.

It was his safety net against what he called the ‘jealous mother fuckers’ trying to undo all his hard work over the years.

He couldn’t help being amazing, gifted—his words again—and one of the best business men ever to draw breath.

I’d fixed that for him. No need for him to ride out the storm with his boys. Three of this crew down, one more to go.

Keeping hold of the diary, I returned to the kitchen, finding nothing else of interest other than an impressive store of instant noodles. There was no stove, only a microwave, a kettle, and a sink. No white goods. Quite sparse, not quite ready for the apocalypse.

I left the bunker, locking the doors behind me—Skele not only unlocked, but re-locked. And he was clever enough to scramble the codes into some new jumble only he could crack.

I’d be so lost without him.

Back outside, I sealed the hatch, leaving the bodies to rot down there forever.

Keith was going to get a big shock when he came back here.

I waited for him for a while, hiding in the bushes. But he didn’t come. Conscious of a demon in my flat, I returned home.

Xavier greeted me in the hallway, his face hidden by the night.

“Where did you go?” His ominous tone poked at my fear.

I got ready to fight him, expecting the worst even after almost banging him.

“Just out.”

“Dangerous to be out.”

“It’s always dangerous outside.” I clicked on the light. He wore his jeans, but not his shirt, his big arms folded.

My blood pumping, heart a frantic drum, I took him in, ready to give the go-ahead to ravish me. After any job, adrenaline spiked, his presence pushing it over the limit.

“Can I get you anything?” I asked, voice cracking.

He shook his head, returning to the living room. I followed, checking on Darcy.

The demon turned, watching me inspect the cage as I dropped the spell.

“I thought magic was hiding him,” he said.

I didn’t answer.

“The rat sounds like a heavy sleeper,” he added.

“His name’s Darcy.” Now fuck me.

“Yes. Darcy.”

“I can take him out of here,” I suggested, flushed with lust again.

“He won’t be happy if you do,” he responded. “Remember what he said earlier?”

“I—”

“I’m not in the business of hurting rats.”

What about witches? “Good to… Good to know.”

I left the living room, returning to my bedroom. The bunker mission provided some reprieve. Now the confusion, the maelstrom of what-the-fuckery, rushed back.

I sent Piper a message with my mission results.

Her: You left one alive?

Me: He wasn’t there.

Her: Get some sleep.

Sleep.

Sleep would make everything better.