The Unlikeable Demon Hunter (Nava Katz #1)(19)

One of three chapters in Canada, along with Toronto and Montreal, the one here in Vancouver provided training to any initiates and support to any Rasha living or working on a mission in western Canada.

All too soon, we hit Southwest Marine Drive, a street of wide-spaced mansions hidden behind tall hedges and fencing. A few more winding turns later, and Dad pulled up to a half-open, wrought-iron gate set into a high stone fence. A dense press of Evergreens swayed in the distance.

My nerves flared back up into overdrive.

Putting the car in park, he leaned over to press a kiss to my cheek. “Go get ’em, honey.”

My hand stilled on the seatbelt release. “How about we grab a mocha first?” Not that I needed any more caffeine.

“Sorry, kiddo. They’re waiting.”

He pointed out the window at Rohan, now slouching against the fence, his hands jammed into the pockets of his worn yet no doubt expensive jeans. He probably practiced that pose in the mirror, aiming for maximum bicep bulge under his fitted charcoal gray T-shirt.

Rohan raised his eyebrows at me like I was late and needed to hurry up. That tiniest of gestures packed with maximum arrogance. My heart relaxed back down out of my throat, my hands balling into fists as I got out of the car. Bite me, rock star.

I said good-bye to Dad, waving until he’d turned the corner.

Baruch jogged down the driveway to us. His hair floated loose in black waves around his shoulders. It matched his all-black attire of board shorts and a long sleeved tee with DSI printed in small white block letters over his heart.

David Security International was the Brotherhood’s public persona. Having an actual company provided a cover for everything from liaising with suppliers to allowing Rasha to answer the question of what they did for a living. Most importantly, it gave them access to high-level places and people that might provide valuable intel for their real business of demon hunting. They’d always had proxies like this. Back in the middle ages it was a knight’s order–not the Templars. In Victorian times, they owned gentlemen’s clubs. Nowadays, it was an elite security organization.

Eying Baruch, I totally bought him as a top level security expert. Aside from the bare feet. Nice calves, dude.

“Boker tov,” I said, punctuating my good morning wishes with a salute. I glanced down at a skittering sound by my feet to find two kitten-sized, fanged spiders with glowing red eyes charging at me.

I bolted past Rohan onto the property, screaming.

Baruch caught me, turning me around. “Look.” Despite throwing themselves at the open gate, the spider demons were being repelled, as if bouncing off an invisible rubber shield. “Wards,” he explained. “Keeps out anything with even a drop of demon blood.”

Feeling braver, but no less disturbed because big-ass spider demons, I inched closer. “Kind of stupid to attack Demon Club, especially when they can’t get in.”

“Araculum aren’t known for their brains.” Rohan grabbed one of the hairy leggy fuckers in mid-repel, handing it over to Baruch, who pinned it, immobile, in one hand.

I jumped back. “What happened to them not getting through?”

“Of their own accord. We can bring them in just fine.” Rohan’s lips curled in a small smirk. “They don’t like that much.”

I pressed in closer to Baruch, who despite holding a demon, seemed like the safer of the two Rasha to hang with right now.

Baruch pointed to the araculum’s rows of eyes, currently trained with laser focus on me. “See that?”

“Creepy show and tell time?” I asked.

The araculum growled. A million nails raking down a chalkboard fed through a broken, scratchy windpipe filter, the noise hooked into the base of my spine.

Its friend ramped up its pointless attempt to get through the wards.

Baruch shook the fiend that he held. “Sheket!”

“Bevakasha. Hey!” I sang, finishing off Baruch’s “quiet” with a “please.” He shook his head at me. “What?” I said. “I went to Jewish camp.”

“Araculum store images for later replaying,” Baruch said. “Bottom feeders farmed out to gather intel. But what exactly?” he added in a murmur, jamming his thumb into the underside of the demon’s neck.

It spasmed, keening.

Expression grim, Baruch jerked the still convulsing creature toward us. A series of images flashed across its rows of eyes as if from a stuttering projector. They were playing too fast for me to make sense of them but Rohan glared at me.

“It met with Asmodeus,” he said.

“That’s not my fault.”

“No, but Asmodeus probably sent them here, scouting for information on who killed his children,” Baruch explained.

Rohan shot me a pointed look. “That would be you.”

My stomach twisted into knots worthy of any BDSM Dom. I let out a squeaky “eep.”

“Ro.” Baruch’s chastisement was no less effective for his calm tone.

Rohan gave an annoyed sigh.

Baruch punched the demon in the left side of its head. Its eyes widened, briefly, comically, then all light and life faded as the demon disappeared with a pop and a puff of wiry hairs. Baruch brushed his hands off.

I gave him a shaky smile. “Tree Trunk, you’re my hero.”

Behind me, someone gave a snorting laugh. “Oh my God! I’ve been trying to place him for three years now. It was less celebrity, more Ent. My bad.”