Darker Streets: Heir Of November: Darker Streets (Uncollected Anthology Book 4) Read online

I also noticed how white Ren was. "What?"

  "We need to skip the formalities. You need to talk to Morris. Now."

  four

  I barely had time to get a good look at the house. My impression was that it was old. Antique everything, from the sconces on the walls with real candles to the chandeliers to the Victorian furniture. The foyer was grand, just like it should be, but with statuary of Gods and Goddesses. Which seemed a bit odd to me.

  Men and women in black stepped out of the shadows and fell in line behind Ren and I. I looked at them and kept my hand in his as unfamiliar faces stared at me with a mixture of what I thought was curiosity and silent alarm.

  We skipped the stairs going up, where our luggage went, and turned left down a hall and entered a ballroom at the end of the hall. Dozens of chairs were set up in rows facing a podium. Between it and the seats were two more chairs.

  Ren led us past the group of chairs to the two in the center and pointed to one of them. "Go ahead and sit."

  I turned to see everyone else taking seats in what I dubbed the peanut gallery. 'Cause this was nuts. "What the hell is going on?" I whispered.

  "You're going to have to tell Morris exactly what you told me, okay? And don't leave anything out."

  "Ren!"

  I jumped at the volume and strength behind the voice. A tall, barrel-chested man stepped out of a side door and strode with purpose toward us. He wore what I thought were judge's robes with the house crest on the left breast. His hair was short and dark with graying temples and his face…

  Morris Cavanaugh. I swallowed my bravery. Right there.

  The two men did that handshake then bro-hug thing before Ren turned and gestured to me. I might also note that the murmur the growing crowd had started making was gone. All eyes were on us. "Morris, this is Taylor Cavanaugh, Steven and Emily's daughter."

  I might have been impressed with Morris Cavanaugh, but his expression told me he wasn't all that impressed with me. In fact, his smile at Ren faded as he took in my appearance. And of course, my first defense kicked in and I copped my usual back off attitude. The same one I'd shown the dean and some of the professors at college. I pulled a stick of gum from my hoodie, shoved it in my mouth, and dropped the foil on the ground before I crossed my arms over my chest. I also made sure to smack that gum as loud as I could.

  Morris walked right up to me and held out his hand. "Spit that out."

  I looked down at his hand. I was half and half. Half terrified of this man and half irritated. "You want my spit on your palm? Why can't I chew it?"

  "Because I want to be able to understand your colloquial slang without the obstruction of gum. Spit it out now."

  I did as he said. I felt like I didn't have a choice.

  Then, to my surprise, he smiled as he closed his hand around the half-chewed wad and then opened his palm again.

  The gum was gone. He didn't toss it up, and he didn't drop it. It was just gone. I smirked. "Neat trick."

  "It was magic." He held out his hands to everyone else. I watched them sit. He gestured for Ren and I to sit in the hot seats before he pulled an empty chair up close and sat down. "Taylor Cavanaugh, tell me about your dream."

  So I did, repeating the same thing to him as I'd told Ren. Though my uncle did remind me of a few things I'd left out along the way. The ballroom was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. When I finished, Morris looked as white as Ren. He stood and gestured to a few others in similar robes. They came from the crowd and had a little conference to the right.

  I leaned toward Ren. "What the hell's going on?"

  "Just listen and do exactly what he says."

  What the hell?

  When the huddle broke, Morris came back to me. He didn't sit this time. "Taylor—is it true you'd never heard the name Abbadon until this dream?"

  "It's true."

  "And upon hearing it, you did not recognize it."

  "Nope."

  "Have you been taught the lore of demons?"

  "The what?"

  "Have you ever been schooled in the history of Dark Inc.?"

  "Dark what?"

  "Or have you ever been told about the legacy of the Cavanaugh family?"

  I didn't even bother answering that one. It was pretty clear to me he didn't care about my answers. And to be honest, the moment he mentioned demons, I decided these people were eccentric and crazy.

  Ren put his hand on my arm. "Taylor, you need to listen."

  Morris clasped his hands in front of him. "At four o'clock this morning, Millie Cavanaugh, your grandmother and my sister-in-law, was murdered on the Dark Streets. We don't know how she got there—or why she decided to leave the protection of the house."

  "Murdered?" I looked at Ren, and then back at Morris. "Wh-who?"

  "It's no mystery. The only reason we knew where she was is because her murderer wanted us to know. She left us messages letting us know where her body was and what happened to it. That person was Abbadon."

  My jaw dropped.

  "This is going to come as somewhat of a shock to you, Taylor, and I blame your lack of education about your heritage on the murder of your own parents."

  "My—my parents weren't murdered—"

  "I'm afraid they were. By the very same demon. Abbadon and the Cavanaughs have a very bloody history," he straightened. "There's no easy way to say this, Taylor, but you are the descendant of a long line of Demon Hunters. The Cavanaugh clans have always worked with the society called Dark Incorporated, an entity that was started not long after the Salem Witch Trials. We have worked over the centuries to rid the world of demons and banish them to a place we call the Dark Streets. In fact, we were overly successful."

  I didn't know what to say. I just kept looking over at Ren, but he was looking at Morris.

  Demon Hunters?

  Was this guy for real?

  "So successful that we'd banished all the powerful demons, except for one. One demon above the rest. The right hand of Baal. Abbadon," he took in a breath and then continued. "The Cavanaughs were relentless. And though we lost many, many lives to this demon, we were diligent in our quest to find the one thing that could defeat Abbadon and silence her forever."

  I heard whispers and I panicked. Was I supposed to say something there? 'Cause the dude lost me at Demon Hunters.

  "We found it. And it was your grandmother who used it in her youth. She used November against Abbadon and defeated her. The last of the Great Twelve was banished."

  "Great Twelve?" Oops. I didn't intend to say that out loud.

  "Yes. The twelve greatest demons of all time. We've enjoyed peace for over seventy years because of their defeat. But in those years, your grandmother's strength waned and November slept. Abbadon…escaped. The first one she attacked was your grandmother. And now that the demoness is free, she'll stop at nothing to kill all of the Cavanaugh family and free the other eleven."

  I gripped the edge of my seat. "Wait…what does this have to do with my dream? I don't know who this chick is. Why was I dreaming about her?"

  "Your dream was prophetic, once again confirming your position as the Heir of November." He held up his hands and the room broke out into cheers.

  I gave Ren a panicked face. He looked concerned and stood, raising his hand.

  Morris motioned for everyone to be quiet and turned to Ren expectantly.

  "Morris, members of the Cavanaugh family, I know you're all anxious to have Abbadon recaptured so that we may all go on with our lives. No one wants to start the hunts again. The killings. The destruction and death. We've stood against the darkness long enough and we've deserved this long awaited break. But—" He held up his hand and I leaned forward. "I would suggest not postponing the meeting and getting to it right away."

  Meeting?

  There was a slight pause before everyone started talking at once. Some voices were angry, some hopeful and some chimed in their agreement. Me? I stood up and moved to stand behind Ren.

  "What's going on?" I whispere
d.

  He half-turned and smiled. "I'm lighting a fire under their collectively lazy asses. If Morris thinks your dream is prophetic, that means you and I get killed by Abbadon. You didn't have November in the dream. Which means we waited. I say we get on with it."

  "What about the ritual?" someone shouted out.

  "Damn the ritual! That demoness has already killed one of our own!"

  "Quiet!"

  The last voice was Morris's. The ballroom went quiet. Like hear a pin drop quiet. He turned to Ren. "You want to introduce the Heir of November without the ceremony?"

  "Yes."

  "Now?"

  "Why not?" Ren held out his arms. "You were all so adamant that I bring her here as soon as possible, even after it was explained she'd never been educated in demon hunting or what her role would be if the demons ever rose up again. My thought is—then let's cut to the chase. Will she contract with November?"

  No one spoke for a few seconds, and then a voice from the front row said, "I like the idea. I, for one, want to know if she's worthy."

  "And if she isn't?" someone shouted from the back.

  Morris held up his hand. "Then we search the ranks of the family for someone who is."

  "Wait…wait a damn minute." I hadn't meant to say that out loud, but my hand was up higher than Morris's and I suddenly had everyone's undivided attention. At first, I believed their stares were directed at my looks and choice of hair color, but now I realized they were sizing me up for some Demon Hunter…thing. "I'm still wrapping my head around the whole demon thing and the fact my nightmare from this morning was a prophetic dream, because if it was, I'm going to die and so is my uncle. This November is a sword, right? I remember that from the dream. And if I can't use it, you're going to do some King Arthur pull-the-sword-from-the-stone…party?"

  Ren nodded. He acted flippant with his actions, and had adopted a nonchalant air, but I knew Ren. He'd raised me from the time my parents died. His voice revealed to me how scared he was. And if Ren was scared, so was I. "In a nutshell, yeah," he said.

  "Well, I'm gonna say this right now. I've never even picked up a sword. I don't know anything about demons—I'm not this heir."

  "November will make that decision," Morris said, sort of interrupting me, 'cause I had a whole bunch more to say. He clasped his hands and smiled. I did not like the smile. "Then let us retire to the chamber."

  Everyone stood at once and the sound was deafening. I grabbed Ren's arm, and he turned to put an arm around me and guided me to follow Morris. "Chamber? What the hell is going on?"

  "Tay—just go with it, okay? If things go the way I think they will, you and I can be back in the car on the way home tonight and we can put this behind us."

  "But what about that dream?"

  "We're not going near the Dark Streets, Tay. I don't plan on dying."

  five

  This chamber turned out to be a crypt in the basement, through a door in the wine cellar. I kept my hand in Ren's as we marched down stone steps, through web-coated openings, and down spiral staircases. Torches lit on their own as we approached. At first, I thought it was some kind of special effect. You know, that they were all hooked up like gas lamps and ignited when we passed some infrared trigger.

  Until one lit up next to a closed door and Morris took it from the holder. I looked at it a bit closer. No gas pipe. Not even a wire.

  What the hell was going on here?

  Morris turned and faced us. I shivered. The air smelled damp, and goose bumps popped up on my exposed skin. I wondered if everyone in the ballroom was now crammed into this labyrinth of crypts. The door behind Morris looked like it was made of metal. Someone had wrapped chains around it. Were they worried about something getting out? "My Cavanaugh brethren, though we are foregoing the ancient rituals and customs of our heir, I feel Ren is right. Knowing is of the utmost importance in this situation. We have lost our last Demon Hunter. Initiating her heir is important." He turned to me and offered me his hand. "Taylor."

  I hesitated before Ren prodded me to go to Morris.

  Shaking, I took a few shuffling steps toward him and put my hand in his. Something twinged along my fingers and shot up my arm. I jerked my hand back. "What—"

  "It's all right, Taylor," Morris said. "You felt the connection between Cavanaughs. Come, let us introduce you to November." He handed the torch to Ren then turned around and held out his hands. "Kos-kerich, burr dun am!"

  The chains rattled and then fell away, and the door swung inward. I looked at Ren in the flickering light, and he looked…dammit it, he looked worried. I wish he'd stop that!

  That's when the air from the other side of that door touched me, and I made a small gasp. It was warm! And it smelled of cinnamon. I thought of baked apples and buttery crusts. I caught a glimpse of a woman looking down at me, but the sun behind her head blotted out her face.

  "Tay?" Ren put his hand on my arm.

  Blinking, the vision fading, I looked ahead and saw the door standing wide open and Morris walking inside. I followed him with Ren behind us.

  This room was much smaller than the ballroom—maybe a fifth of its size. But it had the feeling of being something bigger. As if the domed walls actually extended much further up and down. Statuary, like the pieces in the foyer, lined the curved walls. Morris moved to each of them and lit a torch to the right of the statues. Ren and I moved to the center of the room to a raised dais. In the center of the dais was a sword, chained to series of odd metal brackets holding it in place. Wow…were they that afraid someone would steal it?

  And why would they? With a second look at it, I was pretty sure I'd seen this thing on an episode of Star Trek. It looked like a Klingon sword, or something out of a medieval fantasy film. Aged black leather wrapped around the hilt and at the back was the head of a demon, complete with horns. The guard matched the same ornate carving, but completed the body of the demon with wings that bent down in the direction of the blade.

  The blade? That's where it really got crazy. If I had to compare it to something for a description, I'd say it looked like a tribal tattoo near the hilt and the blade grew smaller in width down to its point. Seriously—the damn thing was a movie prop.

  Morris set the torch in an empty holder and stood behind the sword. "Behold! November!"

  In the silence I just…blinked at it. "This is November?" My voice echoed in the chamber.

  Morris looked…irritated. "Free the sword."

  "You got a key? There are a lot of chains on it."

  "Only the heir can free it."

  Oh come on! Of all the things in my life where I knew I didn't know what I was doing, this one took the trophy. Seriously. I'm supposed to free the sword. Which…opened up a whole new can of words for me. I assumed it was chained to prevent theft—but the way he said that suggested it was chained to stop it from getting away.

  I took a deep breath. Time to prove to these goobers I was not this Demon Hunter heir they kept talking about. Not knowing what else to do, I put my hands on the chains.

  They were cold and hard, and nothing happened.

  I released the breath. Thank god.

  The metal moved under my fingers as if it were picking up the vibrations of an oncoming train. Abruptly, the chains vanished. Just…poofed into dust.

  A murmur spread from the others that had squeezed in the room and traveled down the line to those still outside. I jumped back as the sword sat on its brackets with no chains. I think I sort of half-expected it to get up and do a dance.

  Morris clapped his hands. "Now, Taylor Cavanaugh, Heir of November, take your sword!"

  What?

  I narrowed my eyes at him, but what the hell. I figured if I could just show them I'm not who they think I am, then this would all go away. So, I rubbed my hands on my hips because my palms were sweaty, reached out and grabbed the handle. I tried to lift it but oy…it was heavy. So I grunted and used both hands to lift it off the brackets.

  Stumbling back, the sword out
in front of me, I was able to hold it up for about a half second before the tip came down and thunked against the stone floor. So there I stood, the sword in my hands, and I couldn't even lift the damn thing. My grandmother used this? To slay demons?

  The silence that followed the clang of the metal on stone gave me back my goose bumps. I looked at everyone in the room and noted their disappointed faces. They hung their heads as they turned and filed out of the room, which took a while since they had to wait for those on the other end to get the message and back up.

  I stood there with the sword in my hands with my head down until Morris approached. He lifted the sword from my hands and set it back on the brackets. No one said a word.

  "You can go," was all Morris said as he followed the others out of the room.

  I felt Ren's fingers on my bare arms. "Hey, don't look so sad."

  "They're all disappointed."

  "Yeah. They are. But what did they expect? I mean, you didn't even know about this part of the family."

  I wiped at my eyes but kept my head down. I wasn't used to feeling like this. This combination of embarrassment and anger. "No, I didn't. But you did. Why didn't you tell me?"

  "I was told not to." Ren put his arms around me and I leaned into him. "I don't know what their thinking was. I mean I always assumed they didn't want to bring up the past in case they had to repeat it."

  "The demon hunting?"

  "Yeah. Look, if you want, we can leave tonight. I can get you back to your dorm."

  "Can I just go home for the night?" I wanted to go to the home Ren raised me in. One of the smaller Cavanaugh estates.

  "Sure. Let's go."

  With his arm around me, Ren and I left the crypt. I heard the door close behind us, and the torches went out as we passed. But there was one sound I never heard. So when we stepped out into the wine cellar, I turned and looked down the passageway.

  "What is it?"

  "I just…" I shrugged. "I never heard the chains come back. The door locked. But no chains."

  "Eh," Ren said. "You want to go back and check?"