The edges of Cyra’s mind frayed, and her vision blurred with tears. Exhaustion buffeted her with the constant fear of being attacked by something else in the house. But battling her emotions for Gunn was taking its toll. “Bastard,” she mumbled to herself, but she couldn’t hate him. Not when his behavior came from losing someone close to him and blaming himself. God, if she had to choose between her brother or hundreds of people dying, she’d be a basket case. So she got it, but the heartbreak of him walking away sliced her in half. Never in a million years would she accept his self-destruction.

An orange glow from the fireplace reached the hallway, illuminating the side of the stairwell. Upstairs lay pitch darkness, covering her in shivers, as she was well aware the house concealed a terrifying monster. And it was exactly where Gunn planned to go alone. Forcing the point of joining Gunn would end in an argument, which meant they’d be distracted, and the beast would use those feelings against them.

For years, she’d read incantations in books she’d found online. Most were fake, but she’d tracked down two Wiccan groups who were the real thing. They’d offered tips on honing her ability, in particular her morning ritual to ensure nothing ever attached itself to her. She had so much more to learn, like how she’d turned that goose into stone. She’d attempted that exact spell months ago, only to have it fail miserably. But now failure wasn’t an option because she had to help Gunn.

First up was giving him extra defenses against possession, along with maybe an additional weapon. With limited resources, she had to use what she had in her bag for a strong hex. Like the dried Raven’s foot. Those birds represented divine messaging, and witches had used them for death magic too. Their bones were a quick way to conjure a spell of healing. A temporary fix, but still a solution.

Remembering she’d left her bag in the kitchen, she headed down the corridor, hearing the splash of water from the bathroom where Gunn had gone. She rushed along the hall, feeling unease inching up the back of her legs, and she pulled the lighter out from her pocket, flicking it on.

She did a sweep of the area behind her, the hall curving and heading to the bathroom and TV room. All clear. She rushed into the kitchen and headed for the drawers where she’d seen birthday candles. With a few placed in glasses, she lit them and set them along the countertop for light.

She grabbed her bag from the corner near the dishwasher and collected the crow’s foot, along with the pouch of herbs she carried everywhere. With all the contents in a cup, she placed her palm over the top, reciting an incantation in her head, the same one she did most mornings. “Safety. Strength. Wisdom. No evil shall penetrate this barrier.”

A spark of energy zipped down her arm, and on cue, a line of electricity shot from her palm and onto the ingredients. She raised her hand to watch them burn to a fizzle. Black smoke curled upward, and she filled the glass with tap water. With her hand covering the top again, she shook the items together.

She strained her creation with a colander into a fresh glass and tossed the remains into the bin beneath the sink. Their energies had been absorbed by the water.

With the potion complete, she scanned the room. What to use as a trapping spell?

She’d once read about a devil’s trap using symbols from the Key of Solomon. Well, with no internet, she couldn’t recall what they looked like and one slip or line drawn incorrectly could have devastating consequences. Considering how awfully she’d last messed up a spell, she couldn’t risk getting it wrong this time.

“I’m ready.” Gunn’s deep voice pulled her from her thoughts.

She whirled, her heart hammering in her chest. He stood in the kitchen’s entrance. “Shit, make a sound before sneaking up on people.”

Gunn stood solid and tall, some of his earlier cuts from the goose blushing red, others bandaged, and his wet hair glistened beneath the candlelight. He resembled someone who’d already gone into war, except the previous attacks were child’s play compared to what would come next. It hurt to feel the distance between them, and she missed the way he’d stare at her with hunger in his gaze. The way he lingered too close, tenderly touched her, his whispered words in her ear.

She picked up the glass and moved closer. “Drink this. It’ll keep you safe. No guarantees, but it should make it a bitch for anything to possess you. It’s only temporary, but it’ll last for two hours.”

He accepted it and studied the contents before sniffing the concoction. “What is it?”

“Just a small home remedy.” Telling him it included a dead crow’s foot would not go down well, so she planted a smile on her lips.

Without a word, he gulped it down and wiped his mouth, wrinkling his nose. “Tastes like grit.”

She collected the glass and set it on the counter. Silence settled between them. Pleading for him to change his mind made no sense, as he likely wouldn’t budge. And doing nothing meant they’d wait for the demon to pick them off one at a time. Still, her stomach hurt letting him go on his own.

Gunn adjusted his T-shirt, tugging on the hem, and moved the lasso on his belt an inch.

She dug into her bag and pulled out a quartz crystal in the shape of a small rod. “I carry this with me everywhere. I’ve blessed it under the moon’s light, and it’s meant to help me heal quickly.” She pressed it into his palm, pushing his warm fingers around the object.

His gaze never left her, but no words came either.

So many questions plagued her thoughts, but all arguments fell dead on her tongue as she studied his strong face as he held his composure. What he needed now was strength, not to be torn down, so she swallowed the angry words about him pushing her away. How he was wrong about putting her in danger if they dated.

She stepped closer to him, not caring that earlier he’d pushed her aside. “Just so you know, when we get out of this, I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer or your sob story or any bullshit you throw my way.”

A smile broke through his stoic expression and his hand caressed the side of her face. “You carry enough hope for both of us. I’ll be seeing you soon, baby girl.”

He turned away and left her feeling cold. Her throat choked up. Dammit, if he was being brave, then she could suck it up.

But instead, she stumbled against the counter, the flicker from the candles casting a puppet show on the walls. Her thoughts drowned into the unknown. Sitting back had never been her style, and neither was waiting like some helpless damsel, but this wasn’t something she was equipped to deal with… unless she worked out a way to give Gunn extra ammunition.

The next half hour passed in a blur and all she’d done was carve a rune she’d learned from Argos into the handle of a knife. She cast a protection circle around herself, hoping to use one on Gunn. But being unable to test the spell, she returned to square one.

Rejoining Henry and Nora in the living room, she slouched on the armchair, her knees pulled up against her chest.

“What do you think is happening in the attic?” Henry asked.

“Demon butt kicking.” Yet with no sounds coming from upstairs, she itched to go check on Gunn. Could he be lying broken on the floor, taking his last breath? Or had he been thrown into the portal? She shifted in her seat, unable to get comfortable, convinced she’d vomit the bile churning in her gut.

“Despite his initial appearance and standoffish attitude,” Henry said, “Gunn is a good man, isn’t he?”

Cyra faced Henry, tucking her legs under her. Henry was one hundred percent correct. Gunn wore spikes for personality, but on the inside, he was a loving, caring guy who wanted to help people and keep them safe.

“He really is,” she replied. Now if only he could open his eyes and accept how others saw him. Then he might be easier on himself.

With a huff, she chewed on a hangnail. Her mind filled with images of her with Gunn, the passion he’d incited in her, the rage as he’d pushed her away. And now she understood why he’d kept his distance all this time.

“At first, I wasn’t so sure,” Henry continued, but she zoned out, unable to make small talk about Gunn when her skin pinpricked.

“Did you want to see our list, dear?” Nora said, drawing her attention. Cyra had no clue what she was talking about, but she accepted the piece of paper with an inventory of handwritten objects, then realized it was the things they had brought into the house, written down as per Gunn’s instructions. But it was short with only four items.

Refrigerator.

Clippers for the shrubs.

Bread container.

Morgana box.

She kept staring at the last item and remembered seeing it in the hallway next to the vase of flowers. The gadget answered any questions someone had with a simple voice command. It also switched on certain appliances. That thing was hooked up to the internet, television, and surround sound system.

Realization rocked her at the core: the demon rushing into the power socket, the eerie music that had played on its own, the flickering of the television, according to Nora. A jolt shook her. “Where did you get the Morgana box from?”

Nora was shaking her head. “Oh, we didn’t buy it. Our son did, saying it was the latest gadget, and he installed it over a month ago.”

“About the time when the activity started,” Cyra said, her knees bouncing.

“We haven’t used it,” Henry joined in. “Don’t know how to use it. I think it’s broken, anyway. My boy bought it at a garage sale, insisting it was new.”

Cyra gasped. “Why didn’t you tell us this before? Forget that. Where’s your modem?”

Both exchanged looks, but she bet her life she knew where that was. The darn attic. Holy shit!

“Stay here,” she said to the couple and darted out of the room, careening toward the kitchen. The knife she’d blessed would come in handy. She had to tell Gunn. If they destroyed the box, it should vanquish the demon. The modem must be what tethered the demon to the attic, but the beast was connected to the Morgana device. Destroy that and the house would be clean.

She grabbed the Morgana box, ripped it out of the wall outlet and darted to the kitchen. She dumped it on the counter and picked up the knife.

A scraping sound echoed behind her.

Coldness spread through her like ice. She turned, the blade tight in her grip. Hell. Can’t get two seconds of peace in this house.

A haze rose around her in a semicircle. Lofting over her, the mass collected into an inky mass with tentacles flaying outward as if they were snakes.

“God, no!” She stumbled backward. It felt as if she’d swallowed barbed wire, and it gouged her insides raw.

Sweat dripped down her back, and her legs numbed, along with all thoughts aside from running. But where would she hide?

Instead, she screamed.

Thudding footfalls resonated in the hall, but she couldn’t lift her attention off the seven-foot monster gliding toward her, its serpent arms lengthening, stretching for her. Her fingernails bit into the fleshy part of her palm, grounding her, reminding her she had to fight, not let terror own her.

Move. Fucking move.

The thing unleashed an inhuman sound.

Don’t show fear. Her stomach squeezed so tight, she’d probably pull every muscle in the body.

She swung the blade, catching a tentacle. Her knife sliced right through it as easy as butter. It flinched away, but the cut appendage rejoined right in front of her eyes.

Clenching her fist, she hesitantly slid sideways toward the hall.

But the speck charged.

A cry escaped her throat. Her heart banged so hard beneath her breastbone, it threatened to explode. Her injured leg screamed with pain, begging her to stop. But she couldn’t.

Blackness consumed her, suffocated her. Claws pierced her, hauling her into its body.

She kicked, pushed, and stabbed the brute, but her hands and feet were sucked into its quicksand-like form. Panic squeezed her heart as death played in her mind’s eye and she thrashed for freedom. A putrid stink of sulfur smothered her senses, and her world trembled.

Tentacles constricted her, stealing her breath.

Her brain was a cluster of exploding bombs. She’d die in these people’s kitchen, gone from the world and no one would even know what had happened to her. What would they tell Chase? What about Gunn?

“Cyra!” Gunn’s voice came from the kitchen doorway.

“Help!” she yelled.

But the moment she twisted to see him, the demon drew her deeper into its monstrous form.

“Gunn!” she squeezed out, but it was too late, her vision already blurred from a lack of oxygen. She’d finally worked out how to kill the demon, and Gunn had to know.

The creature wrenched her into the shadows, its limbs folding around her body. Suffocating her. Burying her. She yelled, “Destroy Morgana!”