Such a temper.

Alistair stared musingly after Willow. She appeared royally peeved. With good reason.

She’d caught him playing with her mind. Yet she shouldn’t have. Alistair was good at what he did.

Extracting information took a certain finesse. A subject noticing and rebuffing his methods of gathering information was unheard of.

Very intriguing.

Not fascinating enough to follow tonight, though. Not with the text he’d received.

Might be a live one in the warehouse district.

A live demon? Most excellent. It was time they found one to question.

Send the coordinates to my phone, he commanded via text.

Shall I send backup?

Not necessary. I’ve got it covered. Let them assume he’d called some in. Assume incorrectly, he should add. Alistair had no need of aid. More people would just get in his way.

It didn’t take long in his truck—which had an impressive ability to get people to move out of his way—before he’d made it to the coordinates on his phone.

Back in the warehouse district. He wondered for a moment if he’d end up back at Willow’s place of work.

Is the demon hunting her? While he didn’t sense strong magic from her, those hungry beasts wouldn’t care. Any magic would do.

That would suck. While he didn’t mix business and pleasure, she almost tempted him enough to make an exception.

He drove past her warehouse, which was lit all around with bright, UV-grade lights. Which was less for the vampires who really didn’t care about light of any kind than for the tunnelpfiefer, mole-like creatures that only emerged at night and liked to borrow things.

The tunnelpfiefer called it borrowing; human laws labeled it stealing. Tensions were running high inside the cities that hadn’t yet run them out.

Bleeding heart liberals said they didn’t mean any harm. They’d keep repeating that until a tunnelpfiefer snuck into their house and stole their baby.

Experience changed many a person’s mind.

Alistair reached the end of the road where the coordinates led and drove past the dark building before parking. He’d work his way back, but first, a few preparations.

Exiting his truck, Alistair rounded to the rear of it and opened the hatch. Within sat a box, a special one that only he could open.

The sealed crate stank of magic the moment he unsealed it. Various articles filled it: wands—for siphoning power to be used at a later date—a few empty potion flasks—I really should get those refilled—some clothing he’d bought off the underground, esoteric market…

What use did a man have for used garments? Watch and learn.

Alistair pulled out a femininely scented jacket reeking of witch. Amazing how much humans imprinted the things they touched. Even some wizards were lax about guarding their true selves.

He shut the lid to his box of toys and tossed the coat a few yards from him. Then he hunched down to wait.

Alistair knew quite a few things about demons—and the hunting of them.

Such as the fact that newer ones couldn’t sift scents to detect whether something was living or just a smelly piece of clothing.

The body rushed from the shadows and past the discarded jacket before stopping and turning with a confused look. It crouched down and sniffed. While it was distracted, Alistair flowed forward and shot out a fist, clocking it.

A few punches past a slobbering mouth, the teeth barely pointed, and a sweep of the ankles that sent the misshapen thing to the ground, and Alistair could pin it.

He knelt on the newly minted demon’s chest, a flabby human one, the host being an uninspiring sort with patchy blond hair that had lost its comb-over, pasty, pockmarked skin, and beady eyes.

“You didn’t exactly choose a pleasant host, did you?” Then again, demons that wished to escape their realm didn’t have much choice. The rips appeared and disappeared without notice. Sometimes lasting days. Other times, only hours.

A demon who wanted to escape couldn’t afford to be picky about a host. It sent out its essence to the first viable body it found. Then, it went hunting.

The thing opened its mouth and made a noise, the stench of its breath appalling.

Alistair parted his lips and…laughed. “You do realize that would only be frightening to children? And only young ones at that.”

The voice croaked, “I shall feast on your blood. Grind your bones.”

“First, you’d have to actually extricate yourself. You’re weak.”

“Not for long.”

It would only take a few magical feedings for the demon to be able to pull his full self over onto the Earth side. Even then, it would have to keep feeding to maintain the tether and avoid the poisonous atmosphere.

“How did you get here? Where is the portal?”

The thing cackled. “There are many doorways now. The cracks between the worlds are widening. We are spilling in.”

“I know that already. I want to know where you came in.” The Peabody location had been shut, but there were other spots that required investigation.

“Where the sun rises over the shining building.”

“That describes half of downtown.” Alistair sighed. “But it’s a start. Did you come here by accident or intent?”

“I am the harbinger of death.”

Eye-rolling-worthy declaration. “Who sent you?”

“The King of Terrible Countenance.”

“Does your king have a name?” Because the demons didn’t have just one lord.

“He has many names, for he is the Son of Perdition, the Mighty Conqueror.”

“In other words, another wannabe destroyer. Have you not all learned your lesson? Do you not recall the world you already destroyed?” The demon realm used to be a place of beauty. Then, it was invaded.

Unless stopped, Earth would suffer the same fate.

“We shall conquer. Blood will fill the streets. Victory for the king.”

Mindless madness. Alistair leaned close and whispered, “Would you die for your king?”

A hint of pride entered the demon’s gaze, and a wide, toothy grin pulled his bloodless lips. “The legion is ready to die for its king.”

Alistair smiled, and a tendril of smoke curled.

“You are indeed legion and, in time of need, expendable. Rejoice, minion of chaos, for they will recycle your name to the next warrior in line,” he promised.

Then Alistair wrung the demon’s neck.