Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Damien stepped inside and closed the door. “You can come out now, Pet.”
“Who were you talking to?” Pet muttered from the safety of his jacket.
“No one. I wanted it to look like the owners invited me in—in case a neighbor saw me.”
“Why?”
“Because humans are snoops. And snoops make poops.”
Pet popped her head out. “Huh?”
It was something his father used to say. Not much of a swearer. “Never mind. We need to hurry.”
Damien walked through the kitchen. It was grimy and spartan with only a beat-up breakfast table in the corner. Old cream-colored curtains hung on the window over a rusted-out sink.
He quickly did a sweep through the house, which was in a state of disarray—drawers turned out, the contents of closets on the floor, cupboards left open, etc. The police had been here already.
At the end of the hall, he found two doors. One probably led to the garage, but that didn’t interest him.
He inspected the second door with the steel frame and heavy-duty industrial lock. A little overboard for securing an inventory of fairies. Whatever the Browns had kept down there, they’d wanted to make sure it did not get out. No wonder Pet could not open it.
“Do you smell that?” Pet trembled in his pocket, vibrating against his hip.
“Smell what?”
“Roadkill. Oh, and nail polish. I love nail polish!”
How delightful. “Why don’t you stay up here and keep a lookout at the window.” If there was anything dead down there, he did not need to deal with a hysterical fairy.
“Really? You want me to be your lookout?” She flew out and blinked up at him with her big eyes.
“Yes.”
“Okay, but the murdered reporter lady says to hurry up. Something doesn’t feel right.”
Sky was here? “Gods fucking dammit,” he snapped. “Why is she—you know what? Neverthehellmind. I have work to do.”
“I’m not the one holding us up. And stop swearing,” Pet said.
Did a prostate-tickling, anus-diving sex fairy, who lived for bathing in bodily fluids, just tell him his language was offensive?
He twisted the deadbolt and pulled open the heavy door. “Stay, Pet. I mean it.” He went to venture downstairs.
CHAPTER TEN
Damien flipped on the basement lights at the top of the stairs, grumbling profanities under his breath. What was Sky doing here?
Does she think she can make me feel guilty? Make me suffer with this haunting?
Who the hell haunted people anyway? Just because she was dealt a bad hand did not give her the right to thrust her spirit on others. We all needed to carry the burden of our fates alone. Take his situation, for example. He’d been cursed to live in emotional isolation for all eternity. But did anyone see him running around, inviting himself into other people’s lives or whining about his fate? No. He’d accepted his lot, the outcome of his choices.
“Won’t see me going around haunting people.” He reached the bottom of the stairs, surprised to find the basement completely empty. Very clever on the Browns’ part. Anyone who might come snooping around, say a nosey journalist for example, would be thrown off. Nope. Nothing to see down here. Just a bare concrete floor and one light fixture.
He went around the bend, finding the metal grate exactly where Pet said he’d find it.
Damien lifted the grate and descended the second set of very narrow stairs.
Immediately, the scent of rotting flesh and feces hit him.
He pulled out his monogrammed handkerchief and covered his nose. At the bottom of the stairs was a dangling string. He gave it a tug, and floodlights came on.
Dear gods. There had to be over a hundred cages around the perimeter of the cavernous room. Some large. Some small. And still occupied?
Damien stumbled back, almost falling onto the staircase. A dead woman with dried blood around her mouth lay slumped over on the floor of her cage. Piles of fur and desiccated skin sat in the other cages.
“They were killed and left here to rot,” Damien muttered. He had no words.
Damien’s eyes gravitated toward the open door of a room off to the side, where bright lights glowed over a bed covered in a plastic sheet and dried blood.
He entered, holding his breath. The stench was overwhelming.
Chains, handcuffs, and rope dangled from the legs of the bed.
Christ. The people responsible for this were monsters.
Damien turned to leave, noticing a small trash can next to the door. He leaned over it. Inside were dozens of shriveled-up fairy wings, fangs, and skins. Bottles of unmarked clear liquids were mixed in with the body parts.
Lubes? Damien jerked his body back.
How could anyone do this to another living creature? It was one thing to traffic them, but this was a whole other level of sinister. The people responsible had tortured these beings. And, from the looks of it, they’d gotten off sexually.
Damien’s stomach rolled with a wave of revulsion as his imagination filled in the blanks. The sort of abuse that had occurred in this room was unlike anything he’d ever seen. They’d torn off the wings of defenseless fairies. Annoying or not, they did not deserve that. These people had pulled the teeth of vampires and weres. They’d skinned some of these creatures alive.