The building was condemned for mold about twenty years ago and sat empty for five years. Squatters had moved in, and a fire thirteen years ago killed five of them. The building was set to be demolished when local history buffs stepped in and saved it, though it’s been empty ever since.
The new owner is some big-time investor who plans on renovating the least amount he can do and charge an insane amount for “historic” apartments in the area. And since he’s only paying the Order to get rid of the ghosts, I’m guessing the payout is more than decent.
For the Order higher-ups, that is.
Typically, Ethan would get paid to do a job like this. The amount varies by difficulty, but to me, it’s just another way the Order makes the hunters dependent on them. When your life is spent traveling from state-to-state hunting demons, it’s not like you can hold down a regular job. On paper, the whole idea of the Order works. You get a group of demon hunters together who can organize and plan, and people desperate enough to save their families.
Still, the whole thing rubs me the wrong way. You don’t have to pay the police—not directly at least—before they show up when you call 911. Then again, it’s not like tax-payer dollars can go toward ghost removal.
“Do I need a fake name?” I ask, unbuckling my seatbelt when Ethan puts his Jeep in park. “To go with the fake story that I’m just some normal girl who happened to get mixed up with the Pricolici demons because my aunt made a demon deal and you swooped in to save the day?”
Ethan turns, one brow raised. “No, and that’s the story you’re going with?”
I shrug. “Why not? Other hunters already know the Pricolici were sent after me, right? They don’t know the why or the how, but they know the…the…I got nothing. But you know what I mean, right?”
“I thought I did.” He kills the engine and undoes his seatbelt. “That story will check out. I promise you these hunters are definitely going to look into who you are after this.”
“Because I’m a medium-slash-former-demon-bait?”
He flashes a cocky grin. “Because you’re my girlfriend.”
Rolling my eyes, I get out of the car and wait a beat so Ethan can grab his bag of weapons. There are three other cars here: an old Chevy pickup, a white SUV with a stick family on the back, and a dented-up Honda. Not exactly what I had in mind when I thought of meeting up with a bunch of other hunters.
Ethan and I walk over matted down dead grass, indented from the construction crew driving around this place. The outside of the building is dark and covered in vines. Most of the windows on the first floor are still boarded up, and the others on the second and third floor are either broken or covered in graffiti. Curtains hang out of a window on the third story, damp and long forgotten.
Voices are carried on the breeze, floating through the quiet night air, and I can see flashlights bobbing around inside the vestibule that leads you inside the building.
“I’d say they’re loud enough to wake the dead, but I think they already have,” I mumble and Ethan chuckles. He’s holding my hand in his and lets go when we go up the steps to pull his own flashlight from his pocket. He told me he uses a real flashlight over the one built in on his phone in case he needs to drop it and either fight or run.
Through the dust, I can see that this place must have had a grand entrance. The original marble floor is beyond repair, and my shoes click softly against it as we walk in. A lot of the drywall has already been torn down, exposing lots of wires.
“Hey,” he says, deep voice echoing through the large, empty foyer once we’re inside. There are five people gathered inside. Two teenage boys who are no doubt brothers since they look so much alike, the older man Ethan told me about—who’s smoking inside, letting his nasty cigarette smoke waft in everyone’s face—and a twenty-something-year-old girl who beams as soon as she sees Ethan.
“Ethan fucking Bailey,” she starts, pushing off a wall. She’s pretty, with short brown hair that just barely touches her shoulders and is wearing torn-up black jeans, a black crop top, and an oversized red plaid shirt overtop, hanging off one shoulder. She has a butterfly tattoo covering a scar on that shoulder, with the letters OMR inked underneath.
“When they told me they’d send another hunter so I wouldn’t get stuck with the noobs, I never thought—” She cuts off when she sees me standing close to Ethan. “You brought someone?”
“Yeah. This is my girlfriend, Anora. We met when demons attacked her last F all. She’s here to help and get an introduction to the way the Order works.”