Blood of the Demon (The Silver Legacy Book 3) by Alex Westmore

your peril. If it were me, I’d love the back up, but it’s your call.”
    Denny switched hands with the phone. “Good to know I can count on him if need be.”
    “I’m only going to say this once more Goldy, and then I’ll stop it. NOLA is not your responsibility. I know you want to help Peyton and all, but that’s not your job. If you insist on making it your job, then be sure you confide in the right people and get all the help you can.”
    “I hear you. I really do.”
    There was a slight pause before Ames said softly “If you do come face to face with a Dybbuk, you must use extreme caution. You can’t pull a Dybbuk demon free on your own.”
    “Not even with Saugen?”
    “Not even. The Dybbuk needs a host shell. You have to pull it out with Saugen and then, before Saugen sucks it completely out, you have to throw it into the next host, otherwise it will enter the weakest human in the area and you’ll have to start all over. Believe me, a Dybbuk can and will play that game all day until you tire or make a mistake and kill the host. That would be a murder charge if you got caught. It will take two of you to successfully extract the Dybbuk and give it a new home.”
    “What then?”
    “You kill its new host before it can get away. That is the only way you can destroy it—before it settles in the new host...and I am obviously speaking of an animal or object. I’ve heard it is nigh impossible to force a Dybbuk into an inanimate host, but that animals work better.”
    “So I send it to an animal and then kill it? How does that kill the demon?”
    “You have to kill the host before it has a chance to root. Immediately, otherwise, you’ll have to start over.”
    “Got it. Thank you.”
    “Goldy? Be careful. Remember what I said about confiding in the right people. Be smart.”
    “I’m not alone. I have witches, witches everywhere and not a broom to ride. As soon as I find Peyton, I’ll come home. Thanks for hooking me up with Mr. Devereaux. He’s an odd duck, but who isn’t, you know?”
    Denny and Ames said their goodbyes, and she finished her round of the Garden District before grabbing dinner and returning to her hotel, where she prepared for her 10:00 meeting with Louis.
    “Okay Louis...show me what you got.”
    ***
    T he streets of New Orleans were always busy and rowdy; a party atmosphere ninety-nine percent of the time. Tourists walked down the streets of the French Quarter sipping Hurricanes and gnoshing on po’ boys while stopping to listen to whatever music tickled their fancy.
    Nobody seemed to notice the woman in the leather vest with her hands jammed in her pockets as she pretended to people watch. She was watching, all right, but not for people.
    Louis surprised her by being on time. He continued to surprise her by saying nothing when she approached him, and just walking away.
    Denny followed as he moved invisibly through the darkened streets toward the outskirts of the center of town. He never said a word, never slowed down, but just kept walking with his head down.
    He was scared. She could feel it as surely as if he had told her.
    Denny kept her hand inside her vest pocket on Epée’s cylinder.
    They walked another 13 blocks before he stopped in front of a rundown shotgun house that had been redesigned to incorporate two houses on other side of it.
    “Here?” She asked, a bit taken aback by the close proximity to town. She had expected the bayou or farther out in one of the hurricane-ridden neighborhoods that had yet to be helped by a government that so quickly forgot its poor.
    He nodded.
    Denny dug into her pocket and pulled out a hundred. “Thank you for this.”
    Louis looked at the money and then back up at Denny. “Save your money, ma’am, ’til after you see what you find in there. I don’t wanna get paid for sendin’ such a pretty gal to her death. You live, find me later.” He backed away. “Can you feel it?”
    She could.
    There was some sort of energy surrounding