Deamhan by Isaiyan Morrison Page A

if it could have been a Deamhan sanctuary, but she couldn’t leave Murphy in her apartment by himself. She looked at him again as he sipped from his cup then stared down into it. How his beautiful eyes lit up when she described the Deamhan to him and the way his tongue had a sexy way of peeking through his teeth when he pronounced the “th” sound.
    “You listening to me?”
    Veronica flinched. “Y-yes. I’m sorry.”
    “You drifted off there. Where did you go? Are you okay?”
    She cleared her throat and felt heat rise into her face. “You can sleep on the couch.” She stood up, took a few steps down the hallway, and then stopped. “I was just thinking. I—I have to go somewhere tomorrow. Want to come with?”
    “Deamhan search?” he asked.
    She nodded slowly. “Something like that.” She chewed her lip then straightened her shoulders. “So you want to come?”
     
    * * * *
     
    Murphy drove his beat up Toyota Corolla down the Hennepin Avenue, heading straight for the ruins in the warehouse district. The car’s left tail light was shattered, and a rope tied to the bumper held the trunk closed.
    Driving by Wilkes Cemetery, Veronica looked out the passenger side window quietly, noticing a pile of dirt next to a freshly dug hole. A new grave. Interesting. Before leaving San Diego, she learned that the famous Minneapolis cemetery was already at maximum capacity.
    Murphy parked his car across the street from the ruins. He turned down the radio volume and leaned toward Veronica to get a better look at the burnt ruins.
    “This it?”
    She nodded and opened the door. They exited and walked around to the front of the car. Murphy leaned against the rusted hood.
    Veronica crossed her arms, staring at the police tape surrounding the area. The strong stench of smoke burned her nostrils. A pile of blackened wood and small patches of scorched grass and earth in the front yard emitted white wisps of smoke. The site wasn’t grand nor was it anything special.
    “This place must of burned good.” Murphy examined the area. “So this was a sanctuary?” His upper lip curled in disgust.
    “That’s what I’m trying to find out.” Veronica sighed, realizing she probably shouldn’t have brought him along. She couldn’t forgive herself if Murphy got hurt. Most importantly, Sean would never forgive her bringing another person into her mess. By dragging Murphy along, she disobeyed one of The Brotherhood’s policies, one of the only policies she believed in. However, she wasn’t part of that organization so why should she even care.
    “What are we looking for?” Murphy glanced up and down the street before slowly approaching the sectioned off area.
    “Anything that might prove this was a sanctuary.”
    He ducked under the yellow police tape and picked his way forward, observing the ruins.
    Veronica remembered the chattering old woman and glanced around to see if she and Murphy were being watched. She expected to see the nosy neighbors eyeing them through the curtains of their home, but the streets were usually empty at this time of day. She checked her watch. Just past four in the afternoon. They had to be quick and leave in a few hours before sunset, or nosy little ladies would be the least of their worries.
    “I don’t know how you can pick out anything in this mess.” Murphy picked up a piece of burnt wood. “What are we looking for?”
    Veronica ducked under the police tape. He was right. Besides already knowing the ruins used to be a home, nothing else around them proved it was anything other than that. Nothing stuck out to her; no remnants of a coffin (if the Deamhan even used a coffin). No sign of hidden compartments. Just charred pieces of wood and furniture.
    “Be careful. Some of the wood is still hot.” Veronica fanned her blouse as the heat emanating from the ruins warmed her skin.
    “What kind of stuff would you find in a sanctuary?” Murphy’s eyes flitted from the debris to the neighborhood and