Deamhan by Isaiyan Morrison Page B

back again.
    “Holding cells, lots of extra beds, maybe coffins. A sanctuary is like a Deamhan safe house.” She stood in the center of the rubble and turned in a circle as she carefully scanned the neighborhood and quiet streets. “If we’re lucky, maybe some remains of their victims.” A lone squirrel ran into the road, paused, stood on its hind legs, and stared at them before it ran and disappeared behind a tree.
    Murphy nervously jingled his keys. “The cops don’t know about them?”
    “No. The Deamhan keep their lives secret, remember?”
    “How do you know then? Your mother?”
    The Brotherhood. But Veronica didn’t want to tell him about that. “My mother,” she confirmed, turning to walk back to the car. “Would you’ve believed me if you hadn’t seen for yourself, Murphy?”
    “No.”
    At least he was honest.
    “This is some paranormal shit,” he said.  “Like the Men in Black or Roswell. Stuff like that.”
    The squealing sound of tires pierced the air. A blue windowless van rounded the corner at breakneck speed, racing down the street. It swerved uncontrollably from left to right before coming to a screeching halt next to Murphy. The van seemed oddly familiar to Veronica. She froze and she locked eyes with the driver, a white male, who glared back from under a black baseball cap.
    Veronica rushed back to the car and she screamed at Murphy to follow her. She stood frozen, transfixed on the driver. He obviously wasn’t a Deamhan or a vampire. He didn’t look like a researcher and to her knowledge, there were no Chapters in the city anymore.
    A minion?
    He didn’t look like a minion.
    She screamed for Murphy again but her words drowned under the roaring of the van’s engine.
    Veronica heard the van’s passenger door open and footsteps running around the front of the vehicle. She snapped out of her trance. Instantly, she remembered the last time she’d been at this site. She saw the van before, down the street the other day.
    Murphy ran to the car, unlocked it and they jumped in. He started his car, yanked it into gear, and sped off.
    Three men in white ski masks and blue sweat suits appeared in front of the van carrying crowbars, chains, and knives.
    “Holy shit!” Murphy’s neck craned as he looked over his shoulder, then to the rearview then back over his shoulder. “Who the fuck are they?”
    Veronica paced her breathing and finally replied in a short breath. “Minions, I think.”
    The old Corolla whined as Murphy maxed out the RPMs before he rounded the corner and changed gears. “Minions?”
    “Lackeys, minions. Same thing.” Veronica turned around to see if they were being followed before she spoke. “Human servants of the Deamhan.”
    “Human servants? You didn’t mention anything about servants, Veronica!”
    “No, I didn’t.” She leaned her head back against the headrest and exhaled. Her arrival in Minneapolis was no longer a secret. First Dark Sepulcher, now this? It wasn’t a freak coincidence. The Deamhan knew she was in their city.
    However, next time she told herself, she wouldn’t run. Next time she’d be ready, armed, with a stake.
     
     
    CHAPTER NINE
     
     
    Veronica awoke feeling unsettled and fatigued. She squinted against the bright morning sun and rubbed her head, hoping to erase her awakening thoughts of yesterday’s insanity—and of Murphy. She glanced at her bedside clock. I hope he’s still asleep, she thought. Lord knows, he’d need the rest, after their harrowing night. She felt the need to protect him, to remove him from danger. Not just for his sake, but for her own.
    She stretched her arms over her head, arched her back, and then swung her legs off the bed. The high-pitched voice of the perky morning newswoman caused Veronica to scowl. She’d left the TV on last night, feeling the need for human company, even if it came from an LCD screen.
    On unsteady feet, she wobbled toward the TV to silence the bubbly news anchor. No one should be