Watcher of the Dark: A Jeremiah Hunt Supernatual Thriller (The Jeremiah Hunt Chronicle) by Joseph Nassise Page B

disappeared.
    “What about Ilyana?” I asked.
    “What about her?”
    Rivera’s reply was said over his shoulder as he headed for the stairs back to the ground floor. Perkins and Grady were already ahead of him, so I hustled to catch up.
    “She’s not back yet. Should we be worried?”
    “About what?”
    I could hear how ridiculous my question sounded and decided I’d quit while I was ahead. No sense making them think I was an even bigger fool than they already did.
    She was a half-breed demon. What was there to be worried about?
    What indeed.
    We walked through the house and then back outside to the car. I was reaching for the door handle when something about the size of a bowling ball bounced off the door beside me, startling me. I think I let out a little yelp of surprise.
    When I looked down and saw the severed head of Glenn Wagner staring back at me from the dirt at my feet, I reacted without thinking, kicking it away from me like a soccer ball. I may have let out another yelp, this one much louder.
    Ilyana thought this was hysterical. She came walking out of the darkness surrounding us, wiping her bloody hands on an orange scrap of cloth and laughing long and hard at my reaction.
    “You should have seen your face,” she said, amidst gales of laughter.
    And to think I’d been worried about her safety.
    I did my best to ignore the laughter of the others around me as I slipped my sunglasses back over my eyes and climbed into the car for the drive back to the estate.
    *   *   *
    There are distinct advantages to being able to walk about in the dark and still be able to see. For one thing, you don’t have to turn on any lights when you get up in the middle of the night to use the restroom. For another, you can spy fairly effectively on anyone you want, say, your boss, without them realizing that you are there. As I was doing now.
    The fear and resulting adrenaline rush I’d experienced earlier had turned into hunger pangs hours later, and I’d come into the main house to grab something from the refrigerator to eat as a late night snack. In doing so I noticed a light coming from a room at the end of the hall, a room I knew to be Fuentes’s study. The light was spilling through the partially open door and I could hear two voices coming out of it as well, but I was too far away to hear what was being said or who it was that was doing the talking.
    The safe move would have been to pretend I hadn’t heard anything, turn away, and continue on my way to the kitchen but I’ve never been known to play it safe anyway. As quietly as I could, I crept down the darkened hallway toward the partially open door.
    The voices grew clear and I could hear fairly well by the time I settled into a crouch less than a yard away from the entrance, my back to one wall.
    “Well?” a voice I recognized as Fuentes’s asked. “Do you have it?”
    There was a clank, as if a piece of metal had been tossed onto the desk lightly. “You were right; Wagner was using the place as his new lair.”
    Fuentes laughed. “What did I tell you? Nosferatu are always so predictable.”
    Nosferatu? I’d heard the word before—it was the name of the creature in the very first vampire film by F. W. Murnau, never mind the name of the film itself. But I never imagined the things were real. How much did Murnau really know? I wondered.
    “… any more. I let Verikoff sate her needs on him when he refused to cooperate.”
    I’d missed Rivera’s opening, but it wasn’t hard to put two and two together to know they were still talking about Wagner.
    “And good riddance, too,” Fuentes replied. “Any other trouble?”
    “None. Though I have to admit that I’m surprised by some of Hunt’s abilities. He knew where Wagner was hiding before the rest of us did, for instance.”
    “Don’t underestimate him, Rivera. He’s like a rat; he’ll fight if you back him into a corner.”
    Rivera said something that I didn’t catch and both men laughed