LITMIR.BIZ

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      The sound was faint, maybe only a creak of the house, but Quinn Strom heard it. He sat upright in his bed, peering into the darkness of his bedroom and straining to listen.

      Trained to sleep lightly, he was always alert at any out-of-place sound. He’d lived in his modest house long enough to have memorized every normal creak, squeak and groan of the place. And the creak he’d heard was from the stairs just outside his room; the fourth step from the top had a soft spot that only a certain amount of weight triggered.

      The creak came again, prompting Quinn to bolt off the bed and reach under his bed for the arsenal that he’d stashed there when he first moved in. Fortunately he always slept in sweatpants, so in emergencies like these he didn’t have to bother dressing. He grabbed the shotgun, loaded with silver and rock salt, and the beat-up old satchel that contained ampoules of holy water and his blessed silver crucifix.

      Quinn had been a demon hunter and exorcist for most of his life, so he was always prepared for any threat, be it human or other. His father had trained him since he was ten to be vigilant, to be wary of the things that went bump in the night.

      All the doors and windows had been warded against demon attacks, so the intruder had to be human. But just because they were human didn’t make them any less of a threat. He knew that firsthand. He’d had his fair share of run-ins with sorcerers, especially those from the Crimson Hall Cabal, a powerful organization of one hundred members who were always searching for more power.

      Quinn took position at the side of his door, his gun raised, the satchel hung over his shoulder. He couldn’t cock the gun now because of the sound it would make, but the moment the door opened, he would pump it and point it in a nanosecond. In his other hand he had a glass ampoule of holy water ready to be released, just in case his wards had failed. One splash of the water on unholy skin would incapacitate any demon for a few minutes. Enough time for him to shoot silver into a demon body and kill it.

      Breathing deep and even, he counted down the seconds in his head. The attack would come any moment now. He could sense movement on the other side of the door, hear the swish of fabric moving. What the hell were they waiting for?

      Could this be a regular, run-of-the-mill home burglar? Looking for expensive things to steal and hock? Quinn didn’t live in an affluent neighborhood. There was no indication in either his house decor or the vehicle he drove that he was anything but a blue-collar working man with nothing of worth to take except maybe a plasma TV and a game console. But nothing worth searching the rest of the house for.

      No, Quinn didn’t harbor any delusions that the intruders were after his valuables. At least, not the type that a person could buy in a department store. He did possess some things of worth. Things that only certain types of humans and demons would know about.

      Were they after the key? God, he hoped not. That thing had been nothing but trouble from the second his father had bequeathed it to him. He’d tried to hide it in plain sight by giving it to his sister disguised as a pendant, but it had ended up back in his hands anyway. Back to being his responsibility.

      Before he could consider that further, the door burst open. And not in one push. It splintered into a hundred pieces, as if C-4 had been placed on it and lit by a fuse. But he didn’t hear an explosion. Something else of great power had rendered his door into kindling.

      He cocked the shotgun and, stepping over the wood pieces scattered on his floor, he took a stance in the doorway, pointing his weapon. But he couldn’t get a shot off before he was catapulted backward by a ball of green light that hit him full force in the gut. All the air was knocked out of him when he hit the wall.

      He slumped to the floor just as a man with long dark hair and glowing green hands stepped into his bedroom. He smiled down at Quinn.

      “Quinn Strom, I presume. Where is the key?”

      All of Quinn’s muscles quivered. It was as if a thousand volts of electricity surged through his body. He could barely blink.

      The man stood over him, threatening green sparks dripping like melted metal from his long fingers. “I don’t want to kill you. But I will to get what I want.”

      Quinn licked his lips, trying to get his mouth to work. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      “Don’t play with me, Strom. I know you have it. Your lovely sister, Ivy, had it and then she gave it to you.”

      Quinn tried to sit up at the mention of Ivy’s name. “If you touched her, I’ll kill you.”

      The man chuckled. “Don’t worry, she is quite safe. The cambion of hers is quite formidable. I should know, he killed Reginald, the man I succeeded as leader of the Cabal.” He turned his glowing hands this way and that, looking at them affectionately. “Although I probably should thank him for that...”

      Quinn now knew who had broken into his house. The Crimson Hall Cabal. They were a ruthless group of powerful sorcerers who ran their organization pretty much like the mob and a gentlemen’s club combined. Not long ago, his sister, Ivy, and her lover, Ronan, a cambion, otherwise known as a half demon, had had a run-in with Reginald Watson. He’d initially hired Ronan to find Quinn and steal the key. But Ronan had had a change of heart—everything to do with the fact that he’d fallen in love with Ivy—and had given the key back. Then he ended up killing Reginald to keep Ivy and the key safe.

      Obviously, the legend of the key had been passed on to the next in line for the cabal throne. The legend and the desire to possess it.

      “You’ve wasted a trip. I don’t have the key,” Quinn croaked, his throat dry from the pain that still zipped through his body.

      There was movement behind the sorcerer in the doorway. He turned as a small squat creature hobbled into the room.

      “I could not find it, Master.”

      It was a goblin, a female one by the way it was shaped. It regarded Quinn with its big, opaque eyes, and Quinn thought maybe he saw a quick flash of remorse in its wide-eyed stare. He couldn’t be sure. He’d only ever seen a goblin once before. It was rare to see one topside. They usually resided in hell, acting as servants to the demons that inhabited the pits.

      “Yes, well, I did not suspect that the great Quinn Strom would have it lying around.” The sorcerer looked back to him. “You’re much too much like your father. Paranoid to a fault. Too bad that didn’t help him before he died.”

      “I’d leave my dad out of this.”

      “Or what?” the sorcerer sneered. “You’re going to kill me?”

      Quinn nodded. “Something like that.” He pulled his hand out of his satchel and a dagger glinted in the light cast by the sorcerer’s hands. The sorcerer saw the knife too late.

      He lifted his hands, just as Quinn sank the lethal blade into the sorcerer’s leg, and dodged his magic green rays. The green light slammed into the wall behind him, just missing his head, and burned a hole through the wood and concrete.

      Dragging the shotgun with him, Quinn gained his feet, but the sorcerer was already turning toward him, the knife still sticking out of his thigh. Quinn dashed past the little goblin and out of the room. A blast of green fire hit him in the shoulder as he rounded the doorway.

      It sent him to the ground, and he rolled dangerously close to the first step on the staircase. Pain shot through him like acid, but he managed to pull himself up using the railing and started down the stairs. Another bolt of green hit the wall next to him, causing him to stumble. Sparks sizzled on his cheek.

      He reached the bottom step just as the sorcerer started down. Quinn risked a glance at him. The sorcerer had pulled the knife from his leg and dark droplets splattered the rug with each step he took. It wouldn’t be long before the blood loss affected the sorcerer’s vision. He’d be seeing black spots soon. Or least, Quinn hoped he would.

      Quinn ran into the living room. He had to get to his bookcase. There was one book he needed before he could get out of the house. The room had been trashed by the

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