Woodland Hills is a neighborhood bordering the Santa Monica Mountains in the San Fernando Valley region of the City of Los Angeles. Instead of using the freeways and running into rush-hour traffic, I opted for the mountain road of Topanga Canyon. The winding canyon road starts at the Pacific Coast Highway in Malibu (the same road on which my gated beachfront property stood), runs to the top of the Santa Monica mountains, and then back down into the Valley. A scenic drive through a bohemian enclave far away from the gritty hustle and bustle of the city seemed like what my addled mind needed, and my shortcut would shave off some driving time.
A sprawling metropolis like Los Angeles contains multitudes. Topanga is one of the more remote, laid-back, mellow parts, a private little world unto itself.
As I took in the breathtaking vistas, I promised myself to spend more time up here soon. I’d made such promises on many previous occasions, but unfortunately I never kept them. Today would probably be no different. There isn’t a lot of downtime in my line of work, and I find it difficult to relax and unwind when I’m not on a case. But at least I could enjoy the drive.
Less than an hour later, I merged onto Ventura Boulevard and, following the directions on my maps app, made my way to Mary Kinsey’s new home.
She lived in a modest stucco house about half a mile from where the canyon merges with Ventura. I parked my car on the street of the quiet suburban neighborhood. Sunlight was already fading and painted the trees lining the sidewalk in fiery red hues.
I hadn’t really thought too much about how I would approach Mary, or how I’d explain my uninvited presence at her doorstep. I guess I wanted to catch her off guard, and gauge her reaction. Would she recognize me as the son of the man who’d nearly taken her life and slam the door right in my face? Or was she waiting for me?
As I reviewed the horrors of the past day, a grim certainty gripped me—my new enemy or enemies wanted me to walk up to that nondescript, innocent-looking abode. The psychic attacks had led up to this single moment. And that raised another thought: Was I walking into a trap?
It didn’t matter. I had nothing else to go on. Mary Kinsey was the best and only lead.
I locked my car and strode toward the house, my body tense, jaw set in a tight mask. My gait slowed as the front entrance drew closer.
Part of me wanted to turn around. Maybe Vesper would find something else on the reborn cult. Maybe I could leave Mary in peace.
I shook off my sudden trepidation, gritted my teeth, and pressed on.
I had a job to do.
I stepped up to the door and stole a quick glance at the street. Something wasn’t quite right. The idyllic neighborhood felt abandoned, almost as if aliens had abducted every resident. As I searched the streets for any sign of life, I also grew aware of how quiet it was. I fought back the irrational certainty that I was the only living soul here, that all these other houses held the bodies of their long-dead, decomposing owners.
This wasn’t a suburb brimming with vibrant energy, but a ghost town.
A city of the dead.
Pull yourself together, buddy, I told myself as I rang the doorbell.
I waited. And waited. No one came to answer the door.
I hit the buzzer a second and third time, which produced the same result.
I was about to give it a final shot when I made out a thumping sound inside the home. Someone was definitely in the house, which raised the question of why they weren’t acknowledging my presence.
Following an impulse, I turned the doorknob. The place was unlocked, and the door opened with a bone-chilling creak.
I hesitated for a beat at the threshold. Breaking and entering wasn’t my style, but I refused to leave empty-handed. I needed to talk to Mary Kinsey, whether she liked it or not.
Throwing caution aside, I entered the home. The Glock remained in my double-holster system, one hand pressed against the butt of the firearm.
Breathing shallowly, I advanced into the gloomy home. The drawn blinds transformed the house into a patchwork of light and shadow.
I walked through the foyer and arrived in a spacious living room. The place had a lived-in feel to it, a tad messy but still pleasant—the home of a family. I noted a series of framed family photos that rested on the fireplace and side-tables. The pictures showed Mary Kinsey with her husband and two kids throughout the years. A picture could speak louder than words, and these photographs showed that Mary had truly moved past the trauma my father had inflicted on her. The family looked like they were close, connected and happy. Big smiles in every shot.
Those images of familial bliss formed a sharp contrast to the home’s unnatural silence.
I pricked my ears, hoping the sound I’d noticed earlier might repeat itself. No such luck. The space remained dead quiet.
I stood in the darkness for a beat. The oppressive nature of the place bore down on me like armor, impeding my breathing. I let the sudden wave of anxiety wash over me and continued my exploration of the home.
Next up was the kitchen. A few empty pots rested on the stove. I sniffed the air. An aroma of meat and potatoes lingered. Someone had recently prepared a meal.
It was time to announce my presence and hope for the best.
“Hello!” I said. “Anyone home? I’m here to talk with Mary Kinsey…”
The words died on my lips as I turned the corner around the kitchen, and the dining area came into view. It was a moderately sized space dominated by a long wooden table and four matching chairs. Three chairs were occupied. A middle-aged man sat at the head of the table, flanked by two younger people. These had to be Mary Kinsey’s teenage kids. She had a boy and a girl, I recalled. Their names were Paul and Kim, sixteen and seventeen respectively.
Most families didn’t dine in the dark. And a stranger had just popped up in their home, yet they showed zero reaction. So what the hell was going on here?
I received the answer a heartbeat later. As I drew closer, my eyes went wide and my heart knocked against my caged ribs with pounding force. With horror, I grasped why none of them had acknowledged a stranger in their midst. They were all dead.
Pools of vomit surrounded their half-eaten meals. Eyes bulged from sockets and skin had turned a pale blue, the telltale signs of poison. Their family dinner transformed into a last supper.
I guessed that their killer had cleaned up their faces and propped them up to give the impression that they were still alive. This part was almost as disturbing as the horrific crime itself.
These people had been happy. Normal. They’d loved each other. Rage and sadness filled my chest as I instinctively pulled out the athame knife.
I held it up like a protective talisman, hoping its white magic could somehow erase the horror before my eyes.
I was about to continue my exploration of the house when a sudden sound made me whirl. My gaze landed on a woman who lurked in the far corner. Silhouetted in shadow, a frozen statue. I knew it had to be Mary Kinsey even though I couldn’t make out her face.
“Welcome to the party, Simon Kane. As you can see, I whipped up a special meal in honor of your visit. Please sit down and join the festivities.”
There was no horror in the speaker’s voice. She sounded jovial and excited; a fan who was finally getting to meet her idol.
The figure took a step toward me, and now I could make out her face.
It was Mary Kinsey, no doubt about it. Not the younger Mary, the girl my father had planned to sacrifice in his temple. This woman carried a few extra pounds on her, sported a few wrinkles and gray streaks, but she was recognizable. I sensed this wasn’t some illusion conjured by my mind; I was facing the real Mary.
She’d killed her entire family and then waited for me to find them.
“Why? Why did you do this?”
“The Daughter of Darkness told me to.”
I filed that phrase away for future research. Vesper could dig up more information—if I made it back to the mansion intact.
“What do you want
from me?”
For a moment, she stared at me with big eyes, almost like she thought the answer to my question was obvious. An eerie smile painted her face.
“What do I want?”
She took a step closer. My shoulder tattoo, which usually aches in the presence of black magic, remained dormant. I drew little comfort from this; the Ouroboros hadn’t warned me about the other psychic attacks either. Some practitioners of the dark arts knew how to shield themselves and disguise the power they wielded. Besides, my gut told me Mary Kinsey was a pawn in this high-stakes game of black magic warfare.
“What do I want, Simon Kane?” Mary was almost upon me now. “I want you to pull out that knife you inherited from your dear old Pops and finish what he started. Strike me down, complete the circle with an offering of my blood. The Dark Lords are waiting for the sacrifice your father promised them.”
I started backing away, sensing that Mary Kinsey wouldn’t hesitate to throw herself onto the knife in my hand. The weapon was equally effective against the living as the dead, and I had no intention of adding a homicide to my resume.
“Who is controlling you, Mary Kinsey? Who made you do this?”
“No one is making me do anything. I serve the darkness.”
“You’re not the woman who raised and loved these children. Look at what you did, for God’s sake!”
For a beat, Mary froze, almost like my words had reached a distant part of her soul. Or as though some buried consciousness in her was fighting to break through.
“Who are you, really?” I asked, addressing whatever entity or magic-user was pulling the strings here.
I held up the athame like a cross, and Mary Kinsey froze.
“Talk to me, dammit. Who the fuck am I dealing with here?”
“The Daughter of Darkness doesn’t owe you any explanation.”
That name again. The Daughter of Darkness. The Children of the Void. What was it about cultists and wannabe sorcerers that they always had to hide behind these made-up, self-aggrandizing titles?
“You’ve betrayed your father’s cause, and you’ve betrayed yourself. But you can still find redemption. Embrace your legacy. Finish Mason Kane’s work and complete the circle.”
And with these words, Mary Kinsey’s eyes went blank, and she launched herself at me with a banshee wail that didn’t sound human.
Her intention was clear—she hoped to impale herself on the knife in my hand.
What would happen if she succeeded in her mad ploy? Would the gates of Hell open right here in this modest home and engulf the San Fernando Valley?
Reacting on pure instinct, I hurled myself aside, and Mary crashed into the dining room table. Stunned, she slid to the ground.
Without hesitation, I pounced. I snatched one of Mary’s arms and twisted the limb around her back. She yelled out more in fury than pain.
I drove her face into the carpet, my weight pinning her to the floor. She roared with unbridled rage, unable to shake me off her.
The fury in her had gone supernova, but fortunately it hadn’t lent her inhuman powers. I might not be the toughest guy in L.A., but even I can take down a middle-aged mom.
“I want answers. Why did you kill them? What are you really hoping to achieve?”
Her anger turned into disconcerting laughter. Her mocking guffaws suggested that she was the one in control despite being pinned to the carpet.
“You’ll meet her soon enough, monster hunter. The Daughter of Darkness is looking forward to it. But first, we have a visitor.”
Damn it, what now? The question was still tormenting my mind when footsteps filled the house. I turned toward the incoming steps and came face to face with Detective Sanchez.
I had rung him up earlier in case things went south during my little meeting with Mary Kinsey. He stared at the dead family around the kitchen table, his features growing a shade paler. No wonder folks didn’t like to get too close to me. Being my friend meant you might never get a good night’s sleep again.
I backed away from Mary, and Detective Sanchez threw the cuffs on her. She was still grinning, her eyes glassy and blank as a doll’s.
I crouched in front of her. “Who are you, really?”
Suddenly, the woman’s gaze became clouded with confusion. Mary blinked several times and then looked around, perplexed by the handcuffs on her wrists. The terrible force directing Mary Kinsey’s actions had relinquished its hold over her. As her gaze found her dead family, her stunned expression dissolved into a mask of grief. She wailed, a terrible sound that made my blood boil.
Whoever this Daughter of Darkness might be, I could almost hear her laughing at my helpless rage.
Chapter Eleven
I watched grimly as the cops escorted Mary Kinsey into a waiting cruiser, her shoulders bowed with grief and guilt. I knew she was innocent, but no court on Earth would see it that way. I had failed to save her from my father’s evil. She’d only gotten a fifteen-year stay of execution.
I urged Detective Sanchez to go easy on her. Told him Mary Kinsey hadn’t acted under her own cognizance while she committed those murders. Other forces, the spooky kind that I typically dealt with, had seized control of her. I could see him struggling with this information. If Sanchez didn’t believe me, then there was no chance a judge and jury would. Maybe she’d be able to get off on an insanity plea. Regardless, her life was over.
With a heavy heart, I said goodbye to the detective, refusing to watch as the forensics team carried out the bodies of the dead Ardvaks.
Back in my car, I rang Vesper and updated her on the latest twist to this case. I also told her about the Daughter of Darkness Mary Kinsey had promised I would meet.
“Any idea who she was referring to?” Vesper asked.
“Nope.”
“Didn’t the press refer to you as the Son of Darkness at the very beginning?”
This gave me pause. Vesper was right. Son of Darkness was used by one news channel in the first hours after the case broke, before it quickly became Son of the Devil in the public’s mind. I guess it’s nice to have a few nicknames.
I shook my head at my dark sense of humor.
Anxiety pulled at my intestines as the silence on the phone stretched. Vesper was a smart cookie, and I had a good idea where this conversation was headed.
I was the only heir to the Kane name. My father never had a daughter. At least, not as far as I knew.
But what if there had been other women besides my mother? What if one of the female cult members had lain down with Mason Kane and borne him another child? The mere idea sounded preposterous to my ears.
It was just one more mind game, another attempt at throwing me off balance… but I couldn’t dismiss the possibility entirely.
A heavy thump on the other end of the phone catapulted me out of these thoughts.
“What was that, Vesper?”
“I don’t know. It came from the rear entrance.”
I heard the banging sound again, this one louder. My heart grew taut with growing concern.
“What’s going on? Talk to me.”
A beat of silence greeted my question. When Vesper replied, her voice sounded hollow, drained of all emotion.
“I’m not alone in the house.”
Vesper’s words sent a chill down my spine. The best electronic security system money could buy protected the mansion. Only a magic attack could disable the alarm, and the wards safeguarded against that possibility. There was no way anyone could breach the perimeter.
Was there?
What about the incident in the swimming pool? a voice inside me whispered. How do you explain that?
There was another sharp noise that sounded like glass breaking, followed by a scream.
“Oh my God, what do I do, Simon? They’re every—”
I white-knuckled the phone, trying to stay calm.
“Vesper? Dakota, damn it, answer me!”
The voice of a stranger replied instead.
“The Childr
en of the Void are finally home.”
And then the line went dead.
Chapter Twelve
Vesper was seeking to relax by surfing the Internet. She’d just finished listening to Marilyn Manson’s cover of “The End” by The Doors and was about to waste time on a cute cat video marathon.
God, you had to love YouTube.
Her computer had become her window to the world. Ever since her terrible ordeal with the demon-worshiping biker gang, Vesper had struggled with crushing anxiety and PTSD. Not a day went by when she didn’t thank the universe for bringing Simon Kane into her life. He’d saved her, given her a new purpose.
After what she had endured, there was no going back to a normal existence. Her perception of the world had changed. Hungry horrors roamed the shadows and hunted the innocent. The age of superstition had given way to the age of reason, but it was all a lie. There were things in this universe that science could never explain away. The forces of darkness were real, as was their hatred for humanity.
The outside world was filled with invisible dangers. To make a life out there, knowing what she now knew, would have driven her mad. She would’ve ended up in an asylum, or worse. The only place she felt safe was right here, in Simon Kane’s Malibu mansion. She was deeply grateful that he was letting her stay with him and be part of his ongoing battle against the dark side.
It made her feel a little less helpless.
As Vesper surfed the Web, Yelp alerted her of a new restaurant that had opened in nearby Santa Monica. It was a burger place, and Vesper loved a good burger. Perhaps she’d use Grubhub to order in, but there was no way she’d step outside the safety of the warded walls and brave the chaos that lay beyond.
Vesper tried to imagine calling a Lyft, getting into the stranger’s car.
Her jaw hardened, and she sucked in a sharp breath.
Shit, even the thought of venturing outside the walled mansion made her break out in a cold sweat.
On some level, she hated herself for feeling this way. All her life, she had seen herself as an adventurous badass, the first girl in her school to get a tattoo, the first girl to have a boyfriend… and the first girl to be almost sacrificed to the Devil.
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