Chapter 23
Hunting the stolas wasn’t as exhilarating when they made it easy.
A nearly full moon hung heavy overhead, pregnant with a vibrant silver glow.
The lunar light guided me through my nightly patrol around the Ashcroft family home.
Even with their leaves shed for the encroaching winter, the boughs and underbrush were thick enough to obscure my vision on a starless night.
Without the moon shining the way, I might have missed the disturbance in the dirt leading from the barrier of trees to the backyard.
A clear set of talon marks trailed from the shadows toward Ophelia’s sanctuary. I brushed my hand through the fallen leaves, uncovering a white and brown feather. Too long and wide to belong to a normal barn owl.
To my disappointment, I had missed the early signs of the predators encroaching on their prey.
Admittedly, it hadn’t taken long for me to catch on to their scheme once their public appearances became regular.
Monsters wearing the masks of humans and inviting Ophelia to their local haunt.
How easy it had been for the demons to target the lonely new girl at school desperate for companionship.
At least one, possibly all three, of the students Ophelia spent her free time with were part of Moloch’s cult.
Once I’d noted their early and eager interest in her, it only took some digging into their families and cross-referencing with my older notes to uncover their lineage.
Descendents of apostles and already granted the gift of transforming into stolas.
An oversight on my part that I hadn’t noticed sooner.
I’d succumbed to Ophelia’s captivating aura as much as they had.
The way sharks were attracted to blood in the water, the monsters were lured to the essence of their traitor. It was their mistake thinking they would ever get their feathery talons on her. She was mine, and I would burn them all to the ground to keep her.
Undeterred by her current denial of the situation, I knew she’d find herself in my arms again. I had done my part and spread the truth out before her; it was on her to grasp it and come to terms with the monsters creeping closer to her backdoor.
The attacks were increasing in frequency, and tonight one of the hideous owls was creeping up the back steps to the wrap-around porch.
This one must be young given the hubris to march right up to the house as if to knock on the door and be granted entry.
Their surging desperation was almost worrisome.
The Ashcroft dagger slipped from my sleeve and landed in my gloved hand.
Breath slow and steady, heart thumping with anticipation, I silently crossed the night-darkened yard. So focused on the dampened noises of Ophelia inside the house, the monster failed to register my presence nearing. My eyes narrowed on the gap between the monster’s wing where ribs met spine.
The stolas reached a clawed hand toward the knob of the back porch door.
Adrenaline and possession spiked in my blood.
My every thought, every instinct, revolved around Ophelia.
They couldn’t have her—she was mine.
The silver blade gleamed under the moonlight when I lunged.
Sticky, hot blood dripped from my face as I grimaced down at the corpse in the dewy grass. Hot breaths sawed from my lungs as I came down from the high energy of a fight, but concern and agitation still coursed in my veins like a plague.
I swiped the stained dagger on my trousers before sheathing it at my hip.
Eyes narrowed and frown set, I crouched to examine the body closer; shaved head, vacant eyes, mouth parted from the unheard gasp of their final breath.
A familiar face, sure, but more importantly, another opposing piece struck from the playing board.
Mere yards away, Ophelia slept comfortably in her bed, none the wiser about the fight and consequent death in her backyard.
It was better that way. She was a brilliant girl who needed all the rest she could get.
And I would provide that for her along with the peace of mind that her home was the safest place for her.
After all, I took care of my belongings.