Chapter 6 Kate
KATE
Istood on the front steps of the mansion, coffee in hand, and my game face on. Three new students were about to arrive, and despite what had happened last night, they deserved a headmistress who had her act together.
Eric flanked me on one side, Cutter on the other. Honestly, we must have looked like the world’s most intimidating welcome committee—which, to be fair, we kind of were.
“Smiles, guys,” I said. “Let’s wait an hour or two before we scare them off.”
“Van’s here,” Eric said, nodding toward the curve in the street.
I straightened, setting my coffee cup on the stone balustrade as the white van turned off the road and into the long, curving driveway. Showtime.
The van bore the new Forza West logo on the side—a stylized sword that could pass for an abstract design if you didn’t know what you were looking at.
Our cover story was a private training academy for competitive fighters and aspiring stunt performers.
The kind of place that attracted intense kids with unusual skills.
It held up to casual scrutiny and explained away most of the odd things that might otherwise raise eyebrows.
Marcus waved from his spot behind the wheel, then pulled to a stop at the base of the steps and climbed out, scratching his light beard, then stretching after the long haul from the LAX airport pickup.
He looked tired, but I saw him go on alert the moment his eyes met mine.
I fought a grimace. I really was too easy to read.
Now, however, wasn’t the time. Not with the three kids piling out, all blinking in the afternoon sun.
The first was a girl—small, mousy brown hair, hugging herself like she was trying to disappear. Sophie, according to the intake files. Fifteen years old, parents killed in a demon attack on their Iowa farm. She’d survived by instinct and luck and a pitchfork.
The second looked like trouble walking. Trevor. Seventeen, from Seattle. Headphones clamped over his ears, shoulders hunched, and a file that noted he had problems with authority, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing for a Hunter. But it could make training a challenge.
He yanked the headphones down when he saw me watching him, but his expression didn’t soften at all.
Zane stepped out last. Dark hair, sharp cheekbones, easy confidence.
He immediately moved to help Sophie with her bags, murmuring something that made her smile.
Natural leadership. The kind of kid who made everything look effortless—but who might also have an ego to match.
You just never knew. The only concrete thing I knew was that he’d fought a mugger about six months ago, survived, and ended up on Forza’s radar.
The mugger—according to his file—had been a demon that a Hunter had been tracking.
“Welcome to Forza West,” I said, shaking each of their hands in turn. Sophie’s grip was tentative, Trevor’s was clammy and brief, Zane’s was warm and firm. “I’m Kate Connor, the headmistress. Eric and Cutter will show you to your rooms. Orientation begins in one hour.”
The front door banged open behind me.
I spun, my hand going instinctively toward a weapon I wasn’t wearing, and saw a small blur rocketing across the pavement—my five-year-old on his bike, training wheels wobbling, pedaling furiously toward the van with the determination of a kid who’d spotted something interesting.
“Timmy, NO!” Fran appeared a second later, breathless and apologetic, Elena on her hip. “Sorry, Kate,” she said with a grimace. “He heard the van and just took off before I could stop him.”
“No worries,” I called, already moving, then scooping my son off the bike just before he crashed into Zane’s luggage. Timmy clung to my leg, indignant at having his adventure interrupted.
“I wanna see! New friends!”
“Not now, I said, but Zane had already crouched down to Timmy’s level, that easy smile on his face.
“Hey there, little man. That’s a cool bike.”
Timmy stopped squirming, distracted by this attention from a stranger. “It goes really fast.”
“I bet it does. You’re pretty speedy.” Zane glanced up at me, his crooked smile remarkably charming. “Cute kid.”
“Thanks.” I bent down, then picked up Timmy and deposited him into Fran’s waiting arms.
“Come on, buddy,” she said, her arms around my reluctant little boy.
“Bye!” he called over Fran’s shoulder. “I’m almost five!”
“Bye, kiddo.” Zane waved, still smiling.
Sophie waved too, her expression nervous as she giggled. Even Trevor gave a grudging nod.
As Fran carried my son back toward the house, I caught Zane’s eye. “He’s a cute kid,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said, feeling more than a little proud. “He really is.”
Eric herded them toward the door, and I was impressed when Zane held it open for Sophie, while Trevor slouched through, letting it fall back on Eric and Cutter.
Allie was waiting for them in the foyer in her role as their student liaison, though they’d also come to know her as one of the combat instructors. Ana and Ren were there as well, introducing themselves as they moved in a group toward the dorms.
I leaned against the doorjamb, taking some sort of weird pride in how well this was going. This was only my second group of kids—and last term had definitely gone off the rails—but I had a good feeling that we were due to settle in.
I had, however, seen too much to rely on good feelings alone. But the easy conversation between Allie and Zane gave me hope—and balanced out Trevor’s hopefully temporary—but very teenage—moodiness.
On the whole, they were being typical teens, and it felt like they were all going to fit in. That made it a good day for the school, but as I turned my attention to Marcus, I had to shift gears. Because it wouldn’t be a good day for everyone.
“Kate?” he said. “What’s wrong?”
I waited until the door closed behind the last of them, leaving us alone. Then I readied myself to rip his world apart.
“There’s no easy way to say this.” I kept my voice steady, even though my heart was breaking all over again. “Antonio is dead. We found his body in the cemetery last night.”
Marcus went completely still. “That’s not—he’s not even supposed to get here until later.”
“I know,” I said softly. “I’m so sorry.”
He swallowed hard. “How? Demon?”
I nodded. “No obvious wounds, no signs of struggle. But there was a Signum Fidelis burned into his palm.” I held up a hand to ward off his question. “Eric’s on it, but he hasn’t identified the specific demon yet.”
“Antonio called me.” His voice had gone hoarse. “Left a message that he’d been doing research and had something important to tell me. I called him back, but just got his voicemail.” He drew in a breath, hands fisted. “Dammit, I should have called again, but I was preoccupied with herding kids.”
“This isn’t your fault,” I said. “And we will find the demon who did this. I promise.”
He shook his head. “We both know you can’t make that promise. A demon can go to ground for a century.” He reached for my hand and squeezed it. “But thank you for saying it.”
“He was coming early to warn us,” I continued. “I’m certain of it. But someone made sure he never got the chance. Which means whatever he found was important enough to kill for.”
“If he was coming with a warning, he’d probably have notes. Did you find anything? We need to start digging.”
I nodded. That was the thing about Hunters—grief was a luxury we couldn’t afford. Not when there was work to do. “We didn’t find any documents,” I said, “but Eric found his USB drive. We’ll start there as soon as he hacks the password.”
Marcus nodded. “Right. Okay.” He sighed. “I just can’t believe this.”
“I know. For tonight, you should just rest. And keep this quiet, okay? I’ll tell the students eventually—the dangers of the job and all that. But let’s let them settle in first.”
I frown. “You didn’t do a call with him or meet up somewhere on the road, did you? I mean, are the students expecting him to be here?”
Marcus shook his head. “No reason to tell them ahead of time. They knew I’d be their trainer. I figured I’d introduce him at the first session.” He rubbed his temples. “Now I guess I’ll need another assistant.” He cocked his head. “You up for the job?”
I smirked. “I can stand in when you need me. But I’m going to use my massive powers as headmistress and assign Allie to you.”
He nodded. “For working with teens? Can’t argue with that.”
We’d been walking and talking, but now we stopped at the door. From somewhere inside, I heard Timmy’s laughter—high and bright—followed by Elena’s squeal and Fran’s mock-threatening “I’m gonna get you!” The sounds of a normal afternoon. The sounds of everything I was fighting to protect.
“I’m so sorry,” I said again.
“He was a good friend.” He reached for my hand. “But so are you.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’m so glad you’re back for year two.”
“You’d be hard-pressed to get rid of me,” he said. “We’re family, aren’t we?”
“Yeah,” I said. “We really are.”