Demon Night

transformed into a vampire.
    Ethan figured it was pure luck that had delivered Dr. Milliken and her husband to him two months before, and that had let the husband escape the vampires who had attacked and transformed him. Ethan had taken both back to San Francisco, to Special Investigations and the vampire community there—but whatever purpose had been behind the transformation, Dr. Milliken hadn’t learned.
    If he had to guess, Ethan thought that, given another day or two, the demons who owned Legion Laboratories would have offered her an ultimatum. It hadn’t taken long to discover the pattern in the other scientists’ families—but after two failed attempts to approach them and offer help, Ethan had backed away.
    Something—or someone—had scared the piss out of each of them. Each had been convinced talking with Ethan meant death…though he didn’t think they were concerned about their own lives. After all, demons couldn’t kill humans—but they could kill vampires.
    And Ethan didn’t know if the vampires who’d gone after Charlie were the same who’d transformed Milliken, but he’d have wagered a trainload of money they were.
    Ethan lost their trail a block further on. They’d doubled back toward Cole’s, then crossed the street toward a parking garage, where they must have left an automobile. He stood on the darkened ground floor, took stock. A security camera near the exit had been demolished, the cable ripped from its moorings. There’d likely be nothing on the tapes, but he’d make a point to collect them the next afternoon. His Special Investigations badge ought to be good for something; and if it wasn’t, he could steal them easily enough.
    He turned to go, then halted, his muscles tensing in anticipation of an attack. Instantly, his crossbow and sword appeared in his hands.
    The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and a dark psychic presence slithered across his mind.
    Demon. An almighty powerful one, too. Unless Ethan was reaching out with his psychic senses, a demon’s psyche typically didn’t feel like a physical touch. He’d only experienced something similar from Michael, the oldest and most gifted of the Guardians—but the Doyen’s psyche hadn’t felt like scales on a snake’s belly.
    A psychic scan revealed nothing, but that meant all-fired nothing: every demon could block a mental probe. Ethan stopped breathing. Listened and watched.
    The vehicles formed rows of silent, colorful lumps; outside, a car rolled down the wet street. The garage’s overhead lights glared against the windshields, but none were tinged with the glowing crimson of demon eyes.
    Ethan had no doubt the demon had deliberately exposed itself. Why wait to engage him, then? Unless it simply wanted to let Ethan know it was aware of the Guardian’s presence in Seattle.
    A hiss resounded through the garage, formed a single word: Murderer.
    His fingers clenched on his sword, but the creature had apparently decided to retreat…to play with Ethan another day. It had obviously found something in his mind to torment him with—and though demons were notorious for lies, for twisting the truth, there weren’t nothing false in the name it had called him.

CHAPTER 3
    Ethan flew into San Francisco with the dawn.
    On the eastern side of the city, tucked just northwest of an abandoned naval shipyard and the shoreline of the bay, a ramshackle warehouse stood, surrounded by a fenced-in parking lot of cracked and buckling asphalt. For almost a year now, it had served as Special Investigations’ headquarters. The fence wouldn’t keep demons out—or the neighborhood kids—but the run-down façade would keep both away. Demons, because appearances meant everything, and the appearance of wealth and power was the most critical; and kids because, from outside, there was no indication that the building housed anything worth investigating or stealing.
    In the old days, Ethan would have taken one look at the tiny security cameras and infrared sensors posted around the perimeter—that was, if they’d had cameras and sensors in those days—and known it was a building worth cleaning out.
    Then he’d have high-tailed it the other way, because folks who went to that much trouble and expense to hide what they had were often too dangerous to trifle with, and more than prepared for someone like him.
    But there was no need to break in; even if he didn’t have his Gift, he had a keycard. He didn’t bother with swiping it.