Unhallowed (Rath and Rune #1) - Jordan L. Hawk Page 0,57

ruling once most of the human race had been killed or subjugated.

Ves left the café behind and turned his steps toward the Rath house. He wouldn’t stay long, but maybe even a brief conversation with Sebastian would settle his nerves, or calm his mind, or…

The door stood wide open.

Ves froze, every sense on alert. Perhaps an open door shouldn’t be so alarming, but from what little he’d seen, folks in Widdershins regularly locked their doors after dark. Of course, one of the children might have forgotten to shut it in a moment of excitement. Helen or Willie would appear any instant to close it…

No. He brushed aside the urge to rationalize. He knew when something wasn’t right, and this very much was one of those times.

Moving as stealthily as possible, he slipped through the hedge and into the yard. The windows on the lower floor were open to catch the breeze, and as he drifted nearer, he could hear raised voices from within.

“You’ve caused too much trouble, librarian,” a man said. “And now that your friend isn’t around to protect you, it’s time for you to pay.”

The men shoved Sebastian in front of them, into the sitting room, the gun trained on his head. Helen let out a short scream and dropped her cross-stitch to the floor. Tommy and Jossie froze, and Pete started up—but he had little Clara in his arms.

“Don’t you fucking move,” said the gunman. “Or else I’ll spread your brains across the floor, too.”

Pete stopped, turning his body to shield Clara.

“What’s going on—” Bonnie called as she stepped into the room from the direction of the kitchen, Willie behind her.

Sebastian wanted to scream at her to run—but that would likely only end up getting her shot. His heart pounded so hard he felt light-headed, and he kept his hands up in surrender.

“What do you want?” he asked, and his voice trembled in fear. If they hurt Bonnie or Pete, or heaven forbid one of the children…

“Whatever it is, just tell us,” Bonnie said in a reasonable voice. “My jewelry is in a box upstairs. We don’t have much cash, but—”

“Shut it,” snarled the gunman. He ground the bore of the weapon painfully into Sebastian’s head. “Well, librarian, I’ll bet you’re surprised to see us here.”

“T-Technically I’m an archivist,” Sebastian stammered.

“How fancy,” the other sneered. His nose was badly swollen, and listed to one side. Ves must have broken it in the scuffle at the apartment. “You’ve been poking your nose where it doesn’t belong, archivist.”

Bonnie shot him a look of horror. Sebastian swallowed and tried to steady his nerves. “Perhaps I have, but my family is innocent. Let’s just leave. I’ll go with you quietly.”

“Oh, no.” The man shook his head. “It’s too late for that. You’re a dead man, but we need to know what you figured out. And what you might have told your family. No loose ends.”

Oh God.

The gunman gave Sebastian a rough shove. He staggered in the direction of the open window, barely catching himself on Clara’s cradle before he hit the ground.

“I don’t know anything,” Sebastian protested. “I swear. I was just looking for Kelly—Mr. O’Neil. He, ah, owes me money.”

“If you’re going to lie, do a better job at it,” the gunman said. He moved to stand over Sebastian, the weapon held firmly but not pointing at anyone in particular.

“Exactly.” His companion strolled across the room as well, a smirk on his face.

“Now listen here,” Pete said.

The gunman swung to point the weapon at Pete and Clara. “Shut up. You think I’d hesitate to shoot a baby?”

“No!” Sebastian shouted. He lunged up from the floor, no plan in mind, only to draw fire away from Clara.

A tentacle as thick as his arm whipped through the open window, seized the gunman’s wrist, and wrenched it back.

Sebastian gaped. The gunman spun toward the window, shouting in anger and pain. He pulled the trigger, but the bullet lodged in the ceiling.

Then Ves was in the window and climbing through. But not Ves as Sebastian knew him.

His eyes had gone a strange orange-gold color, the pupils rectangular rather than round. Goat eyes, some stupid part of Sebastian’s brain babbled. Ves’s coat was gone, and his vest and shirt hung half-torn off. From his back emerged eight black tentacles, four to either side of his spine. Two helped heave him through the window, and a third was still wrapped around the gunman’s wrist.

“Fuck—it’s one of the Dark Young!” the other man shouted, and drew a