Dreaming Death (Krewe of Hunters #32) - Heather Graham
Prologue
A monster had come.
His eyes burned like twin globes of fire.
He was big and moved with purpose. All she could see was the red of his eyes and the bright red and pitch black of his demon face.
She’d seen him before...seen his face.
Somehow, she realized he wasn’t a demon. He was wearing a mask, dark shirt and pants, a long jacket...and there was a bulge at his hip.
She thought he was carrying a gun.
She was grateful to realize he couldn’t see her. She was hidden, looking out. She couldn’t fathom her hiding spot, but he couldn’t see her. She knew because she was looking right at him, watching him, but he couldn’t see her.
He was in her father’s office, tearing things apart, jerking drawers from the desk, letting them crash to the floor. He rifled through the papers that fell from them, searching with the urgency of desperation.
Yes, she’d seen this as well...the demon-man tearing the place apart.
He went to the computer, swearing when he found it was password protected, sending the keyboard flying to the floor as well.
Then she heard her father’s voice. He was talking to someone.
Her mother.
The man with the burning red eyes went still, and he drew his gun, aiming it at the door.
This was new; this she hadn’t seen before.
It was then she started to scream. She had to warn them. She had to stop them from coming.
Her voice rose with urgency.
But the demon didn’t hear her. Her parents didn’t hear her.
The door began to open.
“Stacey! Stacey, sweetheart! Wake up!”
Her mother was holding her. Her father was beside them. While her mom comforted her, her dad smoothed back her hair.
“Baby, it’s a nightmare,” he said.
Her mother looked at him anxiously. “David, this is the third time. We’ve got to do something. We’ve got to get help.”
“Stacey, stop shaking! It’s a nightmare. Just a dream,” her father said firmly.
“No. No, Daddy, it’s a man, and he’s coming, he’s coming, and—”
“Yes, sweetheart, I know you’re seeing something. The devil, a demon, whatever.” Her mother took a deep breath. “We’re...well, we’re going to get someone to help you. I know someone. A nice doctor who can talk you through this. She works with many people—young and old—who are troubled with nightmares. There’s something you’re afraid of, and if we can just find out what it is...” Her mom trailed off at a look from her father. Then she asked, “Will you be able to sleep? Do you want me to stay in here with you?”
“Judith,” her dad murmured.
Stacey didn’t want to cause trouble between them. She was frightened. Bone-chilling scared. But it wasn’t for her own safety. She saw what was going to happen from a distant place.
She was terrified for her parents.
Her father thought himself a capable man. He was a private investigator. He’d been in the military. He consulted and investigated for the police and other law-enforcement agencies. He was a man who knew that life could be very dangerous.
He knew how to use a gun, but he didn’t always carry one. When he worked at home, it was kept locked in his gun safe. She’d heard her parents talk about it. Her mom didn’t like guns, so even though she admitted that at the age of twelve, Stacey was unlikely to disobey them and go grab her dad’s gun, the weapon was to always be locked up in the house. It was one of the few arguments she’d ever heard them have.
Her parents were special people. A true love-match. She was their only child. That was because her dad had been sixty when she’d been born, her mother nearly forty. People—well-meaning people, friends and family—had thought the age difference might be too much.
Some had thought her mother was after his money. Rather silly, since she was an important banker and made way more than him.
Her father was such a cool man: he thought it important for a girl to learn everything. He cooked as often as her mom. If her mom made dinner—even if it was icky fish sticks—her father said thank you and told her what a wonderful meal it had been.
He even did dishes.
She’d heard someone ask him once if for his so-called one shot, he was sorry he hadn’t gotten a boy.
He had shrugged and said, “We were thrilled with a happy baby. And a girl? Well, heck, she can do anything a boy can do!”