The clicking of her heels makes me turn around. She’s irritated and probably trying not to strangle Erlik. “Does the name Douglas ring a bell?”

“Douglas Cummings is one of the richest men in town. He owns a real estate company.” I don’t tell her it’s the company my son works for.

“You know where he lives?”

“Yeah, I know where he lives. But”—I look down at my watch—“it’s nearly 5 a.m. We’re going to have a hard time accessing his house.”

“Why?”

“He’s a human who knows all about supernaturals. A collector of sorts.”

“You know this because?”

I shrug my shoulders. Not wanting to admit that I took the time to look up this man and see who exactly my son was working for. The way I felt affection for Ryan was making sure he was safe from this world. That he could live a happy and healthy life, one that didn’t include me or my baggage.

“All I know is he could be holding other supernatural beings in his house or have weapons against us. We need to be smart.”

“We need to act fast, is what we need to do. Beelzebub might know where Asmo and Mara are. If we don’t follow him now, we might lose our chance.”

“Fine,” I grumble, “we shouldn’t portal directly onto his property.”

“Okay. Well, let’s go,” she says, grabbing my arm, intending to hitch a ride. This is the most time I’ve spent with Kas in over three decades, and I gotta say, I’m not enjoying it.

Douglas Cummings’ house is one that reeks of I’m a rich white man with a tiny dick. It’s perched on top of a hill just on the outskirts of Hallowsdeep. A wrought-iron fence surrounds the house and property, which is easily three acres of perfectly manicured lawn. At the top of the hill sits his atrocious ten thousand square foot house. It’s white and gaudy with what looks like marble pillars holding the front awning of the house.

“This place is tacky,” Kas says before jumping the fence. I do the same as we walk up to the main house. It’s unlikely that Beelzebub did anything besides portal here. So we take our time, being cautious as we walk around the home. Kas and I have excellent hearing and it seems that there are around two to three people in the home.

“Let’s just go knock,” Kas says, and I glare at her. Wanting to get this over with, I shrug my shoulders and follow her. Wondering how the back of her heel doesn’t divot into the grass with each step.

Kas’ perfectly manicured hand raps against the all-white door, the golden lion door knockers banging slightly with her knock.

A mousy-looking woman answers the door. “May I help you?”