by an overgrown insect from hell and she was entitled to a little girlishness. So what if she didn't like the feeling of warm sticky demon goo clinging to her skin? Sue her.
Damien gathered all of the parts of the demonic bug that he could find and wrapped it up inside the living room's carpet. He took it outside to be cremated in a rusty garbage can that he found on the front lawn.
“To prevent it from reconstituting.” He said, as if the thing wouldn't stay dead after you squeezed it's head to the point of becoming bug juice.
As of that moment, Kennedy hated anything that had to do with bugs. The sloppy thing had forever marred what was most likely the only good memory that she had left of her childhood.
What she would definitely never forget was the sick feeling of the thing's brains giving way under her pounding bare feet or the disgustingly horrible smell of it as it burned inside its corroded funeral pyre.
Obviously, they had to leave as soon as Damien made sure that the thing really caught fire, as if the smell wasn't a dead giveaway. Undoubtedly, somebody in one of the neighboring farms would notice the smoke or the smell strong enough to induce a nosebleed and call the authorities.
“Let's go.” He closed the door on the driver's side of the Charger and waited for her to get in. Kennedy just stood there and stared at the smelly bonfire.
“We're heading out, Riser.” He repeated with authority, letting her know that it wasn't open to discussion.
“Here we go again.” She sighed, not even paying attention to his recent change in speech and sent one last longing look at what was supposed to be her old life.
Kennedy got into Damien's car and didn't really care where the hell they went that time.
12. Communication Breakdown
“How are we doing back there?” Damien looked through the rearview mirror at Kennedy as he drove.
“Are you kidding me? I am never looking at bugs the same way again.” She answered in a very sarcastic, yet truthful way from a half sitting position resting her back against the right armrest in the rear section of the car.
They had been driving around for over two hours and those were the first words that she had spoken to him since before they had left her grandparents house. He wondered if it was because of something that he might have done.
The stupidity behind that notion didn't escape him and neither did the irony in the act of him setting such great importance on one mortal girl's opinion of him. But, he did and he was sure that that would be the very cause of his undoing if he didn't put a stop to it soon.
He was haunted by the memories of Buer's lectures as he told him of his father's weakness when it came to the subject of human beings. He'd put a lot of weight on their opinions, held them in a much higher esteem than he had done his own race and in the end it was that same mistake what had cost him his life and indirectly Amelia's as well.
Damien had vowed early on that he would never let himself be swayed by his human instincts, that he would be a better demon than his father had ever been. But, ignoring his emotions had never proven to be an easy task and it had become even more difficult after meeting the girl who currently sulked in the back seat of his car.
If Azazel could see him now he would probably laugh his head off at his unknown son's expense and Damien wouldn't blame him, he would poke fun at himself too if the situation weren't so bloody pathetic.
He sneaked another glance at his passenger and saw her put her cell phone to her ear. Anger filled him, he had warned her about cutting off communication with anyone. Something in the deep set frown of her expression kept him from saying anything.
His instincts were right. She ended the call a little too violently and muttered something about a freaking archer before she threw her phone at the back of his seat, it bounced and ricocheted towards the floor of the car where it stayed for the rest of their journey.
“What about an archer?” Damien braced himself in case that he were in danger of getting smacked by a blunt object as well.
She grumbled to herself and went silent after that. Just when he thought that she would rather not talk, she spoke in a small voice that reminded him a lot of a scared child. He looked at her again through the mirror.
“Steven won't answer his phone – she looked down at her hands – I've left him messages, even about what happened the other night, but he never calls back.”
“Kennedy–”
“I know you told me not to call anybody, but – she sighed dejectedly – it doesn't matter anyway. All I ever get is that stupid message to call the archer. You'd think he'd at least give you the forwarding number.” She was clearly annoyed.
“What do you mean, the archer, is that all that it says?”
“Yeah, it's a new message. If it's an emergency, call the archer. He changed it after he went to meet with that James Archer guy the day he disappeared.”
“James Archer, from the Golden Archer?” He asked and gave a whistle. “So that's where your father has been hiding at.”
“You mean Steven, he's not my father, you know.”
“Come again?” Having snooped on almost every one of her yelled conversations with her mother, he already knew about it. He just wasn't prepared to admit the extent of his treachery to her just yet.
“Teresa told me on my birthday, Steven isn't my real dad.” There was a brief pause where Damien considered what he could say to that.
“Do you know who is? Your biological father, that is.”
“No, I walked out on her before I could get the whole steamy story.” Her jaded tone warned him against pushing the subject.
“I see.” He understood why she had been so angry with her mother.
Kennedy said nothing more after that and Damien respected her silence. He tuned the car's stereo on to a local station instead. He wouldn't burden her with unwanted conversation. Her mother had died before she could make things right and she probably related her father's absence to their lack of actual blood relation.
He figured that at the present time, she thought little of what it meant for them to be on the run. But, now that he knew with certainty where Steven was, the entire game plan changed.
Steven was a hunter, and a very experienced one at that, so he had never expected him to be hiding in the most obvious place that he knew that people would look for him if he disappeared.
Locating the Golden Archer would help Kennedy get to her father, Damien still considered him that, and it would also help with finding protection against the Brethren's minions in the process. Talk about killing two birds with one stone. But, finding that place might be more difficult than it sounded.
The Golden Archer was a hunter's based sanctuary that offered shelter and safe passage to all supernatural beings and humans alike. It was a neutral place on witch empowered grounds that were guarded by a powerful spell that kept anyone that harbored ill will to any of its occupants from entering.
It was easy to find someone that claimed to know of its existence. The real problem would be to find one that had actually been there. That left him with only a name and nothing else.
“Where are we going?” Kennedy questioned.
“To the mountains, to find the Golden Archer.” He figured that she should at least be aware of the basics before she was dragged deeper into that mess.
“Do you know how to get there?” She exclaimed hopefully.
“No, but I'm sure that I can find someone that does.” He lied, for her sake. He would tell her, just not right then.
Damien took them into a small village-like settlement at the foot of Briton Peak on the east side of the island. He parked outside a bar called Vermögen, it was an ideal place to find a source of information of a certain type. At least, that's what he remembered that Nathanael – Buer's son – had told him.
“Wait here for me – he said in a very comanding tone that she didn't appreciate – I mean it, Riser.”
“Yes, master.” She ground out.
&nbs
p; “Don't call me that.” He nearly groweld in reply.
“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes at him as he got out and closed the Charger's door. It was obvious that she wasn't happy at being left behind in the car, but he would risk her anger if it meant ensuring her safety.
He felt the weight of the place's protective spell settle on his shoulders as soon as he entered the building. Having expected a neutral bar such as that one to be under the vigilance of witches, he thought nothing of it and walked further in.
Damien's eyes scanned the entire area for possible threats before heading to the bar that stood to the right. He sat on a bar stool and continued to look around.
There were four men playing cards in one of the tables on the opposite side of the room. A couple swayed slowly in the darkened dancefloor at the back. He noted that there was an exit door on the far left, in case he might need to use it later.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He turned around and signaled for the bartender to come over.
“What will it be?” The young man behind the counter asked in clear English with a smile while throwing the white rag he'd been using to clean the bar over one of his shoulders. The rancid smell of pineapple attacked his senses and Damien was glad that he never drank.
“I'm looking for Andy – he gave the name that Nathanael had given him – I understand that he is the go to guy around these parts.”
“Really?” The man said, his voice too skeptical for his liking.