Outside the rain picks up. It starts to pelt the windowpanes and door.

The Hellhound stands up in the hallway and stretches her paws in front of her, big body arching and sinking into a long stretch, mouth opening wide to reveal long fangs more reminiscent of a large cat than the canine’s she resembles.

‘Nulla,’ Hope says, looking at him. She looks stricken. ‘We can’t have him here.’

Nulla rubs a thumb over his eyebrow as he considers the new information.

Some of the vampire’s comments make more sense now. Nulla had taken his disdain for Celestials to be no more than the established contempt any creature descended from the Fade had for them.

‘What if he’s connected with the Celestials disappearing? It seems like it’s his MO,’ Poe says.

Just then there’s a ripple from within the Sanctuary. Nulla feels it, like a wave soaked in something bottomless fanning out to coat his skin. From the way Hope flinches, so does she.

But it’s not coming from the vampire they’re discussing right now.

Nulla turns, following the pulse of dark energy pulling him in the direction of the basement.

The Hellhound walks to sit right outside the door leading down to it and glances at Nulla.

The spinner is awake.

‘Great,’ Poe says, ‘like we don’t have enough on our hands. That thing should be dead by now.’

‘Stay here,’ Nulla says and heads for the basement.

Poe gets up and follows him. ‘No. You’ve been doing stupid things since you woke up. I’m coming with you. Maybe I can stop you from doing something else stupid.’

Nulla doesn’t respond, too focused on the new presence in the house and trying to ignore the irrational flame of hope that erupts in his chest as he heads down.

Behind them Hope is quiet.

Neither Nulla nor Poe notice when she tilts her head back and her gaze turns slowly to fix on the ceiling.

* 

Séraphin rests his hands on either side of the door frame.

His skin and bones tingle from the pain that has been gone for less than a minute. But he’s got his breathing under control.

Outside the crow waits, tucked away from the rain.

The shadows around him pulse, turning liquid, waiting for him.

He stares at the closed door, compulsion pouring from him. It spears through the door and feels its way inside the building until it finds and surrounds his prey. He tugs.

His eyes flare gold and his nails dig into the wood, gouging into it as he waits.

The steps are slow and steady, ascending. Soft and quiet.

Satisfaction unravels itself, filling his stomach and chest as those steps come to a stop outside his door.

His lips widen in a thirst filled smile.

Yes.