The silver cross flashed in the moonlight as if taunting Logan to come and do his worst. I grabbed Paige’s arm and yanked her behind us. The cool night vibrated with the paranormal energy fogging the air. Brit’s dark wings twitched behind her, fanning back and forth like an angry cat’s tail. “Hey…” Paige batted at the iridescent wing blocking her view. “Get a grip on that Halloween costume, you freaking ghoul.” Logan glided forward, a fine mist of snow drifting in his wake. He exuded evil in a black suit and scarlet tie, his hair slicked back with product, probably some formaldehyde-like preservative. I couldn’t look into his refined, gaunt features. Knowing death came for you was one thing, watching the smirk on its face as it swaggered your way—quite another. Logan’s police officer henchmen kept pace with him. I identified the ever-ready minion, Officer Flutie. And the other… “Is that…?”
