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living area of the hotel room. The room was comfortably large, with a modern king-sized bed and plenty of space to move around. But the hotel’s ample hospitality was diminished by the nine black-robed men who waited outside the bathroom door, swords strapped to their sides.
    Any other man dressed in nothing but a towel, with sopping-wet hair hanging to his shoulders and his weapon lying useless on the bed, might have felt intimidated. Murdoch had to squelch a bubble of satisfaction.
    Nine was much more of a fair fight than two.

3

    U nfortunately, killing nine of her men would not endear him to Kiyoko Ashida. And she was all that mattered right now. Murdoch’s gaze roamed the faces of the men, seeking the leader. It took a moment to identify the lad in the sea of stoic expressions, but the firmness of one man’s stare gave him away.
    “Is this an invitation?” he asked pleasantly.
    The warrior nodded. “Ashida-san requests your presence.”
    “Really? So that grand exit she made a couple of hours ago was just for show?”
    The young warrior responded with silence. A clearly disapproving silence.
    “And where will this meeting take place?” Murdoch asked.
    More silence.
    Not the chatty sort, apparently. And too arrogant by half. Good thing for this bunch that going along for the ride served his purpose, else he might have been tempted to pummel a few heads just to soothe his pride.
    Murdoch brushed past the lead warrior and strode to the bed. Unzipping his heavy canvas backpack, he dug for some clean clothes. White T-shirt, black jeans. Same as always. He whipped off the towel with a complete lack of modesty and proceeded to dress. With the last buckle on his boots fastened and his shoulders encased in his bomber jacket, he snatched his sword off the bed. Daring his new friends to object, he waved a hand at the door.
    “All right, lads. Let’s find out what Miss Ashida has in store for me, shall we?”
     
    Although it was only a routine demon roust, Emily followed Brian’s instructions to the letter. Trouble could happen in San Francisco as easily as anywhere else. She waited until her watch said 2:15, then entered the deserted warehouse through the side door. Lafleur and Hill were on her heels.
    The dark ooze of demons swallowed her almost immediately. Not a literal ooze, of course. A mental one. After a year and a half of battling demons, her senses had become attuned to their creepy essence, and she could find them even with her eyes closed.
    But when entering a nest of havoc demons, it was best to keep your eyes open. Avoiding the broken glass and metal bits littering the floor, Emily slid silently along a partition wall and under the sagging pipes of an old duct system, her sword in her hand. The nest was in the furnace room in the basement, but a havoc demon could pop upstairs at any moment and blow the place sky-high.
    Forming a nest allowed the demons to pool their energy and remain on the middle plane indefinitely. Using the nest like a staging area, the hellspawn could launch much longer and more vicious attacks. Which was why destroying them was a high priority.
    Em reached the door to the basement at the same time Brian arrived from the front of the building. He wore his usual demon-hunting attire—designer jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of badly scuffed Nike sneakers. His girlfriend, Lena, stood behind him, looking fierce with her tightly bound hair and vigilant stance.
    Twelve, Em mouthed to Brian. An even dozen demons.
    He nodded, then tugged the door open and skipped down the stairs, two at a time. The rest of them followed.
    The rectangular room was dimly lit. Only one sputtering candle stood in the center of the pentagram painted on the floor. Stuffing-challenged cushions and piles of fast-food wrappers rimmed the outer circle, crediting the summoning to juvenile delinquents.
    Emily rolled her eyes. Giving teens everywhere a bad name.
    Empty crates and a collection of old janitorial supplies were