As evidenced by photographs taken before the Turning, the inside of Keres House was very different than it is today. After the monsters and demons rose from the shadows and it became necessary to hunt them, Guilds like ours were formed. In the chaos that followed, most of Eureka's elite up and fled the state, racing across the country to the East Coast or holing up in elaborate bunkers. This left a lot of open real estate. When Guildmaster Kessis came across Keres House, he kicked out the squatters and went about gutting the entire estate, turning it into something more Unitarian. Anything of value was sold, save for a few choice pieces in his office.

One room that remained vaguely intact was the dining room. The only changes were the removal of eight overstuffed couches, which were broken down for their upholstery, stuffing, and kindling potential. Two long tables stretch from one end of the room to the other; six smaller, round tables are scattered here and there. I tend to favor the smaller tables because it lessens the chance of random chit-chat.

As luck would have it, one of the tables beneath a massive wide-screen TV is open. I dump the saddlebags under the table, slide into a chair and tug my headscarf off, rolling up the cloth and placing it on the table nearest the wall. Strands of cerulean hair, still bound up in its knot at my neck, fly free to curl against my cheeks. I am a little early for dinner, but meals are always being served in Keres House. We Hunters will come and go at all hours of the day, so the Guildmaster employs a rotating staff of cooks and servers to accommodate our odd schedules.

"Breakfast, lunch, or dinner?" a young woman dressed in a simple blue shirt and brown trousers asks me. An apron dotted with cartoon characters is wrapped around her waist.

"Dinner," I reply. She hands me the appropriate menu for today, pours a glass of water, and waits while I make my choice. Since meat is in short supply, I've become somewhat of a vegetarian. Fish are more plentiful, but it's still a challenge to go out into the bay. The barrier that protects against sea monsters doesn't always work and if you're not careful, you might end up wrapped up in a kraken's tentacles. Trust me—I have the scars to prove it. Those suckers hurt like a bitch.

Noticing that honey garlic salmon, a rare treat, is on today's menu, I make that my meal for tonight.

"Beer or wine?" the woman inquires, scribbling my order down.

"Just water."

"Folks are going to think that you're anti-social, Raine."

I look up as my mentor, Jae-SeongPark, slides into the seat across from me. Like me, he's dressed in long, flowing layers. Three short slashes from a cockatrice's claws mar the right side of his face; I have similar scars across my lower back.

"But I am anti-social," I reply dryly.

Jae-Seong motions to the waitress. "Salmon and a beer, please." As she walks away, Jae-Seong folds his arms on the table and leans forward. "I saw Keaton moping around the stables earlier. Winston snapped at him."

"Winston agrees with me." I cock my head slightly, a thought occurring. "You're not trying to convince me to give him a chance, are you?" After all that we've been through, I would have thought he'd know me better.

Jae-Seong rears back and laughs. "We all do what we need to in order to survive this cluster called life. If you want to keep everyone at arms-length, who am I to judge? As long as it's not me."

I allow myself a small smile. Without this man finding me scared and alone on a dark desert highway, I would be dead. He's the closest thing to a parent I've got—until I can find my real parents, that is. But it's taking way too long to scrounge up the money to make the journey.

"I heard that you took a job for Barney Moynihan," Jae-Seong continues. "I thought you were trying to move away from small-time gigs."

I toy with the napkin and frown. "I am—I have been. But Nelson's got his buddies riled up and convinced that he needs to take me down a peg, so they're snapping up the prime jobs as soon as they come in." I take a sip of water, ire rising. "I have to sleep sometime, you know? I can't spend all my time waiting outside Kessis's office. I take what I can."

Now it's Jae-Seong's turn to frown and he glances around the room. "That man needs a different hobby. God knows why he has to make a seventeen-year-old girl the target of his inadequacies."

"Eighteen," I correct gently. "I turned eighteen last week. You were on assignment."

Jae-Seong tilts his head, puzzled, then breaks out into a smile. "As if I could forget." He reaches down and pulls something out of his pocket. "Happy birthday, Raine."

I take the small wooden box from him and study it. It's no larger than the palm of my hand; no sigils or runes are carved into its surface.

"What is it?"

"Well, you have to open it to find out."

Smirking at his dry tone, I crack the lid and pull out a small wooden cross on a hemp chain. "Uhm, Jay, not to be ungrateful, but you know that I'm not religious." While holy water is a staple of a Hunter's arsenal, I don't have the faith to back it up. Fortunately, that isn't a requirement to mess lesser demons up.

"I'm well aware of that," he tells me, chuckling. "But I had this blessed by a true priest."

The weight of his words falls on my shoulders like a ton of bricks. Demons fear true priests, those who have a pure connection to the divine, and it's well-known that the demon lords want them dead. When a demon lord rises and claims a city, one of the first things he does is send his minions after holy men and women. Some survive and flee, most die. I hear that the demon lord Alvog is still trying to chew his way into the Vatican, and his brother Sigmalon sends dozens of lesser demons to death every day in his attempt to enter Mecca.

"How much did this cost?" I ask, mouth open in awe.

Jae-Seong waves a negligent hand. "Never you mind the cost."

I let the matter drop and slip the cross around my neck, tucking it beneath my layers. "Do you think that I'm going to go up against a demon lord?" I joke. Objects blessed by true priests are said to repel even the most powerful of demon lords—long enough to get away. Trying to kill them is extremely difficult, as the entire United States military found out at the start of the Turning.

Jae-Seong's expression sobers. "One never knows."

The moment is interrupted by the TV suddenly flickering to life. Cheers erupt as the dining room suddenly comes to life. Demons have no interest in space, nor any way to get up there, so all of our satellites are still functional. However, they can and will mess with signals, so any news coverage from the central and eastern parts of the country is limited.

The first part of the newscast deals with the ongoing war. As more demon lords emerge from Hell, they look for cities to take. I'm still not sure why that's the case, as no one's been able to successfully interview one. But the military is basically camped in the Midwest, shooting volleys of holy water and other pieces of blessed objects at lords and their lesser minions. I suppose that we should count ourselves lucky that in ten years since the Turning, they've only been able to reach Colorado.

Static erupts across the screen, eliciting boos from some of the Hunters. When the picture clears up, a reporter is standing in the middle of an Army base; next to her is another woman, but this one is dressed in black and grey body armor. A stiff black mask covers the lower half of her face, leaving only a pair of eerie yellow eyes visible.

Demonhunter.

Rumor has it that they get their strength and supernatural abilities from consuming the hearts of demons. I don't know if that's true or not, as I've never met one. Hunters and Strikers, as we're typically called, don't run in the same circles.

"We're here with Centurion Striker Tullia," the reporter is saying. "Centurion, what can you tell us about the progress being made in Denver?"

Those demon-yellow eyes stare right into the camera lens. Jae-Seong grunts softly and looks away, taking a sip of his beer. He once told me that his older sister is a Striker, a choice that supposedly created a rift between the two. Having no siblings, I cannot empathize.

Just as the Striker begins to answer, the screen goes black and doesn't immediately return. A balled-up napkin sails over our table and hits the TV dead-center.

Frowning, my hand snaps out and bats it onto the floor. I've lived most of my life without television, but the majority of Hunters are twice my age. It's a comfort that I do not share.

Jae-Seong's mood is broken by the arrival of our dinner. The waitress places two plates of honey garlic salmon sitting on a bed of steamed asparagus.

I look at Jae-Seong and raise my glass of water. "No more monsters," I intone.

My mentor's lips lift slightly. "No more monsters," he echoes.