Hellsbane Hereafter by Paige Cuccaro

for the neighborhood, and so not what I would expect to see outside of a college frat house, although as far as I knew, these guys weren’t part of any fraternity.
    I stopped at the door, finding my balance on the four-inch, nude-colored heels I’d worn. I hated wearing high heels, and anything over flat foot was high. I didn’t appreciate dresses or skirts much, either. I was strictly a jeans and T-shirt kinda girl. Everything else was too much work and didn’t respond well in hand-to-hand fights. Priorities. I got mine.
    But today I wasn’t Emma Jane Hellsbane, half-angel warrior of God. I was Ms. Hellsbane, spiffy businesswoman, here to check on a new investment while secretly insinuating myself into my half brother’s life, so if trouble came knocking, I’d be the one he’d call.
    I jabbed a finger against the glowing doorbell button, listening to the deep tolling sound echoing on the other side. A few seconds passed. I heard voices: someone yelling about answering the door, another person shouting it was probably that lady who bought the house from that company, United America, Inc.
    Was I? Jukar hadn’t told me who he’d bought the house from.
    The door jerked open, and I jumped before I could stop myself. The kid on the other side smiled in smug satisfaction as though my startle was worth his resentment at having to answer the door. “Can I help you?”
    I forced a smile and gave him a quick once-over: navy blue sweater vest, blue button-up shirt, dark tie, light slacks. He was a good-looking kid, probably nineteen or twenty, with a thick head of golden blond hair and dark blue eyes.
    “Hello, I’m Ms. Hellsbane, your new landlord.” I offered my hand. “I believe the realty company told you I’d be stopping by for a final inspection.”
    The young blond leaned forward enough to take my hand, and the second he did, my stomach dropped into the soles of my feet like a quick dip on a high roller coaster. The sensation marked him as nephilim. Was this Abram? Was this my half brother?
    “Yeah, they called us yesterday.” He waved for us to follow. “C’mon in. I’m Pete. Pete Murray.”
    I exhaled, fought to hold my smile, and stepped inside, though the nervous jitters in my stomach doubled. “This is my business partner, Eli, um…Smith.”
    “Sir. Good to meet you.” Pete pivoted, reached to shake Eli’s hand, then continued through the tall foyer. Thick wood furniture polished to a high gloss, plush carpets, and big, finely dressed windows decorated the enormous house. A wide staircase filled the space in front of us. Carpeted in forest green, the stairs stretched up to a landing that split in either direction.
    When Pete gestured to the right, I stole a glance to the left, noting a large dining room with a long table that shone in the late afternoon light. Beyond the staircase, I caught a glimpse of wide French doors at the far back of the house but followed Pete into the long living room where four college guys sat.
    “Gentlemen, we have guests.” He kicked the leg of the nearest chair. The boy sitting there jumped and glared back at Pete before he got to his feet.
    The rest of the boys each put down their books or laptops and rose to their feet. They all dressed like good little upwardly mobile young men: shirts, ties, dress slacks, and shiny shoes. Was that for my benefit, or was this really what they wore hanging out in their house while reading and doing homework? That’s twisted. My personal preference for frump attire may have colored my opinion.
    I stopped caring about their wardrobe the second the first college boy stepped up.
    He had to be over six feet tall with a blond buzz -cut and robin’s egg-blue eyes. He offered his hand. “Tom Windfeld.”
    I held my breath, waiting out the sinking feeling that dropped through my stomach. He was nephilim, just like Pete, and when I met his eyes, I saw the pained creases at the corners and knew he’d felt it, too.
    “You bought the