David Aronowitz, their resident exorcist, stepped into the room. “What did I mis—fuck me. What happened?”
Ash shrugged. “That’s what we’re all tryin’ to find out.”
Shane slammed a fist onto the desk beside him. “I told you all already. Necromancy. Necromancy happened.”
The look burning in Shane’s eyes sent a shiver down Ash’s spine, and that was damn well saying something, considering he spent most of his time dealing with angry ghosts. Seeing a bloodbath the likes of which Shane had clearly just experienced—especially when it was your first—made any sane man madder than a soaking-wet hen, which was pretty fucking angry if you’d ever actually seen a hen soaking wet.
Jace clapped Shane on the shoulder. “Settle down there, kid. Here.” He pulled a flask from his jacket, unscrewed the cap and passed it to Shane.
Shane took a swig of what Ash knew was Jace’s regular Bushmills Irish whiskey, swallowing the liquid fire down like a champ. He handed the flask back.
Jace slipped the flask into his jacket pocket. “All right. That’ll calm your nerves some. Now, tell us what the fuck happened.”
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