In San Francisco,
The realtor was mid-sentence about crown molding when Henry had already stopped listening.
The house was large, older build, good bones. Two floors, detached from the neighbors on both sides, decent tree cover.
He was already walking it differently than the realtor intended — checking sightlines, noting entry points, thinking about where a devil's trap would sit under the flooring without being obvious.
Madison had her arm looped through his, walking beside him with her shoulder against his. She wasn't looking at the crown molding either, but for different reasons. She was looking at the kitchen, the windows, the way the afternoon light came through.
"The previous owners renovated the east wing entirely," the realtor said, gesturing down the hall with the polished enthusiasm of someone on commission. "Original hardwood throughout, and the basement has been fully waterproofed and converted into usable square footage."
Madison leaned slightly into him and said quietly, "I like it."
"You haven't seen the upstairs yet," Henry said.
"I like it already," she said simply.
Madison wandered off toward the bedrooms, already sold on the place before she'd seen half of it.
Henry turned to the realtor. "Do you know any contractors — someone reliable who handles full renovations? I need work done on the house fairly quickly, and I'm willing to increase your referral fee."
The realtor's smile went from professional to genuine the moment he heard referral fee. "Of course, I know several."
"Good," Henry said, and that was the end of that conversation.
***
He bought the house the same day, and the contractors arrived the next morning.
Henry walked them around the property himself, sketch in hand, pointing out exactly what he needed and where — specific sections of the foundation, the yard perimeter, measurements that had nothing to do with aesthetics.
The lead contractor crouched down and studied the design Henry had drawn. A large circle, pentagram lines through the center, symbols placed at exact intervals. He looked at it for a long moment with the quiet expression of a man deciding whether to ask.
"This goes under the foundation?" he said.
"Buried completely," Henry said. "The house sits at the center, nothing visible from the surface."
The contractor looked up. "What is it?"
"Feng shui," Henry said evenly. "The symbols are for protection against negative forces — some people hang crystals, I prefer it built into the structure."
The contractor absorbed that, glanced at the sketch once more, and nodded with the practiced neutrality of someone who had learned that client explanations rarely got less strange the more you pushed. "Alright," he said. "And the salt and iron you mentioned — that goes into the concrete mix along the outer line?"
"Specific ratio, I'll write it down," Henry said. "Same line, buried, nobody sees it."
The contractor exhaled slowly, doing the math in his head. "That's a lot of custom work. Realistically we're looking at a month, maybe closer to two."
Henry looked at him. "Triple the rate if it's done in ten days."
The contractor stood up, folded the sketch, and put it in his chest pocket. "We start at six tomorrow morning," he said.
After the contractors left Henry stood in the yard and looked at the property.
Once the work was done the entire house would sit inside a buried devil's trap — invisible from the surface, no demon would see it coming. The moment one stepped onto the property they'd be locked, powerless, going nowhere.
"Having family in a world like this," he muttered to himself, "is genuinely exhausting."
That night,
Madison came down to the basement and stopped in the doorway.
The whole space had been converted. Guns mounted and sorted along one wall, knives racked beside them, boxes of ammunition stacked and labeled, books piled on a workbench next to things she didn't have names for.
Henry was sitting at the far end with one of those books open in front of him — something he'd pulled from Bobby's shelf on Solomon's magic. Pages worn and dense with text.
"When did our basement become a weapons warehouse," she said, looking slowly around the room.
"The world outside is dangerous," Henry said without looking up. "Nothing wrong with being prepared."
Madison stood there a moment, taking it in. She knew the world was dangerous — she'd lived that, not just heard about it — but there was knowing it and then there was this, an entire basement reorganized around the assumption that something was coming.
"Henry," she said. "Is there something specific you're expecting, or is this just—"
"Not yet," he said, turning a page. "But there will be."
"So are you coming for dinner or not?" Madison said, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around him from behind.
Henry closed the book. "Yeah I'm coming. What did you make?"
"Nothing," she said. "I ordered pizza."
"Did you order enough for me?"
"Of course I did," Madison said, like it was a stupid question. "I know how you eat."
*****
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