Death, and the Girl He Loves

Brooklyn huddled beside me, shaking from the cold.

“What does it matter now?”

Cameron turned on me, his anger matching my own. “If you don’t do this soon, there will be nothing left to save!”

Was he kidding me? Do what? I decided to ask him as another spirit rushed forward only to be thwarted by him, a nephilim. For some reason, they didn’t seem to be able to enter him. But I had no idea what he wanted me to do.

“Do what?” I screamed again. “Do what, do what, do what, do what?”

He bent down to me, lifted me to my feet by my saturated shirt collar, and growled in my face, “Do what it is that you do, and do it fast. You are the only one who can stop this.”

Glitch stood in shock. I followed his gaze to Kenya. She was on the ground, her head thrown back, her spine arched to the point of snapping. Her eyes had rolled into her head until only the white remained. The horrific scene was a replay of what I’d already seen. Soon her bones would break, one by one, just like in my vision.

I ran and threw myself over her in an attempt to stop the spasms. Brooklyn did the same. She followed me, fell to her knees, tried to stop Kenya’s head from thrashing. Realizing somewhere deep inside how ridiculous my actions were, I screamed above the wind for whatever was inside her to stop. It did not hear me. Or it chose not to listen.

Kenya started convulsing. The tendons in her neck stretched to near breaking point; her arms, locked and rigid, did the same. Her spasming legs lifted her off the ground, arched her back until, to my complete and utter horror, her spine snapped. Before I could try to pull her to me, to cradle her, Cameron appeared. Without hesitation, he took her head into his hands and twisted. She died instantly, collapsing into my arms. Brooklyn pressed one hand to her mouth. She swayed as though about to pass out.

After a moment, Kenya released the pictures she’d brought. They fluttered out of her hands and spread in the wind, curling and flipping like fall leaves. I buried my face in the crook of her neck and Brooklyn did the same to me. She took hold of my hand, squeezing and crying and praying.

I saw sneakers standing beside me. I looked up at Glitch. He blinked, his gaze moving away from the horrific scene before him, watching the photographs dance around us. He reached up. Tried to catch one. Missed. Then, as if it were the only thing that mattered—that one photograph that was of no importance whatsoever—he sprinted after it. He dodged past plundering spirits, updrafts of rain and wind, and sagebrush.

The rain was becoming colder and colder. The wind stronger and stronger. It literally dragged me off Kenya, out of Brooklyn’s embrace as though it had an agenda. We clutched on to each other and watched as Glitch dived through the air for the picture. With all the dirt and rain swirling around him, I couldn’t tell if he caught it or not. He fell to the earth on his stomach and slid a good five feet in the muddy, unforgiving terrain of the New Mexico desert.

Then the thing I feared most happened. A thundering crash sounded close by, like something falling to the earth. A thick, black smoke gathered and centralized until it started forming mass, taking shape. Soon wide shoulders topped the trees just beyond the clearing. An animalistic head. A demon materialized before us.

That was when I caught sight of Jared again. He had escaped the melee. I had no idea how, but a joy that I thought I’d never feel again spread through me. He sought me out, gave me a quick once-over, then scrambled past the other spirits itching for a piece of him, and slid until he stood before the demon, sword at the ready. But another thundering crash sounded beside that one. A puff of mud and water rose up like a meteor had crash-landed; then another demon materialized beside the first one. Then another.

Three demons, each the size of a three-story building, stood before him.

I’d seen him fight one before. I’d had a vision of that very thing before I ever met him. He’d fought hard, been wounded, but eventually he prevailed. It was not an easy victory, and that was against just one. There were three. And probably more on the way.

I stood up, fighting the wind with every ounce of strength I had. Jared could not fight them alone, and Cameron wouldn’t leave my side. I had no choice but to release the beast inside me. I didn’t know how to summon him exactly, so I just thought about it really hard and ordered him out. I needed him. He’d been crashing at my place, literally, for a decade. It was time he earned his rent.

An acidic smoke exited out of my lungs and started to take shape beside me. It burned my throat and left me even colder than I already was. When Malak-Tuke formed fully, I pointed to where Jared fought.

“Help him,” I said, and Malak was gone.

The demons were so fast. So lethal. Solid muscle complemented with speed and a thirst for blood. But Malak took them by surprise. They hadn’t expected a fight with one of their own. The first one met its demise with a handful of claws across the throat, almost beheaded in one lethal swipe. The second readied himself, prepared to square off against the great Malak-Tuke.

Jared fought the third—a scene that reminded me of David and Goliath—as Malak brought the other one down, but only for a moment. Their movements were so fast, my eyes could hardly keep up. They were struggling upright one moment, then wrestling on the ground the next.

I heard another thunderous crash in the distance and knew that another demon had entered this plane. Dyson had to be close. He just had to be. If I could stop him, we might could figure out a way to close the gates. He would have the book, the grimoire, if there was such a thing. We could use it. We could stop it.