Demon Night (24 page)

The black-winged demon moved. Ethan let the bolt from the crossbow fly, then raced across the street to meet its sword an instant later. His blade broke under the force of its swing, pain tearing up his arms. He immediately brought in another, just managed to keep his head on his shoulders.

The crossbow's bolt was embedded in its chest.

The venom hadn't slowed it a bit.

Get the shield up around the car
. He didn't have time to shout the warning before dodging yet another attack from the demon's sword. He was quickly losing the distance he'd gained. Jane wasn't even inside the vehicle yet, her human speed nothing in comparison to Ethan's, or even Charlie's.

He heard Charlie urging her in, ducked a swipe of a blade, and saw Sammael's gaze fix on the women.

The winged demon's attack was elegant and brutal. A feint, then a strike low. Pain tore across Ethan's stomach in a burning line. The scent of blood filled the air, and Charlie's cry; she must have seen it slice his belly open.

This thing was going to have him dead before she was in the car.

Like hell.
Guns weren't much good short-range, too easy to knock off the aim, but Ethan called in a pistol, got a shot to its face before its foot caught his arm. That slowed it a little, but the ache in Ethan's forearm told him a bone had snapped.

He fell back a yard, two, tried to gain a moment to reassess, to think. He didn't get one.

Jane's voice barely registered through the haze of pain, but Sammael's psychic wave of indecision did. Then resignation, when she shouted again. “Dylan—for God's sake,
help him
!”

Ethan dropped, flattened himself against the pavement to avoid the winged demon's whistling blade. No way to get up in time—

It suddenly fell back, its swords flashing.

Ethan blinked, and rose up on his knees. Sammael was meeting it strike for strike, forcing it away from Ethan and the women.

He dared a glance back at the car. Charlie was pulling the driver's side door closed; her frightened eyes met his through the window. “Come with us.”

He shook his head. “Go,” he said, then turned to focus on the battle in front of him. Sammael was still fighting, but although the creature had lost ground, surprised by Sammael's attack, it was bearing in on him as it regrouped.

Tires screeched as Charlie tore onto the road, barely missing Ethan's leg. The shield was up a moment later.

That wouldn't be enough; they had to get the creature out of public sight, keep it occupied long enough that it couldn't follow the vehicle.

“I could use some saving here, Guardian,” Sammael growled. “Unless you
don't
want them to get away.”

Ethan didn't consider himself an easily surprised man, but that did it. “Well, I'll be damned,” he muttered, and jumped to his feet.

And if not damned, probably stabbed through the back within a minute.

“What are they doing?” Charlie tried to use the rearview mirror to see, but Jane had turned to look through the window, and her head was blocking the view. In the side mirror, she only saw the glow from the fire in Jane's backyard. They were going to turn the corner in a second, lose sight of Ethan and that…whatever it had been. “Jane! What are they doing?”

“I can't—they're going too fast…Oh my God, how can they move that fast?” Jane's voice rose shrilly, then abruptly lowered. “It looks like they're pushing that thing back toward the house.”

“Both of them? Together?” Ethan had been injured, bleeding across his stomach, but he'd seemed strong when he'd told her to go. She hoped she'd done the right thing by listening to him. “Does Ethan look okay?”

“Yes. Yes, they're both fighting and—oh,
Jesus
. There are knives and guns and swords back here. What the fuck is going on?”

Charlie drew a quick breath through her nose, prepared to answer her…and the scent hit her, rich and dark. Blood.

Her body tightened; her fangs began to ache. She'd been careful when she'd poked her finger and cast the spell, inhaling only through her mouth. She'd forgotten that Sammael had bled in here as part of his ruse to get her out of the house.

She focused hard on the road, not breathing, and pushed the need away.

It didn't recede as much as it had the last time.

They rounded the end of the block; from farther down the street came flashing lights. Probably a siren, too, but she couldn't hear it through the spell.

“Turn around, Jane,” she rasped. “Don't let a cop see you up out of the seat like that.”

No driver's license, and a pile of weapons in the back. She didn't want to be pulled over now.

Jane seemed to realize it at the same instant. She sat, buckled up. “Let me drive, then.”

Charlie shook her head. “I've got some stuff to tell you, and I don't think you'll be able to concentrate on the road.”

Charlie thought she'd be lucky if
she
could. She controlled her breathing, ignored the hunger.

A high, rising note slid into her. Fear. Light and elusive, barely a touch; she stole a glance at Jane. Her sister was staring at her mouth.

“Oh, my God, Charlie,” she said in a small voice, and the fear shifted into disbelief, dread. “Smile at me.”

Charlie looked through the windshield again, her lips pressed together. The taillights of a car farther down the street wavered in front of her, and she wondered if she'd ever see red lights again without thinking of Sammael's eyes, the vampire sucking at her neck.

She'd never been this terrified in her life. Would have given anything for Ethan to appear beside them, so she could stop and lean on him, fly away and put off telling this to Jane for as long as possible.

But Jane wouldn't be put off. She reached out as if she meant to push back Charlie's upper lip.

Charlie caught her wrist, then met her eyes. They were wide with surprise—and though Charlie felt the shudder that raced through her sister's body, Jane didn't yank her hand away.

Jane swallowed. “Your skin is like ice,” she whispered.

Charlie let go of her wrist. “And your hair is sticking up in the back.” But she couldn't hold it in, had to wipe at her cheeks, use her sleeve to clear her vision.

Jane seemed to attempt a smile, drawing her feet up to the edge of the seat, wrapping her arms around her shins. Her gaze remained on Charlie's face, her voice thick. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. No.” She lifted her hands and spread them wide before slapping them back to the steering wheel. “I don't know, but I think I will be.” If Ethan was all right. If Jane handled the news about Dylan as well as she had her sister being a vampire. If the blood in the car didn't turn her into a ravenous animal by the time they got…wherever they were going. “We're about to hit I-5. Should we go north or south?”

“South.” Jane was still studying her. “Were you bitten?”

Charlie touched the side of her neck, thankful that the bite marks had long since healed. “Yes.”

“Was it that guy? Ethan?”

“No. He's not a vampire.” She immediately regretted saying the word out loud; now there was no way to take it back. She rushed on, “He tried to stop it.”

“A vampire,” Jane echoed, then put her face between her knees, slid her hands up to link them behind her head. Charlie recognized the pose—it had been the same the night their dad had told them about his leukemia. Jane had curled herself up like that. Charlie had gone for a bottle—but she would have gone for one that night, regardless. Just as she had every night.

“Yes,” Charlie said.

“And you didn't want it.” Jane's voice was muffled.

“No.”

A low, heavy beat rolled into her, its tempo increasing. Anger. Jane lifted her face from her knees, and her eyes were glinting with it. “Who did it?”

Charlie held her gaze, and it took two attempts to push the answer past the terrible ache in her throat.

“Dylan.”

 

Sammael didn't stab Ethan in the back. Instead, the bastard just up and left.

Ethan only had a moment to glance behind him, to register his disbelief that Sammael was waving good-bye to him with the arm the black-winged demon had just severed from Sammael's shoulder. Then the winged demon was coming at Ethan again, and he couldn't think of Sammael anymore.

They'd managed to get it into the house—the empty house, as Sammael had apparently taken those few extra moments to clean it out before coming outside—and once they'd gotten the demon into the backyard and up into the air, they'd covered ground fast. Ground
and
water—they were far out over Puget Sound. Almost to Port Townsend, Ethan figured. Small islands formed dark spots in the water, a few lights sparkling from houses and boats.

Awful pretty, but Ethan didn't want to be killed here, and he'd have to be a fool to think he could beat it alone. He dove, folding his wings against his back. The demon came after him.

Son of a bitch
. Ethan was willing to look a yellow-bellied coward if it saved his life, but this thing wasn't letting him run. He turned, tried to keep ahead of it, but it was gaining on him. Rolling onto his back, falling headfirst, Ethan pulled in his last loaded pistols from his cache and fired them past his feet.

Though his aim was true, the bullets didn't slow it down.

Fear clawed at his chest, but he forced it into icy purpose. He wasn't going to die like this, not knowing if Charlie was all right and without warning the other Guardians about this thing. He rolled again, banked toward the city. He couldn't shake the demon out here in all this open air, but downtown he might have a chance, maybe getting into a building or underground, putting up the spell and waiting it out.

If he made it back to the city. He was looking ahead, flying as fast as he'd ever flown, but he could feel it closing in.

How much time had he bought Charlie? Five minutes, ten? Enough to get her onto the highway? He ought to have made certain she'd be cared for and taught to master her new abilities, that there'd be someone she could feed from.

His eyes narrowed. Far ahead, a small dark form was flying toward them. Sammael, returning? The bastard's arm would have healed by now. Leastwise, enough that it wouldn't fall off.

No, not Sammael. Jake, in an erratic, up-and-down flight path.

The kid was projecting the spinning, whirling emotions of a novice in deep Enthrallment. Even when he didn't have a lotus-eating smile on his face, Jake hadn't experience enough to fight the demon, and he hadn't had any opportunity to learn his Gift. And if he was flying, he must not have been able to teleport to Ethan.

Goddammit. Jake obviously intended to help, but it'd be an all-fired miracle if they weren't both killed in about ten seconds. At least Ethan hadn't had to care if the black-winged demon had gutted Sammael, except that it meant Ethan wouldn't have had the pleasure of doing it himself.

He needed more time. Ethan glanced back and dropped his truck out of his cache above the demon. The heavy vehicle slammed onto its back, flipping it over in the air.

That only bought a few seconds, but it was enough for Ethan to adjust his course to intercept the novice. He called in his swords again, holding them flat against his body to avoid unnecessary drag. Little choice but to grab Jake, tell him to haul ass, and then try to keep the demon off the kid for as long as possible.

He didn't hear it, but he saw Jake mouth his name as he drew in close.

Below them, a light twinkled. A ship plowed through the water—long, dark, and solid.

Well, hell. He wasn't going to die just yet.

“Dive!” Ethan shouted and gestured the command at the same time, vanishing his swords.

Jake looked confused for about a second, then he was heading down. Ethan caught up with him. “Get rid of your wings!”

Jake was yelling something, probably that they were going to smash pretty hard against the water if they didn't let up.

It's a boat,
Ethan signed.
We'll crash in through the side, get the spell up.

“It's a
tanker
,” Jake shouted as his wings disappeared.

“Well, I figure it's too late to stop now!” Ethan straightened out his body, increasing the speed of the dive, using minute movements of his wings to align himself over Jake's back.

“How the hell did you ever become anyone's mentor?” Despite the bluster in Jake's voice, fear was cutting through his Enthrallment.

As soon as Ethan got hold of the kid's sides, he pulled him in tight against his chest and vanished his wings. A glance behind them confirmed the demon was still coming. “I reckon this is going to hurt
real bad
!”

“You think?” Jake screamed back at him.

“That tanker looks awful big, Jake, and that steel damn solid,” Ethan said, his voice low and dangerous now, deliberately winding up the kid's fear. “If you don't want to be scraped up with a shovel and my teeth embedded in your tattooed ass, you better picture us in a real happy place, and you better picture it hard!”

Then he was twisting, turning, and slamming into a plastic floor. It cracked beneath his weight, but held. Ethan didn't open his eyes. His head was spinning, nausea churning in his stomach.

That was the roughest teleportation he'd ever had, but damn if it didn't feel fine to be on the verge of heaving up his lungs rather than having his stomach laid open again.

“You did good, Jake. You all right?”

“Yeah.” He couldn't hear Jake moving either, but the groan that accompanied the word told Ethan it was for a different reason: utter relief. “I think you're my hero, Drifter.”

Well, damn. Ethan rolled onto his back, pulled his phone in, and concentrated on dialing the tiny buttons while his head was whirling. Charlie's number went straight to voice mail. She'd had her phone on, so that meant she was inside the shield. He left a short message, telling her again to use her credit card, and to be under cover when the sun rose.

She'd be hungry by dawn, and feeling it bad by nightfall.

“How is she?” Jake asked quietly. “I heard you flying over the lake, but it sounded like you were having a private conversation, so I stayed behind. Then when I got there the house was burning, and it was just, ‘Fire, pretty' and I lost it. I saw you take off fighting, but I didn't think I'd catch up to you.”

Ethan stared up at the low wooden ceiling. “She's sucking blood.”

“God damn.” Jake was silent for a minute, which was about fifty seconds longer than Ethan would have expected. “I don't know what to say.”

“That's just fine.” Ethan clenched his jaw. “Because I'm grateful to you for teleporting us out of there, and what happened to Charlie is my own damn fault, but I don't reckon I'll have anything civil to say to you for a day, maybe a week.”

“All right.” Ten seconds passed. “Was that a demon?”

“I don't rightly know.” Ethan stood, keeping his back hunched so he wouldn't rap his head, and waited for his legs to steady. Unease rolled through him. Life-sized dolls surrounded them, some dressed in leathers and moccasins, some in chaps and ten-gallon hats. Most of them were smiling. “Where in damnation did you bring us?”

Jake lifted his head and grinned like a fool. “Disneyland.”

 

Jane cried for almost two hours. She'd listened quietly as Charlie had told her everything that had happened—then she'd broken.

After the first bout of sobbing had passed, she'd silently wept while staring out the passenger window.

Charlie thought exhaustion brought it to an end, because the pain was still deep, steady, and discordant when Jane's tears stopped. There was too much emotion mixed up in there to hear correctly: grief and disbelief, denial and—even now—what Charlie thought must be love. But that was complicated, too, with its own set of notes, and Charlie was having difficulty sorting through them.