Slawter (18 page)

Dervish says something magical and points at the guards closing in on him. They float up ten feet into the air, with yells of alarm and fear. All around us, jaws drop. Eyes fix on the floating guards, then on Dervish, who looks like a man charged full of electricity.

Dervish touches a couple of fingers to his throat and addresses the crowd, his voice far louder than it was with the aid of the megaphone. “You’re all going to die. Davida Haym has struck a deal with demons.
Real
demons. They’re going to break out of the warehouse in a couple of minutes and kill everyone. Unless you flee now, you’re doomed.”

“Ignore him!” Tump Kooniart screams. “He’s lost his mind!”

I see Bo and Abe close behind their father. They look worried, scared, incredulous, like most of the people around us.

“Real demons?” Tump snorts. “Madness! He’s trying to wreck the shoot. He —”

Tump Kooniart chokes, drops the megaphone, falls to his knees, face purple, hands clawing at his throat and mouth.

“Don’t kill him,” I whisper in Dervish’s ear.

“He deserves to die,” Dervish snarls, looking completely unlike the gentle man I’ve lived with all these months.

“Maybe,” I say, voice trembling. “But we don’t have the right to kill people. We’re trying to save them, even those who don’t deserve it.”

Dervish snorts, but breaks the spell. Tump Kooniart breathes again.

“Listen to us,” I shout, using magic to amplify my voice. “I know it’s hard to believe, but you can see the guards floating overhead. You can hear our voices, even though we’re not using any equipment. Your lives are in danger. You have to run now or else —”

“Enough!” Davida Haym screams, her voice even louder than mine or Dervish’s. The guards fall back to earth, some injuring themselves badly. Davida’s standing behind us, a groggy Chuda Sool by her side. Her eyes are blazing. “You’re not going to ruin my movie! Cameramen — are you ready?” Dozens nod and shout that they are. “Sound?” Davida cries.

Dervish raises a hand to stop her. Before he can, he’s spun aside by a magical force. It’s not Davida’s work. Doesn’t look like Chuda’s doing it either. There must be a powerful, hidden mage somewhere in the crowd.

“Sound?” Davida shouts again and this time there’s an answering bellow. “All right. Let’s dispense with the countdown and cut to the chase. All of you inside the warehouse — it’s time to make your grand entrance.

“
Action!
” she roars, and the hounds of hell are unleashed.

The giant door in the middle of the southern wall of the warehouse explodes outwards. Those nearest it are caught by flying splinters, some as long as my arm. Most go down screaming, though a few aren’t able to, torn apart by the shrapnel.

Stunned silence from those not struck by the debris of the blast. Everybody’s staring at the wounded and dead. Wondering if this is real or part of the movie. They live in a make believe world where anything can happen and nobody is ever really hurt. Their senses tell them this is different, it’s not part of a script, they should run. But the moviemaking part of their brain is trying to figure out how the explosion was arranged and how the scattering of the splinters was timed so as not to harm anybody — struggling to convince themselves that those on the ground are acting, the blood isn’t real, it can’t be.

Dervish is back up on his feet. Staring at the hole in the wall like the rest of us. The explosion created clouds of dust around the doorway. As they clear, a figure glides forward from within the warehouse. Pale red skin, lumpy, no heart, eight arms — who else but the ringmaster himself, Lord Loss?

“Alas,” he sighs, looking around sadly. “Here we all are. Bound by chains of blood and death. No way out. Doomed. Dervish tried to warn you, to save you, but he failed. Here you are trapped. Here you will die.”

One of the cameramen moves in for a close-up. “Yes,” I hear Davida murmur. I glance back. She’s speaking into a microphone, directing the cameraman. “His face first, then pan down to the hole in his chest. I want to see those snakes slithering.”

Lord Loss gazes without much interest into the camera. He smiles slightly, then runs his eyes over the crowd, judging their mood, taking in their expressions, most more confused than terrified. “Ah,” he notes. “You do not believe. You think this is part of the film. That I am a movie prop.” He chuckles. “It is time to burst that bubble of misperception.”

He moves to one side. I glimpse other shapes behind him. Eyes. Tendrils. Teeth. Claws. Fangs. “Now, my darlings,” Lord Loss whispers.

The demons spill out in their dozens, each one more misshapen and nightmarish than the last. A variety of vile monsters, spitting bile, oozing pus and blood, screeching and howling with malicious glee. They collide with the shocked members of the cast and crew closest to the building. Cut into and through them, severing limbs and heads, disemboweling, biting, and clawing.

Realization hits the masses swift and hard. A single scream rings out. Then a volley of them. Panic sweeps the crowd. A stampede develops, everyone wanting to get away from the demons, trampling over one another, the weak going down in the crush, dying beneath the feet of their workmates. Anarchy at its most destructive and terrifying.

Lord Loss laughs, and his laughter carries over the sounds of the screams. I’m rooted to the spot, unable to react, heart jackhammering, not wanting this to be happening, wishing I could be anywhere in the world but here.

I see the cameraman who moved forward turning away to capture the scenes of mayhem. “Not yet!” Davida snaps. “Stay on the hole. Give me a close-up.”

The cameraman steps right up to Lord Loss’s chest, maneuvering his camera to within an inch or two of the writhing, hissing snakes. He moves his head from behind the camera to check something — and one of the snakes strikes. It lashes out from within the hole where Lord Loss’s heart should be. Sinks its tiny fangs into the cameraman’s left cheek. He yelps, drops his camera, and tries to pull away. But the snake has a firm hold. It yanks him closer, so his face plunges into the hole. And now all the snakes are biting. The cameraman’s arms and legs thrash wildly, then go still. He falls away a few seconds later, his face a blood-red map of bites and rips, skin flailed, bones cracked, brains dribbling down his chin.

“No!” Davida gasps. “He hadn’t finished the shot! They shouldn’t have...”

She stops and studies the demons tearing into the humans. They’re drawing no distinction between the intended victims and the collaborators, dragging down cameramen and other technicians as well as the unsuspecting members of the cast and crew.

“
No!
” Davida screeches. “We had a deal!”

Lord Loss looks at her sneeringly. “I do not make deals with fools. I promised you chaos, which you and your underlings could film, but I never said I would spare any of you. You simply assumed — and assumed wrong.” He smiles at me. “Greetings, Grubitsch. Such a pleasure to see you again. I will take much satisfaction from your long, slow, painful death.”

“Not today!” Dervish bellows, and suddenly he’s by my side, right hand raised. He fires off a bolt of energy at Lord Loss. The demon master deflects it, but is knocked side-ways. “Come on!” Dervish snaps at me and Bill-E. “We have to get out of here.”

“But what about...?” I gesture at the fleeing people.

“We’ll summon them when — if — we blast a way out,” Dervish says. “The best thing they can do is split and flee. That will delay the demons and buy us some time.”

“But —” Bill-E begins.

“No arguments!” Dervish barks. “Follow me now, or so help me, I’ll leave you for the bloody Demonata!”

With that he turns and flees south, sidestepping the stunned, frozen Davida Haym. Chuda deserted her when he realized they were going to perish along with those they’d planned to sacrifice. I’m not sure where he thinks he can run to or hide, but he fled anyway.

Davida can’t move. She’s weeping, seeing all her dreams of immortality go up in flames. I’d like to say I feel sorry for her, but I don’t. All I can think right now is, “Serves you right, you crazy old cow!”

Then Bill-E and I are past the desolate producer, following Dervish through the maze of streets and alleys of Slawter, the screams of the dying and yowls of the demons rising all the time.

Twisting and turning, Dervish in the lead, no apparent route in mind. He stops in the middle of a street. There are doors on either side of us. Handy for a getaway if we’re attacked. “Are you OK?” he asks us.

“Any reason we should be?” I reply calmly, hiding my terror as best I can.

Bill-E says nothing. He looks like a shell-shocked soldier. As awful as I feel, I think Bill-E feels a hell of a lot worse.

“Billy?” Dervish says softly. “Are you with us? Are all the lights on in there?” He taps the side of Bill-E’s head.

“They killed them,” Bill-E wheezes, his lazy left eyelid snapping open and shut at great speed. “I saw a thing with...it looked like a tiger... but bits and pieces sticking out...it killed Salit. He tried to stop it. He didn’t know it was real. He was acting his movie part, where he was a big hero. But it cut him down the middle and —”

“We don’t have time for hysterics,” Dervish growls. “Be a man and help us fight, or go babble somewhere until the demons find you and kill you.”

I hate him for saying that, but I know he’s only doing it for Bill-E’s sake. Cruel to be kind and all that guff.

Bill-E glares at Dervish, anger driving the fear away. “I’m not hysterical,” he says stiffly.

“Glad to hear it,” Dervish says. “Now listen and listen good. Lord Loss is the only demon master. The rest are his familiars, or others Davida roped in. Some are stronger than us, but most aren’t. We need to capture one of the weaker demons and use it to get out.”

“And the other people?” I ask quietly.

“We’ll take as many as we can,” Dervish promises. “If we’re successful, I’ll send a telepathic signal and let all the survivors know where we are.”

“Why not do that now?” I ask. “Arrange a meeting place and tell them to go there. It would give them more time, a better chance.”

Dervish shakes his head. “Those who were working for the Demonata would receive the message too. They’d go running to Lord Loss — try to save their own foul lives by selling out the rest of us.”

“OK,” I mutter. “So how do we catch a demon?”

Dervish scratches his left cheek nervously. “Bait,” he says softly. And his gaze settles on Bill-E.

I don’t like it. Hell, I hate it! But it’s the quickest, easiest way. We’re up to our eyeballs in trouble. We have to take risks.

We leave Bill-E standing in the middle of the street, twisting his hands, face crumpled with fear. He trusts us but he’s terrified. I would be too in his shoes.

“If anything happens to him . . .” I whisper to Dervish.

“It won’t,” Dervish says solidly. “Now don’t talk — watch.”

A minute passes. Two. Screams fill the air, a chorus of agony and anguish. Every hair on my body is standing up-right. I have to keep my teeth parted, afraid I’ll grind down to the gums if I don’t take care. Part of me wants to run, make for the barrier, force a way through, forget everybody else. Save your own skin, it whispers. Dervish and Bill-E are the only ones who matter. Convince them to leave with you. Let the others look after themselves.

I ignore the treasonous, selfish voice — but only with an effort.

Movement at the end of the street. Several figures come racing around a corner. Dervish and I tense, ready to un-leash a burst of magic, then hold it back when we see that the figures are children. Bo Kooniart, Vanalee Metcalf, three others.

“Run!” Bo screams at Bill-E. “We’re being chased! Get the hell out of here, you moron, before —”

“Bo!” I yell. “Over here.” She stops, panting, eyes wide with terror. “Quick!”

“But there’s —”

“I know. Trust us. We can stop it. But you have to —”

“Here it comes,” Dervish interrupts.

I look left. A demon with the body of a giant bee is humming through the air after Bo and the others. As it gets closer I see that it has a semi-human face, except with bee eyes, and more teeth than any human I’ve ever seen. Magic flares within me. I stretch out a hand in the direction of the bee demon.

“Not yet,” Dervish says. “Let it get closer... closer...
Now!
”

Together we channel magic and unleash it. Twin bolts of energy strike the demon sharply, knocking it across the street, away from the children. It smashes into the wall on the opposite side. As it slumps to the ground, Dervish runs towards it. I follow, caught up in the moment, acting instinctively.

The bee shakes its head and starts to rise, buzzing angrily. Dervish grabs a wing before it gets out of reach. Yanks it down. The bee lashes out at him with a stinger the size of a large kitchen knife. He ducks. I scream and smash an elbow into the bee’s semi-human face. Its teeth bite deep into my forearm, but I jerk my arm free before it can do serious damage.

As I grab the bee with my uninjured arm, I feel Dervish’s magic burn into the demon. It makes wild buzzing sounds. Thrashes, trying to break free, snapping its teeth, stabbing at him with its stinger. He holds on tight. I do too. I head-butt the bee, letting magic shoot through my forehead, intent on sizzling the demon’s brains.

“Not too much!” Dervish pants as the demon goes slack. “We want it alive.” He stands, sliding both arms around the bee. “Let’s keep it like this and —”

“
Monster!
” a voice screams and suddenly there’s someone beside us. A hand shoots by my head. A fist buries itself deep in the demon’s chest, then comes ripping out, dragging guts and yellow blood with it. Stunned, I fix on the face of the assailant — and my heart leaps joyfully.

“
Juni!
” I yell, releasing the bee’s head, throwing my arms around her.

Juni Swan hugs me hard, then steps away, staring at the demon, then her fist. “How did I do that?” she croaks. “I felt something inside me. It was power, but I don’t know where...”

“Hi,” Dervish says quietly, letting the dead demon drop to the floor. He smiles crookedly, then slips his arms around Juni and buries his face in her neck. “We thought you were dead,” he half-sobs.