The temperature suddenly plummeted. His breath turned to steam. Ice formed rapidly on the walls and door. His metal skin was no protection from this hazard. And dropping it would only cause him to freeze faster. The solution was obvious: He needed through that door.
Already it was hard to move. Just as frost caked on the iron walls, so it formed on his skin. Ephraim pushed his way towards the door, a thin sheen of ice cracking off and quickly reforming after each move.
His mind struggled to string two thoughts together. How could he get out? What if the room on the other side was just as bad?
He pushed those fears away, drove himself towards his only escape.
At last he reached it. Digging his fingers into the crease, he tried to pull it open. It would not budge. Was it locked? If so, he was doomed. There was no leaving this hell. He would either die here or be forced to surrender, enduring permanent exile from Miriam and the rest.
No. That wasn’t happening.
Pulling his fist back, he drove his most devasting punch into the door. The ice shattered, but the door held fast. He hit it several more times, hammering at it to make some dent. But all his blows were futile.
He switched to kicking it. Rotating his hips, he drove sidekick after sidekick into the iron, banging desperately in the same place over and over.
Finally, it yielded. A small dent appeared right at the crease between the door and the wall. Hope springing to life in his mind, he slammed seven more kicks into the same spot. Each blow bent the door a little more. He could feel blessed heat slipping in through the crack.
With the last of his strength, Ephraim pushed his fingers into the opening. Then he heaved with all his might. The door gave way with a tremendous groan. He yanked enough of it open to slip himself through, and left the icy prison for the warm exterior.
He was no sooner out the door than he plunged into a vast pool. The water was warm and pleasant. But with his skin still steel, he sank like a stone.
Once again, panic hit his brain. With an effort of will, he tamped it down. This was just another test. It could be passed like the others.
He transformed his skin to flesh. The water instantly caused him pain. Uncertain what it was, he swam for the surface. The closer he got, the more it hurt.
At last, his head broke over, and he sucked in a breath. As soon as he did, he understood the problem. The stale smell of chemical agents hit his nostrils. He wasn’t bobbing in water; he was immersed in acid. Judging by the level of his pain, it was low-molar – not intense enough to burn his skin away immediately, but the longer he stayed, the more damage he would do to himself.
He cast his eyes around, desperate for a way out. Off in the distance – at least five hundred yards – was a stone ledge.
So, this was his choice. He could swim for the exit, and let the acid eat away at his skin. Or he could change his flesh to steel and sink to the bottom, where he would drown.
Already, the pain was threatening to undo him. If he didn’t do something soon, it would melt away all conscious thought.
He set himself towards the ledge and swam several strokes before he couldn’t take it anymore and transformed his skin to metal. He managed a few seconds of Australian crawl before he’d sunk too deep. He switched to a frog stroke, thrashing forward until his lungs screamed for air. Gritting his teeth, he turned off the armor skin again and surged for the surface.
It took longer to get there than he thought it would. He very nearly gulped in a mouth full of acid, which he was sure would have been disastrous.
But he made it up. Tired and oxygen-starved already, he flipped over and backstroked as fast as he could.
The pain set in sooner this time. His skin was already savaged by prior exposure. It felt as though the acid was intensifying. Maybe it was. This was some magical realm, so anything was possible. But it was probably the cumulative effect of staying in a vat of acid well past a few seconds.
Once again, he swam as long as he could endure the pain. Then, sucking in a deep breath, he transformed to steel again.
Lying on his back made it harder to switch styles. He splashed uselessly as he tried to right himself. When he at last got reoriented, he started frogging forward again.
He prayed he was going in the right direction. As he felt himself steadily sinking, despair began to slip its insidious fingers around his mind. He’d never reach the shore in time. He would drown or be eaten alive before he could pull himself to safety. He should just give up. It would be shameful, but at least he’d be alive to hate himself.
So? He would have to live with yet another humiliation, another insult that was all Sassy Kincaide’s fault. No, he was going to see that bitch pay. He would pass these trials, or he would die and find some way to avenge himself from beyond the grave.
With that thought firmly in his brain, he pushed forward. Two strokes later, he hit a wall. At first, he thought he was doomed. He’d come to the end of the line.
But then he realized that was where he wanted to be. He dropped the armor skin once more and scissored hard for the surface. He wanted to scream from the pain. His skin seemed to be melting.
Then his head broke the surface. The ledge was right in front of him. He reached out, and his fingers found purchase in the stone. With the last gasp of his strength, Ephraim pulled himself up and over the edge.
The acid still burned. Safely out of it, he activated his armor once more. Then he sprawled out on the ground, exhausted, and heaved breath after breath, trying to recover.
“Congratulations,” the voice of Miriam’s master intoned from somewhere he couldn’t see. “You have passed the first trial.”
Ephraim nearly cried with relief. He’d been terrified there was some other, even more horrific suffering they would put him through.
“The second trial begins: Combat,” the voice of the master said.
Ephraim’s eyes popped open wide. Combat? Already? But he could barely move.
The scene changed. He lay in a generic, rocky landscape. A few feet from him, an enormous demon materialized.
It charged.
Six
With our departure from the Windy City settled, I decided it was time to actually take a shower. I hadn’t had a chance to bathe for, like, three days, and once we hit the road, who knew when I would get another chance?
Devlin groused about it. He wanted to get going right away, but I told him I was not traveling in rank clothes if there was a way to avoid it. He shook his head. This guy clearly didn’t have a lot of experience with women.
Unsurprisingly, the shower at the Come On Inn was not even close to as nice as it had been in my dream. The small, plastic tub had lime on the metal and mold on the ceiling. The pressure was weak, and the water never got very hot. It was kind of gross. I was grateful I wouldn’t have to stay here a full week or longer like I’d originally planned.
But it was better than being dirty. By the time I’d dressed in a fresh pair of leather pants, halter top, jacket, and my badass boots, I was feeling both better and ready to kick some serious butt.
Devlin had his trench coat back on. He held his staff in his right hand and wore a small satchel on his back.
I packed up everything, which really wasn’t much, and then slung my sword over my shoulder. I hoped I wouldn’t need the guitar case anymore, but I brought it anyway. Devlin had said were leaving town, so I might need to conceal my weapon again.
Scooping up the room key, I walked the short distance to the office to check out. Devlin trailed me wordlessly.
The same fat White guy in a dirty t-shirt who’d rented me the room a couple days ago was behind the counter again. Offhandedly, I wondered if this was his business or if he just worked here. What horrible life circumstances had brought him to this?
“I’d like to check out,” I said, as I slapped the key down on the counter top.
“Okay,” he said, not really looking up from the microwaved noodle dish he was eating.
“I wa
s only here for two days instead of a week, so I’d like the balance back,” I said.
“Uh-uh,” he replied. “Don’t work that way.”
“Oh, yes, it does,” I replied.
He stopped eating at looked at me. I smiled threateningly at him.
“Look, I told you when you checked in, the fees are non-refundable.”
“No, you didn’t,” I said. “And even if you had, that’s bullshit. I ain’t staying the other five days, and it ain’t like you’re gonna hold the room open. You’ll rent it out again, which means you’d be making double the money. I ain’t playing that game.”
He threw me a rude smile. I could see him working up to try to hammer me with his weak-ass authority and his privilege. I hit him with a death-glare to warn him off it. He didn’t heed me.
“Listen, Little Girl,” he said, “I’m sorry if your John here doesn’t like the place, or if he’s decided he gets to rent you in a posh hotel, but it ain’t my fucking problem. You paid the deposit. You don’t get it back. Those are the rules. Now get outta here before I call the fucking cops.”
My vision washed over red. Did this piece of shit just call me a whore? Oh, it was fucking on.
I yanked my katana out of its scabbard. Fat Motel Manager’s eyes about bugged out of his head.
“You’re the one who’s gonna listen, asshole,” I growled. “I am not a slut, a piece of trash, or a prostitute. I am a woman who rented a motel room. I am not going to be using it for the full term, so you will refund my money. If you don’t, you are going to be very, very, very sorry. Do you understand me?”
The already pasty dude turned white as a ghost. I mean, this guy looked like he was about to shit his pants. Which, frankly, I was in favor of.
Shaking so badly he looked like was going to vibrate out of phase, he went to his till and pulled out three hundred dollars, dropped the bills on the counter, and backed away.
I snorted. Then I reached out, grabbed them, and stuffed them in my pocket, figuring the extra cash was Asshole Tax.
“Don’t think you’re getting a good review on Yelp,” I said as I turned and stormed out of the office.
“Was that really necessary?” Devlin said, when we were outside. “All that for three hundred dollars?”
I sheathed my sword.
“I’ve got a finite number of funds,” I said. “I can’t afford to just throw them away.
“Besides, it wasn’t about the money. It was the principle.”
We called a cab. It took twenty minutes for it to arrive.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
“Union Station,” Devlin replied.
A second later we were off. I had no idea where we were going, but it seemed we would be traveling by train again. Absently, I wondered what sort of demon hunter rode the rails cross-country in search of fiends to slay.
Life was definitely weird.
***
I was starving by the time we got to the station. I’d only eaten once yesterday, and then I’d been attacked and poisoned. My stomach was growling loud enough to be heard back in Cincinnati.
So I made Devlin take me to breakfast. It was quarter to eleven when we arrived, and he’d told me the train didn’t leave until two. So I insisted on eating first. Once again, he grumbled but relented.
We managed to find a place that served all-day breakfast. I ordered stuffed French toast with blueberry compote, a side of sausage patties, and a shitload of coffee. Devlin got bacon, eggs, and toast. Basic but respectable.
When our server wandered off to put our order in, I gazed on Devlin. Whatever ghosts haunted him still danced behind those gorgeous, blue eyes. His attention didn’t fall on me. It was off somewhere else. He smoldered in thought. God damn, it was sexy. This guy was going to be a real problem for me. Mixing business and pleasure was always a bad idea, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how good it would feel to be wrapped up in those strong-looking arms of his.
A giant guilt fist smashed me in the face. What the fuck was the matter with me? Hadn’t I left the woman I loved brokenhearted in another city only two days ago? Hadn’t I acknowledged that she was perfect for me? Hadn’t I left her behind in tears for the sole purpose of protecting her?
And now I was already thinking about jumping into bed with a hot guy, who was keeping something from me even while he was supposed to be training me? Was I that much of a bitch? Did I really not care about Felicia at all?
I bit my lip to steady my heart. I needed to focus on business, since apparently I couldn’t control my hormones otherwise.
“So,” I said, trying to make conversation and divert my attention from my lust, “how does one become a demon hunter?”
He had just raised his coffee to his mouth, and he nearly choked on it when I mentioned “demon hunter.” It was cute.
“Are you unfamiliar with The Veil?” he asked.
The Veil was about the only law in the magical world. People who knew about the supernatural were absolutely not allowed to discuss it with people who were ignorant. They didn’t want ordinary folks to know magic and monsters really existed.
“Yeah, I know about it. I also don’t give a shit.”
“Ms. Connor,” he scolded. “We are in a public place – a crowded restaurant. You cannot discuss these things in the open.”
“Look,” I said, “first of all, no one in the quote-unquote normal world believes in magic. The Order and The Arcane Council have done such a good job of covering everything up, that even when people see magical shit, they don’t believe it happened.
“Secondly, nobody here is paying attention to us. They’re all caught up in their own lives. They need to eat, and then they’re gonna catch the train or the bus or go back to work. The conversations of the people around them mean nothing to them. They’re not even listening to us.
“And third, if they do hear something, they’re just gonna think we’re talking about a movie or a book or a game. No one is gonna hear you talking about being a demon hunter and believe that’s actually what you do.
“So out with it. I want to know about you.”
Devlin squirmed in his seat. His eyes darted around the room, as if he expected people to be leaning closer, waiting to hear what his reply would be.
“I’m still not sure we should be discussing this sort of thing in public,” he said.
“And I’m not sure I should be going anywhere with a tightlipped demon hunter I know nothing about. Spill.”
Devlin sighed heavily. A great sadness seemed to descend from the ceiling and settle on his shoulders. His gaze drifted out of focus as his mind went back to some darker time.
“Most of my village was slaughtered when a group of five demons elected to play a little game. Each of them chose a Deadly Sin and a settlement. They then tempted the people en masse with their chosen evil.
“Since there were only five fiends, they had to leave two sins off. They skipped Sloth and Gluttony, feeling those two, while sinister in and of themselves, would not provide terribly spectacular results.
“And that was the game. It was a contest, you see. Whichever demon could cause the most chaos, the most outrageous result, would be the winner.”
“Fucking demons,” I said. shaking my head.
Not that I thought this sort of shit was unique to the denizens of Hell. Human beings were just as capable of deciding to fuck with people for nothing but shits and giggles.
“My village was targeted with Envy,” Devlin went on. “There was a nearby Indian—Sorry. I understand the proper term is ‘Native American’ now. Anyway, there was a nearby Native American tribe that was doing very well. They were prosperous, and we occasionally traded with them.
“But a few of our leaders grew envious of the natives’ good fortune. They had successful crops, and their hunts brought them plenty of meat. They had most of what they needed, and we occasionally bartered with them for corn and a few other necessities.
“And our elders began to openl
y complain that these heathens were doing well, while we struggled, especially in winter. In truth, our colony was getting by just fine. But relations with native tribes had long-since been deteriorating. The so-called savages were a convenient scapegoat for all manner of ills.
“The elders told us that we were the children of God, following his directives and conducting ourselves piously. But the Indians worshipped pagan gods. They did not accept Jesus Christ as their personal savior. They did not adhere to the Ten Commandments.
“And if they were successful despite denying the One True God, then it could only mean they were in league with The Devil. Lucifer was granting them bounty they had no right to, so they could take it from us.
“Well, it didn’t take long for that sentiment to take root. As I said, we were already deeply mistrustful of Native Americans, and I have since learned that people are happy to believe anything that makes them feel injured and furious at the success of others. And this darkness that grew within our hearts bloomed quickly into religious fervor. We cloaked our anger and outrage in piety. But the seed of this fury was Envy, not devotion to God.”
I nodded. I didn’t need any reminders that humans were shitty and tribal and apt to blame their own misfortune on others, just so they didn’t have to acknowledge how much they sucked themselves. I mean, look at Ephraim. He got so mad our father didn’t love him, he tried to have me killed. Like I had anything to do with it!
“Eventually, our hearts turned black enough we were motivated to action,” Devlin said. “We decided, if these monsters – for we did not even acknowledge them as people – were in league with Satan, then we would strike a blow against them. We would take their bounty, claiming it in the name of God.”
Our server returned with our breakfast. Devlin ceased speaking as she put the food in front of us.
“Blueberry, stuffed French toast and sausage,” she said as she got my plates off her tray.
The smell hit my nose and made my stomach growl even louder. I thought I might start salivating like a dog at the sight of all that food.
Personal Demons Page 7
