“You have more weapons, right?” Jack asked.
“Of course.”
“Get them. As many as you can. I know what happened now.”
“What?” Lisa asked.
“The imp,” Jack said. “It didn’t attack you randomly. It knew I was there, knew I’d try to stop it. It . . . I don’t know how, but it stole my immunity.” He reached the stairway and pulled the door open. “We’ve got to kill it.”
“That’s it?” Nick asked. “That small little shit that attacked Lisa last night?”
“If you find it, kill it,” Jack said. “There’s a clearing by I-4, east of the office. One hour?” Nick nodded, and Jack went down the stairs.
2.
Lisa wanted to follow. Didn’t want to give him up. He was right, she was safer without him, but she felt less alive. If whatever he intended failed, she’d be left guessing, never knowing for certain. She didn’t want to deal with that.
Nick looked at her a moment. “You still have my knife?”
She nodded.
“Keep it,” he said. One of the elevators slid open. He held the door. “I think Jack knows what he’s talking about.”
“You didn’t find it yesterday,” Lisa said.
“No,” Nick agreed, “but I didn’t know then what I know now.”
“What’s that?” Lisa asked.
“It didn’t run very far,” Nick said. “If it’s anything like everything else out there, it’ll be sticking close to Jack.”
“That’s a good thing?” Lisa asked.
Nick stepped into the elevator. “It narrows the search.”
The doors slid shut.
Behind her, glass shattered.
Lisa took a deep breath. No place to run, she ducked into the maintenance closet, hoping—praying, if it wasn’t too late—the ghoul wouldn’t even care about her. It wanted Jack.
There wasn’t much room: a few shelves, a mop in a bucket, an oversized sink and a drain on the floor. The room might have fit two, standing side by side and close. A single, low-watt bulb provided dingy light.
She held her breath. If the ghoul came through her apartment, it made no sound as it entered the hallway. She strained to listen. As far as she knew, it stood on the other side of the closet door.
Under the door, a sliver of light was visible from the overly bright hallway. No shadow crossed it.
A door closed.
Lisa drew a deep breath. She clenched her fists so tight, the knuckles turned white. With effort, she put a hand on the doorknob.
Turned it.
The hall was empty. Her apartment door was still open. She didn’t even look through the tiny window on the stairwell door; the ghoul had probably gone that way, chasing Jack—just as he expected.
Lisa hurried to her apartment.
Shards from one pane of glass were scattered on the couch and floor. The wind wasn’t too bad, enough to flutter the end of a magazine on her coffee table but not actually flip the page; it carried moisture, but not the heavy rain from earlier.
With a deep breath, uncertain if she was about to make a mistake, she sat in the middle of the room. She ignored the broken glass and the noise from outside, and there was no way in Hell she’d look out there to see what else she might find. She knew what was out there: Kaz’azeal.
Closing her eyes, miles from serenity, Lisa chanted the words the demon had given her.
3.
Nick didn’t like it. Sure, separating gave him a chance to rearm. But it also gave Jack a chance to be killed; and Lisa would summon that demon.
Damn, damn, damn. When the elevator slid open in the lobby, he didn’t know if Jack had made it down the stairs yet. He held the doors open, waited a moment. Hearing nothing, he stepped into the lobby.
Nothing to be seen, either.
He strode calmly through the vestibule and onto the sidewalk outside. Though the rain had stopped, it left puddles big enough to be ponds.
He had no intention to go anywhere near the lake again, not after what he’d seen inside it.
Nick walked casually down Central, as he might on any other rainy night if he’d been a regular man. Maybe he was headed to a bar downtown, or a restaurant—for a date, even—or perhaps just to his car, parked around the block.
In fact, he was headed for his truck, maybe two miles away, north of downtown. He’d pass the office building to get there, but was unconcerned.
This was probably his last opportunity to simply walk away. Whatever Hell Lisa unleashed by calling the demon, he was under no obligation to face it. And the watcher . . . Jack had never asked for his help. Why did Nick insist on giving it?
Because Nick Hunter was stupid. No other explanation sufficed.
He walked briskly, confidently, certain nothing would rush out of the shadows at him now. He wasn’t the target.
4.
Hope.
Such a simple thing. Maybe it was the information on the disc, the existence of a solution (difficult as it may be to obtain), an explanation of the change (and, further, a complete eradication of suspicion that love had altered his fate). That little bit of information meant Jack Harlow could reclaim his life.
But it was seeing Lisa, alive and well, breathing, sitting in her own apartment—more than anything else, that gave Jack hope. A reason to live.
Lisa’s embrace, her kiss, restored his hope. He could live a life he’d never imagined, empowered and supported by Lisa Sparrow. There’d be a home, a place to call his own, and a woman with whom to share it. He’d never even considered these things before. Now, possibilities burst wide open. Anything, absolutely anything, could be achieved—provided he survived the night, found the imp, and killed it. Just that one little tiny improbable thing.
Hope. Jack never imagined how powerful it could be. It gave him strength when he thought he had none. He’d taken the stairs three and four at a time, reaching the ground level before the door above fell shut.
The ghoul pursued him.
He ran out of the apartment building, nearly knocking someone over on the sidewalk. As far as Jack could tell, he had only one chance. If the children of the night were so drawn to him, he had to pull them in closer—all of them—anything and everything that might be out there. If ghouls, wraiths, vampires, and zombies felt the pull, then certainly so did that damned imp.
He ran toward downtown. Not daring to look back, taking no moment to catch his breath, he never slowed. When he reached the red light at Magnolia, he ran with traffic and crossed the three lanes as soon as there was a break. Cars honked. Someone cursed out their window. A couple on the street paused. Jack ran between them.
The next block inclined slightly, putting him between the courthouse and a parking garage. He didn’t want to guess what demonic creatures lurked here.
At the top of the incline, the road leveled off and headed straight toward downtown. He passed a bookshop, clothing store, tattoo parlor, club, bar, and underground garage. Sushi and pizza, another club, a pair of ATMs outside a bank at the corner, and Jack reached Orange Avenue.
It cut through the heart of downtown. He paused a moment, looking in both directions. South, there was the bar where he’d first met Jia Li and the storytelling ghost; north, the vampire’s office suite.
He hoped she’d survived her fall. He couldn’t help it; she’d tried to protect him out of love (lust). How could he not reciprocate? It was her damned perfume, her sex, her mind-fuck . . . she’d infested him.
But there was Lisa now.
Behind him, people walked in and out of the various shops. Some looked in Jack’s direction, but few focused on him. Others went down the slight hill; they’d walk straight into the ghoul if it followed Jack’s every step.
He didn’t see it. That meant nothing.
He glanced skyward. The skeletal figure had floated five stories above the ground when it knocked on Lisa’s window; it was not limited to a running chase. This corner building was one of the tall banks, maybe as high as Ji
a Li’s place. Nothing skimmed down the side of it.
Despite the momentary reprieve, Jack did not hesitate. He crossed the street (another one-way, in the opposite direction), pausing only when a blue minivan with a loud horn almost ran him down.
Down one block, almost as far as the ghost’s bar (where Jia Li had captured Jack), he turned right at the corner. He ran alongside the parking lot, across the street from the police station, and pulled keys from his pocket.
His Mustang was ahead, the interstate not far beyond it. If he had the ten seconds it would take to get to his car, he might lead the night creatures away from the city—and then right back to a fully armed and waiting hunter.
Jack thought it was a good plan. But someone waited next to his car.
5.
“Fancy meeting you here,” the stranger said, stepping forward. His cane, tapping the asphalt, sounded uniquely loud, drowning out even the thunder that still rumbled in the distance. His black suit glistened in the misty night air. His shaved head nearly glowed.
The mist thickened around them. Darkened. It flowed from all directions, centering on the stranger.
“No,” Jack said—not in fear or awe, not in disbelief, but in defiance. “Won’t happen.”
The stranger lifted an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
Jack pulled the gold coin out of his pocket. The stranger had given it to him before all this began. “What, do you want this back?”
“I have no need,” the stranger said, closing the gap between them.
The mist shrouded the entire street, hiding everything but the two of them. Even the Mustang was invisible. If he ran, he might hit a wall, a car, the ghoul . . .
Jack rushed forward.
The stranger fell back a step, raising his cane to defend himself—or tap the ground. Jack remembered the blinding flash of darkness before the woman—just informed her life would be long and happy—burnt so quickly to ash. There was never a flame.
He wouldn’t allow that.
Jack grabbed the cane with both hands. Tried to yank it out of the stranger’s hands. Briefly, he thought he might succeed.
Then he was on the street, on his butt. The stranger towered over Jack, neither laughing nor smiling. He raised the cane.
As the stranger lowered it, Jack kicked. He caught the edge of the ebony wood, shifting it just enough so it hit the stranger’s shoe instead of the street. In the flash of dark that followed, Jack had enough time to wish he’d done something else.
6.
After reciting the foreign (ancient) words, Lisa Sparrow waited. She didn’t know what to expect, or when, nor even if it would work.
She sat, hands on her knees, palms up, in a yoga position. Breathing. Relaxing. Listening.
Wind whistled through the shattered window. The fountain, in the middle of the lake, splashed loudly. Car sounds, an undercurrent of distant engines, seemed constant and unending. Sitting, eyes closed, all other senses shut off from the world, her hearing became excessively acute. She heard spiders crawling in the corners of her apartment. Tree limbs swaying in the wind. Lightning bolts, very distant now. Feet running, a baby crying upstairs, lovers across the hall. Oil sizzling on a frying pan in the next building, glasses clinking in the wine bar across the street. Hearts beating. A gunshot. Doorbell. A cacophony of music, though she heard each piece distinctly: a local band downtown, someone’s tinny radio on NPR, “White Wedding” being belted out at the arena. Talk show hosts, commercials. Blood pumping through arteries. Whispered promises and lies. Requests for money, cigarettes, beer, soda, magazines, lap dances, movie tickets, wallets, second chances, the mushroom cream sauce. Money, hits, blow jobs—she heard everything, except her own clothes tearing. That, she felt.
Slowly, Lisa opened her eyes. She saw no demon, no ghoul, no vampire or ghost. No Jack. Just a broken window, its glass everywhere. Clouds churned, ready to release another deluge. Lightning danced across the sky, so slowly Lisa was able to follow it from beginning to end.
She lowered her gaze. Her clothes were torn, her skin blistering and bulging.
“No,” she said, jumping to her feet.
The demon’s laughter echoed dimly in her mind.
“No,” she said again. The blush of her skin deepened, as she watched, toward the demon’s fiery red. “This isn’t what we said.”
Bones cracked and grew within her. Muscles ripped and thickened. Lisa dropped heavily to her knees. A piece of glass, hanging in the window, fell with the vibration.
She had an amendment for Jack’s file on demons: they lied.
“Yes,” the demon said, its voice issuing inside her head. “I knew you’d make an excellent vessel.”
Lisa shook her head (the demon’s head?) and tried to will her body back to its proper proportions. Chest muscles overlapped her breasts, consuming them. Her legs expanded with a jerk, knocking the coffee table askew. Eyes burned. Her mouth tasted hot and bitter. One at a time, her teeth popped, lengthening and sharpening, shredding the insides of her mouth.
A wave of agony washed over her spine. Lisa hung her head, gripped the floor with crimson fists as blood dribble from her mouth.
“You cannot have me,” Lisa said.
The demon merely laughed.
Hot needles pricked her brain. Her vertebrae reconfigured, protruding through the stretched flesh on her back.
“You cannot have me,” Lisa said again, and she raced toward the window.
The demon tried to stop her. One leg almost didn’t move, but she demanded it, forced it to push her forward. Her body tried to bend at the waist, but she held it straight. An erection burst forth between her legs, merely to distract her. Her whole body twisted, turning over, and she stumbled. She slammed the bottom of the window pane, cracking the wall, scattering more shards. She teetered on the edge, half in and half out.
The demon laughed.
Lisa rocked herself over the edge and out the window.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
1.
When the darkness passed and the mist was gone, the stranger—cane and all—was an ashen statue. Perfectly still. Some seven feet tall. Even the individual hairs of his beard had burnt. His mouth was partly opened, an incomplete O of surprise. He’d gotten himself, thanks to Jack’s last minute kick at the cane.
Slowly, Jack climbed to his feet. Ashes flaked off, drifting lazily, as if they had all the time in the world, never seeming to reach the street. The wind, which had died within the mist, returned to scatter the stranger without a sound.
Jack blinked—twice—and got into his car.
The Mustang roared to life. Headlights flooded the street. In the rearview mirror, Jack saw the ghoul.
2.
The fall to death, presumably, should have been when Lisa’s life flashed before her eyes. Past triumphs and failures, regretted choices, her parents, Liz, the office, her red bedroom, even Jack.
Instead, she saw a flash of the demon’s world: dirt and rock, molten metal and earth, souls crying as they twisted into unnatural shapes—from the demon’s point of view. He hadn’t lied about that, but he was as much prisoner as warden; he’d used Lisa to escape. His last outing, done incorrectly, had been but a moment; this would be forever.
As they died together, it was his life that flashed before her eyes. She didn’t understand the importance of any particular scene: a motherly figure bearing a swollen, charred breast; seas of fire; bridges made up of distorted souls that clawed his feet as he crossed it. A huge hole, a portal, and the winged Kaz’azeal racing skywards, shattering the unstable opening. Even his second lieutenant, a human-like figure, cringing in understanding of the depth of his failure.
Together, in the demon’s body (but Lisa’s flesh), they smashed the ground.
The apartment building rocked. Abnormal waves crashed through the lake. Concrete cracked beneath Lisa, but she did not die. Nor did the demon.
When she rose, she was physically the demon, no longer trapped in its own dimension, no
longer restricted in its time on earth. And though Lisa’s thoughts still directed her actions (the demon’s actions), there were desires and thirsts she could not ignore. Compulsions.
Blood—not to drink, nor even to bathe, but flowing in her name (the demon’s name)—and flesh, flayed by her anxious fingers. Above all else, she was drawn west.
The demon laughed inside her head. “You feel it, do you not? The wrongness that must be righted? I can ease your pain. Your suffering. Move aside, give me control, and I shall do all the things I promised.”
“And more,” Lisa said.
“Much more,” the demon agreed. “We shall have a glorious reign!”
“No.”
“You must at least allow me to recapture Kaz’azeal, as we discussed,” the demon said. “Relent, temporarily, and I shall obey the letter of our agreement.”
“You’ve already gone beyond that,” Lisa said.
“Have I?”
“I was supposed to summon you,” Lisa said, “not become you.”
“Ah, but if you summoned me, your words would compel me,” the demon said, “I have no desire to be commanded like an animal.”
“Release me,” Lisa said.
“If you had offered another as receptacle,” the demon said, “I’m sure I could easily have taken the other host.”
“You never intended to take anyone else,” Lisa said.
The demon laughed. “True enough. But do you intend to stand idly by as Kaz’azeal spreads his red death? Can you not hear him now, flying overhead, circling, following the very same instinct that calls to us?”
Lisa tensed every muscle, as if that might force the demon loose. Tightened fists and legs, jaw, eyes.
“It’s a burning, inside, is it not?” the demon asked. “Let me quell it.”
Her eyes snapped open against her will. “You will give me free reign,” the demon said, “or I shall allow Kaz’azeal to spread his disease far and wide.”
“And what about your disease?” Lisa asked.
“I,” the demon said, “am beyond disease. I am a nightmare, given flesh. You invited me, willingly, into your body. Give me your mind.”
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