At the end of the hall was a large open room full of chairs, sofas, and tables with magazines—a lounge for visiting family members to wait. As she barreled up to the opening, a sofa came flying out. Piper ducked and it crashed into a medical cart behind her.
Something roared inside the lounge—something big, mean, and completely inhuman. Before she could decide if she dared enter, ten feet of hairy minotaur stalked out. It had hooves like cinder blocks and massive bull horns. Its black eyes scoured the hall, mad with fury and, judging by the blood gushing from the deep wound across its belly, pain. Piper gaped. How had that thing been disguised in a glamour? It wasn’t possible.
After a moment of dead silence, the hall behind Piper erupted in a cacophony of terrified screams. The minotaur flinched at the sound then roared. The force of the sound knocked her back and she clamped her hands over her ears. The people behind her stampeded down the hall, trampling the slow and weak in their panic.
Maybe she should’ve been running away too.
The minotaur looked down and spotted Piper standing there like a dimwit. Even armed to the teeth, she wouldn’t have been a match for this beast. Maybe a haemon who had magic, but she had nothing but her own strength and brains—not enough against a ten-foot mutant bull.
Another massive crash sounded from somewhere behind the minotaur. He flicked one cow ear backward. The fight was still going on in the lounge. Was Ash battling the second daemon? She snapped a glance past the beast’s legs, trying to see into the room beyond.
The minotaur charged. Piper leaped forward and the beast’s fist smashed into the floor where she’d been standing. Tiles shattered and the cement beneath split. She landed between its massive hooves. Collapsing into a compact ball, she rolled out from under it and sprang up. It took all her willpower not to look into the lounge for Ash. The minotaur was already turning. She grabbed a nearby metal chair and swung it into the back of the minotaur’s knee.
It grunted angrily and spun around. She dove between its legs again, landing in another roll that carried her farther away from it. She came out on her feet and ran. She made it three steps before she realized she wasn’t going anywhere. A wall of a dozen armed prefects, rifles raised, blocked the hallway.
“Fire!” someone yelled.
Piper threw herself onto the floor. The minotaur howled as twelve bullets tore into its flesh. Not enough to kill it, but as she craned her neck to look over her shoulder, it staggered backward into the lounge.
“Is that the Griffiths girl?” a prefect exclaimed.
Piper shoved herself up in a panic. Twelve guns turned to point at her. She slapped her arms in an X across her chest: the universal sign of surrender.
“Hayes, Coffey, arrest her.”
Two guys in the front passed their rifles to their neighbors and unhooked handcuffs from their belts. Not being a daemon, she supposed she wasn’t scary enough to warrant firearms. They were average-sized guys but prefects were never average fighters, meaning Piper had about a ten percent chance. Lucky for her, she was tough too.
She tried to look meek and defeated as they approached. When they were a step away, the closest one reached for her wrist.
Magic exploded from the lounge like a bomb going off, the shockwave blasting past them and making everyone stagger. Something inside the lounge shrieked in pain. The minotaur roared. Piper’s fist snapped out and hit the nearest prefect in the diaphragm. He dropped his cuffs and doubled over. She whirled around, foot flying, and slammed her boot into the thigh of the second guy. He stumbled but didn’t fall. He lunged for her. She pivoted to the side, caught his arm, and twisted it. With a yelp, he went down, yielding to the pressure she was putting on his arm before the bone snapped. She stomped her foot on his belly. He rolled over, spewing his supper.
Three more prefects circled her, looking pissed. She dropped to the floor and swung out one foot, sweeping the feet out from under the first guy. The second tried to jump on her. She rolled onto her back and slammed a double-footed kick right into his groin. His face went bloodless and he sank to his knees, unable to breathe for the pain. Pulling her legs down hard, she flipped her body off the floor and landed on her feet. Prefect number three came at her and she went to jump backward but something grabbed her ankle.
She staggered and had to deflect the charging prefect’s punch with her forearm. Feeling like her arm must have snapped in half, she ripped her foot out of the grip of the first prefect she’d downed. The third prefect swung another fist toward her face. She stepped inside his swing—no one ever expected that—and ducked to shove her forearm into his hip. She grabbed his ankle with her other hand and shoved the two-hundred-pound man right off his feet. Amazing what a little leverage in the right spot could do.
Dancing back from the prefect already rolling to his feet, she realized prefect number one was getting up too. Then she looked past them and froze.
“Steady,” a prefect at the back of the group called.
Every gun was pointed at her. This time she knew they meant business. The prefects she hadn’t permanently downed took a few steps back, getting out of the potential crossfire.
“Hit one more of my men and we’ll open fire,” the man at the back called. “Lay on the floor with your hands on the back of your head. Now!”
Before she could obey and get arrested, or disobey and get shot, the air rippled. Electricity filled the atmosphere, crackling like lightning about to strike. She heard a weird rushing sound, then there was harsh breathing right behind her; someone stood at her back.
“Are you going to shoot me?” The voice that asked the question was deep and guttural, sepulchral and alien in a way that froze everyone in the vicinity.
Every gun now aimed at a point just over Piper’s right shoulder. She tried to keep her breathing steady as fear tightened every prefect’s face. Men who had faced the ten-foot minotaur without batting an eyelid, trained and seasoned fighters, were staring over her shoulder with shaking hands and pale faces.
She slowly licked her lips. “Ash?” she whispered.
He shifted closer until he brushed against her back. “Do you have what we need?” he breathed. The heat of his body made her shiver.
“Yes,” she breathed back.
He huffed in relief, sounding almost normal for a second. Then he slid one arm around her waist, delicately as though he were afraid of accidentally crushing her.
“Don’t move or we’ll shoot,” the prefect leader yelled.
“That”—Ash extended one hand in front of Piper—“would only make me angry.”
Piper stared at his hand, too shocked to move or to think. His outspread fingers were black with a dull gleam like leather, the tips smoothly forming long claws. Large black scales covered the back of his hand and ran up the top of his arm like an armguard. The scales gave way to human skin, leaving the underside of his arm disconcertingly normal. Somehow, that was even freakier.
The air grew hot around them. It sizzled. The lead prefect jerked like he was about to yell the word that would riddle Piper and Ash with bullets, then light flashed in Ash’s palm and everything exploded for a second time.
The concussive explosion of air blasted the prefects off their feet and sent them flying backward. Guns fired wildly, bullets ricocheting off the ceiling. Ash scooped Piper against his chest, then the world spun as he launched forward so fast it was like being shot out of a cannon. Wind tore at her face as they shot across the entire length of the hall in two seconds flat. Solid brick wall waited for them but Ash wasn’t slowing.
His hand snapped outward, another flash of light, a massive boom. They burst out the brand new hole in the wall in a rush of cool night air and flying debris. They soared out over the road, three stories up, but they didn’t fall. Somehow, they glided easily in a wide curve toward the ground. As they touched down, Piper looked over her shoulder and saw giant, graceful, leathery black wings folding neatly as they pulled in toward Ash’s back. She blinked and they were gone.
She wrenched away from him and spun around, but he was already shimmering back into glamour.
A small shape flew out of the darkness and Zwi landed on Ash’s shoulder, chittering franticly. Piper watched the little dragonet’s wings fold up until they lay flat on the creature’s back, miniature versions of her master’s hidden appendages.
Zwi made another chattering sound and turned to glare at Piper. She blinked. Then Ash slowly sank to his knees, shoulders slumping. Zwi flapped her wings and chirped wildly, clutching his shoulder. Piper jumped forward and dropped to a crouch in front of him, grabbing his shoulders and almost knocking Zwi off him.
“Ash? Ash, are you okay?”
He looked up, unfocused and listing to one side. “Ummm,” he breathed. “Probably not. Didn’t go so well.”
Piper pulled his arm over her shoulder and looked him over. His damn black t-shirt disguised the fact he was bleeding—a lot. Again. Couldn’t this guy go three days without nearly dying?
“Come on, get up,” she coaxed. “We have to get off the street. Lyre is waiting for us.”
“Mmm,” he mumbled incoherently, but with her help he managed to get to his feet again. He leaned on her as they staggered toward the alley. Zwi jumped off his shoulder and flew ahead, her black scales making her invisible in seconds. Ash breathed heavily and limped with each step. His blood was soaking her shirt. Another deadly fight like with the choronzon. Once again, he’d made it out barely walking. She glared up the alley, nursing her fury as more of Ash’s blood ran down her side. If she didn’t stay angry, she would panic. He was hurt. Really hurt.
“Piper,” a voice hissed. Lyre appeared from the gloom, Zwi hanging off his shoulder. “Shit! Ash!”
He ducked under Ash’s other arm, and together they hauled him down the alley, down a few more, and ducked into an abandoned garage. Piper pushed the rotting door closed and shoved a shelving unit in front of it, then hurried to where Lyre was helping Ash sit against a wall. Zwi keened in a tiny, panicky voice, shivering against her owner’s side. The incubus cupped his hands and a small blue light appeared. He pushed it into the air and let it go. It hung there like a tiny moon.
Ash was breathing hard, staring at nothing. “Ow . . .” he whispered.
Piper and Lyre exchanged frightened looks. He grabbed Ash’s cheap t-shirt and ripped it up the side. Piper gasped.
Ash had been gored. His stomach was a bloody mess like he’d been raked across the belly with a gardening claw. Blood was all over him. Neither she nor Lyre could do a damn thing for a wound like that. He needed surgery to put his insides back inside him.
“What . . . what . . . ” Lyre’s hands fluttered over the wreckage of Ash’s stomach, not daring to touch.
“Two daemons were waiting for us,” Piper whimpered. With nothing else to do, she balled up the torn shirt and pressed it against the wound—
as if that would help. He’d merely die a little less quickly. “One was a minotaur.”
“Fucking animal,” Ash muttered. His eyes rolled toward Lyre, feverish bright and dull at the same time. “Ripped his fucking head off.”
Piper blinked, wondering if he was remembering the fight right.
“What about the second one?” Lyre whispered.
“Cottus, the bastard,” Ash mumbled. “Got me when I killed Henoces before he could . . . go after Piper again . . .”
Lyre swallowed hard. “But why would Cottus attack you? Unless—”
Ash’s eyes darted toward Piper.
Lyre bit off his sentence, then pressed both hands to his face. “This is bad.”
“’S not so bad,” Ash breathed, almost smiling. “Piper got . . . stuff . . . you know.” His breathing was getting faster, harsher.
“Ash, you’re dying,” Lyre snapped. “I don’t fucking care about the Stone right now.”
“Oh,” Ash muttered. “Yeah, guess . . . not.” He frowned. “Dying, huh . . . Sucks.”
Her lips trembled. “You can’t die,” she told him angrily. “You told me you’d be fine. I thought you were tougher than this! Isn’t half the Underworld afraid of you?”
“Nah,” he said breathily. His head thumped back into the wall behind him. “They’re scared of . . . boss.”
“What boss?”
“Fucking boss,” he mumbled. “Hate him.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Piper, leave him be.” Lyre’s voice shook.
She looked at the t-shirt. It was soaked through, blood dribbling over her hands and down her arms. Her hands shook as she kept on pressing it against his wound. Tears spilled over and ran down her face.
“Stupid daemon,” she choked. “Stupid. Getting killed. Look what you’ve done.”
“Don’t cry,” he whispered, sounding vaguely surprised.
“I’m not crying!”
“I was going to . . . die anyway . . . You heard. I screwed up . . . big time . . .”
“Huh?”
“Stole.” He was gasping now. “Cursed . . . fucking . . . Stone.” He slid a little sideways as he looked at Piper. “Sorry . . .”
“Sorry for what?” she demanded, angrily wiping tears from her face. “You saved my life. Twice.”
“Three . . . times . . .”
“Shut up!” Furious and beside herself with helplessness, she tried hard to hold onto some composure. How could she just sit there while he died right in front of her? What was she supposed to do?
The door to the garage burst open, knocking the shelves over. Piper’s jaw fell open, fear spinning through her.
Doctor Daemon stood in the doorway, staring at them.
CHAPTER 6
“YOU!” Piper yelled. She tried to make her glare as threatening as possible. “Get the hell out.”
Not surprisingly, he didn’t listen. He stepped inside and closed the door. The air crackled with magic as he did something to it, probably sealing them in. Lyre stood and put himself between them and the daemon. The doctor, still in his scrubs, stepped farther into the room.
“The prefects are searching for you,” the doctor said. “I’ve hidden your trail, but the mask will only last until sunrise. We shouldn’t waste time.”
“Waste time how?” Lyre spat. “Like resisting you killing us?”
“I’m not here to kill you.”
“Like we’d believe—”
“I am Vejovis.”
Lyre’s mouth opened but no sound came out. Piper stared, not quite sure what to think. If the daemon truly was Vejovis . . .
Depending on their magic and race, daemons could live a human lifespan or they could live as long as forever. Some of them were very, very old, and Vejovis was one of the oldest. He was an Overworld daemon, and though Overworlders liked to pretend they were the good guys, in reality they were just as bad as Underworld daemons. Vejovis, however, had truly renounced the typical violence of his kin and dedicated himself to the healing arts—so the legends said. He was the best healer in any of the worlds but rarely seen or heard from.
There was no way to prove this daemon was Vejovis, but it was a risky claim to make. If the real Vejovis heard about it, vow of non-violence or not, there’d be hell to pay.
“You—you—” Lyre took an urgent step forward. “Please heal him. I beg you.”
Vejovis smiled coolly. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Fuck off,” Ash rasped unexpectedly.
“Now, now,” Vejovis said calmly to Ash. “I estimate you have ten minutes left. If you want to live to hate me for the rest of your life, I must begin immediately.”
Piper immediately leaped away from Ash and gestured for Vejovis to approach. “Heal him, please. Ash, keep your mouth shut and let him or I’ll kill you myself.”
Ash grunted. His face twisted with what could have been pain or loathing. What was his problem with Vejovis?
“I’d like you two to please leave the room,” Vejovis said over his shoulder as he kneeled beside his patient. To Ash, he said, “
Release your glamour. I need to see what I’m doing.”
Piper paused, looking curiously over her shoulder in spite of the gravity of the situation, but Lyre grabbed her arm and hauled her up the flight of stairs at the back of the garage. The second floor had a small, musty apartment that hadn’t seen human habitation in a long time. It was well populated with small, four-legged inhabitants though. She wrinkled her nose at the mouse crap everywhere and found what looked like a relatively clean kitchen chair. She thumped down and went to press her hands to her face before realizing they were covered in Ash’s blood. Her fingers trembled.
“Will he be okay?” she whispered.
Lyre sat in the chair beside hers. “I hope so. Vejovis is a legend.”
“Why does Ash hate him?”
“No idea.”
She bit her lip and looked at the incubus. “Is it bad that we left them alone?”
Lyre sighed. “Ash wouldn’t have dropped his glamour if we were there, and then he would have died. The worst Vejovis could do is kill him . . . but why bother when he was minutes from death anyway?”
“Why wouldn’t Ash drop his glamour in front of us?”
“Well . . . in front of you,” Lyre corrected. He stared at the filthy tabletop with bloodshot eyes. “He wouldn’t want to frighten you.”
“Ash would die just to not frighten me?”
He exhaled sharply. “No. But he would have argued and resisted like the stubborn idiot he is and by then it would’ve been too late.”
“Why does it matter so much to him?”
“You don’t get it, Piper. You think you know all about us but you’re still just a child. How many daemons have you seen without glamour? Some don’t look pretty or cool or interesting. Their real forms are alien, or ugly, or frightening. We don’t show humans what we look like, because after you see, you never forget. You never believe we’re human again.”
“You’re not human.”
“And your human head knows that, but your gut doesn’t. Once you see us without this mask, this disguise,” he gestured to his body, “your gut will know it too. Some daemons you can’t help but fear. You will always be afraid. It’s human nature.”
Chase the Dark (Steel & Stone Book 1) Page 8
