Demons in Disguise: The Divinicus Nex Chronicles: Book Three

by A and E Kirk

  Cristiano held up his badge. “Special Agent Salvatori.”

  The Ken doll, wearing only a baggy pair of boxers and sporting some recently drawn Greek lettering on his hairy chest, tried to focus on the wallet, but gave up. “Whatever, man. I swear we followed all the rules last night, so have at it. Can you just keep it quiet?” Then he shuffled over to flop into a well-worn La-Z-Boy and shut his eyes. “Close the door on your way out.”

  We walked through an interesting mix of décor. Plush couches and chairs next to stuff that looked like it’d been dragged in from the dump. Lots of red and gold. Trophies. Portraits of men in posh suits hanging alongside cigar-smoking dogs playing poker. Then there were the aluminum cans, crushed and uncrushed, half eaten bags of chips, candy wrappers, plastic cups with colorful drink remnants, and take-out containers along with crusts of pizza on paper plates and confetti sprinkled over every surface.

  The height of frat house fashion.

  It looked vacant compared to my memory. It’d been packed shoulder-to-shoulder that miserable night. Of course, it hadn’t started out miserable. Low lighting, music, dancing, the thrill of sneaking out to a college party.

  As we wandered, Heather taking lead, we ran into a couple more groggy, minimally clothed frat boys, but one flash of Cristiano’s badge, and they ignored us.

  Descending a set of stairs put us in the basement. It was stark and dim. Little natural light filtered in from small rectangular windows six feet up that offered lame views of the lawn.

  A leather sofa sat empty other than a rumpled T-shirt, drink cans, electronic remotes, and game controllers. The wall-mounted TV displayed a “Game Paused” message against a backdrop of dripping blood. A ping-pong table was covered in small white balls and plastic cups filled to varying levels, and tucked underneath each end were two silver beer kegs.

  Cristiano wrinkled his nose at the musty, stale smell. “What do you remember?”

  Heather gave him a pout. “Anyone ever told you that you’re intense?”

  “Is this triggering any memories?” Cristiano snapped. “Yes or no?”

  Heather closed her eyes and pursed her lips. “Someone was down here that night.”

  Cristiano rolled his eyes. “Who?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. FBI, I’m thinking.”

  “Think harder.”

  Heather covered her ears with both hands. “Shut up, shut up, shut up! You’re hurting my head!”

  I grabbed Cristiano’s arm and pulled him toward the stairs. Or tried to. “For a super operative, you’re super unhelpful. You make her nervous. Could you just—”

  “Trust you on this?” He sighed and let me pull him.

  “Thanks.” I gave him a push up the stairs. “Ciao.”

  He turned and cupped my cheek, tilting my head so our gazes met. “Be careful.”

  “It’s my middle name.”

  “It is really not.” He settled a gentle kiss on my forehead then went up the steps. I watched after him, touching my skin still tingling from his lips.

  “Thought you said he wasn’t your boyfriend,” Heather smirked.

  “He’s not.”

  “I wouldn’t tell him that. Have you seen the way he looks at you?” Heather lowered her voice, watching the stairs with frightened eyes. “He doesn’t seem like the type to take rejection well. Where are your other ‘not boyfriends’? I liked them.”

  Me too. “Heather, Cristiano’s our best—our only option right now. And he may be—”

  “Psycho?”

  Hard to argue with her.

  “Eccentric. But he’s the only thing standing between us and Dr. Jones. And he’s armed. We need him. So would you concentrate already?”

  “He freaks me out!” She yelled, then pressed her fists against her temples.

  I leaned against the wall. “Try to remember. We snuck out from our rooms with the others in the group and came here for the party.”

  “Yes.” She closed her eyes, brow wrinkling. “After we arrived, the rest of them left us because…” She started pounding her fists against her head. “Why, why, why!”

  “Relax.” I grabbed her wrists. “Everyone wanted to dance but you and I—”

  Heather’s eyes flashed open. “We didn’t want to ruin whatever coolness we had with our terrible dance moves.” Heather began dancing in the geeky way we used to. “You were right behind me. I remember!” She laughed, her eyes a bit wild, but then she frowned. “And the next minute you weren’t.” She quit her maniacal gyrating and grabbed my arms. “Where did you go?”

  I’d seen several demons swinging off the chandelier. Alarming, but not unusual really. I used to pretend not to see one every other day. Pretend I wasn’t crazy. This instance had distracted me long enough to lose track of my friend.

  “Not important.” I pried her fingers off my arms. “What next?”

  Heather twirled around. “She told me you were in the basement so I came here. Others were waiting, but not you. She told us all to…do something.”

  Kill me, probably. “Who?”

  Heather scrunched her eyes shut and shook her fists in the air. I was afraid she was going to hit herself again when her eyes snapped open.

  “Jones! It was Jones. She was here before I ever went to Novo.” Heather backed up, her glassy gaze bouncing all over the room. “I shouldn’t have listened. I should’ve stopped.” Tears spilled down her cheeks as her fists began slamming into her head again.

  I moved toward her but she ran away. “No! Why couldn’t I stop?”

  She grabbed a controller and flung it at the TV. The volume jacked-up loud and the screen burst to life filling the room with moaning zombies, screaming humans, machine gun fire, and exploding grenades. She covered her ears briefly then threw a cushion at the TV screen, but the noise continued.

  “Calm down, Heather.” If she heard me, it didn’t matter.

  She spun and backed into the ping-pong table. Stumbling, she turned, knocked over several plastic cups, then grabbed a full one, tipped her head back and chugged it down, two ping-pong balls falling out and bouncing off her face. She slammed her empty cup down, dragged her forearm across her mouth, then with a deep growl, swept her arms across the game table, clearing the surface in one violent move.

  Cups clattered and flew in all directions. Ping-pong balls ricocheted. Liquid spewed into the air. A strong scent of warm beer filled the already stuffy room.

  Heather’s gaze turned distant and feral, wisps of hair pulled from her ponytail and floated a weird halo around her face. Her eyes tracked me down. She flashed an insane grin and sing-songed, “Hi honey, I’m home!” Then she kicked over a beer keg, slammed her palms on the table, and screamed, “Everyone hates me!”

  Well, this was fun. Heather was in meltdown mode. Luckily, I had an expert in crazy, so I took off, heading toward the currently least psycho of my companions.

  Tripping several times racing up the stairs, I banged my way through the door, down the hall, through the kitchen, and fell headlong into Cristiano’s arms as he rushed into the room.

  He held me for a moment, then patted hands over me, eyes jumping all around my body. “What happened? Are you injured?

  “No,” I said between pants. “But I think I broke Heather.”

  His anxious tension relaxed, replaced by a quiet, dark energy and a dangerous look in his eyes. “Remain here. I will take care of this.”

  “Cool, cool,” I said. “But remember we need her alive.”

  He grumbled what I hoped was assent as I rested against a wall and caught my breath. Feeling claustrophobic, I started for the front door when, through a window, I saw Heather sprinting across the lawn and down the sidewalk.

  “Aw, come on!” I all but stomped my foot.

  “Aurora!” Cristiano yelled.

  “Got it!” I booked it out of the house, slipping on the front steps because a light drizzle had left an unexpected sheen of water.

  Overhead, the clouds had turned black. They swirl
ed with an angry force, turning the early morning into what felt more like early night. A heavy fog was creeping up the street as I recovered my stride and rushed in the opposite direction of the rising mist, tiny droplets stinging cool on my cheeks.

  I’d always beaten Heather at track, so despite her head start, after a couple blocks, I was almost upon her. I had the gift of long legs, she had the gift of coordination and turning on a dime, which she did even on this slick terrain, ducking into an alley.

  I skidded to a stop at the entrance, taking a moment to get my bearings and realized with cold dread that this wasn’t just any alley. It was…

  The alley.

  Just as dark and creepy as the night I almost died here. It didn’t look any different. Don’t know why I’d thought it would. There should’ve been better lighting, or a sign warning young woman not to wander in. Although, I hadn’t wandered in so much as I’d been thrown in. After they’d bashed my face into the wall.

  I touched shaking fingers to the rough, uneven brick. Goosebumps prickled up my arm. A wave of nausea almost doubled me over. I swallowed down bile.

  The fog rolled in behind me, and reacting to the deepening dimness of the day, a streetlamp buzzed to life on the corner. I jumped at the sound. What little light there was cast strange, eerie shadows. The drizzle picked up strength. I pushed my wet curls back and wiped water from my eyes.

  “Heather?” I took one shaky step in. “It’s okay. I don’t hate you. And I won’t let Cristiano hurt you. I promise.” Nothing. Just darkness and the pitter-patter of raindrops. “You can trust me.”

  “I remember who the traitor is, Aurora-bora.”

  I whirled around. Out of the mist a metal pipe swung for my skull. I leapt back and whipped my head to the side, rolling with the blow like the Hex Boys had taught me. The metal clipped my cheek. Blood stung hot.

  I reeled back, feet going out from under me, and crashed onto the cold, wet, unforgiving ground.

  Heather stood over me, smiling, pipe resting on her shoulder. “It’s me.”

  CHAPTER 83

  “Okay, Heather.” I held up a hand. “You’ve been brainwashed. Dr. Jones’ programming must be coming back. Try and fight it.”

  Heather laughed and slammed the pipe down. I threw myself sideways. The ground reverberated with the blow. Sparks flashed in the fading light.

  “This isn’t happening again,” I said.

  Heather wound up for a homerun hit.

  Yes. Yes, it was.

  I crab-crawled backwards, slipping and splashing in muddy puddles, cold water soaking through my clothes. The pipe came down between my legs. And the strikes kept coming. I scrambled and rolled, not getting enough time to get on my feet. I was shaking too bad to stay up long anyway.

  “You never—” Heather slammed the pipe at me again, “—saw it coming! You idiot!” She struck at my knees growing angrier by the second. “It should be easy—” another swing, “—to kill you!”

  She lifted her arms high to swipe a brutal blow. I kicked out her ankles. She seemed to fall back in slow motion, then thudded onto her back next to me. Now we were both down, on our backs, lying shoulder to shoulder. After a stunned moment, she shook her head, then turned and pierced me with a frigid glare.

  And her eyes lit up from within, glowing and swirling bright purple.

  Just like Tristan’s.

  Uhhh, what? Maybe the light was weird with all the mist and rain and—

  Her fist arced across her chest and slammed into my face.

  Pain blinded me. I blinked it away only to find her fist flying at me again. I turned my head to the side, raised my arm and drove her punch clear over my head. Then I rolled away and scrambled onto my feet. She did the same.

  Chest heaving, shoulders hunched, Heather clenched her fist tight around the shining wet pipe. Water dripped down her face. Hair hung in stingy clumps across her wild purple eyes. She faced me and spat with burning hate, “There is no Dr. Jones.”

  Yeah, I was starting to get that. I was also getting that Heather was Mandatum and also the Hallucinator who had instigated the attack on me. Small world, eh?

  “Why?” I said.

  “It didn’t start out personal, Aurora.” Her smile twisted ugly. “I had a job to do. They asked me to watch you, report back any activities. Talk about boring. What in the world was special about you? I still don’t know!” Heather swiped the pipe.

  I jumped back. The strike missed. Heather maintained her position between me and the mouth of the alley as she inched closer, searching for an opening.

  To kill me for sure this time.

  But I didn’t much care. I couldn’t focus. My mind reeled with jagged pieces of a puzzle which refused to fit into any sense.

  I blinked away the rain and eased deeper into the alley. Water splashed as I stepped in a puddle, my sneaker instantly drenched. “But…we were friends.”

  Not important right now. But that’s what was causing this pain in my chest, like a knife twisting sharper with every beat of my heart.

  “That’s what made it so easy.” She twirled the pipe with the practiced ease the Hex Boys demonstrated. “You had no friends. You were weird and pathetic. Did I mention boring? I hardly had to use my powers on those morons to make sure no one wanted to have anything to do with you, making you so desperate for someone to hang out with, Aurora-boring. ”

  My back butted against the dead-end. That pain in my chest evolved into a hot, searing fire in my veins.

  “I asked for another assignment,” she sneered. “But they said no. Kept promising me so much as long as I stuck it out with you. Then I heard them talking about sending an assassin squad after you, and I figured if I took you out, I’d be the hero. But you had to go and not die. God they were pissed.” She swiped again. It was wild, undisciplined. “Pissed at me!”

  As she struck, I stepped in close so that instead of the pipe, it was her arm that hit my side. I immediately dropped my arm over hers, trapping it against my body, then slammed my free hand into her throat. Holding her tight, I swung her around and rammed her back into the wall. Her head bounced off the brick.

  “And now,” I snarled, “so am I.”

  I released her throat and smashed my forearm and elbow down across her face. She dropped to her knees. I let her arms slide out of my vise and ripped the pipe from her as she fell, then stepped back and swung the pipe in a smooth arc, getting the feel of it.

  It felt good.

  Heather pushed up to her knees. I kicked her onto her back, put the pipe under her chin and forced her to look at me. Blood oozed from her nose, coated her lips and teeth, a burning hatred in her gaze. I felt the same.

  That’s when dizziness hit me like a wrecking ball.

  Not now! I reeled back. I wanted to get out of the alley before—

  Too late.

  My vision flew from my body, spiraling up and out of alley before looping through the air and racing across rooftops.

  It circled to a stop around a demon with blank, glowing white orbs for eyes above a baboon-like snout, the body frocked with black and orange feathers that ended in sharp, pointed tips. Wings webbed from its shoulders. Taloned, tiger-esque claws matched well with the swashbuckling blade tapering off the end of its tail.

  I pulled hard out of the vision, then slammed back with a force that had me stumbling. I realized too late something was coming at me.

  A brick. Missiling directly at my head.

  CHAPTER 84

  A breeze ruffled my curls forward as something shot in front of my face and stopped the brick an instant before bone-crushing impact. Man, that would’ve hurt. Broken nose for sure. Teeth knocked out. Not a look I thought I could pull off.

  Heather was on her knees where I’d knocked her down. One hand still outstretched from throwing the brick.

  Oh. She was so dead.

  Behind me, I felt a growl reverberate in my savior’s chest. Cristiano. He’d caught the brick one-handed. His grip tightened and the
block exploded, crushed to dust in his hand.

  My jaw dropped. So did Heather’s.

  The growl got a lot louder. Cristiano dropped his dust-coated hand, which was becoming muddy from the rain mixing in, and tightened it around my waist as his other arm dropped over my shoulder at full extension. Pistol in hand.

  “You ran, Heather.” Cristiano clicked the hammer. “You die.”

  I knocked his arm wide. “Don’t you dare!”

  The shot blew chunks out of the wall. Heather lurched up and threw herself at us. Cristiano tightened his hold on my waist and turned us sideways, gun up again. I shoved his hand off-course and slammed a kick into Heather’s chest. She thudded onto her side.

  I wrenched out of Cristiano’s grip and faced him. “She’s mine!”

  He shook his head. “Aurora—”

  “I’ve! Got! This!” I slammed my palms into his chest with each screeched word and muscled him out of the alley. Actually, I didn't, he hadn't budged, but at least he'd gotten the message.

  With my fury came the power. Heat and pressure built from within the center of my core, stretching my skin tight. Then pressure released sending a harsh wind blasting out around me like I was a bomb that detonated.

  Which I kind of was. And it felt good.

  Light veined down my arms and webbed across my skin. Sparks spewed from my fingertips. The metal pipe grew so warm rain sizzled when it made contact.

  Cristiano gave me an appreciative nod, then holstered his gun and stepped back.

  “Thank you!” I shoved the toasty pipe into his hands, sparks flying, and wheeled about.

  Heather was on her feet. I found that unacceptable, so I smashed a right hook into her face. She staggered, but didn’t go down. Annoying. So I unleashed another one.

  Heather ducked, grabbed the front of my shirt and swung me around. My skull cracked on stone. She hunched down into a boxer’s stance and buried a fist into my gut.

  Nausea struck strong. I gritted my teeth, lifted my arms, and drove my elbows down into the base of her neck. Heather grunted and leaned into me. I wrapped my arms around her waist, wound up, and flung her with all the force I could muster.