by Angie Fox
Chapter Thirteen
I could feel the demons the minute we slipped past a cut in the fence, near where we hid the car. There was no mistaking the pungent stench of sulfur in the night air. Along with it, the hint of rot, decay—of utter wrong in a place that hadn't been quite right to begin with.
They waited. For what, I could only guess.
Being in the middle of the desert at night reminded me of the quiet after a storm. Back home in Atlanta, crickets, frogs and all sorts of nocturnal whatnots screamed until dawn. I'd always taken it for granted. Night = noisy. That was when I hardly believed in the devil, much less met one.
The oppressive stillness was unsettling on a fundamental level. I couldn't figure out why until my mind trickled back to the last time the silence of a place had swallowed me whole.
I'd been with Dimitri in the wastelands of hell.
Just where was Max taking me?
Our dress shoes sounded like army boots as we crunched over the crumbling parking lot. Scraggly weeds scratched at my ankles and large cracks tore at my heels. Signs reserving spots for VIPs and visitors lolled drunkenly. The building itself hunkered like a large, dark beast, stark against the endless desert behind it.
I wished we were alone, that I didn't feel something watching us from behind the darkened windows.
Reaching out with my mind, I tried to locate the diciest hot spots, or heck, anything that felt like attacking. I almost preferred a straight-out fight to sneaking around waiting for something bad to happen.
The worst of the malevolence rested low in the building. And it was very, very angry.
"What in the world happened here?" I asked, fighting to keep my voice above a whisper.
"I came," Max said, flatly.
Sometimes, a half answer is worse than no answer at all.
He led me behind a row of dead bushes at the edge of the parking lot and past an old prison cemetery on the side of the building. The chill of the desert sent goose bumps skittering up my skin. I hadn't planned on exploring a demonic, abandoned penitentiary tonight or I would have worn something more than my purple silk dress.
Max had talked about an invasion of succubi. Had the battle already begun?
My throat caught at a blur of movement in one of the windows ahead of us. A dazzling red orb hovered behind the chain-linked safety glass.
"Max. Look."
He followed the direction of my outstretched finger, alarmingly unconcerned. "That's not one of ours."
I stiffened. "Ours?"
He arched a brow. "You are a demon slayer, right?"
Bad question. My reply hitched in my throat. It was just as well. It took me a moment to realize his attempt at a joke. Let him figure out later that I probably couldn't kick his ass.
Max clicked open the padlock on a side entrance and led me into a large industrial kitchen. I inhaled stale air, mixed with the last of the fresh as he eased the door closed. Darkness consumed us, save for the scarlet light of an orb as it hovered over the chef's serving station.
The thing practically pulsed with energy. "Is that the same one?" I asked.
I stood in the dark and listened as Max locked us in. "Don't waste your energy. Unless they attack." He handed me a Mini Maglite. "Shine it down, away from the windows."
Annoyed, and more than a little scared, I flipped on my light. The beam, surprisingly strong, illuminated the black safety mat in front of me, as well as the giant ladles, serving spoons and tongs hanging over the metal counters on each side of us.
My heart fluttered as the orb approached me low, like a mountain lion stalking its prey. I hadn't even realized I stopped breathing until I started again with a gasp. It flared and circled around behind me, a glowing ball of malice off my left shoulder.
Be strong.
"Look to the Outside," I said to myself, trying to find comfort in my Demon Slayer Truths. "Accept the Universe." Okay, we could skip the last one—Sacrifice Yourself.
"Be strong," I repeated out loud.
Because whether I liked it or not, my white knight was AWOL. I was the only one who could rescue me. And it was not the time to let Max know I was on a learner's permit.
"This way," Max said, not even bothering to make sure I followed.
His brisk, even stride forced me to jog a half step behind as we left the kitchen for a neglected service corridor. The orb matched my pace. I'd ignore it unless it attacked, which was easier said than done. It hovered at the edge of my vision, a constant threat.
Our flashlights cast milky circles on the cement-block walls. I was hyperaware of every cell in my body as my heels clacked in a steady rhythm against the linoleum of the endless passageway. It was almost as if something waited for us to get closer, to cut ourselves off completely before it made itself known.
"You've got to be kidding," I said, when my light found a gaping stairwell, a scant few steps head. It led straight for the mass I'd felt.
Max ignored me, rumbling down into the darkness.
I've never been overly religious, but I made the sign of the cross anyway as I paused at the top. Now was not the time to give in to claustrophobia. Sulfur tingled my nose, along with the unmistakable rot in the air. Each step down into the dark abyss felt like sinking farther and farther into black water. Our lights barely penetrated the pitch dark of the place as we took the first stairway, the second, the third. The orb, if possible, seemed to glow brighter.
"It's a good repellent," Max said, shattering the silence, nearly causing me to fall down the last six steps.
"What?" I asked, grasping for the banister. "The flashlight?" If so, I wanted a bigger one.
"The iron," he said, as if I already knew.
"Are we talking about demons?" I asked, reaching the concrete floor of the prison basement.
Max flipped on the lights, blinding me with their brightness. "How much did you have to drink at that club, Lizzie?"
"Geez, nothing!" I said, shielding my eyes, willing for them to adjust faster. I blinked several times while Max stood waiting, impatience written across his angled features.
"What would we be discussing if it wasn't demons?" He demanded.
Evidently nothing, which was peachy with me.
"Okay," I said, giving my eyes a final rub, and the orb another check. It hovered off my right shoulder, eerily alive against the stained concrete walls. They'd been aqua once and still were in some places. In others, large chunks of paint peeled away like dead skin on the floor. A massive network of pipes loomed overhead. "Start from the top."
Max scowled. Thank goodness he assumed my ignorance in steel making rather than in demon slaying, because he said, "I'm talking about the steel in this place—the bars, the doors, the grates, the holding cells. Steel is made from iron."
"And iron repels succubi." I tried to make a statement, rather than ask.
"That I can guarantee," he said, shooting me a look that told me he'd been starting to wonder.
Join the club.
"This way," he said, leading me through what had been the kitchen laundry. The machines had been torn out of the walls long ago, leaving shadows of bare concrete and rusted pipes thrusting from the walls. "The older steel down here has an unusually low carbon count," Max said over his shoulder. "It gives us an even higher concentration of iron. Believe me, we need it."
Iron repelled succubi. Nice to know. If we got out of here, I was going to order Uncle Phil a pair of iron underpants. Double thick.
I watched Max's wide back, the sliced shirt flowing against his muscles as he moved. Max could write The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers with his eyes closed. Of course,.we'd have to rename it.
Burying the urge to ask more, I followed him through the labyrinth. Too bad I needed him to think I was badder than I was. For now at least.
But I couldn't resist one giant presumption, based on the thick silver cross he wore. "And succubi are attracted to silver."
"No. Platinum."
"So that's a platinum cross?"
He stopped.
"You have holes in your shirt," I reminded him.
His suspicion faded, but it didn't leave entirely. "I find it's easier when they come to me," he said tightly.
"Do they?" I asked, unable to imagine what a horrible life that would be.
"Sometimes," he replied.
Max led me into another hallway, then stopped in front of a set of massive steel doors. In fact, I realized as I took in the whole of the place, the cramped hallway consisted of nothing but door upon door, at least twenty, down to a dead end. The overhead pipes didn't even reach this far into the underbelly of the prison.
"The hole," he explained. "It was put out of commission long before they ever modernized the place. Lucky for me," he said with a little too much relish. "Each of these babies is a perfect steel box."
The wards in this place were amazing. I didn't even feel them until I touched the door nearest me. It stung like dry ice.
"Is this where the invasion starts?" I asked.
Max laid his hand, palm down against the door, hissing at the pain, welcoming it. "This is where it ends."
Yeah, well I liked things spelled out better than that. "What do you want?"
He straightened like a Marine, his intensity admirable and frightening at the same time. "I need both you and your twin."
"I don't have a twin," I answered.
"Damn it, slayer," he snapped. "This is no time to bargain. It is your obligation, your destiny to destroy these creatures. If not, you're going to see a slaughter the likes of which you can't imagine. And if you think you're safe because you don't come from around here, think again. These demons will spread like the plague. Rest assured, if you don't give your blood and guts to stop it, I'll kill you myself."
With a roar, he yanked the door clear open.
I didn't even have time for a holy Sheboygan. Claws and teeth extended, the succubus screeched for me. I ducked and flung a switch star, catching her in the throat as icy lips descended onto mine. She exploded into a cloud of gray ash, but not before I felt her begin to tease out my essence, or was it my soul?
I rolled, crunching my shoulder into the wall as I grabbed another switch star, ready to throw. When I realized no more demons were coming for me, I leapt to my feet.
Nothing else lived and breathed in the corridor, except a smug-looking Max. "I thought so," he said.
Adrenaline coursed through me. "What the hell are you doing?" I demanded. I wanted to scream, punch the wall, throttle him.
"I had to make sure you were who I thought you were," he said simply.
Oh. Sure. Righty-o. "And if I wasn't?" Or if I'd had a bad day? Or if my fingers had been too sweaty? Or if I'd sneezed at the wrong time?
"Then you'd be dead." He crossed his arms over his chest. "This is war, Lizzie. And I'm playing to win."
I wanted to scream as I shoved my switch star into my belt while keeping an eye on him.
"That was my most powerful prisoner." He strode purposefully over the ashes scattered on the concrete floor between us. "You're good," he remarked, as if we'd just played a round of golf.
"You're an asshole."
"Maybe, but I'm still alive."
My hacked-off state amused the man. Evidently, he'd been hanging out with she-demons for too long. Whatever he wanted from me, he was going to have to ask real friggin' nice from now on.
"Are you set?" he asked.
Suspicion rolled over me. "For what?" I barked, hitching my final star.
"I've got more holding cells. Seventeen more demons. Want to go again or do you want to tell me about your twin?"
Oh for the love of Pete. "You can't let it go, can you?"
He stared at me, dead serious. "This is war, Lizzie."
"Fine," I shouted. If we didn't need him in this world, I'd switch-star him myself.
I blew out a breath. Chill out. Forget that he launched a soul-stealing demon at your head.
It was the first time I'd felt the urge to punch another human being. It would feel good. I knew it. But it wasn't me. None of this was me. What did I do in preschool when I needed to calm down? I counted to ten.
"What are you doing?" He demanded.
"I'm counting to ten!" I screamed.
"Oh." A smile quirked on his lips. "Well, that seems to be working."
I ignored him and launched into the truth. Screw him if he didn't believe it. "I wasn't born to be a demon slayer," I began.
"But you are the exalted—"
"Shut up and let me finish!" Criminy. No wonder this guy had to date she-demons.
I took a calming breath. "Every three generations, my family produces twin slayers," I explained.
"Of course. You and…" he said.
"Me and nobody. Try my mom and my aunt," I corrected. "And while my mom's amazing family brought her up, loved her, flew instructors in from all over the world to teach her everything she needed to know, she spent the whole time figuring out a way to beat the rap."
"I've never heard of that."
"Well, now you have," I said, with a tenacious hold on my temper. "My Aunt Celia died like a heroine while my mom passed her powers to me, dumped me off to be adopted and thought it would be the end of our line. Well," I said, my anger filtering to my mom, "until the next poor saps a few generations later, which would actually be her great-granddaughters, not that she cared."
Max watched me intently. "It must have been quite a shock as a child to learn that this, we, existed."
Try last month. But I wasn't about to tell him that.
"And you have no twin," he said slowly.
I hoped it was finally sinking in. "That's what I've been trying to tell you," I said, none too charitably. "Now you mind telling me something?" I rubbed at the shoulder I'd jammed into the wall. "What in sweet creation are you doing down here? You don't seem like the type to take prisoners. Why are you letting these things live?"
He sized me up, as if deciding how much to tell me. Considering the heaping helping of demon surprise he'd served back there, he'd better lay out the facts.
"When I was young, I was more rash."
I had a girlfriend back in college who used to take forever to get to the point, but this guy took the cake. "Abridged version, please," I said, planting my back against the wall. No way were these things going to get the jump on me again.
Max considered. "Maybe we should go someplace more comfortable," he said. "Come on. My quarters are right through here."
I couldn't have been more shocked if a demon flew out another door. "You live with them?"
He didn't answer, leading me instead to an old guard's station turned bedroom. At least that's what I assumed from the cot and stack of Campbell's chicken noodle soup cans. The man existed like a monk. His narrow military-issue camping, cot nudged against the far wall. Underneath, a steel lockbox. Other than that, I doubted anything else in the fading office belonged to Max. He'd better have an apartment somewhere.
The cot crackled under him as he took a seat. I preferred the old aluminum desk in the corner. I planted my butt on a stack of papers, back to the wall, and waited for him to speak first.
"I joined the fight when I was eighteen," he said, threading his fingers together. "He wouldn't take me earlier."
"Who?"
"My trainer," he said smoothly, with reverence, "my mentor."
Great. He had a friend. "Will he be here tonight?"
"No." Max stood and walked the short distance between his cot and a map on the wall. "They killed him years ago," he said, absently studying the map. Clusters of red and green pins dotted the map like a macabre Christmas display.
"Are those kills?" I asked.
He nodded. "And captures. We fought together."
What sort of creature was this mentor? "He trained you to do this?"
Max shot me a look that could have hung me up on the wall. "I didn't need training in order to kill."
I felt myself tense. His admission shocked me at first.
I didn't understand how anyone could kill without remorse. Regret was a requirement. You were a monster if you wanted to annihilate another living thing.
Until a horrible realization sprouted deep inside me. I didn't regret him killing the demon at Pure. It was one less supernatural locust. Come to think of it, I didn't regret the fifth-level demon I killed last week or the unholy monster in the hallway outside. If I wasn't any better than Max, what did that make me?
"Why don't you kill them?" I asked.
"I can't," he stated simply. "There are too many."
He hesitated, almost imperceptibly, but I caught it. "What else?"
We locked eyes. Max, deciding if it was worth the risk to tell me. Me, wondering how much worse' it could get. But I wasn't about to go in without all the facts. Never again.
"Tell me or I walk out of here," I said. He'd searched me out. He needed me. I'd use it. Heck, it was the only thing I had.
He drew a red switch star, slower than before. Still, I took it as a threat. I whipped out one of my own, the blades casting pink against the florescent lights of our dubious retreat.
Max smirked. "I could kill you faster than you'd see it coming."
"Want to try?" I shot back. Damn. I was starting to sound like Grandma.
He sheathed his star. I kept mine out.
"I can't kill them," he stated. "Not with stars, anyway. I'm a half slayer. A hunter. I can stun them, but to kill them, I have to consume them."
I found myself blinking uncontrollably, trying to process, "What are you?"
He seemed surprised. "Don't you know? I'm a cambion."
Max said it as if I should understand—which meant I had to let him in on a dirty secret of my own. "I have no idea what that means."
He frowned. "You're kidding me, right? I never picked you for an elitist."
I wanted to cringe. But explaining would cost me more than I was willing to give. "Are you going to enlighten me or what?"
He suddenly seemed much older. "My father was human," he began. "My mother was one of them. She ate him."
"Oh," was all I could think to say.
He bristled. "I've taken out my share. My slayer killed more."
