Her hands shook at her sides, and she almost dropped the coasters. She’d been killed by something from the afterworld once already. She did not care for a repeat performance. When she was still breathing twenty seconds later, and her innards were still…innardly as opposed to outerly, she took a reluctant step toward the stairs. That was when she heard it. The breathing. The raspy inhales and exhales of an injured animal.
Swallowing hard, she started up the stairs, taking them slowly to let the demon know she was not a threat. Then again, it’d killed at least three people—more if Quentin was correct—and as far as anyone knew, it hadn’t actually touched any of them. It could crush her skull with a collectible rattlesnake paperweight or decapitate her with one of the vintage New Mexico license plates hanging on the walls. Any number of gruesome deaths awaited her.
When she got to the top floor, she looked around. The rasps were coming from the same corner the demon had occupied before, hidden by shelves of supplies and inventory.
She sat on the floor, crossed her legs, and took the coasters into both hands. Maybe she could communicate with it, try to understand why it was here, but she couldn’t dive if she couldn’t see into its eyes. Or could she?
Closing her eyes again, she concentrated on its breathing. She could feel its energies in the room—heavy and full of static. It sent electrical currents flickering over her skin.
She focused on that. Its energy. Its breathing. Its presence. Then she flipped a coaster and laid it on the floor as time slowed around her. The air thickened, and her shoulders relaxed.
Its anger washed over her first. Its rage. She let it. Absorbed it and tried to understand it. Why? Why these victims? Why here? Why now? A clicking sounded in the distance, like someone typing on a keyboard. And then faces flashed in her mind like the flickering of a silent film. A rotund businessman in Chicago. A beloved grandfather in Seattle. A pretty senator in Kentucky. Face after face of people it had killed. But it always killed the other, as well. It called its last victims at any given place the other, and part of a face she recognized flashed on the screen of her mind’s eye.
A gravelly voice registered nearby. It said three syllables as though they were foreign on its tongue. As though it were only just learning to say them. “Tra…vel…er.”
Her eyes flew open to find the demon inches from her face. She jumped and scrambled back, her gaze darting toward the stairs. But it was so fast. She didn’t think for a minute she could make it down the stairs and into the circle before it caught up to her.
“Tra…vel…er,” it repeated. Its voice was just as raspy as its breathing. Its eyes almost completely black except for a horizontal green line that ran straight across them. What evolution had in mind there, she had no idea.
It stepped closer and hooked a massive claw over her ankle to hold her in place. She fell back and tried to pull her foot free as it straddled her, bent, and sniffed. It smelled her hair and her face and her neck where its forked tongue slithered out for a taste, and Amber felt the world tumble beneath her.
The demon was an odd pattern of grays and blacks with gold splattered about, and smooth, shell-shaped scales covered its body. It looked similar to the entities in Rune but more reptilian.
It spoke again, slowly, struggling to pronounce the words through its long, needlelike teeth. “What are you doing?”
“I… I’m trying to find out what you want.”
Roughly the size of a rhinoceros and only partially solid—it would not fit in the room, otherwise—it was hunched, slender, and agile. Able to solidify parts of its body at any given time, it took a massive claw and ripped her jacket open at the stomach as the blood drained from her face.
This was it. This was officially the stupidest thing she’d ever done.
The demon focused on her stomach. Bringing its other talon around, it sank a claw into the T-shirt and split it in two. Then it sniffed some more. Nudged. Licked the sensitive skin as Amber fought the darkening of her vision.
“Freedom,” it said, its deep voice like rocks being crushed. “And food.” It threaded his teeth into the front of the jacket and pulled her into a sitting position. She almost blacked out when it added, “Not necessarily in that order.”
It started to walk around her, sniffing her hair and nudging her back.
She decided to negotiate. “We can help each other.”
“Doubt it, Tra-vel-er.”
Why did everyone keep calling her Traveler? Was that another word for clairvoyant or something?
“Set me free,” it said at her ear. Its tongue slithered out and curled around her jaw for a taste. “I seek the summoner.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” she said, her voice more air than sound.
It growled so loud, the rafters shook, and Amber realized she should have done what she said she was going to do. She should have gone to the bathroom.
A container above her shook off a shelf and crashed beside her, spraying an industrial cleaner over her pants, but a couple of drops flew into her eyes. She rubbed them, making them burn even more. Shaking visibly now, she forced herself to stay still. She had seen what those teeth were capable of. Those claws. What they had done to Quentin in the blink of an eye. She didn’t move. Didn’t dare give it a reason to attack. But it was certainly capable of rational thought. She could work with that, right?
When it stopped growling, she gathered her courage and asked softly, “Are you finished?”
It completed its inspection and faced her again. “Just getting started.”
She had been afraid of that. Its mouth peeled back, and its teeth elongated, extending another two inches. “Free me,” it said, as though giving her one last chance a microsecond before she saw movement out of the corner of her eye.
The demon screamed and flew back to its corner as black salt hit it.
Amber closed her eyes and covered her face against the assault, only to feel herself being lifted off the floor. Quentin pulled her up, and she hugged him, literally wrapping both her arms and legs around him and holding on for dear life.
They sailed over the stairs, landed in the hall, and were out the back door before she could even fill her lungs to scream. By the time she did, it was far too late. And more than a little awkward.
Chapter Nine
This killing them with kindness
is taking way longer than expected.
—Meme
He didn’t stop. While she kept the death grip tight, trying to remain conscious, Quentin carried her all the way to his truck, where he opened the back door and set her on the seat. But she was still clinging on for dear life.
He let her. For a few minutes. He buried his face in her hair and hugged her back just as hard. Then, as though coming to his senses, he shoved her away from him and pointed to the duffle bag. His eyes were solid black, but the color was shrinking into inky tendrils, the depths of his cobalt irises now showing through. “There are clothes in there. You’ll have to dig through it to find the sweats. They have a drawstring so they should be okay.”
She looked down. The cleaner had soaked through her pants, the smell pungent and acrid. And Quentin’s shirt had a wet spot where she’d tried to fuse their molecules together. But the jacket and shirt hung open, exposing part of her bra. She scrambled back and tried to cover her embarrassment with the ripped coat.