Lisa Shearin: The Trouble With Demons

“You can see them?” Vegard asked.

“Yeah, I’m just lucky that way.” I centered my attention on the demon that had focused his yellow eyes on me. He grinned. I didn’t.

I felt Vegard’s power building beside me.

“Shield your eyes,” he ordered.

“What are you-”

“Street dust,” he said with a vicious smile. “No cloak is that solid.”

I half covered my eyes, and with a simple gesture and word, Vegard kicked up a dust storm, coating the demons in dust and whatever else was in the gutters. The cloaked demons were still cloaked, but thanks to Vegard’s dirt bath, everyone could see them just fine. I loved a man who could think dirty on his feet.

The demons charged. We spread out to give ourselves room to fight. I claimed a piece of street with a wall at my back. Better a wall than a demon.

“Want some company?” Phaelan’s maniacal grin told me this was the most fun he’d had since last week, when he’d helped blast a hole in the elven embassy.

Phaelan wasn’t the only one who wanted to keep me company. The demon who’d targeted me was closing distance fast. He didn’t have a weapon. Those horns and talon-tipped hands were weapons. When he was within range, I opened his gut with the tip of one of my blades. I expected insides to fall out, not his hand to go into the hole I’d made, making it bigger.

Oh, that wasn’t good.

The demon grinned wider and pulled out a fistful of something you’d think he’d need to keep. The stench was all too familiar.

I was almost too disgusted to move. Almost.

The demon flung it right at us.

“Incoming!” I yelled. I ducked and pulled Phaelan with me.

The glob splattered on the wall behind us, sizzling coin-sized holes in the brick. Coin-sized holes that could have been in us. The demon reached in and reloaded.

We weren’t going to be here when that hand came out.

Vegard nearly sliced a demon in half with his ax. The demon healed. Immediately. One second he was almost in two parts, then he wasn’t. Vegard coolly noted it and put his ax back in its harness. When he’d sheathed his weapon, his hands glowed incandescent white.

Change of tactics. One of the things the Saghred had done was to make me a fast learner when it came to magic. I didn’t have to tap the stone, just use the power boost the Saghred had given the abilities I already had, letting me save my skin without risking my soul.

Phaelan was darting and weaving, trying to get in close enough to take out that demon’s hands before the demon could take out more ammo.

“What the hell are you doing?” he shouted.

I kept my eyes on Vegard’s glowing hands. “Learning.”

It was the same concept as a lightglobe, times a thousand. Basic magic, multiplied into something lethal. I looked down at my hands and concentrated. Considering that two dozen demons had us pinned down, I did my concentrating real quick. I had almost conjured a respectable flare of light when one of the demons roared.

I damned near jumped out of my skin. “Son of a bitch!”

I tried again, this time through gritted teeth. The teeth gritting must have helped, because in the next instant, I was lobbing fireballs along with Vegard. Mine weren’t as big as his and didn’t glow as bright, but they made up for it in tenacity. These weren’t flames the demons could drop and roll to put out. It was sticking to them-and burning. Saghred-enhanced magic was saving my biscuits once again.

The elven mage was struggling weakly to drag himself out of the middle of the street. A demon blocked his way. He was taller than the others, his skin darker, almost purple. The mage looked up, eyes wide with panic, and said something I couldn’t hear.

“Vegard, cover me!” I yelled.

I didn’t wait for a response. Rage fed the fireballs in my hands until I could feel the heat. I ran toward the mage, hurling the fireballs at the demon as one clawed hand locked around the mage’s throat, claws piercing his flesh, pulling him to his feet and tearing his throat out doing it. The demon simply raised his free hand, and one of my fireballs ricocheted off of it and came right back at me.

I swore and ducked. The fireball hit the wall behind me and burned straight through the brick. Seconds later, I heard flames crackling from inside. Crap.

The demon was staring at me, his eyes yellow with a vertical slit for a pupil, like a goat. But unlike any goat I’d ever seen, the demon’s pupils glowed red.

A familiar fire bloomed in the center of my chest. The Saghred. I silently went through a litany of curses. I did not need this now. I braced myself for the surge of Saghred-spawned power that was coming. Power that would consume me, force me to fight it rather than the demon. Power that was going to get me killed just like that mage.

Nothing. No surge, no force, nothing. What the hell?

The demon smiled slowly, the tips of his needle teeth visible. I desperately called my magic for another fireball. Not a spark. All the fire I had seethed in my chest. It wasn’t white-hot and raging; the stone’s power wasn’t fighting to get free. It burned bright, warm, welcoming.

For the demon.

The demon looked at me, unclenched his hand, and negligently tossed the dead mage aside. Then he stepped back and bowed deeply and respectfully.

“We are honored by your presence,” he told me.

Then he cloaked, invisible to all but me, and with one leap was on the wall like a big purple spider, the talons of his claws and feet clicking and gouging chunks out of the bricks as he scuttled around the corner, right over the clueless heads of a crowd that was forming at the end of the street.

I knelt over the mage. His dead eyes stared sightlessly at the sky as blood pooled and spread beneath his ruined throat.

I heard murmurs from the far end of the street. Most of the people had just arrived, waiting until the fight was over to come out of hiding.

I was kneeling over the mage, his blood on my hands. They were looking at me, grim-faced, angry, and accusing.

“Murderer!” someone yelled.

Oh shit.

Running sounded like a real good idea. As a Benares, I’d been taught that there’s no shame in running, only in being caught.

I ran, but not to get away from the mob. I ran to catch a murdering bastard demon. I didn’t know if it was what they thought they’d seen me do, or the fact that I was running straight at them, but the mob who’d just called me a murderer got out of my way. Vegard shouted for me to stop. I ignored him and kept going; he’d catch up. He always did. Phaelan was already beside me. What I was after didn’t make any difference to my cousin; I’d found trouble and he wasn’t about to miss a second of it. When all this was over, I needed to have a long talk with Phaelan about his mental stability.

While I was at it, I might want to check into my own. Tall, naked, and purple wasn’t trying to get away from me; he wanted me to follow him, and I was obliging him. That wasn’t healthy, mentally or otherwise. But I didn’t have any choice. He was back on the street, running through innocent bystanders and heading toward campus. There were hundreds of young magic users there; some knew how to defend themselves, but most hadn’t learned yet. I had to take him down before he got there. Problem was, I had no freaking clue how.

The demon knocked people aside and slashed others with his claws. I didn’t even need to keep the demon in sight; I only had to follow the grisly trail of fallen and bleeding people.

“What are we chasing?” Phaelan panted. He’d sheathed his rapier. Smart man. Crazy, but smart. The street was too crowded, and he didn’t have a target. I did.