Christine Warren - Huntress

“Cin, run,” Michael said, as if he had already thought through the answer to my unspoken question.

“I won’t leave you,” I argued.

Almost painfully he grabbed my arm, never taking his eyes from the demon slowly advancing toward us. “I was a fool to allow you to come with me. If he takes your body, we’re all doomed.”

The Ripper paused and looked at me. Now that he was out from under the cover of the trees, I could see his face clearly. Whoever’s body he was wearing, the man had been handsome. Nothing out of the ordinary, but he had pleasant enough features, with thick brown hair and green eyes. It was his eyes that caught my attention. There was nothing behind them. Despite his words, there was no sense of anticipation to be found there. No excitement. No fear. Nothing. He cocked his head in my direction, and for the briefest moment I thought I saw curiosity in his eyes. His gaze raked over me in an impersonal, almost scientific, assessment of my worth, and then that eerie blankness fell back in place and he turned his attention back to Michael.

“Run,” Michael said again, “and don’t stop until you get home.” He shoved me away as the Ripper raised his sword and the battle began.

I stumbled backward, but I didn’t run. Michael was right, of course. Were the demon to invade my body and take control of my magic, nothing would stop him. I knew well the terrifying extent of my powers, the things that I could do, but would not. I should run. I was endangering hundreds, if not millions, of lives by staying. Yet I could not leave Michael.

What I did do was move to the far edge of the field, so that my continued presence wouldn’t distract Michael, and watch as they circled each other, blades clashing. Michael was by far the better swordsman, but the demon was so strong, stronger even than a vampire. Every time their swords collided I could see the force of it reverberate through Michael’s body. How long could he take that punishment before he ended it and took the Ripper’s head? And when that happened, would the Ripper take my husband’s body as he had taken the Chief Warden’s?

Frantically, I tried to think of some sort of magic that would incapacitate him long enough for us to get away, but not kill him outright. Without knowing whose body he was in, it was a dicey decision. Fire would kill a human slowly enough for us to run, but vampires were much more combustible. It was too risky. But perhaps I could freeze him, make him immobile just long enough for Michael and me to get to safety.

I made an effort to clear my head and concentrate on what I wished to accomplish. Calling up my magic, I let it build within me, like bringing a pot to boiling. I waited far longer than I normally did to set it free, hoping the magic would be that much stronger. When it felt as though I could no longer hold all that power within my own skin, I raised my hands and focused on the demon.

Freeze , I thought. Be still .

The Ripper stumbled and turned his head to me. Michael took advantage of that moment of distraction and shoved his sword into the demon’s chest. That got his attention. His sword came up, slicing at Michael’s head. Michael moved just quickly enough to avoid most of the arc, the tip of the blade slicing along one cheek. Michael didn’t flinch. He spun away from the sword and came up directly in front of the Ripper. Blocking the demon’s sword arm with his left hand, Michael pulled his sword from the Ripper’s chest and swiftly stepped out of range.

Meanwhile, I stood well back from the fray, completely dumbfounded. What had just happened? Other than my magic not working, obviously. It was inconceivable. The clash of steel once again broke the stillness of the night and I shook my head, unable to dwell on the matter any longer. Somehow he was immune to my magic, but I was certain the bastard wasn’t immune to fire.

Holding my hand out, I conjured a ball of fire a few inches above my palm. It was a frightening bit of magic and one that I’d only done a couple times. Fire is not a vampire’s friend, after all.

“Michael, get as far away from him as you can!” I shouted.

Having fought by my side for so many decades, Michael instinctively moved away from both the demon and the sound of my voice. It only takes getting in the crossfire of my magic and its intended target once to learn that lesson.

I pulled my hand out from under the ball of fire and, focusing on the Ripper’s dark form, I used my power to hurl it in his direction. Like a comet streaking through the night sky, it flew from me and hit the demon with enough force to knock him to the ground.

“Come on, Michael!” I called to him, holding out my hand. “Now!”

Without looking back, he ran to me. As I waited for him to cross the field I watched the demon burn. I’d seen vampires burn before. There was always thrashing and screaming, but the demon did neither. He lay there for a moment and then he slowly got to his feet. Like a straw man burned in effigy, he simply stood there, ablaze and unmoving. And then it happened.

Just as Grady had described, the demon broke loose from the body it had stolen. The creature that emerged from the burning corpse pulsed with an eerie blue light. It was essentially human in form, though its long limbs and body were shapeless and genderless. It had to find a new body, and quickly. It couldn’t survive in this realm without one. Its red eyes glowed like burning coals … and they were looking directly at me. Seeing the panic on my face, Michael turned to look behind him. He was between me and the demon, but it didn’t want him. It came directly at me.

With a roar of denial, Michael threw himself into the demon’s path. The two of them collided, and screaming, Michael sank to his hands and knees as the blue light absorbed into his body.

“Michael! No!” I shouted and ran forward.

Just as I reached him, he raised his head and looked at me. I skidded to a halt. His blue eyes were now demon-red.

“Michael?” I whispered.

He looked down at himself, at the sword he still held in his hand, then his gaze moved back to me. I stood, unable to move, as he came toward me with that graceful predator’s stride I knew so well. My head was telling me to run, that the demon now had control of my husband’s body, but my heart could not accept it.

“Witch,” Michael said. “He told me you would come.”

Before I could ask what he meant, the man I loved raised his sword and plunged it into my chest. I staggered back, falling to the ground. Gripping the sword, I blinked up at him in disbelief. He knelt before me, balancing on the balls of his feet.

“The sword does not hurt that much,” he said, as if he were impartially observing the outcome of some experiment. “Yet there is such pain in your eyes. How interesting.”

Whatever reply I might have come up with was forestalled by the sound of running footsteps. Michael, or rather the demon who now occupied his body, and I turned to see Warren Little dashing across the field toward us.

“Warren,” I gasped, pain radiating through my chest, as he came to kneel by my side. “Get out of here.”

“Mrs. Craven,” he said aghast, ignoring me. “You’ve been stabbed.” Turning to Michael he snapped, “What have you done?”

The demon stood and I looked up at him. His eyes were now Michael’s own blue but briefly they flashed red in anger. Actually, I wasn’t sure if he could even register such an emotion as anger or annoyance, or if he’d done it just because he could. Whatever the case, it had the desired effect. Warren finally understood that something had gone terribly wrong.

“I’ve grown weary of killing humans,” the demon said. “But I will make an exception for you.”