Cara Shultz - The Dark World

“No, you didn’t get anyone killed. And you killed a demon that was about to kill me,” Logan corrected me, wincing slightly as he pushed himself off the floor. He took a few steps toward me, and I reflexively held the sword out.

“What do you mean, a demon? And stay right there! Don’t move!” I ordered. I probably would have been more intimidating if the sword wasn’t shaking like pudding in an earthquake, thanks to my trembling hands.

“Paige, I’m on your side,” Logan said, holding his palms out in a defenseless gesture that was supposed to be reassuring as he took two small steps forward.

“What are you, Logan—if that’s your real name?” I eyed him suspiciously, slicing the sword through the air wildly, and Logan shuffled backward.

“Logan is my real name,” he said, keeping his hands up. “Blaise was an incindia —a fire demon—sent here to kidnap you,” Logan explained, his voice soft and even. I stopped waving the sword, and he took a few steps toward me.

“And what about you? Are you a demon? How do I know you didn’t kill her to do something horrible to me?”

Logan dropped his hands and took another cautious step toward me. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m supposed to protect you from them.”

“Protect me? Who’s ‘them’?” I asked, dropping the sword at my side as Logan inched forward. “What the hell are you? And—” I barked, raising the sword again. Logan took a step back, his hands resuming their inoffensive in-the-air position. “Stop coming closer! I know what you’re doing. You’re not that smooth.”

Logan took off his baseball cap and ran his hand through his messy brown hair, which looked dark auburn through the reddish haze that coated my vision.

“I’m a demonslayer, Paige.”

“Excuse me?” I definitely didn’t read about that job description in my research on the paranormal.

“Yes, a demonslayer. And we have to get out of here. Now. You just need to trust me on this,” Logan implored, his eyes sincere. “Look, I could have killed you a thousand times if that’s what I wanted to do.”

“Well, that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.”

“It’s also the truth. Now, please, give me back my sword.”

Logan reached out his hand for his weapon. I took a deep breath, ignoring the part of me that wanted to superglue it to my hand so I’d never be defenseless again. I closed my eyes and held it out, feeling the weight of the sword leave my hand as Logan—the shy, quiet cute boy who was apparently a demonslayer, of all things—took it back. I dropped my hands to my side and opened my eyes, just in time to see Logan sliding the sword behind his left shoulder. It disappeared, as if he were slipping it into an invisible case slung on his back.

Without the sword, I felt powerless. Raw.

“I got someone killed,” I whispered as I tried to process the two deaths I’d just witnessed—one of which was at my own hands.

I stared down at my hands, expecting to see them covered in blood.

Instead, they were covered in fire.

I screamed as I began swatting at myself to extinguish the fire that seemed to be painlessly covering my body.

“Paige, listen to me.” Logan bent down to meet my eyes, his voice calm. Maddeningly calm. He placed his hands on either side of my face and forced me to look at him. I could see my reflection in his pupils—I was an inferno, covered in flickering flames.

“I’m on fire! How can I listen to you when I’m on fire? And why am I not in pain?” I continued swatting at the flames. “I think I’m supposed to stop, drop and roll, right?”

“You killed a fire demon. And now, you’ve absorbed her powers.”

“So I’m going to be on fire forever?” I fretted, shaking my hands and sending little embers fluttering to the floor, the linoleum extinguishing them with a small hiss. “How do I stop burning up? Am I going to be some kind of friggin’ eternal flame for the rest of my life?”

Logan’s lips quirked up in a brief smile before he composed himself. He stood up straight, removing his hands from my face. “No, it fades after a while. And you’ll learn to turn it on and off. Look,” he began, his voice getting agitated, “I’ll explain it all. But right now, we have to go because that dead fire demon on the floor is a few minutes away from exploding. And you won’t survive that.”

“What about Travis?” I asked in a small voice, and he frowned, his eyes darting to the pile of ash that had been my classmate.

“A casualty. I’m sorry, Paige,” he said gently before assuming a more businesslike tone. “I know it doesn’t make it any better, but he’s not the first in this war.”

War? My mind reeled over the word, but before I could ask, Logan continued talking, his words coming more quickly as he got more frantic.

“I don’t feel like adding your name to the list of casualties, since I pretty much got my ass handed to me today protecting you. So we need to go now.” Logan snatched up my backpack and coat, then grabbed my hand and hauled me out of the classroom into the hallway, which was empty save for the overly sweet smoke that was making it difficult to see. We ran to the staircase, briefly pausing only once for Logan to smash his elbow into the fire alarm, breaking the glass and sounding the siren. And then he was pulling me up the stairs, to the roof.

“Why are we going to the roof?” I yelled over the loud alarm as Logan ripped down the “No Exit” sign that dangled off a loose metal chain, blocking off roof access in the stairwell. I glanced down the stairs to the third floor, wondering where Dottie was and oddly grateful that my best friend was already dead. At least she couldn’t get hurt.

“Quickest way to get out of here,” Logan shouted back before practically dragging me up the stairs. “And we can’t risk taking you through the school looking like that.”

I looked down at our intertwined hands and saw that mine were still engulfed in red flames—flames that didn’t seem to burn Logan. He pressed his hand against the red alarm box next to the door.

“Reclax ne aperik,” he muttered, repeating the harsh words several times. It didn’t sound like any language I recognized. The long silver bar across the metal door clicked quietly as it unlocked, and Logan pushed open the access door to the roof, the dark gray of an advancing winter night greeting us. A blast of cold wind set the flames covering my body to dance and flicker as we trudged through the ankle-high snowdrifts that had piled up on the roof. Well, Logan trudged. I melted all the snow in a three-feet radius as I stared down at my feet. I should have been shivering from the freezing weather, but, you know, I was on fire. My foggy head was clouded with questions. Fortunately, Logan spoke up and addressed an unspoken one.

“Let’s go to my apartment. We’ll explain everything.”

“We?”

“My uncle and me.” Logan stopped, and I stared at the six-foot wall that separated the roof of the school from the apartment building next door. I wondered if Logan was going to do some kind of spell to knock it down—I was working with the general assumption that demonslayers had magical powers, given the whole invisible sword and all—but he put his hands on my hips, pulling my back close against his chest. I blinked in surprise, not sure exactly where he was going with this.

“Hop over,” he ordered, lifting me quickly. I grabbed the concrete rim of the redbrick wall and hauled my leg over it, waiting for Logan, who hoisted himself over the wall easily. Then, we both toppled forward, the snow barely cushioning our fall as the school shook with an ear-shattering explosion.

“Blaise,” Logan said, answering another unspoken question before standing up. “Decomposing fire demons are just as annoying dead as they are alive,” he added with a grimace.