Well.
Shit.
“I’ve been called to destroy your half-messenger,” he announced. “The prophecy wasn’t that a fallen messenger would destroy her. It was that you would destroy her. I’m here to fulfill the prophecy.”
SHAY
Crowman was showing me the fraternity’s collection of Christmas trees. The first tree had been a gigantic inflatable tree. The second was an inflatable snowman. It had scarves wrapped around it, a star on the top, and beer kegs at the bottom to act as a base.
The third was smaller, made of rolled-up magazines. Different colored beer bottles had been placed on top, and I was told not to touch the magazines.
Tree number four was perched in the kitchen and made out of beer cans, with a smattering of red Solo cups as decorations. There was also a bra hanging from the top, instead of a star or an angel.
“Doesn’t it look pretty?” Crowman nodded to himself, a beer in one hand and the other rubbing over his stomach.
His eyes widened as a scream came from the other room.
I knew that was bad, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, so I doubly knew it was bad.
I was turning away from Crowman, already reaching out to Kellan in my head, when I saw the demon.
Or—I thought it was a demon.
It was black mist, not fully formed to make a person, but definitely evil, and it was moving through the house as if it were in a race. It floated down the stairs, around the living room, and more screams rang out.
I was having déjà vu.
There were shouts, some laughs.
“Oh, cool!” someone yelled. “How are they doing that?”
“Wrong holiday, dudes. It’s not Halloween,” someone else chimed in. “Yo! Whatever you are.”
The black mist stopped in midair, and the top half tilted to the side as if, as if pausing to listen.
The guy raised his beer in the air. “Turn into a Christmas elf!”
“Or Santa!”
“Rudolph.”
The black mist didn’t do anything for a beat, then it began to spin around. It transformed into the Grinch. A cheer went up from the guys in the living room, and another burst of energy roared down the stairs.
That one was Kellan.
“What’s going on?” I asked him.
“It’s me.”
“What is?”
“The prophecy.”
I frowned. “What prophecy?”
“The one that said you were going to be killed.”
“The what that says my sister is going to be killed?” Damien roared.