Demon Thief (The Demonata 2)

“Then I’ll come with you. Please. Let me. When you find him, if Art’s still . . . you know . . . I can snatch him back. Take him home.”

“No,” the Indian woman says immediately. “It is too dangerous. You do not know what you would be getting yourself into. . . . Excuse me, but what did you say your name was?”

“Kernel. Kernel Fleck.”

“My name is Sharmila.” She smiles. “You must go home, Kernel. If we find your brother, we will return him to you. I promise.”

“No,” I say stubbornly. “I want to help find him.”

“Help?” Beranabus repeats, cocking an amused eyebrow. “How exactly do you plan to help?”

“I . . . I don’t know. With the spells? The lights?”

“What lights?” Beranabus frowns.

I point to the patches of light that are joining together ahead of him. He looks at where I’m pointing and his frown deepens. I realize these people can’t see the patches either. Before I can explain, the black man speaks up.

“Sharmila and Nadia are right, master. This child does not belong here. We must return him. If we don’t . . . if we leave him in this nightmarish world of water and screaming trees . . . we will be no better than the demons we seek to stop.”

Beranabus sniffs. “A nice plea, Raz, but I never claimed to be any better than the Demonata. I say we leave him, and my word is final — isn’t it, Nadia?”

He looks hard at the young woman. She stares back defi-antly for a few seconds, then drops her gaze. “It wouldn’t take long to open a window . . .” she mutters. “I could do it while you search for Cadaver.”

“You’re not very skilled at finding your way around,” Be-ranabus says. “What makes you think you could locate the right place?”

“I could try,” she insists. “And even if I don’t find the exact spot, I can return him to our world. He could make his own way home from there.”

Beranabus thinks a moment, then shrugs. “So be it. Waste your time if you wish. But keep out of my way, so you don’t interfere with —”

“I’m not going!” I shout. “I came to find Art and I’m not going home without him!”

“Kernel,” the black man — Raz — says, “you don’t know what is happening. This is not a place for children. You must go home. Mustn’t he, Sharmila?”

“Yes,” the Indian woman says, glaring at me like an angry teacher. “I gave you my word that I will return your brother to you if we find him alive. That will have to be enough.”

“Trust me,” the younger woman — Nadia — says with a sad smile, “you don’t want to stay here. You’ve followed us into a different universe — the home of the Demonata. It’s a hellhole. This part isn’t so bad, but we’re going to encounter far worse very soon. You don’t want to be with us when that happens. I wouldn’t be here if I had a choice.”

“I don’t care,” I say, close to tears. “Art’s my brother. Mom told me to look after him. I’m not going back alone.” Softly, voice cracking, I add, “I can’t.”

Sharmila’s eyes go soft with pity. “I am sorry, Kernel. We have spoken harshly. But you have to understand — it is impossible. You cannot stay. You could do no good here. You must go home. Your parents will be frantic, thinking they have lost you both. That is not fair, is it?”

“No, but . . .” I can’t find the words to explain.

“Enough talk,” Beranabus grunts, losing his patience. “The boy wants to stay . . . you all want to send him home . . . this is easily decided.”

He flicks a hand at me. Suddenly I’m flying through the air. I smack hard into a tree and cry out with shock and pain, mostly from my broken arm. As I fall to the ground, the branches of the tree move quickly. Catch me. Wrap themselves around me. Squeeze.

I catch sight of Sharmila darting to my rescue. Beranabus waves a hand, stopping her. The branches tighten. The tree howls louder than ever. I’m lifted up. The holes in its bark are expanding. It means to crush and swallow me. A few seconds more and I’ll be dead, killed and eaten by this monstrous sham of a tree.

Something flares within me. I scream at the tree, set my teeth on the nearest branch to my face, and bite hard. The tree screeches. I chew through the branch, snapping it loose. Another. My left arm comes free. There’s heat in my palm. I grab a branch and feel power shoot through my hand, into the wood.

The tree howls with pain, then abruptly releases me. I drop, hit the water, go under, come up spluttering and thrashing. I dip under again. This time I stay there, feeling the water drag me down. I realize the water’s alive too, like the trees. Just as hungry and eager to kill.

I fight the panic. Force my legs to stop kicking wildly. Direct the power in my palm down towards my feet. I imagine myself as a rocket, blasting off, breaking free of the pull of the water. For a few seconds nothing happens. My lungs tighten. My mouth twitches.

Then, in a sudden burst, I explode upwards, out of the water, coughing, shivering, but free. I land on my feet, and this time the surface of the water holds. There’s terrible pain in my broken arm as I land, but I quickly use the power to numb myself to it.

I face Beranabus, furious at him for launching me at the tree and nearly killing me. Ready to attack him, to use my power to smash him to pieces.