Wolf Island (The Demonata 8)

“Fine,” he says.

“It’s not,” Bec disagrees. She stands, taking care not to dislodge the drip. “We heard about your transformation. Meera said you’d be bringing others with you.”

“They’re waiting outside. What about his heart?”

“I need a transplant,” Dervish says. “Care to volunteer?”

“He needs to return to the demon universe,” Bec says, ignoring Dervish’s quip. “The doctors have done what they can, but if he stays here…” She shakes her head.

“Can you open a window?” I ask.

“Not right now. I’m not operating at full strength.”

I formulate a quick plan. “Juni knows you’re here. A window’s being opened somewhere in the city. Demons will pour through. The air will fill with magic. I want you to tap into it, open a window of your own, and get him out of here.”

“Don’t I have any say in this?” Dervish asks.

“No.”

My uncle chuckles, then lies back and smiles. “I won’t go,” he says.

“Take him somewhere safe,” I tell Bec. “If I survive, I’ll come —”

“You didn’t hear me,” Dervish interrupts. “I won’t go.”

“Of course you’ll go,” I snap. “You can’t stay here. You’ll die.”

“So?”

“Don’t,” I snarl. “We haven’t time for this self-sacrifice crap. You’re hauling your rotten carcass out of here and that’s that.”

Dervish’s smile doesn’t dim. “I’ve been thinking about it since we were rescued. Do you know that Beranabus and Sharmila were killed?”

“Yeah,” I mutter.

“We’re not sure about Kernel,” Dervish continues. “He disappeared. There was a lot of blood and scraps of flesh, but they mightn’t have been his. Maybe he’s dead, maybe not.” Dervish shrugs, grimaces with pain, then relaxes again. “I want to choose my place and manner of death. Beranabus and Sharmila were lucky — they died quickly, on our own world. But they could have just as easily suffered for centuries at the hands of the Demonata and been butchered in that other universe, far from home and all they loved.”

“Those are the risks we take,” I say stiffly.

“Not me,” Dervish replies. “I’m through. I served as best I could, and if this body had a bit more life in it, I’d carry on. But I’m not good for anything now. I’m tired. Ready for death. I’ll fight when the demons attack, but if we repel them, I want to find a peaceful spot and give up the ghost in my own, natural time.”

“Don’t be —” I start to yell.

“Grubbs,” he interrupts gently. “I think I’ve earned the right to choose how I die. Don’t you?”

I stare at him, close to breaking. Dervish is all I have left in the world. I think of him as a father. The thought of losing him…

“I reckon I’ll last a few months if fate looks on me kindly,” Dervish says. “But that’s as much as I dare hope for. My body’s had enough. Time’s up. The way I’ve pushed myself, the demons I’ve faced, the battles I’ve endured… I was lucky to last this long.”

“But I need you,” I half sob.

“No,” he smiles. “The thought that you might was the one thing that could have tempted me to return to the universe of magic and struggle on. But you don’t need anyone anymore. I saw it as soon as I looked at you. You’ve found your path, and it’s a path you have to travel alone. Beranabus was the same. Kernel. Bec too.”

He looks at Bec and winks. “Grubbs isn’t the only one I’ll be sorry to leave,” he says, and the pale-faced, weary girl smiles at him warmly.

I think of things I could say to make him change his mind, but the horrible truth is, he’s right. I can see death in his eyes. Every breath is an effort. He’s not meant to continue. The afterlife is calling. It will be a relief for him when he goes.

Sighing, I sit on the bed and glare at the dying man. “If you think I’m going to start crying, and say things like ‘I love you’ — forget it!”