Legacy of the Demon (Kara Gillian 8)

said after Scott poked his head out of the hatch.

He chuckled and passed down a six-foot-long black pole. “Don’t step on any hobbits.”

“They’re going to have to stay out of my way.” I curled my hands around the smooth metal and thumbed the button. Electricity arced from the tip of the staff—which was little more than a cattle prod on steroids. Scott had dubbed it the “wizard staff” after the first time I used it to stun a demon, and the name had stuck.

Staff in hand, I jogged over to where Roma was making notations and drawing arrows on a sketched map of the Piggly Wiggly and surroundings.

“God, what I wouldn’t give for internet,” Roma muttered. “And radio comms.” I made a sympathetic noise. The folks in R&D had worked up shielding that reduced the arcane interference on electronic devices, but we were too close to the rift for it to have any worthwhile effect.

I peered at the map and took careful note of her plan for netting this giant beastie. “This is good. I can lure him off the roof.” I jerked my head toward the reyza. Wouldn’t be the first time I’d played bait.

Roma gave a brisk nod and tapped the map. “Get it on the ground in that clear area by the handicapped spots. We’ll net it there.” She gave me a hard look. “And try not to get et.”

“No chance of that,” I said. “I’m too tough and stringy.”

She let out a dry laugh. “Ready when you are.”

With unhurried strides, I made my way up the raggedly striped rows toward the shattered Piggly Wiggly storefront. Atop the grocery store, sunlight sparkled on the reyza’s gold jewelry as he tracked his gaze over the parking lot. His pose was casual, indolent even. I knew better. A demon this big was old, smart, and tough. And he wasn’t going to give up.

On the other hand, I was young, moderately clever, and sick of this bullshit.

“APCs, move into fishing position,” Roma shouted behind me. “LAV, cork the hole. Blauser and Hurley, Metallica that son of a bitch as soon as it lands! Ahmed, Petrev, Hines, grate the cheese the instant the plastic’s off!”

In my periphery, I noted people and vehicles shifting position in a clever dance of subterfuge. No point making it obvious where we wanted the demon to go.

When I reached the handicapped spots, I planted the butt of my staff on the head of the wheelchair-bound stick figure, stood with my feet apart and my chin lifted, and challenged the reyza with a glare.

“Lahnk hremtehl si bahzat bukkai imhritak!” I shouted, which loosely translated as Your mother is an asswipe. Or it could have been Your breath smells like fairy farts. A good chunk of the demon language relied on telepathic signals to clarify the meaning beyond words, but I figured I was close enough.

The reyza ignored me. Hell, maybe he agreed with the sentiment. I tried another insult that mocked his prowess as a fighter, then one that belittled his tail as thin and weak. Those earned me a chunk of rubble slung in my direction, but otherwise he didn’t budge. Crap. Though my time on the nexus in my back yard had improved my grasp of the demon language, it wasn’t going to take long for me to run out of clever abuse.

“Lah zhet unkh sutiva!” I hollered. You have shit wings.

The demon curled his lip in a sneer, then focused his attention on the rift.

“Lahnk vahl mumfir nurat!” Your head looks like cheese. I mentally riffled through the vocabulary I knew. Yeah, I was scraping the barrel now.

“Grahl ptur . . . uh, ptur unkh qaztahl!” You serve a shitty lord.

The reyza leaped up with a bellow of fury, wings snapping open with a crack.

I blinked in surprise at the sudden vehemence. He had some serious fanatic devotion to his lord if that pathetic insult set him off. But which lord? The sly and devious Jesral? Hot-headed Amkir?

With an ear-splitting roar, the demon leaped off the building and toward me. I clamped down on a yelp and fled. Okay, lured him off the roof. Now to get him on the ground. My inner survivalist screamed for me to sprint like hell, but I stuck to the plan. I couldn’t risk drawing him too far from the target zone. So what if I was one hundred percent certain he’d rip me to tiny pieces if he got hold of me.

Gripping the staff in both hands, I slid under the cart corral then rolled to a low crouch, facing the demon. He was more than strong enough to shred the aluminum bars that sheltered me, but he’d need to land first. I hoped. He might decide to tear the corral from the parking lot mid-swoop, but then he’d have to make a second pass to grab me. I crossed fingers and toes that he’d favor the more efficient route.

To my right, Blauser and Hurley ran up with a device that looked like a pregnant rocket launcher. Sonic weapons, yeah! The throaty growl of diesel engines sang a wicked harmony that told me the Strykers were maneuvering into position.

The demon hit the parking lot with a thump that I felt as much as heard. Score one for efficiency! I jammed the butt of the staff into the asphalt and pointed the nasty end toward him, praying that everyone had made it to where they needed to be. The demon’s eyes blazed, legs coiled beneath him for another leap—one that would end with me impaled on his claws. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Blauser snap open a tripod mount on the sonic cannon, holding it steady while Hurley took aim and pulled the trigger.

A low throb of sound shook the air, and the reyza staggered as if an actual cannonball had plowed into his chest. I allowed myself a quick mental fist pump. The air throbbed again, sending the reyza to his knees. Elation sang through me as his arcane protections flickered.

“Wings and tail!” I hollered then scrambled for cover behind the mangled tank. The plastic was off. Now it was time to grate the cheese. Ahmed popped up from the other side of the tank, rifle at his shoulder. I hurried to shove earplugs into place as automatic gunfire sliced through the air. The reyza howled as the rounds ripped through the membranes of his wings and took chunks out of his tail. Hines, Roma, and Petrev joined in the shooting—all positioned so that no squad member could be caught in crossfire. Ahmed dropped an empty clip and slammed a fresh one into place with barely a pause in his firing. Behind the demon, chips of concrete flew from the rubble.

A dark arrow launched in a lazy arc from Kowal’s Stryker: the new demon-snaring SkeeterCheater net, spreading as it flew to settle over the demon. Roma held up her fist, and the firing stopped.

“Crank it!” I yelled. If the reyza had been three feet shorter, it would have been perfect. But with the net only covering him from his horns to his knees, we had to take him down fast. The winch on the front of the Stryker screamed, winding in the cable to close the net around the thrashing reyza. I pulled the earplugs out and ran forward as he toppled. Razor sharp claws tore at the net, but his incredible strength wasn’t enough to defeat the graphene strands.