Demon Thief (The Demonata 2)

Then Shark is beside me, lashing out with his fists, pounding the punks away. Dervish picks me up and gives me a fireman’s lift. He’s stronger than he looks. “Hold on tight,” he says, and we push forward again, Shark clearing a path.

I hit out at a few of the punks, taking advantage of my position, trying to smash a few noses for revenge. Then I remember I’ve got a more important mission and turn my attention to the stage. I have a better view of the demon summoner from here. I see him start to tremble. He froths at the mouth. The lights in the window pulse at the same time.

“Too late!” I shout. “It’s going to open.”

“No!” Shark roars, shouldering an especially large punk out of his way. “We can make it! I’m not going to —”

An explosion. Part of the stage erupts, showering the people closest to it with splinters and nails. Agonized screams. One of the guitarists falls to his knees, face a pulped, bloody mess. The singer doesn’t stop. He’s so caught up in his song, he doesn’t hear anything except his own voice.

There’s a violet colored window of light next to the mohawk man. He’s standing by it proudly, unharmed. He smiles at the chaos. Puts a couple of fingers between his lips and whistles shrilly.

A demon bounds through the window. The body of a large chicken. Three piglike heads. It looks ridiculous, almost laughable, until it opens a mouth and spits at a nearby punk. The spit hits him squarely in his face, then bubbles and burns his flesh away. He falls, trying to scream but unable to.

Dervish called for anarchy a few minutes ago — now he gets it. The room was wild with dancing, writhing and fighting before this, but when the punks see the demon in action they go completely mental. Panic sweeps the crowd. Shrieking, they surge for the exit doors. The man with the mohawk laughs and steps up next to the demon.

“Now we’ll see who has power!” he shouts over the chaotic screams. “All these years of having to lick somebody else’s boots and bow down. No more! Now you’ll learn to fear me. This is my world now. All of you —”

He gets no further. The demon, displaying no sense of gratitude, spits at the man. He’s flung backwards, the acidic spit already setting to work on his face, dissolving his flesh and cartilage, eating through to sizzle his brain. Who said there was no justice in the world?

We’re pushed back and hammered down by the rioting crowd. Shark yells with rage and surprise. He tries fighting them off, but he isn’t powerful enough to stand against the tide of panicked punks. I go down again and feel the room close around me. This time I’m certain I’ll be crushed.

But Dervish keeps his cool. There’s magic in the air — I can feel it seeping through the window. He draws on it, barks a few words, and suddenly the space around us is clear, punks wedged aside by an invisible force. The three of us are alone, protected by a bubble of magic energy, like the one Nadia and the others created on top of the needle of rock.

“Shark!” Dervish yells, nodding at the demon, which has spat at a third punk and is now bent over the remains of the man with the mohawk. It’s slurping up the spit, along with the gooey mush, which is all that’s left of the man’s skull and brains.

“On it,” Shark grunts, stepping forward. He taps into the magic, tenses, then leaps through the air, landing beside the demon. Before it can react, he grabs one of its heads and twists savagely left, then right, ripping it loose.

The demon screeches and spits at Shark with both remaining mouths. Shark ducks out of the way of one of the spit balls and deflects the other with a wave of a magically charged hand. He throws the severed head — still moving — through the window, then grabs for another. This time the demon dodges the tattooed fingers and takes flight, making a noise that is a weird cross between a pig’s squeal and a chicken’s cluck.

The demon’s heading for one of the windows at the front of the building. Before it gets there and breaks through to kill the punks who’ve spilled out onto the street past the bewildered doormen, Dervish mutters a quick spell. The glass turns to steel. The demon doesn’t see this. It leaps, cackling, only to slam hard into the metal and flop to the floor.

Dervish uses magic to clear a path between us and the demon. He darts forward while the demon’s shaking its heads with confusion. Gets between the monster and the front door. “Are you sure we can’t kill it?” he shouts at Shark.

“Yes!” Shark bellows.

“Then let’s force it back through the window.” He sneaks a look at me. “Kernel, can you budge over, block its path to the rear doors?”

“I’m not sure,” I mutter. “I’m not good at fighting...”

“You won’t have to fight,” Dervish assures me. “Just look like you know what you’re doing, like you’re the meanest piece of scum in the room. Scowl. Growl. Howl. If it goes for you, I’ll step in.”

I trust Dervish, even though I barely know him. He’s younger than Shark but speaks like he’s older. So with only the slightest hesitation, I do what he asks and edge my way left, along the path that Dervish is creating. I take up a position halfway between him and Shark, spread my arms, glare at the demon, and act as if I’m far more powerful and confident than I feel.

The demon’s on its feet. Blood oozes from the neck where its third head was removed. Bile dribbles from its remaining mouths, sizzling where it hits the floor, burning through the old wooden floorboards. It sends a ball of spit zooming at Dervish, but he waves a hand at it and the ball explodes. He chants a spell and several bricks snap loose from the wall and fly at the demon, striking its body and heads.

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The demon bats the bricks away, then looks from Dervish to Shark to me. It’s searching for a weak point. Its gaze lingers on me, since I’m the smallest. I want to run for cover like the punks, but I don’t give in to fear. Instead I step forward, sneering at the demon, inviting an attack.

The bluff works. With a petulant cry, the demon darts towards the window of violet light, past the singer who’s still roaring into his microphone, eyes shut, no idea of what’s going on. Shark curses, as though he left the route to the window open by accident. He lunges at the demon. The beast picks up speed, makes it to the window, then leaps to safety, laughing hysterically at Shark, thinking it got the better of him.

“What a team!” Shark hoots, standing to the left of the window, on his guard in case the demon returns. “Did you see that baby run? We kicked its ass royally!”

“What a buzz,” Dervish murmurs, closing in on the window, pausing to melt the walls around the front and rear doors, allowing more of the punks to exit — easier than trying to restore order. “I’ve never felt so powerful. Never knew I could do so much. The magic in the air... the way I tapped into it... unbelievable!”

“You’ve got the taste for this now,” Shark chuckles. “You were nervous earlier. That’s understandable. We all get the jitters the first time. But you’ve caught the bug. It’s demon fighting all the way for you now, right?”

“Maybe,” Dervish says, smiling crookedly, looking at his hands with a mix of pride and wonder. “I did most of it without thinking. It was like there was somebody else inside me, pulling the strings.”