Death's Shadow (The Demonata 7)

“Where is the helicopter coming from?” Sharmila asks as Kealan wheels Dervish towards the landing pad.

“Nearby,” Kealan says. “We’d have kept it here, but there wasn’t space. The hospital helicopters took priority.”

“Nobody said anything to me about that,” Sharmila huffs.

“We make our own plans,” Kealan says. “We don’t discuss them with civilians, even Disciples. No offence meant.”

“None taken.”

Guns blare on the staircase.

“How much longer?” I shout.

Kealan checks his watch. “A minute. Maybe two.”

I dart back towards the stairs. “Bec!” Sharmila screams.

“Don’t worry,” I pant. “I’m not going to fight them.”

I didn’t absorb any of Beranabus’s magic when we touched, but I learnt a lot of his spells. There are many I can’t use—there’s more to magic than knowing the right words—but some I can. Reaching the doors at the top of the stairs, I draw upon the ancient magician’s years of experience and prepare a holding spell.

Bullets are still being fired on the stairs. “Gabor! Bence!” I yell. “Come back!”

There’s no response. A few seconds later the guns stop. There’s the sound of scurrying footsteps—but not human feet. Grimacing, I unleash the spell and block the doorway with a shield of magical energy.

The first demon appears. It has a square, bloodstained head. Dozens of eyes. Three mouths. A tiny body. It leaps at me, wild with bloodlust, but crashes back off the shield. It snaps at the web of energy, trying to tear it apart with its teeth, but the barrier holds.

I back away from the doors, focusing my power. This is the first time I’ve tried this spell and the effort involved is greater than I thought. By tapping into the magic in the air, I can hold the shield in place, but I won’t be able to maintain it for long, especially not with demons snapping and clawing at it. But I don’t need much time, just a minute. It should be enough.

I’m halfway to the landing pad when I hear the whirring sound of helicopter blades and spot the craft humming towards us. I feel a sense of triumph like a hard ball in my gut. In their own universe, some demons are able to fly. But flight is difficult here. Strong demons might manage short bursts, but the beasts who crossed aren’t especially powerful. Once we’re in the air, we’ll be safe.

I don’t let thoughts of escape make me careless. I stay focused on the shield. I’m tiring fast— there’s so little magic in this world. I can hold it for another couple of minutes maybe, but that should be all the time we…

Something powerful slips through the window on the first floor. Not a demon, but not human either. A beast far more dangerous than any of the others. It snaps questions at the mage who’s been holding the window open, then howls at the top of its voice. The cry echoes up the stairs and corridors. The demons struggling with the shield pause to screech in response.

The new, mysterious monster throws itself through the shattered glass window of the room, digs its claws into the wall and scurries upwards, scaling the building like a jet-propelled spider. I start to yell a warning to Sharmila, but before the words have left my lips the creature hauls itself over the edge of the roof and leers at us maliciously.

The beast has the shape of a woman, but her skin is a mass of blisters and sores. Pus oozes from dozens of cracks and holes in her jellyish flesh. Her mouth is a ragged red slit, her eyes two green thimbles in a putrid, yellow mockery of a face. A few scraps of hair jut out of her head. She wears no clothes—the touch of any material would be agony on flesh so pustulent and tender.

The creature points at the helicopter, which has almost completed its descent, and barks a phrase of magic. The blades stutter, then stop. The helicopter shakes wildly, spins around a few times, then plummets several metres shy of the building. It makes a sharp, screaming sound as it drops. Then it hits the ground and there’s an explosion, louder and more brutal than any movie bang ever prepared me for. Glass explodes in all the nearby windows. A giant ball of flame belches up into the sky, turning the evening red. Meera and Kealan are thrown to the floor and the unconscious Dervish slides off his trolley.

Only the woman and I remain standing, using magic to shelter ourselves from the force of the explosion. I sense the shield give way behind me and demons spill on to the roof. But I don’t care about them now. I have a more dangerous foe to contend with.

The most frightening, bewildering thing is, I know her. It’s impossible—I saw her die—but I’m sure I’m right. Her voice when she cast the spell was familiar and, misshapen as she is, if I squint hard, I can make out the lines of her original face. I saw and heard her in the cave the night when I returned to life. Even if I hadn’t, I’d know her from Beranabus’s memories. She was his assistant once—Nadia Moore. But now she serves a different master, our old foe Lord Loss. And she calls herself…

“Juni Swan,” the semi-human monster gurgles, bowing with cynical politeness. Her lips move into a jagged line as she straightens—I think it’s meant to be a smile. “Delighted to kill you.”

She flicks a hand at me and the ground at my feet bellows upwards in a pillar of molten, burning tar.

UP ON THE ROOF

Instead of trying to fight the black, scorching geyser, I ride it upwards, using the force of the blast to propel myself high off the roof and clear of the sizzling liquid. My lower legs are spattered and the tar burns through my flesh, but those are minor wounds. I can heal them easily once I’ve dealt with the more pressing dangers.

I land in a crouch, using magic to soften the blow. I don’t take my eyes off the mutated Juni Swan. She’s watching me with a wicked, twisted smirk. Her eyes blaze with a mad hatred. I don’t know how she returned to life—it shouldn’t be possible—but she hasn’t come back cleanly. She’s been reduced to a staggering, seeping carcass of cancerous cells. Her body looks like it’s been eating away at itself for the past six months. The pain of holding it together and clinging to her frail grasp on life must be unendurable. I’m not surprised she’s lost her grip on sanity.

“Little Bec,” she sneers, her words coming thick and syrupy through the wasted vocal cords of her throat. “My master killed you once, but you cheated death, like me. I wonder if you’ll come back again?”

“Who is she?” Sharmila screams, back on her feet, helping Kealan up.