Wolf Island (The Demonata 8)

“Perish the thought,” Dervish murmurs. “In your current state, I’ll be pleased if you don’t start eating me before I’m dead.”

“I’d never eat you. I have better taste.”

We laugh. Bec stares at us uncertainly, then joins in. She sounds a bit like Bill-E when she laughs, and for a few happy moments it’s as if me, my brother, and uncle are together again, relaxing in Dervish’s study, sharing a joke, not a care in the world.

We spend the rest of the time chatting. Dervish and Bec bring me up to date on all that’s happened since I left them at the hospital, locating Juni on a ship full of corpses, finding a lodestone in the hold, the Shadow using it to cross, Beranabus destroying the stone and expelling the Shadow but losing his life in the battle.

“He went heroically, in the best way,” Bec says with a mournful smile. “He wouldn’t have wanted to go quietly.”

Then Bec tells me the Shadow’s true identity. It’s Death. Not a chess-playing, suave, sophisticated Death like in an old subtitled movie Dervish made me watch once. Or the sexy, compassionate, humorous Death in Bill-E’s Sandman comics. This is a malevolent force. It hates all the living creatures of our universe and wants to cut us out of existence.

“How do we fight Death?” I ask. “Can we kill it?”

“I don’t think so,” Bec says.

“But it has a physical shape. If we destroy its body of shadows, maybe its mind will unravel. You said it didn’t always have a brain?”

“From what I absorbed, its consciousness is relatively new.” Bec nods.

“So if we rip it to pieces, maybe it’ll go back to being whatever it was before?”

“Maybe.” She doesn’t sound convinced.

“I can be the inside man,” Dervish says, only half joking. “Once Death claims me, I can work behind the lines and try to pass info back to you.”

“Perhaps you could,” I mutter. “Do you think it preserves everyone’s soul, that the spiritual remains of all the dead are contained within that cloud of shadows?”

“No,” Bec answers. “It’s using souls now, but from what I understand, it wasn’t always that way. It was simply a force before, like the blade of a guillotine — it ended life. Finito.”

I scratch my bulging, distort

ed head. “This is too deep for me. I don’t think I’ll ask any more questions. I’ll settle for killing or dismembering it.”

“You believe that you can?” Bec sounds dubious.

“Of course.” I stare at her. “Don’t you?”

She shrugs, but says nothing. I see defeat in her expression. She thinks we’ve lost. She’s convinced our number’s up.

“Hey,” I huff. “Don’t forget, we’re the Kah-Gash. We can take on anything. If Death was all-powerful, it wouldn’t need the help of Lord Loss and his stooges. We can beat it. I’m sure we can.”

I look from Bec to Dervish, then back at Bec again. “Remember what Beranabus preached? He thought the universe created champions to battle the forces of evil, that we weren’t freaks of nature, but carefully chosen warriors. I used to think he was loco, but not anymore. Look at me.”

I flex my bulging muscles and bare my fangs. “You can’t tell me this is a fluke. I didn’t turn into a werewolf by chance, when the chips were down. I was primed to transform. The universe gave me a power it knew we’d need. You probably have dormant powers too. We’ll change if we have to. Adapt to deal with whatever we’re up against. The Shadow doesn’t stand a chance.”

Bec looks at me skeptically. “What about Kernel? The universe didn’t prepare him. He’s dead.”

“You don’t know that,” I contradict her. “Maybe he transformed like me and turned into a panel of light.”

Bec giggles. I smile but it’s forced. I feel like a hypocrite, offering her hope when Juni’s prophecy is ringing in my head.

I start telling them about my experiences, Shark’s dirty dozen, Timas Brauss, Antoine Horwitzer, the trip to the island. I’m about a third of the way through my story when Dervish’s fingers twitch and he lifts his nose. A second later I catch the buzz of magic. A window has opened and the air’s filling with magical energy.

“I’ll tell you the rest later,” I groan, getting to my feet and smiling lazily as magic seeps through my pores, charging me up.

“If there is a later,” Dervish grunts, unhooking himself from the drip and the machines. He stands. A couple of the nurses with Kirilli Kovacs hurry over, scolding Dervish and demanding he get back into bed. “Peace!” he roars. “Demons are coming. Do you want me to lie here and let them slaughter you all?”

The nurses share a startled glance, then back off. Dervish wriggles his bare toes, checks that the tips of his spikes are stiff, then cocks an eyebrow at me. “Awaiting your orders, captain.”