Chapter 12 #2
I kind of want to throw up. I won’t, because that might make Fox think I don’t believe in him, but I kind of want to. Worry isn’t an emotion I’m very familiar with. I don’t like it. Fox better make it out of this battle whole, or we’re going to have words about his life choices.
Alive and whole is better than badass and dead.
The loudest, most inhuman shriek I’ve ever heard fills the sanctuary, making my ears hurt with just how god awful it is, and the clashing of metal suddenly rings silent.
The fog dissipates in a matter of moments, revealing the demon’s head making the wailing noise about ten feet away from where its body stands frozen for a few seconds before it collapses to its knees, hunched over, but not toppled.
Fox wields his blade double handed and cuts the demon’s body in half down the middle, getting stuck about a foot into it.
He doesn’t pull the sword free; instead, he starts sawing, using the serrated half to finish the job.
Ichor, filth, and blood a shade of red so dark it looks nearly black spill out as the body loses its structural integrity and starts separating.
It’s gross, and while I can handle a lot of gore, this is more than I want to watch, so I look away, pulling out my phone and taking a short video of my man at work and texting it to Annette.
Me: I should get hazard pay for having seen any part of this.
Daddy: All of your pay is hazard pay.
Me: It’s strange that no one bothered to tell me that.
Daddy: It’s easier to hook the Harbingers in with loads of cash and promises of protection. No one wants to know that their entire paycheck is hazard pay.
Me: Speaking of hazards...Can my ward be worn down?
Daddy: Probably, but not by attacks. The ward gains power from each attack against you. I’m not sure what would wear the magic down, but magic is all about balance. Something out there can destroy your ward.
Me: That’s worrisome.
Daddy: Don’t ask me questions if you don’t want honest answers. Are you going to visit Amos and Co. tonight?
Me: No. We’re having dinner with “Satan” (not the Duke of Hell).
Daddy: That’s what I said: Amos and Co.
Me: Then, yes.
Daddy: You’re going to meet one of Fox’s parents tonight. When you see him—you will know exactly who I’m talking about—tell him he looks like a Chris.
Me: Should I expect a positive or negative response?
Daddy: Both. If you send me a video, I’ll buy you a bracelet to match your engagement ring.
Me: Done.
Daddy: God, I fucking love you.
I slip my phone in my pocket and look up to watch the tail end of Fox dismembering the demon by cutting off the last chunk of its remaining leg.
By chunk I mean the rest of its arms and legs are scattered in multiple pieces around the two halves of the torso.
As soon as that last chunk comes off, the screaming cuts out.
It’s a blessed relief for my ears when the church bells start up. Fox breathes a heavy sigh and hangs his head for just a second before standing up and limping— limping —toward me.
He’s a bloody mess, and a gash on his temple along with the hand not dragging his sword behind him are both dripping a concerning amount of blood. I hold myself still, not sure about the protocol for an actually injured Fox, fisting my hands as I watch him make his way down the aisle.
“Romily.” His soft utterance silences the cacophony of the gargoyles outside.
Right now would be a great time to be able to talk, but I can’t, and I never learned how, so the best I can do is try to mimic the way a mouth forms words, which ends up with me clicking an approximate T-sound three times at him. What do I do?
“You’re really bad at that,” he chuffs, swaying a little on his feet.
I huff and take a step toward him, but he holds up his dripping hand.
“No. Demon blood is poisonous. You wouldn't be able to touch me anyway. The gargoyles will get me home. Take a cab. I’ll meet you there. I have to go through decontamination first, and that can take an hour if the poison is in my blood.”
Fisting my hands at my sides, I project my frustration by scrunching up my face and huffing. I follow that up with a stern look and a finger point, then draw a heart on my chest and mime reaching out and throttling him Homer Simpson style.
Fox blinks at me, a little dazed with the level of my affection for him, and nods.
“I’m really hard to kill, and every time someone does, it gets harder for the next person.
I haven’t died in almost a hundred years.
It would take a demon much more powerful than a djinn to get close.
Don’t worry, your plans for a happily ever after are still safe. ”
There is a lot to unpack in that random supply of information, but now is not the time.
I point to the front door and walk along with him, forced to stay about a foot away by my own protection ward, to the front of the church and out into the yard.
A swarm of bat-like creatures—gargoyles in their flesh form—swoop down from the roof and disappear with my man as soon as we’re outside.