Chapter 13 #3
The demon turns its head to look at Connor, and its gaze seems to sharpen. “A hunterrrr,” it says, and I resist the urge to cover my ears.
“Yes!” Greg encourages. “A hunter! He’s the one you want!” He pauses. “Right? What the fuck’s a hunter, anyway?”
It was a mistake for him to talk. The demon tears its gaze from Connor and swings around to study Greg again. Its maw doesn’t change, but I get the impression it’s smiling. If smiles make you want to flee while gibbering with fear.
Greg cringes, pushing back as far as he can, but Connor’s circle doesn’t falter.
The demon advances. The circle’s not all that big, and there’s nowhere for Greg to go.
It reaches out a three-fingered hand tipped with two-inch-long claws and lays it on his head, in much the same way I remember my grandmother’s priest laying his hand on my head when I was a child.
The contrast between that and this is obscene. There are no good intentions here.
Greg screams, his back bowing and his face twisting in agony.
“Fuck!” Connor grabs his dagger in one hand, the water pistol in the other, and takes two steps forward into the circle.
“Connor!” What the fuck is he doing?
The demon turns on him, and again I get the impression of a terrifying smile.
“Wellllllcome, little hunterrrrr.” It reaches toward him, but Connor’s already spraying it with the herbal water, and it flinches, allowing him to lunge in with the dagger. He manages a glancing blow before it recovers, but it’s not enough.
Fuck fuck fuck. What do I do? How can I help?
Connor swipes forward again, then dances back under the demon’s reach and steps out of the circle. The demon’s clawed hand collides with the invisible barrier.
“Con, what’s happening?” I demand. “What can I do?”
He’s already rummaging through the lunch box but takes a second to toss me the water pistol. “Find a tap; fill this with water.”
I don’t bother asking why. Greg’s started screaming again, so the why is pretty clear. I race back into the entranceway and dive for the door across the hall, praying it’s a bathroom.
It is.
It takes me two tries to get the pistol’s reservoir open because my hands are shaking, but I fill it and race back just in time to see Connor throw a handful of what looks like dust onto the demon.
It howls and rears back, clawing (literally) at its eyes, leaving deep, oozing grooves in its face. The ooze isn’t blood—at least, not what I call blood. It’s thick and matte black like the horns. I drag my eyes away and hand the pistol to Connor as Greg gibbers pleas for us to help him.
Connor grabs a packet of dried herbs crumbled so fine, they’re nearly dust from the lunchbox and dumps the contents into the water reservoir—which he gets open on the first try.
Then he gives the whole thing a thorough shake and hands it back to me.
“I need to get some stuff from the car. If it goes near Greg again, spray it.”
My jaw drops. “Me?”
“Stay outside the circle,” he continues. “I mean that. No matter what happens, don’t cross into the circle. Even if Greg’s dying. Stay outside.”
“Yeah, I don’t have a problem with that.” I glance at the now enraged demon and swallow. “Connor—”
“Please, Kier. Spray it when it reaches for Greg. I’ll be back in a minute to deal with it. Just keep it off him. But stay outside the circle.” He meets my gaze, those blue eyes blazing, and I nod. He’s going to save a life. The least I can do is make like a toddler and squirt the water pistol.
“Go. I’ve got this.” I hope.
Connor must think so, because he sprints from the room. I hear his footsteps in the entranceway and the sound of the door opening but block it out. The demon’s done with its histrionics and is bearing down on Greg again.
Carefully watching where I put my feet—I do not want to accidentally smudge the chalk symbols of the circle—I edge closer and take aim.
The demon stretches out a hand, and I pull the trigger, spraying it in the face—right in one of the grooves it made with its own claws.
The result is slightly more spectacular than when Connor sprayed it before.
Maybe because its wound is sensitive? Regardless, instead of just flinching, it hisses and stumbles back a few steps.
“Okay,” I mutter. This is good. I can handle this. I’m tempted to keep spraying, but it’s probably smart to save the water for when it’s actually attacking.
“Help me,” Greg begs. “Please, let me out.” He claws at the invisible barrier.
I hesitate. Connor crossed in and out of the circle with ease, but both Greg and the demon are unable to.
To let Greg out, I’d have to open the circle, and that would also let the demon out.
If I even can open it. I don’t know enough about this stuff to know if Connor’s coded it or whatever so it only responds to him.
No. I shake my head and adjust my death grip on the pistol. “Just hold on.”
The demon’s gimlet gaze narrows on me, and my gut turns to water. It’s in the circle; it’s in the circle. Can’t touch me. Connor’s coming. Stiffening my resolve, I glare back.
The sound of Connor’s running footsteps drifts through the air, and the front door slams. The demon snarls wordlessly and lunges for Greg. I spray and keep spraying as it forges forward.
Connor races in, wielding a sword in one hand and carrying a toolbox in the other. He takes one look at what we’re doing and drops the toolbox, leaping into the circle and slashing at the demon, slicing neatly through one of its arms at the elbow.
I adjust my aim and spray the oozing stump with the herbal water, and its scream turns into an earsplitting shriek.
I cast a brief worry to what the neighbors will think—and do; we don’t need the police showing up right now—but Connor doesn’t even seem to notice.
He’s back out of the circle and crouched over the toolbox, sword beside him dripping demon ooze onto the floor.
“Why don’t you just—” The words freeze in my throat as I watch the demon’s arm start to grow back. “Oh my god.”
“That’s why,” Connor says, not looking up as he pulls various items out of the toolbox.
“I could chop it into bite-size pieces, but unless I use the right process and tools, it’ll just re-form.
Hydra demons can’t be killed that easily.
” He opens what looks like an empty specimen jar, pours in thick white liquid from a bottle, then dumps in more finely-ground herbs from a packet.
He sticks two fingers in, stirs the whole lot into a paste, then scoops it out and smooths it down the blade of his sword.
Where the paste touches the remnants of demon ooze, the ooze sizzles and evaporates.
I cast a quick glance at the circle, where the demon seems to be concentrating on regrowing its arm and Greg is still whimpering—and might have wet his pants?
Unless that ammonia smell is coming from whatever Connor just concocted—then turn my attention to the sword.
It doesn’t look like any old sword you can buy—not that you can buy any old sword these days.
What I mean is, it looks like it was made custom for Connor’s line of work.
The blade is inlaid with quartz, which I easily recognize after the last few months, and the hilt is carved with symbols that look similar to Connor’s tattoos.
He smears more of the paste on the blade, and I realize the first layer has dried to a crust.
Swallowing down my sudden trepidation, I return my attention to the demon. “Con, it’s down to the hand,” I warn.
“Nearly done,” he promises. “Spray it if you have to.”
I steady my nerves and vow to sex him up so good later. He deserves it after this.
The demon’s gaze locks with mine, and all sexy thoughts instantly flee. My balls try to climb back into my body, and I swear, if my dick could do the same, it would. How does Connor do this all the time? And he’s calm! I’ve never felt fear like this before in my life.
Then the demon’s gaze drifts over my shoulder, and its eyes flare. Connor steps up beside me. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this. Give me your hand.”
I tear my gaze from the demon to blink at him in bewilderment, and he grabs my free hand and wraps it around his dagger. While I’m staring bemusedly at it—and the paste covering the blade—he puts something in my pants pocket.
“What—”
“Quartz. To protect you. If the circle fails, run. Take the dagger and run. Get into the car if you can and go fast, as far as you can. It should go for Greg first, so you’ll have a chance. Call Gabe as soon as you’re sure it’s not chasing you and tell him what happened.”
If the circle… “You mean if it kills you?”