Roman’s blade disappeared into his darkness’ heart with a single, jabbing thrust.
The demon began to bleed, spurting a fountain of crimson as it collapsed onto the ground.
“No!” Dahlia screeched, lunging at me. “You’ve killed him!”
“Get back!” the voice of Balthazar boomed out of nowhere.
Dahlia disappeared in a blast of heat. Balthazar exploded into view right before me.
I leaped backward, but he surged forward, seizing me by the neck. He grabbed Roman as well.
“You’re both coming with me,” Balthazar snarled.
Somewhere in the distance, Emily screamed.
Everything went dark as terror wrapped its icy fingers around my heart. Balthazar had Roman,myRoman, in his grip.
“Roman!” I screamed as the wind whipped past my ears. I couldn’t see a thing, not my hands or legs or even the vile creature holding me.
“I’m here, Olivia!” Roman called back.
Unconsciousness claimed me with all the violence of a bomb.
And then, I came to, groaning from the impact that had sent me spinning. When I opened my eyes, I hung in a dark lair, chained to the ceiling.
And Roman hung by my side.
Olivia
The demon’s lair I found myself in had to be the most depressing, disgusting place I’d ever seen. It was dark, dank, and musty and reeked of foul deeds and depravity. The floor consisted of scorched, cracked earth, much like the demon’s skin, when the visage of his humanness fell away. The walls were covered with millions of wispy spider webs, billowing in a hot, nasty breeze that blew between the cracks.
A loud clicking sound ticked from some unknown place beneath my feet. A cockroach, the size of my hand, wriggled its way out from between the crack. It stood on its hind legs and tried to climb my legs. I kicked and writhed, catching its hard shell with my toe and sending it flying.
A decrepit old baby stroller stood pushed against the wall, the fabric covering the frame tattered and torn. An old doll sat stiffly in the baby buggy, staring at me with sightless eyes. It reminded me of the porcelain-faced figurine some old hag tried to sell my mom when Balthazar murdered her. It gave me the creeps.
I looked away from it, finding more dolls in similar strollers. It was like my own personal horror show.
My stomach lurched and rocked like a stormy sea. Fear drew its fingernails across my skin, making my breathing shallow and my mouth dry.
The smells were ghastly like dead things had been shallowly buried beneath the cracked earth, their bodies slowly decomposing.
Roman still hung unconscious from the ceiling, his head hanging listlessly over his chest. He balanced on the tops of his feet, his knees slightly bent.
I studied him in the dim light, searching for signs of a breath or a pulse at his neck.
“Roman. Roman, wake up,” I whispered.
Please be alive.
He stirred and groaned, but his eyes didn’t open.
I let out a long sigh of relief.
Rusted iron encircled our wrists, chafing the tender flesh. My arms tingled from supporting the weight of my body, which dangled so that my toes could barely touch the floor.
Spider webs stretched from the battered ceiling to the iron restraints. One busy little spider improved upon his artistry, spinning a larger and larger web.
I wished the spider could spin a means for Roman and me to escape.
