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I just have to work fast.
But things happen faster.
The demon drops from the ceiling, passes through Maximus as if he’s transparent, and lands on Perry. She struggles with it as it fights her to the ground, and I leap into action.
I grab the beast’s tail, holding tight, then look at Lana who is channeling energy my way with her hands. Somehow, together, we’re able to lift the beast off Perry until I’m able to swing the fucking thing around like I’ve got a demonic cat by the tail.
Now! Lana yells in my head, and while she takes the brunt of the weight off my hands, I’m able to quickly open the portal back up.
I throw the monster and it goes flying inside, just as a woman I don’t recognize pops up. Black hair, white eyes, trying to escape.
It’s Samantha! Lana yells in my head. The witch!
The one that wants Perry.
Not on my watch.
I conjure up all my might, and with lightning speed, manage to close the portal back up, just in time.
The demon is gone.
Samantha didn’t have a chance.
Max is saved.
I take a moment to let it all sink in, then I collapse to my knees.
Two
“Life is hard, that’s why no one survives.”
– Feet Don’t Fail Me Now
The next morning, I wake up with screaming back pain. I guess opening portals like that does a number on you, and the small bed in the den doesn’t exactly spell out comfort. I make a mental note to do some stretching pre-demon slaying and post-demon slaying.
I roll over, carefully, and smile to myself.
Last night was fucking amazeballs.
I finally was able to show my sister (and Dex) what I could do. I even impressed a witch. And I was able to bring Max back to life, so to speak.
After I closed the portal, shutting the steroid demon and his witchmaster behind, I nearly went unconscious. I was so fucking drained. I heard Lana’s voice in my head telling me that I was safe, that I needed to take a moment. Thankfully it didn’t last very long, and I felt as good as new.
So Lana went on her way, Dex went back in his own body and drove us, plus the newly-freed Max, to a bar not too far from the apartment for some much-needed drinks and celebrating.
That’s when Max realized that when you’ve been dead for three years and have suddenly rejoined the living, it’s not as simple as returning after a vacation. I mean, the dude died. He went to Hell. Never mind the psychological implications he must have from all of that, now he’s back here and doesn’t have a job or a place to live or anything except the clothes he’s wearing. That’s fucked up. To say I feel sorry for him is an understatement.
I yawn, taking in the smell of bacon in the air, and slowly get to my feet, slipping on these pink silk pajamas that some company gifted me if I wore them on my Instagram, which I did. The perks of being an influencer. Sometimes I think maybe I should just stick to that and my design school, and forget about all this demon slaying shit. I mean, it doesn’t pay any bills, it doesn’t bring any fame. I almost die every time. But the sense of pride and power and accomplishment that comes along with it can’t be beat, better than a million shares and comments and likes.
I open the door to the apartment expecting to see Perry and Dex making breakfast in the kitchen, but instead it’s Maximus, his back to me, wearing the same flannel shirt and jeans as he did when he was technically dead.
“Where’s the married couple?” I ask him, keeping my voice low. I notice their Frenchie Fat Rabbit, lying on the couch snoozing away.
Max looks at me over his shoulder. “They’re sleeping. I thought you’d still be sleeping too.”
I wrap my arms around myself and walk across the cold hardwood floors toward him, wishing I had brought slippers. I stop beside the stove, eyeing the bacon that’s sizzling on it.
“Hungry?”
“Hungover,” he says, flipping it.
I can’t help but laugh. “Hungover? From what? The bar last night? You had, like, three beers.”
He gives me a sheepish grin. “I don’t know if you noticed, but those three beers got me pretty drunk. Here I was, worried that perhaps alcohol wouldn’t have an effect on me anymore, and there I go, proving myself wrong.”
“So being dead made you a cheap drunk,” I muse, leaning back against the counter. “Could be worse.” I glance up at the microwave. “Shit, it’s eleven.”
“Have plans for the day?” he asks idly, reaching for the paper towels.
“Well, no, but I can’t remember the last time I’ve slept in for so long. Are you sure Perry and Dex are okay?”
