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Demon.

23

KIM

The Lethurian demon has me pinned. Its claws dig into my throat as it lifts me off the ground. I can’t breathe. Panic sets in as my vision starts to blur. I’m usually more prepared than this, but I couldn’t bring a satchel full of weapons to my office Christmas party could I?

I scroll quickly through my photographic memory.

Lethurian.

Lethurian.

My vision starts to blur. His hood falls back, revealing gaunt, chalky white skin, in stark contrast to the shadowy robes that hang from its six-foot frame.

Thin, almost skeletal, it’s strangely broad at the same time.

And right now, its elongated fingers are closing around my throat.

I glance down and have to fight the familiar twinge of excitement I feel whenever I encounter something I’ve only ever read about in books. Instead of feet, the Lethurian’s lower half fades into a wispy, ethereal tail that constantly emits a smoky mist.

Cool.

No, focus, Kim.

To kill Lethurian, a ritual known as the Erudite Sacrifice must be performed. This ritual is as much about intellect and willpower as it is about physical items.The ritual must be conducted in a place of significant academic importance, ideally at the heart of Cambridge University.

Well, fuck. I’m screwed.

Just when I think I’m done for, a voice shouts from the end of the alley.

“Hey!”

The demon’s head snaps toward the sound, eyes flashing angrily. In an instant, it drops me in a heap and stalks away from me.

I stumble to my feet.

Crap.

A petite, curvy as fuck, red head is standing at the end of the alleyway.

“Get out of here!” I yell.

But she doesn’t move. Instead, she runs toward us. As she moves, she stretches out her arms. I yell again, but then flames – huge, fiery, orange flames – appear behind her. Dancing like wings in the dark, they grow and grow and fill almost the entire width of the alleyway.

She stops.

The Lethurian tilts its head. It is curious. Wondering what the hell she is.

Can’t say I blame it. Who is she? Some kind of superhero? I have no idea, but her timing couldn’t be better.

While her wings continue to burn, she snaps her fingers and a spark lands in her palm. Grows. Blooms.

The Lethurian lunges at her. She dodges smoothly, launching a fireball into its back. It roars in pain and rage, spinning to swipe at her with outstretched claws. But somehow, she anticipates each attack, moving with the kind of speed and agility I only wish I could replicate.

“You can’t kill it,” I yell, dodging as the Lethurian falls back then rights itself. “There’s a ritual. It has to be…”

She ignores me completely. As it comes for her again, in one swift motion, she slides between its legs, popping up behind to grab its head and twists hard. The crack of bone splits the air. The creature falls lifeless to the ground before dissolving into ash.