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“Evacuate,” he said crisply. “I’m on it.” He might have been out of his element with my kind of weirdness, but handling disaster was right in his wheelhouse. Calm certainty settled over him as he ran into the building and started shouting orders. The honking of the fire alarm cut through the air, followed by a steady flow of people exiting. I held my gun behind my leg and out of sight. Anyone who recognized me would know about my arrest, and now was not the time to deal with questions about why I was in the PD lot with a loaded gun.
For a horrifying instant I thought the people would scurry into the parking lot and onto the valve, but I’d underestimated Cory. An officer I didn’t recognize stepped in front of the crowd, directed them away from Idris and Pellini and to the lot on the far side of the building. I remained halfway between the building and the valve and scanned for the zhurn and other threats. Fortunately, with all the commotion, I only racked up a dozen or so curious looks.
As the PD emptied, officers ran to nearby buildings to facilitate evacuation. I shifted from foot to foot, uneasy as tremors continued in a slow cycle, yet grateful for them at the same time. No way would we be able to convince people to get the hell outside in the middle of July otherwise. But the danger isn’t truly earthquakes, I thought with worry. Were they safer out in the open?
A wave of shrieks and shouts rolled from the street. Officers drew their guns, attention riveted on the roof of the PD. The zhurn? I held my gun at the ready and watched the edge of the roof, poised to fire at the first hint of a moving shadow.
No, not the zhurn. A big ass reyza. Son of a fucking bitch. To the bystanders he surely looked like a true demon from hell—manlike in form with skin the color of bronze, huge bat-like wings, and wicked clawed hands. He leaped off the roof and took flight. I yelped out a curse and got two quick shots off, missing with both. “Pellini!” I yelled, pivoting as the demon flew over me and swooped toward the valve. “Idris! Watch out!” I didn’t dare fire again for fear of hitting one of them.
In a flash Pellini drew, aimed, and fired three shots at the rapidly approaching reyza. Clearly he hadn’t been blowing smoke up our asses about weekly firearms practice. The reyza bellowed as blood sprayed from his left bicep, but the injury didn’t slow him. Pellini grabbed Idris by his collar to pull him back, but the demon seized Idris by the wrist and delivered a kick to Pellini’s chest that sent him sprawling.
“Kel gor mraz, Alavik!” Idris yelled as the reyza vaulted into the air and climbed with heavy beats of his wings. Though I didn’t know a lot of demon words, I was pretty sure kel gor mraz meant You’re a fucking piece of shit assface or a similar sentiment. Alavik was no doubt a reyza Idris had spent time with during his months as a captive of the Mraztur.
I had no clear shot, but I kept my gun trained on the reyza in case an opening appeared. Idris kept his head even as he dangled in Alavik’s grip. Before he was more than a half dozen feet from the ground, Idris yanked his folding knife off his belt, flicked it open, and slashed the razor sharp blade across the demon’s forearm.
Alavik keened in pain as blood sprayed and tendons parted. His clawed hand spasmed, and Idris dropped to the asphalt and rolled, teeth bared in defiance. With Idris clear, I opened fire, and Pellini did the same while still on his back. At least two bullets pierced Alavik’s wings, but even when other officers joined the shoot-the-demon game, he remained aloft. Unburdened, the reyza rose quickly then veered away over buildings and out of sight.
Idris scrambled up and ran back to the valve. “He has arcane shielding on his head and torso,” he called out to us. Pellini climbed to his feet and staggered toward Idris. I dropped my empty magazine, yanked a fresh one from my pocket and slapped it in.
“What the fuck was that thing?” a familiar voice said from behind me. I spun to see my favorite road sergeant, Scott Glassman, gun drawn and ready. Beside him, a wide-eyed Asian woman—likely his trainee—held her weapon in a death grip. Bet she hadn’t counted on anything like this when she signed up.
“Long story!” I shouted back over the rising din of people pouring into the street from nearby buildings. “But if you see it again, shoot it. Aim for the wings.” Shit. And the zhurn was still around somewhere. And who knew how many other demons had been stationed to keep us from undoing Katashi’s work. Out in the street, people milled or watched the sky or peered at cell phones and tablets. Videos of Alavik’s dramatic attack on Idris were about to go viral. The times they are a-changin’. But no sense worrying about what I couldn’t control.
“Get those people as far away from here as you can,” I told Scott. With any luck that would ensure he and his trainee were also far away if the worst happened. He gave me a sharp nod, and the two turned and yelled at people to move down the street. The woman had an impressive set of lungs and a commanding presence, both of which had everyone cowering and scurrying to obey her.
Alert and ready, I continued a survey of the area as Idris and Pellini worked furiously. Movement grabbed my attention. “Pellini! Behind you!” I yelled. “Under the red car!”
I expected the zhurn to go still and hide again, but to my dismay it streaked from the shadow and darted straight for the valve. Pellini shot at it one-handed, while I squeezed my trigger as fast as I could until the slide locked back. The demon squealed as bits of shadow flew from it, but kept moving. A dozen feet from the caution tape it launched itself toward the valve, wings and tail and body elongating as it dove into the dead center of the circle of cones and disappeared as if the asphalt had sucked it in.
A heavy tremor rocked the parking lot. Idris fell back with a cry of horror. “No. No!”
I ran toward him. “What? What happened?”
He scrambled to his feet then stared down at the asphalt, aghast. “The zhurn. It activated the charges.”
I yanked my gaze to the ground as if I could miraculously see what he meant. “That’s bad, right?”
Idris swallowed, paling. “The countdown started.”
Yeah, bad. “How long do we have?”
“Five minutes.” Sweat beaded on his upper lip. “Maybe ten if I can slow it.” He hauled his gaze up. “You two. Go, get clear.”
Pellini spoke up before I could tell Idris to get stuffed. “Can you stop it?” he asked.
Idris wiped sweat from his face. “Maybe. It’ll be a lot harder now.” For the first time, doubt and fear flickered in his eyes. “I . . . I don’t know. I might make it worse, or set it off sooner—”
I seized his shoulders. “You’re the son of a demonic lord!” I yelled and gave him a hard shake.
“A horrible one!” He shoved my hands away. To my dismay his uncertainty deepened. “I don’t want to be like him! He’s a manipulative asshole, and maybe that’s the reason my own mother never wanted me!”
My breath caught as his agony poured out, and I realized why his confidence had locked up. “Idris, you’re not him, and—”
“How do you know?” he demanded in what was perilously close to a sob. “I have the blood of one of the Mraztur, and I’ll be just as bad as them if I mess up this valve, and I—”
A crack echoed through the parking lot as I backhanded him hard enough to send him staggering. Hell, in the past year I’d punched and slapped enough demonic lords that a mere son of one didn’t stand a chance. And, best of all, his look of bewildered outrage told me I’d succeeded in shocking him out of his death spiral of irrational angsty crap. And I knew all about irrational angsty crap.
I seized the front of his shirt with both hands and pulled him close so only a few inches separated our faces. “Listen to me. You are the most amazing and gifted summoner I’ve ever known. You’re NOT Rhyzkahl, and I’m an authority on that subject. I’m cool as shit, and you’re my cousin. That’s the bloodline you need to be concerned about. Now straighten up, be the brilliant and kind and awesome cousin I love, and Fix. That. Valve.”
