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It pulled a long, luminescent hood off its head and snarled at them, flashing huge fanglike teeth that dripped crimson liquid onto the worn wood planks of the floor. Several thick, gooey drops splattered at its feet, and smoke rose into the air as the liquid melted through the wood.
Its eyes were merely sunken holes of swirling mist, and its long tongue darted out, twisting in the air as if seeking something. Rowan stared at it in disbelief. She’d never seen anything like this. Never even dreamed up anything like this before.
Its gaze settled upon Hannah, and Rowan realized in that instant that it had no idea Rowan was a witch—the one they were hunting. With the eye of Mallick’s mark closed, she was in fact hidden in plain sight.
She aimed her dagger, dead center of the back of its head, and fired it hard, only to watch it bounce off an invisible wall and fall to the ground several feet away.
Its head swiveled around, and what looked like rotting flesh appeared from inside its gaping hole of a mouth. Rowan hazarded a glance at Frank, but the bartender was eyeing up the demon, eyebrows twisted in concentration, hands holding tight to an impressive-looking shotgun.
The air around the demon swirled in a flash of crimson light. It was so bright that for a second, Rowan was entirely blinded. Panic ate at her, and she stumbled backward, trying to gain some equilibrium. How could she kill something that she didn’t understand? Or more importantly, see?
She shook her head hard, and when she was able to see, the sight wasn’t exactly what she’d hoped for. Three of the massive creatures now stood in front of them.
“Mother-trucker,” Hannah said as she took a step back and tossed a wild look at Rowan. “What the hell are these?”
“Replicatus.” Frank cocked his rifle and moved forward. “Demons that have the ability to replicate into as many versions of themselves as they need. I’ve never seen one before, but I’ve done some reading on them.”
“Really?” Rowan cocked a brow, finding her strength. “And it thinks it only needs three of itself to take us out?”
Frank grinned at her. “Apparently, so. The only way to kill them is to cut their heads off.” He aimed his rifle and fired point-blank into the face of the demon closest to him. Sparks flew everywhere as the bullet cracked the shield that somehow protected them, and the demons screeched in anger.
“Now!” Rowan shouted, and all three sprang forward, daggers drawn and guns at the ready.
The original demon ignored Rowan completely and turned toward Hannah, its focus solely on the only witch it could sense. That was fine. She’d help her cousin out as soon as she took care of the ugly-looking bastard whose toothless, rotted mouth smiled down at her.
She called up the energy that waited inside her chest—felt it scald her skin with power—and crouched in a defensive position as the demon moved toward her. Her rifle was on the table to her left, locked and loaded, and she held her remaining charmed dagger loosely in her hands. She needed to get close enough to cut its head off—but she also had its shield to deal with.
Another shotgun blast rent the air, and the smell of gunpowder slid up her nostrils. It was followed by grunts and a string of profanity that was familiar.
“I’ll rip your head off you fucking piece of filth.
“Really? You think that punk-ass mouth of cockshit is going to scare me? Are you for real, you ball-less fuckwad?”
Rowan dared not take her eyes off the advancing enemy, but she smiled nonetheless—Hannah’s foray into a world without potty mouth had ended. It was somehow comforting.
A sliver of energy rippled through the air, and Rowan realized she’d lingered too long. She leapt for the rifle and twisted in the air so that she slid across the table on her back, the gun held in front of her as she blasted away at the thing’s head. The shield cracked into a shower of light, and she fired once more, yelling as its body fell backward.
“Take that, dickhead.” Guns had always been her cousin’s specialty. The charms she infused them with were unparalleled.
Rowan jackknifed her body and landed on the floor in front of the demon, bending backward just in time to avoid a large, clawlike fist to the face. She slid to the side and nearly lost her balance but was helped up—by the demon’s fist in her hair. Long talons curled along the curve of her scalp and dug in painfully.
The demon held her aloft, several inches off the ground and only a few inches from its face. The putrid smell that fell from its mouth made her want to puke. Its rotted flesh quivered in anticipation; its blackened, empty eyes seemed to focus solely on her throat.
“You smell different,” it whispered slowly, and its smile widened. “Better than the witch.”
The demon was puzzled—hence the hesitation—and Rowan knew this would be her only chance.
The sounds of battle faded into the background as all her focus shifted to the demon that held her. It brought her closer still, and when its tongue flickered out to touch her, it took everything in Rowan to remain still. She needed to get as close to it as she could because the dumb bastard didn’t think she was strong enough to use the dagger that she still held.
Pain sliced across her cheek as its tongue slowly traveled the length of her face. Her stomach roiled, and she thought for one moment that she was going to lose her breakfast. She knew the moment when it realized the truth—that she was, in fact, the witch they sought—but by then it was too late.
“Suck on this, asshole!”
Rowan gripped the knife with both hands and, as she dangled in the air, still held by the Replicatus demon, the power inside erupted from her fingers, fueling her strength and that of the dagger. She plunged it inside the demon’s mouth, withdrew just before it dropped her, and on her way down sliced cleanly through muscle and bone.
Rowan rolled to the side, gagging on the odor that surrounded her as the head landed a few feet away, and its body tipped forward. She screamed at Hannah, who was pinned beneath the original demon. Its large hands were wrapped around Hannah’s neck, and she struggled to breathe, unhealthy gasps escaping her lips as she jerked about like an insane puppet.
The demon’s swirling gaze focused on Rowan, its long tongue testing the air, twisting slowly like a snake in the grass. A growl rumbled from its chest, and it bared its fangs, obviously displeased it had been duped.
