AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Have I ever mentioned that I become bolder and dumber the more frightened I get? Because that seems to be a trend.
Mammon’s eyes narrowed into emerald slits. “Give Mammon the dog – and the nephilim.”
Chapter 27
“You’re not getting either,” Sterling said coolly, soundlessly appearing at my side. His katana, the one granted as a gift by the storm god Susanoo, was gripped tightly in his hand, sparking with jolts of electricity. “And we’re more than prepared to beat the shit out of you until you get that.”
Somewhere down the corridors, Gil howled from deep inside his werewolf throat. I stared directly into Mammon’s eyes and smiled.
“You’re severely outnumbered,” I said. “And Sterling’s right. We’ll wear you down, one way or another. You’re not getting Banjo or Mason.”
Where the hell was Mason, anyway? And Banjo, for that matter? Whatever. Safer was better for them both.
“Give them names,” Mammon said, leering, “and you give them agency. Think of them merely as bargaining chips. Liquid assets. Allow Mammon to keep this simple. Surrender the dog and the nephilim, or – ”
“How do you even know about Mason?” Asher said. “The nephilim.”
Mammon laughed again. “How foolish. The fruit borne of a fallen soldier of heaven and a mortal woman has ripened. Do you truly believe that the forces of hell will turn a blind eye? This ‘Mason’ will be a fine addition to Mammon’s menagerie. A fine addition indeed.”
“Banjo, wait, no!” This time it was Mason’s voice, calling from somewhere near our dormitories. My blood went cold.
“Ah, just in time. The goods have decided to deliver themselves straight into Mammon’s deserving hands.”
I whipped around, my heart sinking as I saw Banjo streaking down the corridor towards us, followed by Mason, who in turn was closely followed by a slavering, frothing Gil in werewolf form.
“Intercept the little bastard,” Sterling cried.
Carver thrust his hand out, a web of amber fire launching like a net from his fingers. “Come to Papa, Banjo.”
The corgi kept on running, dodging, weaving, practically dancing away from our fingers and from Carver’s magical net. I spun in place again, leaning into a sprint as Banjo ran straight towards Mammon, stopped just paces away, and gave an unearthly bark.
Mammon exploded.
Wet, steaming pieces of demon prince went scattering all over the dojo, its flesh and blood a bizarre, marbled mess of crimson and gold. An eyeball rolled towards my bare feet, its bright green pupil staring accusingly at me. I backed away a couple of steps, my stomach churning.
“Oh my God,” I stammered, clutching fistfuls of my hair. “Oh my God, Banjo, what have you done?”
As if in understanding, Banjo turned to me, waggled his butt, then gave a happy yip.
Carver swept Banjo up in a fatherly embrace, rubbing his head and nuzzling him, and was rewarded with a series of licks to the face. “Good Banjo,” he cooed. “Smart Banjo. Daddy’s little murderer.”
“We’re fucked,” I said.
“Possibly,” Carver said. “But not if we get to work strengthening the Boneyard’s spiritual barriers.” He gazed around us thoughtfully, his false eye glowing as it saw things only he could see. “The walls are thinner than I’d hoped.”
Behind us, farther down the corridor, Gil growled, then whimpered as his transformation reversed. The sprouted fur all over his body receded into his skin – that alone looked hellishly painful – and his bones cracked and snapped back into place. With a final agonized groan, Gil flexed his jaws and rolled his neck, his joints popping.
Mason joined our huddle, gripping his knees as he panted. “Tried to stop Banjo. But he got spooked.” He gave Gil a passing glance, but said nothing more.
&nbs
p; “Gilberto.” Sterling pushed his hands into his sides and gave Gil a stern, hard glare. “Did you try to eat Banjo? Be honest, now.”
“Yes,” Gil droned. He stared at the floor and nodded, his lip upturned. “It won’t happen again.”
Mason clapped Gil on the back. “Cheer up. If you hadn’t tried, Banjo wouldn’t have gotten here in time to – Jesus, to do whatever the hell it was he did to that demon thing.”
“Prince,” I said miserably, gesturing at the clumps of mangled flesh and viscera strewn across the practice platform. “That was Mammon, the demon prince of greed.”
