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I prepare a cutting reply, then realize he’s serious. He’s looking to me to lead. That’s a first. I’ve always followed, bouncing from my parents to Dervish to Beranabus to Shark. Now I’m being asked to make the decisions, issue the call to arms and lead others to their deaths. I should be unsure of myself, but I’m not. Dervish was right. I don’t need a guardian anymore. I’m ready for leadership. More than that — I want to lead.
“We’ll hit them hard,” I growl. “We’ll take the werewolves and soldiers. We don’t know what they’re going to send against us — demons, armed guards, maybe the Shadow itself. So we’ll go prepared for anything.”
I start for the door. Dervish and Bec trail close behind. In the bed across from Dervish’s, one of the nurses says brightly, “Good luck!” But she’s not saying it to us. She’s saying it to Kirilli Kovacs.
I pause and look back. Kovacs is lying with his sheets pulled up to his throat. He looks like he’s about to be sick. I think he was hoping we’d sweep out without noticing him, so he could pretend he didn’t know we’d gone.
“Well?” I grunt, amused. Dervish told me a bit about Kovacs and his less than avid love of fighting, but even if he hadn’t, I could have seen with one look that this guy’s chicken, Disciple or not.
“Aren’t you going, Kirilli?” a nurse asks, frowning.
“Of course I am,” he puffs. “I just thought… I mean, I’m still recovering.…” He waves his injured hand at me, smiling shakily.
“I got up from my deathbed,” Dervish murmurs. “Surely you aren’t going to let a few missing fingers hold you back?”
“No!” Kovacs cries as the nurses glower accusingly. “I just meant…” His face darkens. He shoots me a look of pure spite, then recovers instantly. With a breezy smile, he turns to the nurses. “What I meant was, I have no desire to go to war in a dismal state of attire. I know my suit’s a touch the worse for wear, but if you good ladies could fetch it for me, so that I might cut a dashing figure as I stride into battle to save the day…”
The nurses like that. They quickly bring Kovacs his suit, which turns out to be a natty, badly shredded stage magician’s costume, with faded gold and silver stars stitched down the sides. But I must admit he wears the rags well. Pats dust away, tuts at the blood, then tips an imaginary hat to the nurses. “Later, ladies,” he purrs. Then, to a murmur of approving coos, he slides ahead of me, flashes me a reassuring smile — as if I needed encouragement — and exits like a politician heading off to settle an important affair of state.
I bark at the werewolves in the corridor, leaving Dervish to round up the human troops. With a few simple grunts, I let the beasts know we’re going to fight. They howl happily in response.
I’m excited as we step out of the building. I don’t care what the enemy sends against us. According to Juni, I’m the worst threat to mankind in any universe. I’ve only myself to be afraid of, really.
Dervish, Bec, and Kirilli edge up behind me, backed by about fifty soldiers. Kirilli’s teeth are chattering, but he stands his ground and lets magic gather in his hands. I don’t plan to rely on him, but he might prove useful.
Bec looks more resigned than afraid. She’s trying hard to believe we can win, not just this fight but all those still to come. But it’s hard. In her heart she feels we’re doomed. She’ll give it her best, but she doesn’t think we can triumph, not in the end, not against Death.
Dervish is smiling. He figures he’s going to be dead soon, one way or another, so what does he have to worry about? He’s picked his spot and chosen his fight. If he dies, it’ll be on home turf. That’s all that matters to him now.
The soldiers are nervous, though some hide it better than others. They know a bit about demons, that they can’t kill the monsters, only slow them down. They’re not in control of this situation, and I know how frustrating that can be. But the Disciples have chosen well. This lot will stand, fight, and die if they have to.
And they will.
I look around at my misshapen pack of werewolves and smile jaggedly. Of all those with me, these are the ones I’m counting on to cause the greatest upset. If our foes don’t know about my lupine retinue, they’re in for a nasty surprise. Demons are used to having it easy on this world. Most humans can’t kill them, and they rarely have to face more than a couple of Disciples at a time. Thirty-seven savage werewolves are going to make for a very different experience!
I sniff the air. I hear horrified screams coming from several streets away. I’m eager to get into the action, but I delay the moment of attack, thinking about Juni’s awful prophecy. Then, wiping it from my thoughts, I roar and let the werewolves break loose. As they race to confront the demons, I pound along in the middle of them. Dervish, Bec, Kirilli, and the soldiers lag behind. I’m grinning wolfishly, no longer worried about prophecies. Let the world end. Hell, let me be the one to end it! What does it matter? Nobody lives forever. If mankind’s destined to bite the bullet, let’s bite and be damned.
We turn a corner. I see hordes of demons running wild, humans fleeing the monstrous creatures. With an excited yelp, I lead my misshapen troops into action. As I zone in on the demonic army, I smile and think there’s at least one guarantee I can make. If Juni’s right, and it’s my fate to destroy this planet, the poet got it wrong. The world won’t end with a bang or a whimper. It’ll end with the death screams of a thousand demons and a defiant, carefree, savage, wolfen howl.
The horrifying adventures continue in
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DARK CALLING
Book 9 in THE DEMONATA series
Coming October 2009
Turn the page for a sneak peek.…
A SMALL, wiry, scorpion-shaped demon with a semi-human face drives its stinger into my right eye. My eyeball pops and gooey streaks flood down my cheek. In complete agony, I scream helplessly, but worse is to come. The demon spits into the empty socket. At first I think it’s just phlegm, but then dozens of tiny things start to wriggle in the space where my eye once swam. As I fill with confused horror, teeth or claws dig into the bone around my ruined eye. Whatever the mini-monsters are, they’re trying to tunnel through to my brain.
Beranabus roars, “Kernel!” and tries to grab me, but I wheel away from him as insanity and pain claim me. I whip around, flailing, shrieking, wild. The demon strikes again and punctures my left eye. Darkness consumes me. I’m in hell.
A lifetime later, someone picks me up from where I’ve fallen and drags me forward. It might be Beranabus or Grubbs, or maybe it’s Lord Loss. I don’t know or care. All I can focus on is the blind hellish pain.
I pull away from the person or demon and run from the madness, but crash into something hard. I fall, moaning and screaming, but not crying — I no longer have eyes to weep with. The creatures that were spat into my eyes are muching on my brain now. I try to scrape them out with my fingers, but that just adds to the torment.
