complains-just embraces me with his quiet strength, rumbling words I do not understand, but which sound good and warm, like home.
And then, when the hour turns late, we leave. Grant takes his flute. I have the boys.
It is raining, water sheeting down against the windshield with deafening force, blinding my view of the road. Lightning cuts the
city skyline, thunder rolling over the empty downtown streets. It is a
bad night to be out.
I park the car on First Street, directly in front of Pike Place Mar
ket. The steel grates are down, the lights off. Neither of us moves,
though the boys melt into the shadows of the backseat. Dek and Mal coil tight around my neck.
Grant fingers the flute. "I suppose we could test my theory in here where it's dry. I've never tried to summon a demon queen from inside a '69 red Mustang. Might make a quick getaway that much easier."
"Having second thoughts?"
"Not really. You said this place is a hot spot, right? Where the veil is thin?"
"And you said you've been playing weekends in this market for months. Just ... doing your thing." Changing personalities, weav ing color into the darkness of human spirits. Work I question, work I would never want him to attempt on me-no matter how good his intentions. "I suppose that explains why you became a threat, if your music somehow made it through the weak spots in the veil. Af fecting demons on the other side."
"It may have been enough that I changed demons already here."
I say nothing. Just tap the steering wheel, staring out the window at the rain-battered street. Chew the inside of my cheek, trying to consider the possibilities, the future. My brain goes empty. All I can see is darkness and cold, the shelling water beating the world into a hard drum, a hard pulse, a hard heart.
I touch the door handle. "Ready?"
Grant never answers. Zee explodes from the shadows of the backseat, claws tearing up the leather. Something massive slams into the Mustang's hood, tilting the vehicle up on its front two wheels be fore dropping us hard to the road. The crash is bone jarring. My seat belt cuts so deep I imagine it touches my spine. Grant shouts my name. Glass shatters, a massive fist punching through the wind shield, slamming into his headrest. Zee howls.
I shove open my door and tumble out, dragging Grant over the driver's seat behind me. The rain steals my breath away, as does the hulking figure crouched on the hood, a creature twice my height and triple around. No features, no eyes or nose or ears-just a mass of smoky shadows radiating heat like the rough shell of a hot coal.
Zee melts from the shadows, Aaz and Raw close behind. Dek and Mal loosen their grip around my neck, uncoiling through my hair, whispering words I do not understand. A prickle runs up my spine. I glance over my shoulder.
We are not alone. I see other bodies, darker than night, shambling close like sludge hills with legs. Their skin hisses and steams beneath the rain, and there is a glint of red where their eyes should be.
The demon on top of my car makes a throaty sound and leaps down, concrete cracking beneath its feet. Behind it I see a shimmer that makes me blink hard, wipe rain from my eyes, and stare hard at the hood of my car, which is no longer crumpled and torn-but completely undamaged. The windshield is intact. The only indica tion there was ever violence is the driver's side door, still hanging open.
"Bogeymen," Zee mutters. "Pain baiters."
Grant lifts the flute to his mouth. The bogey watches the man, measures him. Makes me think of my mother, the zombie who must have sat in darkness outside our home, also watching, also measuring.
I click my fingers, and Zee throws himself at the demon. His claws sink into the frayed darkness of its back, teeth ripping into shadow, tearing out chunks of it like meat. Aaz and Raw cut behind us, yanking spikes from their spines and using them as daggers as they slash through the hulking demons behind us, spraying sparks through
And then, when the hour turns late, we leave. Grant takes his flute. I have the boys.
It is raining, water sheeting down against the windshield with deafening force, blinding my view of the road. Lightning cuts the
city skyline, thunder rolling over the empty downtown streets. It is a
bad night to be out.
I park the car on First Street, directly in front of Pike Place Mar
ket. The steel grates are down, the lights off. Neither of us moves,
though the boys melt into the shadows of the backseat. Dek and Mal coil tight around my neck.
Grant fingers the flute. "I suppose we could test my theory in here where it's dry. I've never tried to summon a demon queen from inside a '69 red Mustang. Might make a quick getaway that much easier."
"Having second thoughts?"
"Not really. You said this place is a hot spot, right? Where the veil is thin?"
"And you said you've been playing weekends in this market for months. Just ... doing your thing." Changing personalities, weav ing color into the darkness of human spirits. Work I question, work I would never want him to attempt on me-no matter how good his intentions. "I suppose that explains why you became a threat, if your music somehow made it through the weak spots in the veil. Af fecting demons on the other side."
"It may have been enough that I changed demons already here."
I say nothing. Just tap the steering wheel, staring out the window at the rain-battered street. Chew the inside of my cheek, trying to consider the possibilities, the future. My brain goes empty. All I can see is darkness and cold, the shelling water beating the world into a hard drum, a hard pulse, a hard heart.
I touch the door handle. "Ready?"
Grant never answers. Zee explodes from the shadows of the backseat, claws tearing up the leather. Something massive slams into the Mustang's hood, tilting the vehicle up on its front two wheels be fore dropping us hard to the road. The crash is bone jarring. My seat belt cuts so deep I imagine it touches my spine. Grant shouts my name. Glass shatters, a massive fist punching through the wind shield, slamming into his headrest. Zee howls.
I shove open my door and tumble out, dragging Grant over the driver's seat behind me. The rain steals my breath away, as does the hulking figure crouched on the hood, a creature twice my height and triple around. No features, no eyes or nose or ears-just a mass of smoky shadows radiating heat like the rough shell of a hot coal.
Zee melts from the shadows, Aaz and Raw close behind. Dek and Mal loosen their grip around my neck, uncoiling through my hair, whispering words I do not understand. A prickle runs up my spine. I glance over my shoulder.
We are not alone. I see other bodies, darker than night, shambling close like sludge hills with legs. Their skin hisses and steams beneath the rain, and there is a glint of red where their eyes should be.
The demon on top of my car makes a throaty sound and leaps down, concrete cracking beneath its feet. Behind it I see a shimmer that makes me blink hard, wipe rain from my eyes, and stare hard at the hood of my car, which is no longer crumpled and torn-but completely undamaged. The windshield is intact. The only indica tion there was ever violence is the driver's side door, still hanging open.
"Bogeymen," Zee mutters. "Pain baiters."
Grant lifts the flute to his mouth. The bogey watches the man, measures him. Makes me think of my mother, the zombie who must have sat in darkness outside our home, also watching, also measuring.
I click my fingers, and Zee throws himself at the demon. His claws sink into the frayed darkness of its back, teeth ripping into shadow, tearing out chunks of it like meat. Aaz and Raw cut behind us, yanking spikes from their spines and using them as daggers as they slash through the hulking demons behind us, spraying sparks through
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