Page 90 of Runes To Rain
A weak vision, more of a feeling really, of Lily and Chaosta in mortal danger hits me.
I barely manage the magic to transport myself, and when I materialize in the safe house, the scene from a nightmare greets me.
This is literally the scene from one of my repeated nightmares.
Stupid of me to think I might have been able to avoid it. However, perhaps it is that familiarity which allows me the ability to move quickly enough to try to save Chaosta. I make myself leave Lily, I knew she was dead even as I materialized, and get to Chaosta while she’s still clinging to life. There is no time for weakness. She doesn’t have any. I scoop her as gently as I can into my arms and transport us back to the demon stronghold.
As we reform in our sanctuary, I am already screaming forhelp. Chiron and others arrive quickly. When they see Chaosta hanging limply in my arms and whatever expression is on my face, they take her without a word. I watch as Chiron carries her quickly to one of our medical rooms. As I stand, covered in black blood, I send out a prayer to any deity that will listen to at least spare her.
Then I return for Lily.
I treat Lily, not her, I guess, her body in the way I know she would have wanted. I remove the knife, clean the blood from her carefully, and then transport her to a space in the central city mausoleum. The entire time, tears run down my face.
As a demon, I’m not meant to be plagued with emotions; that is a human weakness. Unfortunately, when I allowed Lily into my heart, I left space for those emotions. Emotions that are both good and bad.
I am just placing the stone on her final resting space, ready to come apart entirely when the summoning cracks through my head.
Apparently, I had the one free pass on ignoring a summoning. Or perhaps it is my current mental state because, before I can resist, I’m pulled to a familiar alcove to the side of the band’s apartment.
I’m not sure if it’s the overwhelming emotions or the part of me that is looking for a fight, but instead of leaving, I turn and walk through the front door.
The band is all here.
They are standing in the entry hall, clearly waiting for me. I walk into the center of the space and somehow choke out, “What do you need?”
Their eyes are all wide as they stare at me. They must see the blood covering my front and hands. Reem steps forward, as always, the leader of the group. I sneer at him as he gets closer to me.
“Look,” he says quietly, finally tearing his eyes from theblood on my shirt, arms, and hands to my face. “I’m extremely sorry if we interrupted anything, but?—”
“Yes, Reem, you interrupted. You interrupted me carrying Chaosta, who was near death and may be dead even now, back to the healers. You interrupted me as I was burying the love of my life. Both were once again the victims of angels. The force in this world that I have been supporting your little group in fighting against. Yet, instead of learning the magic needed, you’ve been fucking around with your music!”
There’s a gasp and a thud behind Reem as I speak, and I vaguely note that Dio has fallen to his knees. His face is completely white, and his eyes are wide and staring at me.
Fem goes quickly to Dio. I can almost hear Lent asking me questions past the buzzing in my ears.
Then Reem interrupts, drawing my attention. “We only summoned you because there was a city official asking for you. They said their name is Bonum.” His voice is choked, and he sounds afraid. Whether of me, or for Chaosta’s life, I don’t know and I don’t care.
As he says it, rage spikes through my chest, and I can’t breathe. I don’t know what happens to my face, but whatever it is makes Reem gasp and take a step back, away from me. “Where. Is. Bonum.” I grit out.
“Actually, they showed up again a few minutes ago to be ready for you to get here. I think they’re waiting in the alley across the street.”
Even as he finishes the sentence, I turn and stride out the door. I cross the street without looking, yet somehow I’m not run down by a carriage. My hands are in fists as I proceed into the narrow space between buildings, stalking my prey. As I walk further into the relative darkness, I see Bonum, who was leaning against the wall toward the end of the alley, push away and stalk toward me.
Their eyes look through me, and as I watch, they roll their shoulders in their familiar, demented way.
We meet somewhere in the middle, the tall buildings overlooking us at either side, our only audience. As we collide, we are already striking with bare fists. We don’t need swords for this fight. We don’t want to kill each other. This is about pain, giving, and receiving, and we don’t need swords for that. Barehanded, we already have plenty of brutality to share.
I strike their face, and satisfaction fills me as I feel their nose break and my knuckles split. They strike my abdomen, and the breath rushes from me. I stumble back two steps and then strike at their side. I get a blow in, ribs snapping under my hand, the knuckles on my other hand split, a matched set.
That blow knocks them off balance, and they collide with the wall behind them. I hear them cough. They use the wall to their advantage, though, and get a kick in with both feet against my chest. I hit the ground, the friction tearing through my shirt and the skin beneath.
There is a moment of immobility as we both get our lungs filled with air again, and then we are back up, going at each other. I try to sweep their legs, but they get them out of the way quickly enough, and when they land again, they kick me, this time in the leg, and the breath grunts out of me as my knee nearly dislocates.
I trip forward, but this time it’s my turn to use the momentum against them. I grab them as I fall and pull them to the ground beneath me. We wrestle there for a while, both trying to gain some advantage.
We punch, kick, break bones, and try to steal the breath from each other.
Finally pressing apart, we each sit, hunched over.
