Page 27 of Not Today, Satan
“We don’t have time for this.” Grabbing his forearm, I flip his hand over and tap the red numbers etched below his wrist. “All shadelings have a tracker embedded in their stamp. See this glow under the skin? That means they’ve activated yours. That’s how they found us so quickly. We need to get rid of it. Now.”
His body tenses. “How do we do that? Cut off my arm? I’m all for getting out of here, but I was hoping to have all my appendages when I left.”
I frown as I study the light blinking beneath his tanned skin. “I think I can short it out.”
“That’s a way better plan than severing a limb.”
My fingers wrap around his wrist, and I peer up at him from beneath my hood with raised eyebrows. “It’s going to hurt. A lot.”
He stares over my shoulder, melancholy darkening his eyes. “After what they put me through the last few days, I’m not afraid of pain. Just get it over with.”
My grip tightens at his obvious distress, an instinctive attempt to provide comfort. He covers my hand with his and squeezes back. I blink rapidly.
What am I doing?
It’s not my job to comfort shadelings. The opposite, in fact. I tear my fingers from his and reach into the bag for the baton I’d taken from the souldiers.
I hand it to him. “You may want to put that in your mouth. Can’t have you screaming and giving us away.”
He turns the baton over in his hand, then shrugs and places it between his teeth.
I take his wrist again and squint at the tracker. The likelihood of this actually working is slim. I’ve never seen one of these things up close, much less deactivated it. My mouth dries as I settle my palm on his skin.
Closing my eyes, I focus on my own veins. On the heat that lies in wait there.
I conjure images of fire in my mind.
Nothing happens, and I cluck my teeth in annoyance.
I’m able to destroy Father’s most prized item and singe my own clothing, but I can’t produce a spark when it matters most.
“Demca?” Nathan Reynolds asks through the baton in his mouth. “You’k?”
“Shush. I need to concentrate.” My powers are strongest when my emotions run high. Especially the darkest ones, like anger, fear, hate. Those bring out my demon side. They make me strong like my father.
Father.
He kept my mother from me my entire life. Told me she was gone forever while secretly stalking her on Earth. He buried her deeper than humans bury their dead and didn’t even give me a grave to weep beside.
The fury starts in my belly and converges on my chest. It builds through my arm and surges into my palms. There’s no pain as my flesh sears his, only a release as the anger rushes from me to him.
Nathan Reynolds’s hand tenses in mine, and he grunts beneath the baton in his teeth. He tries to pull away, but I tighten my grip.
His flesh blisters, and the putrid smell mingles with the already smoky air. The baton mercifully mutes his screams.
His body’s replaced by that of my father. I grit my teeth and press harder, transforming every awful thing he’s said and done into fire and burning it alive.
There’s a popping sound as the tracker shorts out under my palm, but I don’t let go. My face is damp with tears, my cheeks hot with rage. I release everything into my fire, determined to remove them for good.
“Devica!” Nathan Reynolds’s voice pierces the air from far away, and I’m shoved into the wall behind me. The images of my father shatter as my spine hits stone, replaced by the boy from Lot Thirteen. He stares at me in horror and cradles his arm, the baton at his feet.
My palms still smoke, but the flames have retreated back into my body. I’m covered in sweat, my hair plastered to the back of my neck.
Whatwasthat?
Panting, I ball my hands into fists and allow my hood to fall over my face. “Sorry,” I whisper. “I’m not sure what happened. I’m still learning to use my powers.”
He blows on his seared flesh. “It’s fine. And it worked. No more blinking lights.”
