Page 92 of The Last Slayer
Why did the thing even try to get to Mary? It should have dropped to its knees and begged for mercy. I had to be well-known in the creatures of nightmare community, given how many of them I’d killed. They probably talked about me in their creatures of nightmare bars or something. Then again, I had changed a lot and it undoubtedly couldn’t recognize me.
The demon turned toward me and hissed. I smiled.
It tried to jump, but its head hit the top of the containment field. It banged on the invisible barrier and snarled when it held.
“You’re stuck here unless you kill me.” I casually swung my sword. “Or you can take the easy way out and surrender.”
It didn’t bother to change its shape back to its real form. Twin medium-length blades appeared in its hands, reflections from the harsh stage lights running along their length. Weirdly enough, they went with the pinstripes. Conan the Politician.
“Bitch. Hunter bitch.”
How original. Yawn.
It paused, sniffing, suddenly unsure. “You’re not a hunter.”
“But still all bitch, baby.” I opened my guard slightly, trying to bait the thing. “Don’t you want to kill me? Suck my bone marrow or something?” I wanted the demon to make the first move. I wanted to beat the crap out of the damn thing before I chopped off its head.
It tested the air with its tongue and hissed again, actions that looked grotesquely disturbing on the sixtyish patrician face. “What manner of deceit is this?”
I rolled my eyes. What a dumbass. “Can you just attack?”
The demon pointed at Mary. “I want her!”
“You can’t have her. As a matter of fact, you have to leave her alone, which means you have to die.”
Guess it didn’t like being told to die, because it finally swung its swords. I blocked one and ducked under the other. The demon kicked me in the hip and jumped again, seeking a hole in the wall of containment. Its magic tried to rip my trap open, but there was no way the thing was getting away. I had a job to do—and this was probably the only part of my old life that I could really reclaim. I took a firmer grip on my sword, willing my power to bolster the wall.
Instead, it dematerialized around us.
I was just starting to wonder whether this was another Selena-like trap when dozens of large bird claws suddenly shot up out of the stage and grasped the demon, immobilizing it. Human heads with eagle beaks followed. I jumped away out of reflex, putting myself between the things and Mary. What the hell were they?
A pair of gigantic phoenixes joined us overhead. Or at least they looked like phoenixes. How many supernaturals have a snake’s neck, swallow’s beak, fish’s tail and crimson feathers?
The phoenixes dove, attacking the demon’s face, while the half-eagle things’ talons ripped into its flesh. The incubus screamed, slashed, shot out a series of offensive spells, none of which seemed to bother the other supernaturals. The magic just made them more frenzied. They shredded the thing, gobbling chunks of gore. Finally Mary’s demon succumbed, gurgling horribly. I just stared. I’d never seen anything like it before, and my stomach felt queasy. The others picked at the body until there was nothing left but bones.
Then they started gliding toward me.
Shit. I put my sword between me and the supernaturals. There were a lot of them, but I had a heartstone now. This was going to be interesting.
They stopped and stared at me, their heads tilting. The moment stretched. Finally I said the only thing I could think of.
“Shoo!”
Amazingly, they went away, bowing their heads and melting back into the ground. The phoenixes flew up and disappeared. I stood, staring and searching with all of my senses, but they were gone. How strange. Who did they work for? Their appearance didn’t seem to be random or purely benevolent.
I waited longer, half expecting an ambush or something, but there were no more supernaturals in Mary’s dream world. After a while I stepped over and took a small bone from the demon as a trophy, then severed the link between Mary and me.
Leaving a dream is easier than entering one. You feel buoyant, as if you’re rising to the surface of a particularly still and salty lake.
When I opened my eyes, I was in Mary’s bedroom. She remained curled in her bed, but should have been waking. The end of a hunt is like an interrupted dream—it forces you awake with a start.
“Mary?” I said.
No answer.
“Hey.” I reached out and touched her. She felt cold, and my heart skipped a beat. Clients aren’t supposed to be cold. “Mary!” I felt for a pulse, couldn’t find one. Her eyes were open, but vacant.
I started CPR on her. But with each compression of her chest came a realization that it wasn’t going to work. She was gone.
