Page 58 of The Prince of Demons

So, I needed to run like hell to my salvation.

I could do this.

I was not dead. I did not belong there. I was life. I was going to go home.

Reaper arched a long arm toward me. “That beauty over there is my dear Luna. Please, go steal my moon!”

The dog pounced.

I screamed, avoiding the surging panic by rolling to the right. The beast’s jaw snapped at me, tearing off my backpack. It exploded in shreds, but I kept running to the mirror.

The hellhound roared, sending a cascade of flames in front of me. Patches of frozen air sizzled and lit. My mind raced to strategize amidst the chaos. The dog toyed with my computer, shaking it back and forth with vigor. I tried not to think what would happen to my body in those powerful jaws.

If Reaper wanted to kill me, there were easier ways than this. He already knew who lived and died, according to his red cloth. This was just a trap. A torture trap. To trap me here, not kill me. Evasion, not survival, should be my goal here.

I was going to live, I told myself like a mantra as I darted between searing flames.

The leaves of my red trees grew bigger.

The rickety sign appeared.

My legs sprinted faster without the backpack weighing me down. Maybe all the walking I complained about during the first week of college was paying off.

I was fast. Alive. I was going to survive.

Details, like the lines of the tree bark, became vividly visible from my proximity.

I ran with flexed legs, arms whirling, fully prepared to lunge—

The dog jumped in front of me, smacking down in front of the mirror. It sat back on its haunches, howling triumphantly. Ringing dulled my senses. Residual smoke scorched my lungs, stinging with every breath. The air was burning, burning me alive—

Think.How did I get this damned dog out of my exit path?

If I didn’t, it would lay waste to me here. Forever.

I rebounded left. Dashed right. Kept evading.

I gauged the distance between me and my backpack contents, now strewn about in a deep crater. Then between me and the mirror.

An idea flexed in my mind.

I was going to live.

And I was willing to take a risk, even a borderline suicidal one, to do so.

I sprinted to the crater holding my remaining belongings and jumped in.

Grabbed what I needed. Plotted. When I was done, I’d turn my wrath onto Reaper. I’d absolutely lay into him, put him in impossible positions just like he did me—

“Given up already?” Reaper barbed.

He wished.

And I needed to get out of here before I thought about torturing him with the wrong kinds of positions.

Hurtling to the ledge, I climbed out, ignoring my screaming chest. Smoke billowed within me. My shadows wailed, begging for release, but I couldn’t let them out. I promised my mother. And I was stronger than that.

Where was the hellhound? In front of the mirror. Perfect.

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