Demons Read online

  I followed quickly, locking all the doors and then pushing the keys deep in my pocket. I skirted around the hood of the car and met Kate, watching as she zipped up a thin blue jacket. I took her hand when she was done, and we walked side by side across the narrow street and up toward the six-story building. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Toni standing near a dumpster, talking with two homeless men. I saw money exchange hands, but then I focused on my own task.

  The sidewalk up to the building was wide, and Kate nearly tripped over a large tangle of weeds growing out of a crack. I steadied her and we continued walking without a word. I could feel the eyes of the homeless on us, though no one challenged our approach.

  The doors and windows of the first floor had been boarded up, but the front door had been broken into before. I jerked it open, and it groaned heavily, a protesting screech echoing down the dark hall.

  We stepped inside, and as the door swung closed, Kate moved her backpack around and retrieved her flashlight. She switched it on and swept the beam of light across the hall. There were closed doors on either side of us, and at the end of the long hall were two elevators.

  “Stay close,” I told her needlessly, leading her toward the first door on our left. Jack had assured us he'd searched the area, but he'd admitted to Toni that the search probably hadn't been as in-depth as in other buildings, simply because it had been the first place he and Jason had frantically scanned. I knew if we didn't find a sign of the Guardian soon, we'd have to give up. Tonight might be my last chance to find him.

  Kate held the flashlight, swinging it back and forth across the deserted office. The carpet had been ripped out, leaving a hard cement floor. I could hear mice scrambling out of the corners to avoid the light. I wondered if Kate heard them, but she didn't seem to react to the sound. Some walls had also been kicked out, leaving the wood and steel supports exposed. It was a pretty creepy place, even by my standards.

  Kate didn't seem bothered. Either she was a lot more resilient than I'd given her credit for, or my presence was somehow enough to keep her at ease. I liked to think it was the latter, mostly because her faith in me gave me extra courage.

  We walked through the room, and I even took a good look in the walls. It was easy to imagine this had been some type of legal office or even a dentist's waiting room. There were three smaller rooms connected to this one, like smaller offices or cubicles. A fourth door led to a large storage-like space, which was marginally longer than the other small rooms. There was a considerable amount of dust and pieces of crumbled drywall, but not much else.

  We moved back into the hall, searching the office space behind the door opposite us. Similar rooms, similar findings: absolutely nothing. We searched the entire first floor, and the small hope I'd been harboring slowly died. We would search the other floors, of course, but the main floor had made the most sense for a hiding place. It was easy to access, easy to escape from. The perfect place for someone who was paranoid.

  We were at the end of the hall when the front door was pulled open and Toni stepped inside. Kate shined the light right at him, and he froze and flinched. “Wow, thanks a lot. It's not like I was attached to my retinas or anything…”

  “Sorry. I wanted to make sure it was you,” she apologized, flicking the flashlight down and out of his eyes.

  “Learn anything?” I asked him as he made his way toward us.

  He shook his head. “Not much. One guy said he'd know if anyone new was hanging around the area, because he's an alien from the planet Kiljoth, or something, and has psychic abilities. For obvious reasons, I really didn't believe anything else that came out of his mouth. Then there was an older woman who claimed she saw a ghost up in one of these upper windows last night. She said he looked ‘frantic’ and ‘creepy.’ Personally, that was what I thought she looked like.”

  Kate's voice was excited. “That might have been him, right?”

  Toni shrugged and stopped in front of us. “Every other person I talked to calls the old lady Scary Amy. She thought the dumpster was haunted too. No one else claims to have seen this person.” He handed Kate her wallet. “You'll need to stop by an ATM sometime. You're completely out.”

  She tucked it back in her backpack, muttering a somewhat sarcastic “thanks.”

  “Anything on your end?” Toni asked me. “Though of course, if there had been, you probably wouldn't have asked me first.”

  I shot him a disparaging look. “Toni, your brilliance amazes me.”

  “We each do what we can.” He grinned with mock humility. “So—next floor?”

  “We'll split up,” I said. “You take the basement, Kate and I will take the second floor.”

  “Thanks, give me the creepy cellar,” he muttered. “Give me the keys and I'll go back for some flashlights.”

  “No need.” Kate still had her backpack off after returning the wallet and was now pulling out two more flashlights, smaller than the one she held firmly. “I came prepared,” she repeated.

  Toni took one, and Kate held the other one out to me. I took it, a somewhat confused look on my face.

  She hurried to explain her logic while shrugging her bag back over her shoulders. “We'll cover more ground if we all split up. I'll take the second floor.”

  “I'd feel better if you were with me,” I argued quickly.

  She just grinned. “You don't need to worry so much. I've got a loud scream. Besides, I have my knife, remember? I can always just pull off a few ninja moves.”

  “You seem a bit too happy tonight,” Toni commented.

  She shrugged. “Living in the moment is all.”

  “Fine. Do you want the scary basement?”

  She half grimaced. “Um, I think I'll let you keep that one.”

  “Kate,” I started, but she was already moving toward the closed door with a somewhat faded sign that depicted stairs.

  Toni wiped a fake tear. “She's growing right up,” he mourned.

  I frowned at him and then hurried to follow her before she could get too far.

  The stairwell was dark, and our footsteps echoed loudly. It was very musty—more so than the rest of the building. Toni moved down, and Kate and I climbed up.

  When we reached the second-floor landing—despite my better judgment—I sighed and held the door open for her. “Scream loud,” I begged her, only partly joking.

  She smiled leaning in to give me a fast peck on the lips. “I'm still sort of hoping for no screaming, personally.”

  “Just be careful.”

  “You too.”

  She released my hand, and in seconds she'd disappeared into the dark hall. I let the door slowly close. I felt like I was betraying her, not living up to my Guardian duties by leaving her behind, but I didn't know what else to do. She could be so stubborn. I blew out my breath before proceeding on to the next floor alone, hoping she wouldn't find anything bigger than a rat.

  The third floor was identical to the first. The stairs deposited me right where the front door would have led, so I just followed the same search pattern I'd used on the lower floor. The door on the right, then the one across the hall…

  When I opened the fourth door—second one on the left—I immediately knew I'd found something. A horrible smell assaulted my nose, and I fought the initial reaction to gag. I habitually pulled out the dagger from my belt, just in case, and inched my way into the room.

  It was the larger room, the one like a lobby or waiting area. Several holes dotted the walls, some large enough that I could have stood inside. I debated about switching off the flashlight—minimal moonlight was able to creep between the boards on the windows—but I decided to leave it on. Keeping the light aimed at the floor, I swept it across the dark space, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Still, it smelled like someone had been violently sick somewhere close by, perhaps in one of the smaller offices.

  Feeling the first tug of fear, I hesitated. Call it common sense or some deeper premonition, but I was suddenly worried about what I'd fi
nd if I searched any further. I was sure the smell was caused by a homeless vagrant, because Guardians never got sick. It was one of the bonuses of living forever. We could get tired, we could sometimes get headaches, but we never heaved or got a cold.

  I overrode my instinct to turn back, mostly because this is what I did. I was a Guardian—I helped people. It didn't matter who needed my help, whether it was a homeless beggar or a somewhat crazy Guardian.

  I stepped into the room, crossed it tentatively, and pushed open the first door. The smell hit me again, stronger this time. A musty smell mixed with the bile, and the combination turned my stomach. There were other smells too—decaying flesh, body odor, and the strong stench of urine. I lifted the beam of my flashlight, wishing I had a spare hand to cover my nose and mouth.

  I took a single step into the small room, and the yellow light fell on a body in the far corner.

  It was a large form, not scrawny as I would have imagined a sick beggar to appear. He was rolled up in some dusty old carpet, but despite that he was shivering—shuddering. His body rose and fell with rasping breaths. I pushed the beam of light up to his face and saw that he was sleeping.

  Correction, he was pinching his eyes closed, blearily trying to see me through the sudden light. He groaned, and the sound was weak and full of pain.

  “No,” the surely dying man croaked. “No.”

  I moved the light to his chest, taking the strain off of his eyes. My heart went out to such misery, and I had to move closer, though I did so cautiously. I slid the knife into my belt, hoping that he hadn't seen it in the first place. He sounded distressed enough just by my appearance. “It's all right, sir. I'm going to take you to a hospital.”

  “No!” He wheezed desperately, his voice incredibly dry. “Don't come any closer!” He struggled against the carpet, but he'd wrapped himself well.

  I paused, then crouched to the ground, thinking if I didn't tower over him he would be less likely to perceive me as a threat. “I mean you no harm,” I assured him soothingly.

  He finally pushed free of the constricting cocoon, and the carpet fell away from him. His clothes were worn and soiled, stained with dirt and sweat—and spattered with some blood, as if his nose had been recently bleeding.

  It was strange. He acted so frail—yet his body looked fit and strong. He couldn't have been much older than forty, and yet his shaking hands marked him as an old man.

  “No closer,” he gasped, pushing up into a sitting position. He nearly crumpled over, and he grabbed his head and groaned.

  “Please,” I said, endeavoring to sound calm. “I can help you. Trust me.”

  His back slumped against the wall, and he slowly raised his head. Blood was trickling out of his nose, but he didn't seem to notice. His next words stole my breath. “You're a Guardian. You can see me. I told the other Guardian to stay away.”

  My face had frozen. I stared at him, uncomprehending. It was him. The Guardian we'd been searching for, for two straight days. But that couldn't be possible. My mind rejected the thought. This man was dying—the room reeked of his painful passing. It couldn't be true. This couldn't be a Guardian.

  Yet it was. His eyes—though filled with agony—were clear and sharp. He was telling the truth. Why would a dying man lie?

  “What happened to you?” I breathed at last, every hair on my body rising in trepidation.

  His body convulsed, and his eyes shut tightly. His face contorted in gut-wrenching pain, and his arms abjectly snaked around his stomach, as if that could stop his torment. When the spasm faded, he turned tearful eyes to me. “They did this,” he roughly sobbed. “They must be stopped. There is no way to stop them. I'm going to die.” He closed his eyes, his cries tremulous now. “For years I've wanted it to happen, but now…”

  I stared at him, horror on my face. I couldn't help it—I'd never seen anything this frightening. He was obviously going insane from the pain. He was rambling, muttering fiercely one second, whimpering like a small child the next.

  I had to do something. I knew that. Yet I hesitated. This moment seemed eternal.

  How was this possible?

  Suddenly he opened his eyes, and his gaze cut into my soul. “You must go,” he hissed, breathing fast, shallow breaths. “Leave me. Get out of here!” He choked, coughed—his body shook with the torment.

  I did the only thing I could think of doing. I sank to my knees and raised my hands carefully. “I can get you help,” I said calmly. “We can figure this out, if you come with me.”

  He shook his head. “No…”

  I reached out my hands, but the movement alarmed him. He pushed off from the floor in an effort to crouch away from me, but couldn't maintain his balance. He tipped forward, my arms instinctively lashing out to catch him. One palm slapped under his shoulder, the other slipped down his arm and brushed the back of his cold hand.

  Something terrible happened in that split second of contact.

  I could feel beads of sweat, but there was something else against his skin—and now I could feel it on mine. An irritation. An itch. I drew back my hand in quick surprise, flipping it over so I could view my palm. I moved my fingers quickly, seeing nothing—but the irritation remained. Almost a burn now.

  I wiped my hand on my pant leg quickly, trying to scrape off whatever it was.

  I glanced up when I heard the Guardian cry out, a late reaction. He jerked back, and I wasn't opposed to the small distance between us. “No!” he burst, sounding stronger than ever. “Don't touch me!”

  His sudden surge of energy surprised me, and—already off balance—I fell back, my hands darting back to stop my fall. The skin on my hand was twitching, and the sensation spread from my fingertips down across my palm, rushing up my arm next. My skin prickled, and I drew in a fast breath of shock and dread. Soon every inch of my skin was enveloped by the strange sensation. Not really pain, but certainly not comfortable.

  Already, though, the sensation was fleeing my fingertips and dying down across my hand. It felt normal again. My arm, shoulder, chest… slowly, every section that had tingled now throbbed with normality. I shuddered from the rapid change, and my mind wondered if the experience had even happened.

  I noticed distantly the Guardian was moving, scrambling in the carpet for something. I tried to ignore what had just happened to me, so I could focus on him. He was agitated, and I knew I needed to calm him down. I needed him to trust me so I could get him to Terence.

  Before I could speak, he found what he'd been groping for.

  Gasping, he sat up and pointed a small pistol at my chest. “Don't touch me!” He groaned, his desperate eyes already knowing it was too late. But there was something else there—a grim hope that maybe he'd imagined my touch.

  I lifted a reassuring hand in an attempt to keep him calm, though my own heart was pounding.

  He panicked and pinched his eyes closed. “I'm sorry,” he whispered, then he squeezed the trigger.

  There was a loud explosion of sound, and I felt the bullet plunge into my body. I was thrown back violently, the back of my head cracking painfully against the cement.

  I gasped in pain, the sound ending in a painful groan. I pulled in a shuddering breath and blinked rapidly, feeling the blood escaping from the back of my head, wetting my hair. The bullet was lodged inside my chest—I could feel it. I wouldn't heal until it was removed. I couldn't die, but the injury was enough to slow me down—that must have been his point. He was going to run. He was going to leave me.

  “Help me,” I gasped at him. The pain was intense and familiar. I had died like this. My whole body felt cold and then suddenly hot.

  “I'm sorry,” the Guardian's husky voice repeated. I heard him struggling to stand. “No one can touch me. No one can find me. No one. I'm sorry.” He was rambling again, muttering insanely.

  The gash on the back of my head was already healed—my head was still pounding in pain, but the bleeding had stopped. I squinted at my chest, saw the blood blossoming out f
rom the bullet hole. It burned and throbbed.

  I felt dizzy. I heard the Guardian rise and stumble past me, still holding the gun defensively. He was almost to the door when I heard a distant door slam, followed by unsure footsteps.

  “Patrick?” Kate called, her voice overcome with worry.

  The Guardian moaned, fingering the gun nervously. “You're not alone?” He pushed through the open doorway without another word and hobbled out, gaining speed and surety with each step.

  “No,” I rasped, trying to make my voice louder. “Please. She's not a Guardian!”

  He didn't stop. Maybe he hadn't even heard me.

  Kate advanced down the corridor, still calling for me.

  I groaned and rolled onto my stomach, a cry of agony escaping before I could lock my jaw, my lips tightly compressed. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and I pushed myself unsteadily to my knees. I swallowed back the pain and tried to stand.

  I had to stop him. He was going to kill her.

  Seconds later I heard a gunshot, and my blood ran cold when I heard Kate scream.

  Kate Bennett

  New Mexico, United States

  I hadn't actually thought to ask Toni over the phone what a Seer should bring when hunting for a Guardian who may or may not be insane, so I just stuck to some basics. A light jacket, a few assorted flashlights, a couple water bottles, a small first aid kit, some paper, and a pencil. (Not really sure why on the last two, but it didn't seem like a bad idea, per se.) I'd also dug around in my closet until I found the small dagger and black leg holster that Patrick had given to me when we'd gone to rescue the twins from Romero and Avalos. I'd dumped it in there and buried it behind a couple totes, somewhat hoping I wouldn't need it again for a while. Still, I was going for preparedness, so I slapped it on my left leg and artfully rearranged my flared pant leg to cover it.

  I hadn't actually thought I'd ever need any of these things, other than the flashlights and maybe some water. But then I heard the gunshot.