Death, Doom and Detention

by Darynda Jones

  Just as an axe arced toward us, I ran through the snow, closed my eyes, and jumped over the canyon wall.

  FUZZY BOTTOMS

  I wasn’t the first. Two people had jumped off that same cliff before, both of them alleged suicides. I hardly had time to think, to gather my thoughts before the ground came barreling toward me. A split second before I hit, I heard two words, like a whisper of wind through the trees.

  “Be still.”

  And I stopped in one breathtaking jerk.

  My eyes flew open and I looked at the ground below me. The one that was just sitting there, being all groundlike. I gasped and craned my neck to see a pair of feet planted before me. They were followed by two long legs. Then hands, strong and scuffed with fresh blood. Forearms, the muscles that corded around them flexed and ready. A lean stomach with an open wound on one side, blood spreading across a white T-shirt. Wide shoulders and the most amused smile I’d ever seen.

  “I’m—I’m flying,” I said, my voice high with astonishment.

  He laughed softly. “Actually, you’re hovering.” He reached toward me and took one of my hands and like magic I fell into his arms. My favorite place to be.

  “How—? What did you—?” I looked up the side of the cliff, then back to him. He waited patiently, letting me absorb what had just happened. “How did you—? I don’t—” I stopped, assessed the situation, then looked back up at him. “I think I peed my pants.”

  He tightened his hold. “You aren’t wearing pants.”

  “I think I peed my fuzzy bottoms.”

  Jared arched his brows, but I had a thought.

  “If we live through this, Brooke and Glitch have got to try that.”

  Throwing his head back, he laughed out loud, the sound rich and luxurious and welcome. It caused a fluttering sensation to rush over me, like butterflies, like warm water.

  After a moment, he sobered and leveled a reluctant stare on me. “They’re coming.”

  I turned and saw the descendants scrambling down the face of the cliff like monkeys, strong and sure-footed. The sight was disturbing on about seven thousand levels. While there were fewer of them now, only six or seven left, they were still coming, still hunting.

  Loosening his hold, Jared lowered me to the ground.

  I pulled on his bloodied shirt. “Run!”

  He looked back at the advancing enemy.

  How had he taken out at least half a dozen nephilim and managed to beat me to the canyon floor? But he’d paid a price. He was hurt. Blood was oozing from between his ribs and down the side of his head, a crimson river trailing under his collar.

  Someday, I would get used to seeing him beat to heck. It was a day I looked forward to. Actually, I looked forward to any day that did not end here and now, making this one my last.

  I pulled again. “Jared, we have to run.”

  “What?” he said, sharing another teasing grin. “Leave now? When I have them right where I want them?”

  They jumped down from an impossible distance, landing one by one in front of us. I toppled back, but Jared caught me to him. Then Vincent was there, still holding his stomach. Jared had hurt him, and that made me happy inside.

  Jared pushed me behind him protectively. I latched on to his arm as he draped it across my body.

  “This is where you wanted them?” I asked in a whisper.

  “Those were some very good friends of mine,” Vincent said, planting his feet and glaring. “The men you just killed.”

  “You’ll see them again. Very soon, in fact.”

  He scoffed. “I told you, it doesn’t work like that for us. We’re bastards, remember? When your kind decided to go rogue and join the gang down here, God was not happy.” He pointed to the heavens. “He kept the one thing from nephilim that he gave every full-blooded human on Earth. Souls. So, no. I won’t be seeing them anytime soon. They’re gone. Just like you’re about to be.”

  He started forward, but Jared stopped him when he said, “I am the last being you should challenge.”

  “Why?” he asked, his tone full of contempt. “Because you’re an arch? You archs are all alike. So supreme. So powerful. But you.” He spit at Jared’s feet and I couldn’t help but notice there was more blood than saliva. “You are the worst. You were given a power far beyond anything the others have, the power of life and death over humans. You could kill them all with a wave of your hand. With a thought.”

  That was disturbing.

  “And yet you’ve squandered that power as callously as humans squander the lives they’ve been given. They appreciate nothing. They worship food and drugs and movie stars.”

  “What do you hope to gain by tipping the scales?” Jared asked.

  “No, no, no,” Vincent said, wagging an index finger at us. “Balancing the scales. Thanks to the carrot stick, they’ve already been tipped.”

  Did he just call me a carrot stick?

  “Do you have any idea what will happen if the darkness of hell is unleashed on Earth?” Jared asked.

  He tried to laugh but grimaced instead, a tight expression full of pain. Blood had pooled between his teeth and dripped down one corner of his mouth. “A darkness that cannot enter us? A hell that cannot destroy us? By the time the fallen are done with this world, there won’t be enough humans left to run a convenience store. And it will become ours. We’ll rule like kings.”

  “Or fools,” Jared said. “Just because you can’t be possessed doesn’t mean the darkness can’t affect you. There’ll be nothing left to rule.”

  “Mr. Dyson has a plan.”

  “Mr. Dyson? Is that the man who opened the gates of hell ten years ago?”

  “The one and only. Let’s just say he’s the architect and we’re the contractors. We don’t ask for much. Just a little corner of the world to call our own without the interference of human overpopulation. I mean, six billion? Really? We’re just hoping for the extermination of a few billion, just enough to restore the balance.”

  As they spoke, the descendants circled us, their blades at the ready, yet I couldn’t help but notice their bravado had vanished. They were scared of Jared. It showed in the circular shape of their eyes, in the slight parting of their lips.

  “He has forsaken us. Why should I worry about what happens to his world? To his pets?” He glanced around at his cohorts, then back to us. “Get them,” he ordered. “Only this time do it right.”

  But before the descendants could move, Jared spoke, his voice calm, his manner unhurried. And he said only one word: “Cameron.”

  The next instant, something landed solidly beside us. I jumped back and watched as Cameron unfolded to his full height. He paused to wink at me before turning toward the advancing crazy people. I looked toward the sky, wondering where he’d come from. Was he in the trees? Then I remembered what happened to him.

  “Cameron,” I said, worried about his injuries. He’d been shot. Four times. And now he was running through the forest and jumping out of trees? “Are you crazy?”

  “Shhh.” He shushed me like he didn’t want his secret getting out, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

  “I’m a little surprised,” Vincent said, but Jared had pushed me farther behind him, and I couldn’t really make out whom he was talking to.

  “Oh, yeah?” Cameron said, his voice a little too joyous. That boy loved to fight.

  I peeked around Jared’s arm.

  “You’re one of us. You’re nephilim. Why are you fighting with that thing?”

  “I’m not one of you.” Cameron raked a cold gaze over him. “You’re a copy of a copy of a copy.” He threw back his shoulders. “I’m the real deal, bitch.”

  And he liked using the word “bitch.” A lot. How was he even here? He’d been shot. A lot.

  “Take her,” Jared said to him without looking away from Vincent.

  “What? No, wait.”

  Cameron started to pull me away, but I was tired of being manhandled, of decisions being made for me. Before I could ma
ke my case—which could be seen as either noble or psychotic, due to our current circumstances—the descendants rushed Cameron. He had no choice but to shove me out of the way. So he shoved. Really hard.

  I felt oddly airborne for a brief moment before crashing and skidding across the forest floor to slam against a fallen log. Things like this seemed to be happening a lot to me lately.

  The air rushed out of my lungs with the impact. And my hair caught in some twigs. I looked back just in time to see Jared stop an axe from plummeting into his neck, but the length of a machete sliced across his back as another descendant attacked him from behind. A scream escaped before I could stop it. I slapped my hands over my mouth, trying not to draw Jared’s attention from the task at hand: surviving.

  I caught sight of Cameron. He ducked, barely escaping an axe aimed at his temple, before he swung around and smashed a fist into the culprit’s jaw. It broke under the pressure of Cameron’s punch.

  In seconds, the descendants had been downed. It was hardly a match. Though both Cameron and Jared had been hurt, the descendants would be lucky if they were still breathing after today. So it was too bad when Vincent walked me forward, one arm locked around my throat, the other wrapped tightly around my head. I was clutching on to his wrists, my toes barely touching the rocky ground as he stopped some distance away from the two victors.

  The slightest effort on his part would snap my neck. I knew it. Cameron knew it. And Jared knew it.

  Jared stopped what he was doing—namely delivering one last blow to his adversary—and turned on us, still crouched from his most recent effort, still panting from the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

  He lowered his head even farther as he eyed Vincent from under his dark lashes. I’d seen that look before. I knew what he was capable of. Vincent was a fool. He may succeed in killing me, but he’d never make it out of this forest alive. He would never see the fruit of his delusional endeavors.

  I expected him to say something smart-alecky. He loved to talk. But apparently, he’d learned not to give an archangel a chance to recover. Without further ado, he tightened the muscles in his arms, and I felt my head being jerked to the side.

  Knowing I was taking my last breath was not as scary as I’d thought. I had resigned myself to dying a few moments earlier. I felt bad, though. For my grandparents, mostly. And for Brooke and Glitch. I knew how I would feel if they’d had their necks broken in a forest. I even felt bad for Cameron. He had literally been created to protect me, the prophet. How would he feel about my death? It was hardly his fault, but Cameron was so male. He’d blame himself. I was sure of it.

  But out of everyone I felt bad for, I mostly felt bad for myself. As selfish as it sounded, I would never get to see Jared again. That thought alone was enough to make me angry.

  I had put up with this guy’s crap for long enough. I saw Jared start forward. Cameron right on his heels. They would never get to Vincent in time. My vision was already darkening and pain rocketed down my spine. Vincent may take my life, but he was going to take something else with him today. A really bad scar.

  Adrenaline surged through me at the speed of light, liquid and red and hot. I lifted my feet off the ground and used Vincent’s own arms as leverage. Pushing up on his elbows with all the strength I could conjure, I forced my weight down and slid out from under his grip. Without taking the time to blink, I spun around and lashed out at him, raking my nails across his face and neck in one vicious swipe.

  Then I wobbled back, waited for his final blow, the one that would end my life.

  But he just stood there. Looking at me. All surprised.

  I blinked and glanced at Jared when he slid to a stop behind me. He pulled me back against him, his gaze fixed as we watched Vincent. He had five huge gashes on his face and neck. Exactly where I’d struck. But my fingernails couldn’t have made anything that deep.

  It took a long moment for him to react. He reached up, dazed, and felt the fissures in his neck. Blood pumped through his fingers, flowing out of him like a floodgate had opened. I looked down at my hands. Not an ounce of blood, not even a trickle. Not a mark or a scratch or even a broken nail.

  I looked back up as Vincent fell to his knees. Blood flowed in rivulets over his hand and down his arm, draining the life out of his eyes in seconds. He fell forward onto his face, and I covered my mouth, dumbfounded.

  “How did you do that?” Cameron asked, clearly as surprised as I.

  The only answer I could manage was a stunned shake of my head. Because I had no idea. Then an inkling of an idea surfaced. One I dared not acknowledge.

  There was no way. I looked down at my hands again. They were shaking to the point of convulsions. But there was no way. Simply no way the demon inside could have somehow manifested through me, through my actions. Did Malak-Tuke kill Vincent? Those gashes were made by something long and sharp, and I remembered exactly what Malak-Tuke’s claws were like. It was the only explanation, but how?

  Jared took my hands into his, drawing my attention. “Lorelei, it’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

  “They’re here!”

  Someone called from a distance.

  “They’re over here!”

  “Did I just take someone’s life?”

  Without answering, Jared scooped me into his arms. I felt his steps as we trekked over the uneven terrain. I felt cool air as he laid me on a stretcher. I felt weightless as they lifted me and carried me to an ambulance. Jared was beside me, holding my hand. Grandma was there too, crying and fussing. Cameron was talking to the sheriff, pointing to the top of the ridge where the authorities would find more bodies.

  Then sounds blurred and bled together. Images faded and receded into darkness. And I drifted inside myself.

  Are you in here?

  My voice echoed in the darkness but received no answer.

  Have you been here this whole time?

  I heard a shift. Felt a stir of air.

  I know you’re here. Inside.

  A fine edge grazed across my ankle, like the tip of a very sharp claw.

  There you are.

  I knelt beside the sleeping dragon, folded myself into its wings, and slept.

  NOAH

  Hypothermia. That’s what they called it. I called it being freaking alive, and I couldn’t have been more grateful. After a group of crazy people tried to kill me, I got to miss another week of school beyond the week it was closed due to the shooting. I felt the absences justified. And I spent that week with one Mr. Jared Kovach. And Cameron, of course, who was becoming a permanent window fixture. And Brooke, who practically lived at our house anyway. And, naturally, Glitch.

  I was never lonely, though privacy was quickly becoming an issue. There were just certain things boys didn’t need to know.

  Luckily, Cameron and Jared had enough injuries to back up the we-were-attacked story. Lots of investigators were brought in, and we were questioned for days. Sadly, the descendants had killed Delores. Harlan, who had been in the basement, really did just fall asleep, and Mr. Walsh suffered a concussion when they knocked him out. The whole town showed up for Delores’s funeral. The guilt that gripped me that day was overwhelming, knowing she believed in what we were doing so vividly that she died to protect me.

  Not so many showed up at Hector’s funeral, and I felt just as bad. He’d been programmed to do that shooting. But Cameron said that stuff worked only so far. That if he hadn’t wanted to do it, he could have fought it. I wasn’t so sure, especially after what Vincent said about Jared’s blood. My heart broke for his parents. I couldn’t imagine what they were going through.

  With the sheriff backing everything we told the police and the district attorney, the authorities weren’t really questioning the whats. They seemed more concerned with the hows. How did the three of us defeat a dozen axe-wielding, machete-swinging cult members? Especially after one of us, namely Cameron, had been almost fatally wounded two days before?

  If they dug very deep, they
would find a connection to a similar cult catastrophe and my paternal grandfather. It would raise some brows for sure. I hoped they wouldn’t dig. But until then, we were just basking in the fact that none of us were in jail. And we were freaking alive.

  I was still floored that Cameron was able to show up in the forest at all. His and Jared’s ability to heal was unfathomable. And very much appreciated.

  I was still sore a week later. Being shoved, thrown, tossed, and dragged by the head wreaked havoc on us mere mortals. Not to mention almost frozen to death. So while Cameron was out playing tag football after receiving four gunshot wounds to the chest, and Jared was giving him a run for his money after getting shot with a .50-caliber sniper rifle only days earlier, I was sitting on the parking lot sidelines—aka, the sidewalk—trying not to grimace too hard when they dented a fender here, crumbled a brick house there.

  “They need help,” Brooke said, sitting beside me and holding out a hot chocolate.

  I took it with an oddly elated sense of glee. Hot chocolate. How would I be able to live without hot chocolate for all eternity when I finally did bite the dirt?

  “Do you want to talk about what happened?” Brooke asked me as we watched Jared put Cameron in a choke hold.

  “Are those even legal?” Glitch asked from my other side. He sat drinking his usual whipped almond toffee cappuccino with nonfat milk.

  We enjoyed watching them play, then cringed when Cameron flipped Jared over his shoulder and slammed him onto the ground.

  “Lots of things happened,” I said to Brooke. “Which part?” I knew which part, of course, but a part of me, a big part of me, like my entire torso, was hoping she’d blow it off.

  “The part where you ripped a guy’s throat out with your nails.”

  Nope.

  “I didn’t rip a guy’s throat out with my nails.”

  “I just didn’t realize your nails were that strong.”

  “They’re not.”

  “Do you eat a lot of gelatin?”

  “No.”

  “Do you sharpen your nails with a whetting stone?”