But Faye didn’t know what to do.
The god of demons’ rampage was almost upon them. Its footfalls were shaking the tanks. Shells were exploding across it with no effect. Soldiers and marchers flinched away, prepared to die.
The air seemed to shimmer around Mr. Sullivan. He lifted one hand, and with a roar, slammed it down into the middle of his spell. The sidewalk cracked. The world seemed to flex in an expanding blue wave out from Mr. Sullivan’s hand. It washed over the soldiers, over the refugees, and over her. The wave passed them by and the world behind seemed to return to normal, except for an electric hum audible just beneath the ringing in her ears.
Mr. Sullivan collapsed, seemingly lifeless, onto the broken sidewalk.
The wall of blue surged outward until it collided with the unnatural bulk of the Summoned. The demon recoiled as if it had driven itself into a mountain. It drew back and crashed into the wall again. The spell did not budge. Furious mouths opened and the demon hurled fire against the shield. The heat that came through was brutal, but the flames washed over the blue wall, leaving them all in what felt like a hollow dome of fire.
He did it! He’d saved them! Dan went to try and help Mr. Sullivan.
The Lexington had gotten into firing range, and the next shells that struck were the biggest of all, the biggest Faye had ever felt. The demon rocked back under the mighty impacts. Shrapnel whistled through the air and the spell did nothing to stop it. Soldiers and marchers died all around her. A mighty strip of flesh was ripped from the demon’s side and flaming ink poured across the ruined lawn.
Angry at being unable to break through Sullivan’s spell, and finally being challenged by something that could actually injure it, the demon took two mighty steps back, roared at the airship, and—
“Wings?” Faye shouted. “It can’t grow wings!”
The black smoke that was pouring from the thousands of wounds on the Summoned was coalescing into two vast shapes across its back. Sullivan’s sacrifice had been for nothing. The wall had only saved the lives of those assembled in one spot. The god of demons was simply going to continue past them. It would tear the Lexington from the sky; then there would be nothing nearby that could hurt it. It would find a place to hide, maybe in the depths of the ocean, while it grew stronger. Even her head map couldn’t fathom just how big the god of demons would get on this world if given enough time.
The wings became solid.
“Faye!” Whisper said. “Look at me!”
She turned to face the young woman that she’d thought had been her friend. This whole time Whisper had been prepared to take her life, and it seemed that in these final desperate moments, Whisper had decided to fulfill her mission. There was a small black pistol in the French girl’s hand. “What’re you doing, Whisper?”
“All of those Normal deaths aren’t enough for you. It is the connection of a Powerful Active that you need.” She was crying, tears cutting through the soot on her cheeks. “No one else can stop this demon. Only you. You’re this city’s only hope . . .” Whisper seemed to grow more determined. “Promise me you’ll stay good, Faye.”
“I don’t—”
“Promise me!”
“I promise to stay good.”
“You must always. Find a way to kill this beast. There are children here, and they are hiding, scared, in the dark. They need someone to come and save them. When this is over, find Jacques Montand of the elders. He will know how to help you . . . Stay close to me, and do not waste my Power.” Whisper lifted the pistol and put it next to her temple, then thought better of it, and moved the muzzle down against her chest. “I would like to make a pretty corpse at my funeral.”
“No!” Faye reached for her but Whisper pulled the trigger and shot herself in the heart.
Time came shuddering to a violent stop. Faye could see the slide traveling back and forth and the single gleaming brass case spinning out. Whisper’s eyes were wide, earnest, with just a hint of mischief and sadness, but that changed, and for an instant there was only hurt and fear and doubt, and then that too was gone, and so was Whisper.
Time returned to normal.
Whisper’s eyes rolled back into her head and she began to fall.
Faye caught her friend. At best, she only had seconds to get Whisper to Jane or the other Healer. “Whisper, don’t die! Don’t die!”
But it was too late. She was already gone.
It wasn’t fair.
Faye knelt there, crying, another dead friend in her arms, in a field filled with smoke, blood, and exploding bombs, under a shimmering dome of magic, beneath the spreading wings of an angry god, as she grew . . . furious.
Had Whisper been right? She’d certainly thought she’d been telling the truth. But why? Why choose Faye? Why did it have to be her? Was Whisper a noble sacrifice or a selfish, deluded fool? And Faye hated herself for even asking. Was Whisper right? Had her death fed the furnace of Faye’s magic? Fearful, Faye peeked inside.
The connection to the Power had grown. Faye could feel new magic humming through every bit of her body.
Whisper had been right. She was the Spellbound. All this time, she’d thought she was special, but she was just a thief robbing the dead. She was a monster.
And it would take a monster to beat a monster.
The demon roared and leapt into the sky. Powerful wings beat and wind struck them like the edge of a tornado. Faye looked toward it, a great black shape blocking out the sky, as it surged toward the Lexington. She let go of Whisper’s body.
Faye reached the demon in one effortless hop, landing precariously between the spines on its back. It didn’t even notice her. She may as well have been a flea. The air whistled around her. They were climbing fast. Below was the city, people shrinking into flailing dots and tanks looking like toys. A desperate biplane flew past, so close that Faye could see the pilot’s mouth open in astonishment. Above, the searchlights of the aircraft carrier illuminated them. The main gun fired and Faye’s heightened senses actually watched the gigantic shell pass between the massive, flapping wings to explode far below.
Even with all her Power, Faye didn’t know what she could do against this thing. Hot smoke was pouring through thousands of wounds. She knew that she could tear up bits of the creature and Travel them away, but it was so very strong that it would take hours before she could break it down, if that would even work since it seemed to be growing so quickly, absorbing matter from this world to feed its body. And she knew it wasn’t stupid. It would find a way to adapt against her attacks. She needed to destroy the demon quickly or not at all.
Her head map said that the god of demons was a shell. Inside was ink, smoke, and evil. There was no heart to stop, no lungs to pierce, no brain to destroy. They were poking holes in it, but it simply fixed itself and moved on. Faye’s mind was quick, quicker than anyone else that she’d ever met, but she didn’t have time to figure this problem out before the Lexington would be torn from the sky. She needed to buy time.
Faye spied one of the wings and that gave her an idea.
Where the wing intersected with the body, it was only as big around as a stout tree. Traveling directly to the base, Faye picked a hot gash in the unnatural flesh and drove her hand deep inside. It burned. The airship was only a few hundred yards away and the body beneath her seemed to swell as the demon sucked in oxygen, ignited it, and prepared to spray deadly fire across the Lexington. Faye concentrated on the base of the wing, gathered up a harsh burst of magic, and Traveled away with as much mass as she could tear free.
She did not need to go far. Appearing in the air, Faye yanked her injured hand away from the thousands of pounds of unnatural flesh she’d ripped from the demon’s hide. One wing tore away, and, surprised, the god began to fall. Fire that had been meant for the airship escaped, boiling out the hole toward her.
Calm, Faye faced the fire. Her head map expanded outward, heedless of the fact she was falling, clothes and hair whipping hard against her frame, and she searche
d for another weapon. She found what she was looking for one quarter of a second before the flames would have incinerated her.
Faye hit the grass too hard. She’d been in the air just long enough to build up some speed. The truck that Francis had intercepted was parked before her. The back was absolutely packed with barrels of explosives, and it was a very big truck. Behind her, the demon was spiraling toward the ground. Even from here it was making a noise like a broken kite fluttering. Her head map showed her where it was going to hit, how fast it was going to be moving, and she was already running the calculations as she Traveled into the bed of the truck.
There was a single black cord that was tied into a bunch of other black lines, and those were spread to all of the other barrels. It was cannon fuse. There was quite a bit, since the OCI men who were meant to set it weren’t suicidal. She tore most of the fuse away, just leaving a short stub.
Faye pulled her matchbook from her pocket, struck one on a barrel, and held it to the end of the coarse black line. It caught fire with a sizzle, burning rapidly, sputtering toward the flash point.
Even a mile away, the demon’s landing was so hard that it shook the truck springs. Her head map told her that it had created a crater in the city, but even that wouldn’t be enough to stop it. She needed to release all of the demon’s smoke at once.
The truck was heavy, but she’d done heavier . . . though that single time had been physically too much, and had knocked her out and nearly killed her. This wasn’t even near that far, but Faye was going to do something very difficult. She was going to Travel inside a demon.
She had no idea if she would be able to make it back out.
Gathering up her magic and placing her palms flat against the truck bed, she took in the entire thing and Traveled into the core of a god.
It was so very dark.
She was floating, not falling, not flying, merely hanging suspended in a void of infinite blackness. Pressure and heat touched her skin and alien feelings touched her mind. Faye let go of the truck, and—
Nothing.
You could not think it would be that easy.
The demon’s quiet thoughts hit Faye in the face. Frantic, she tried to escape, but she was trapped, encircled by the demon. Her head map was only a single spark of light in an ocean of smoke.
You are mine.
The cannon fuse ceased to burn. The demon had extinguished the fire.
I will take your Power and make it my own.
She couldn’t even scream, because to do so would mean opening her mouth and breathing in the alien smoke, but Faye was furious. This stupid demon thought it was so clever. Well, she’d show it.
Faye reached deep inside, gathering up all of her Power, and then she pulled harder, gathering up all the Power she’d stolen from the hundreds that had died that night, but rather than throwing it all at once like she’d done with the Tempest, she focused it as tight and hard and mean as she could. The spark of her head map grew into a beam, bright and straight as a Tesla ray. It pierced the darkness, and Faye saw her way out.
The demon screeched in agony. How dare you deny me!
But it wasn’t enough to escape. She’d come to win.
Only seconds had passed inside the gullet of the demon. If she stayed here long enough to light another match, which instinct told her wouldn’t work anyway, she would surely die. She needed to do something else and she needed to do it fast.
The blinding beam of her head map pushed outward, toward the Power itself, and she looked and beheld that bit that she’d temporarily stolen—Whisper’s sacrifice. Faye grabbed hold of that bit of Power, pulled it toward her, and . . .
All of the bomb fuses burst to life with a cleansing fire.
Thanks, Whisper.
And Faye stepped into the night.
The god of demons rose from the hole it had made on the Washington Mall, surveyed its new kingdom, and roared defiantly. The impact and the loss of one wing had cost it much precious mass, but it was growing again, and would continue to do so, until it devoured all who dared threaten it.
The sound coming from the demon wasn’t in any language they could comprehend, but Sullivan understood the meaning anyway. Run, mortals. Run, and hide, because I’m coming for you.
Jake Sullivan was being supported by Dan Garrett on one side and John Browning on the other. Sullivan was so weak he could barely stand. He’d fully expected to die when he’d activated the shield spell. It was only that last spell he’d managed to carve and bind to himself months ago, the one based on the geometry of the Gravity Spiker, that had given him the energy sufficient to fuel the demon shield. But the shield spell was wearing off. They were retreating along with the bedraggled crowd. Soldier, marcher, Active, it didn’t matter, now they were all just trying to get away, same as everyone else. The troops that had arrived to protect the Capitol had burned through their meager allotment of ammunition. The Grimnoir were beat, and he had no idea where the others had wound up.
Two familiar figures pushed their way through the mob. Lance Talon was covered in ash and limping worse than usual, while it looked like Iron Guard Toru had been set on fire at some point. His shirt was gone and the Imperium healing kanji were glowing bright on his skin. One advantage of his terrifying appearance was that the evacuees gave him a wide berth. Toru asked, “Status?”
“We lost,” Sullivan muttered.
“We gave the city time to begin an evacuation,” Browning said. “That is worth something.”
Sullivan didn’t care for losing. “We have to think of something else.”
“Anybody seen what Faye’s up to?” Lance asked.
“Why? Do you need her to help you escape?” Toru asked coldly.
“Your Chairman underestimated her once, too. Look where that got him.”
Toru’s hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.
“Faye’s the strongest Active we’ve got left,” Sullivan said. “If I draw that spell again, and she uses her Power on it, maybe we can trap the demon inside for a while.” It was a desperate idea, but it was all that he could come up with besides running away, and he didn’t like running away any more than he liked losing.
The roaring and crashing of the demon had been so continuous that its sudden silence froze them all in their tracks. They all turned to look at the now quiet beast. It had stopped mid-rampage, through another of the great marble buildings. Struggling human figures were clutched in its hands, and it had been interrupted before it could shove them into its mouths. The four cavernous eyes narrowed. If something so hideously ugly could be said to have an expression, Sullivan would’ve had to guess that it seemed puzzled.
Then it exploded.
The demon seemed to stretch, bulging like an overinflated tire, and then it simply erupted into a million pieces. Animated flesh was sprayed in every direction, much of it dissipating before it hit the ground. Thousands of gallons of demon ink spilled, like a dam had burst, and it rushed across the ruined Mall, washing the stragglers away, collecting in the craters, and pouring down the cracks.
“I think we found Faye.” Lance said. “Told you.”
The body was destroyed, its spirit banished. The Mall had been transformed into a scene from Hell. Everything was black, either from ash or ink. A pile of dissolving meat was spread over acres. Burning trees and spotlights from the Lexington provided just enough light to see the carnage. The air was choked with a stinking toxic haze. A thick plume of smoke stretched upward until it disappeared into the night sky.
The mob had stopped, staring in shocked disbelief at the destruction. Then there arose a ragged cheer. It was the sound of thousands, thankful to live another day. Sullivan knew from experience that after the elation passed, then there would be the anger and grief over the ones that hadn’t been so lucky.
Dan studied the ragged crowd. He was thinking the same thing. “Let’s get out of here before they recall what brought them here in the first place. . . .”
Chapter 23
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br /> Dearest Devika. Much time has passed since I have written. I have been consumed by my work. I write this letter in a brief moment of lucidity. I do not know how many more I will have, as they are becoming fewer by the day. Do not let my sons listen to the rumors of what I have become. The rumors are true but they must never know of the evil created by my hand. I was blinded by pride. One does not steal from the Power without paying a price. It is more intelligent than I suspected and it is learning. Though I thought I was using it, I was truly the one being used. Human emotions are not sufficient to describe the Power, but it was not upset when it discovered my theft. My resourcefulness gave it hope. The Power tried to prepare me for a task, but I was unworthy of its gifts. I have failed the test. Now all that remains is the hunger.
—Anand Sivaram,
Personal correspondence,
never posted, discovered in
Paris, France, 1918
Arlington, Virginia
FRANCIS WOKE UP GROGGY. He was in a small, plain room, completely empty of furnishings except for a wool blanket somebody had wrapped him in. There was no window covering, and from the fuzzy light, he guessed it was just before sunrise. The house was quiet as he took in the humble surroundings. It was a hell of a lot better than a prison cell.
The last thing he remembered was getting shot several times while trying to reach the OCI truck. Everything after that was a blur. Since he was alive, and it didn’t feel like there were any extra holes in him, he could safely assume that he’d gotten to a Healer somehow. Sitting up took some effort. Being Mended would keep you alive, but the soreness had a way of lingering.
“Francis?”
It hurt to turn his head. “Faye?” She had appeared in the middle of the room. Her sudden arrivals no longer startled him like they used to. He started to ask her what had happened, but then he saw the terrible state she was in. Clothing tattered, splattered in dried blood and ink, with scratches on her face, and a hand that was blistered and red, Faye just stood there, wobbling like she was about to collapse. “Faye!” Francis heaved himself to his feet, tossed aside the blanket, and went to her. He caught her as she fell into his arms and gently lowered her to the floor. He brushed the matted hair away from her face. “What’s wrong?”
Spellbound: Book II of the Grimnoir Chronicles Page 45