With careful fingers, I reached for the edge that was not marred by dried blood. It was a long time since I had to use Vexillion as a tracker. I’d called him forth on several occasions prior to this one, utterly transformed into him a few times, too. Though I fought it, I felt myself smile. It thrilled me, each time I thought about letting the beast loose.
Vexillion was…a greater Demon the world had forgotten. He was powerful and strong, and he relished the chaos I created, reveled in it as much as I did. He was the reason I felt so compelled to make certain people’s lives a living hell.
Listen to me. I spoke and thought of Vexillion as if he was a person, a separate entity inside me. Like he could take control of my body and I would take a back seat while he drove the car that was me.
It wasn’t how it worked. Vexillion was not separate from me; I only thought of him as separate sometimes because it was easier that way. The truth was he was me, and I was him. We were one. When I went against Sephira’s orders, when I communed with Vexillion instead of destroying him, I accepted him into me. He made a blood promise I would never die, my power would be near unstoppable. At the time, I was more than excited to accept. I could gain the powers of any Demon, any living creature, just by drinking their blood.
Vexillion was a chameleon of sorts, even though his picture was always that of a six-legged wolf. A very interesting and unique Demon; I instantly understood why Sephira feared him, and I’d decided without hesitation to use her fear to my advantage. Alas, even with Vexillion, I hadn’t been able to kill her. I was only able to tear her apart and scatter her across the globe. It had been good enough for me, until she woke.
He was useful on so many occasions, and referring to him as if he were just a passenger in my body, in my head and my soul, made the years a little less lonely. I did not need companionship often, and when I did, it was readily available, regardless of the time period or whatever country I was in. My looks, I was told by countless of women, were appealing. Still, none of it mattered much to me. All those women, all those deaths and the chaos I’d brought everywhere I went; it didn’t matter. I didn’t care.
But now, for some reason, thanks in part to Kass’s dear, sweet, angelic mother the care inside me flickered to life like a candle. I started to care again, started to feel things other than the urge to kill and maim and feed. It was a disgusting sensation, wanting to protect someone—and not just because the Devil-boy had a thing for her.
I couldn’t get the wailing sounds of a newborn babe out of my head. It drove me crazy.
“Vexillion,” I whispered to myself as I set the glass down on the grass, “let’s find this Michael and make him wish he hadn’t lifted a dagger to Kass.” Such a pathetic switch from my constant attempts on her life, a turn-around from tearing Koath’s throat open and letting him bleed out. Was this supposed to be some kind of repentance?
I hated it.
My other side was all too happy to emerge. My skin started to itch, my eyes rolling back. I worked to slip out of my shirt, quickly undoing my belt and tugging down my pants. Black hair grew on my arms, new muscles forming on my abdomen. I lurched forward, hunched, my size increasing. A tail sprouted, long and black, full of coarse, knife-like spines that looked like fur. My spin popped and reshaped itself, a snout growing on my face, my ears morphing with the shifting of my skull.
The first few times I turned, it was agony. It hurt worse than anything, ten times more than being forced to be Sephira’s pet in and out of bed. Worse than the pain my heart felt when I ran back to my village and found the two loves of my life butchered like animals. Turning was not instinctual to me, not like it was for Morphers. They were born as they were, able to shift freely and instantly. My shift took work, time, and, until my mind grew used to it, a lot of pain.
Once I was fully transformed, I stretched out. It was too long since I ran—truly ran—with abandon. I would be able to run on this night, run toward my prey. Michael. He had no idea what fresh doom was about to head his way. My many, massive legs pawed at the ground, strong and thick, my tail flicking back and forth as I lowered my snout to the glass. I took a deep breath through my nose, inhaling the scent.
Blood always had such a familiar, enticing scent. One of the best scents of the earth.
This blood, however, smelled wrong. Tainted. Used in rituals before. Once blood was given as a sacrifice for any sort of spell or worship, it was forever changed in ways only Demons could see. Or taste. Or, clearly, smell.
Michael, Michael. What have you been getting into when no one’s looking?
My upper lip curled; the closest I could get to a smile in this body. Claws flexing into the dirt, I took off, following the trail even though it was hours cold. For me, for Vexillion, no hunt was too old, no trail too cold. We were some of the best hunters out there, far better than human trackers and even better than the Morphers whose animal sides were wolves.
The trail took me through the forest hugging the back of their house, which was, perhaps, good. Though it was after dark, there were still many humans out and about on this night. The hour of night was not so ungodly yet. My black, spiky fur blended in well with the forest around me as I leapt over fallen logs and dead trees. Michael hadn’t bled too much, but a drop here and there was more than enough. I could sniff him out of the entire continent, if I had to.
Hopefully the trail wouldn’t be so long. With any luck, he’d be nearby, recouping and coming up with another plan involving Gabriel’s awakening. The boy did not need to be awakened any further. He was already teetering on the brink. I did wonder, though, what would happen if he did fully come into his powers, his old soul. Would he seek dominion over all? Would he try to end the world in hellfire?
As long as I found Michael tonight, the world wouldn’t have to discover the answers to those questions. And I would find Michael tonight, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind. The only thing that remained to be seen was what I would do after finding him. Kass wanted him alive, which I was more than pleased to accommodate, but as for unharmed? She said nothing about not hurting him.
Time blurred to me. In my wolf form, as Vexillion, I paid no heed to the passing moon above. I exited the forest on the other side of town, spotting a drop of blood on the sidewalk. A jogger ran by, and I waited until the area was clear before emerging from the woods and bounding through the city. My fur blended in well with the darkness; the sharp quill-like hair follicles shook as they took on a darker tone to better match the pavement I ran across.
Over a playground, through a park, I ran for what felt like hours. In reality, it was a minute, maybe even less. Vexillion, and by extension me, we were fast. Almost the fastest thing in existence. Fast and efficient; I’d get the job done.
My many legs halted on the corner of a dim street. Only one car sat at the nearby stoplight, a teenager who was too enthralled with her phone in her lap to notice the giant, six-legged wolf standing not even ten feet from her car. Her eyes darted as she read text messages and replied with wicked speed.
Hmm. If thumb-speed was related to leg-speed, today’s teenagers would be nearly as fast as I was.
As soon as the light turned green, a few moments passed before she stepped on the gas pedal. She did not stop texting. What an idiotic girl. But now wasn’t the time to judge others for their choices. I had someone to find, to catch and maybe rough up.
After the car pulled away, I spotted an internet cafe across the street, its sign dim and a few letters of it broken. Tonight, judging from the propped-up sign on its outer brick wall, was poetry night. How fitting. Poetry always seemed to do death and betrayal a better justice than other types of versing.
My upper lip curled, and I turned. Sharp hair retracted, claws retreating as they reshaped and reformed. My extra limbs shrunk out of existence, the snout on my face molding back into the skull as it shifted to its human shape. Once I was mostly hairless, I stood straight and tall, and also utterly naked. Nudity never bothered me, so I simply strolled acros
s the street—jaywalking, too—enjoying the feeling of the wind running through my legs and other parts. Being naked was so freeing, so natural. I wasn’t sure why humans were against it so much.
I rammed a fist to the door of the internet cafe, stepping inside to the stench of despair and desolation. Poets were always so depressed and lonely. It was just sad. I surveyed the place, overlooking the giggling girls and irritated boys.
One of them, a poet, by the look of his long, wavy hair and oddly-chosen wardrobe, tried coming up to me, telling me this was a family establishment, that I would have to leave otherwise he would call the police.
Grabbing him by the scruff of his shirt, I held his eyes and described Michael, demanding, “Have you seen him?”
“Uh, yeah, man. Middle-aged dude? Went to the bathroom a few…”
I flashed away before I could listen to the rest of his annoying gibberish. The manager or owner, or whoever was on duty behind the coffee counter, had a phone in her hands, already on the line with law enforcement. Such small fry didn’t deserve my attention. I flashed down the hall where the restrooms were, kicking open the door that said men’s.
A single stall, and an open window that swayed with movement. Michael must’ve seen me across the street. Oh, well. He couldn’t have gotten too far.
I was but a gust of wind as I exited the cafe, nearly knocking over the manager who had a can of mace in her shaking hands, the phone in her other. She stumbled back, her human eyes too slow to catch my movement. I flashed around the outside of the building, to a rather dark and ominous alley, stopping in front of a man who, as he stumbled to a halt in the alley, looked similar to a deer in headlights.
He also looked terrible. A few cuts on his skin, a bandage on his palm. He held a dagger in one hand, his phone in the other. I rolled my eyes. What was with humans and their blasted phones? Like his phone would save him.
“Michael,” I said, smirking. “You’ve looked better. How are you?”
“Crixis. You’re working with them now?” Michael ignored my jab at his looks. He lifted the dagger—a plain hunk of metal, molded into the shape of a weapon. “Why? You of all people should understand what we are trying to do.”
I cocked my head. I loved when humans, with their ridiculously short lives, sought to tell me what I should feel or think. They were always so wrong. “I am afraid I don’t understand.”
“I’m not an idiot,” Michael spat, all traces of his English accent gone. Replacing it was…another I could not place. “I know you’ve been after Kass all this time. If I would’ve known I had him, I would’ve gladly let you kill her.”
Shrugging, I said, “But here we are, on opposite sides. How strange things change.”
“Take her, kill her, and go—”
“Simply because I’m immortal doesn’t mean I’m not wishy-washy. I have been known to change my mind. And tonight, odd as it might seem to you humans blubbering about, I don’t feel like hurting her. I actually came here for her, for you.” I flashed him the same smile I flashed all my enemies: a pearly white, perfect, slightly insane grin. “She wants you to pay for what you’ve done, and I am looking forward to seeing what kind of torture the little Purifier is capable of.”
Michael, to his credit, did not seek to run again. He lunged at me, shouting, “I will tell you nothing!”
In a supernatural gust of wind, I easily outmaneuvered his feeble attack, swatting at his hand, which caused the dagger to drop and clang on the pavement below. My hand encircled his neck, lifting his feet off the ground, gripping his throat perhaps a bit too tight. What could I say? I liked it rough.
“Oh contraire,” I spoke, quite amused at his antics. “You will tell us everything.”
And he would; I’d make certain of it.
Chapter Ten - Kass
I sat on the chair I’d dragged up from the kitchen. It would be the chair Michael would get to know very well. My back was hunched, my hair tumbling toward the floor. The length was wavy and unruly; it was also the longest it’d been in years. When I stood straight, it easily fell halfway down my back. Having long hair while fighting Demons was a disaster waiting to happen. While Demons weren’t exactly known for their hair-pulling, it was still a risk I never really wanted to take.
Now, though? Now I didn’t give a crap. I’d style my hair how I wanted to from now on. I’d let it grow for as long or as little as my heart desired. I was done trying to be something I didn’t want to be.
Not long after Crixis left, I changed out of the clothes I wore day in, day out. My jeans were replaced by leather pants, my T-shirt traded for a black bralette. I had the stomach for it, the little squares on my abdomen proof of how hard I worked. I didn’t know why I never showed it off. Most of the girls I knew in school would love to have a body like mine; they just didn’t know how much work it was to keep.
I wondered how long my abs would last after I turned in my Purifier badge.
Hah. Badge. I never got a badge. I never got anything, besides weapons, and as far as I was concerned, almost half of the weapons in this house were mine, especially my rose blade, which sat leaning against the wall near the light switch. Birthday presents, Christmas presents. I was going to keep them. The Council, Liz—they didn’t deserve to keep any of them.
Did I overreact when I told Liz I wanted to quit being a Purifier? Maybe. I had no idea what I’d do after, whether the Council would track me down, no matter where I went. Would I go to school? Get a job? How would I make it on my own? It didn’t matter right now, but it would in the future, assuming I lived through this thing. Everything was out to get me it seemed, so I wasn’t going to hold my breath. My mother hadn’t since appeared to me after I died and came back; I had a feeling that the next time I died, it would be the last time.
You know, like a normal person. When you died, you should stay dead, unless you drowned or something. Me? Coming back after my neck was snapped? Not normal at all, there.
Honestly, I thought I deserved a break. Ever since moving here, my life had been nothing short of crazy Demon sideshow after sideshow. First the Osiris ritual, then insane John and the Shifter who tried to kill Koath, then that stupid Sorcerer who transported me into another reality. After I got back, almost immediately I had to deal with Claire being a Morpher and Koath’s death. Then the whole Sephira thing, not to mention the Skinwalker Demon. Now Michael.
Seriously. I deserved a break.
No, I needed one. I was tired, and rightfully so, and I knew the Council would never willingly give any of their Purifiers a break. They wanted us to work until we were dead. Our death could be our break.
The more I thought about it, the more I disagreed with it. I put myself at risk so many times—some smartly and some stupidly—and the fact I stood here, alive and semi-well today didn’t mean I should keep fighting.
I was done.
I was even more done when I thought about Gabriel. I missed my best friend, my cohort in everything, co-conspirator when it came to purifyings and life in general. I missed his random and usually inappropriate jokes, how two dimples formed on his cheeks when he smiled. It was immensely difficult coming to terms with the fact I might not ever see that side of Gabriel again. I wasn’t going to wait around and pray he came to his senses. I wasn’t going to be a doormat, even if I did…
Even if I cared for him, even if I—
My thoughts were interrupted by a short burst of wind as two people appeared before me. One of them was thrown haphazardly onto the floor, his limbs splayed out around him. Michael. A very unconscious Michael. Crixis stood over him, grinning wickedly. How I hated that grin, but at the moment, I hated Michael just a bit more.
“Are we tying you up to the chair instead?” Crixis rose his dark eyebrows.
I quickly stood. To my surprise and shock, Crixis kept his gaze level with mine; his eyes did not wander lower than my face, even if I was practically baring my entire torso. But, either way, I was past the point of caring. “No,” I said, mo
ving aside. Pointing to the pile of rope near the chair’s legs, I added, “Make it tight.”
Crixis mused, “You don’t have to tell me twice.” He hoisted Michael onto the chair, the ex-Guardian’s head lolling back and forth. With any luck, he’d have a blistering headache when he came to. He tied an ankle each to a chair leg and his wrists to the arms of the chair. He then handed me something, metal flashing.
A dagger.
An ugly dagger, one that was far more hideous than my beautifully-crafted rose blade. I lifted an eyebrow. I was supposed to use this thing?
“Do with it what you want,” he told me. “I just thought that, since it’s the dagger he was going to kill you with, you ought to have the option of shoving it in his face.”
Hmm. Not a bad idea, actually.
I tore my gaze away from the dagger, glancing to Michael. If that was even his real name. “How long until he wakes up?”
“Shouldn’t be too long. You could always cut him a little and see if he wakes—” Crixis paused, looking over his shoulder at the door. “We have company.”
Max entered the room, followed by Liz. Neither of them looked too happy to see Crixis near me, but Max at least let out a sigh when he saw Michael. Liz blinked, her eyes growing watery. “Whatever you do,” Liz pleaded, “don’t kill him. We have to hand him over to the Council.”
“What she means is,” Max explained, “give him your worst, but go easy on him at the same time. We just need to know who he’s working for, where they are. Then we can go after the source.”
I wanted to quip something smart, like, Look at you. Coming up with the ideas. Congrats, Max. Now you’re a real Purifier. But I held back, knowing my sass and wit were at an all-time low. It’d just come out as bitchy anyway.
Liz sniffed, holding a hand to her belly as if she were seconds from being sick. “I can’t watch this.” She turned and ran from the room, very unprofessional and immature of her. Like she expected me to go bananas on him, start cutting him and beating him senselessly without reason.
The Order (Nightwalkers Book 8) Page 5