I did, but I had to get out to strap the belt through the loops on my jeans. The hard handle poked the small of my back, but my Genius by Birth, Slacker by Choice T-shirt covered it. Tommy shut my door for me when I stepped out of the way.
Carrying my purse over my left shoulder kept my right hand free to draw the sword. The purse felt weird on my other side. Not that the sword felt any better.
The lady at the checkout desk looked our way as we walked by, her green eyes smiling. She was probably only a few years older than me, her strawberry blonde hair in a cute pixie cut. “How are you?” she asked.
“Great. Thanks,” I said, following Tommy to the woman at the reference desk at the center of the library.
I brightened my smile. “Hi. Do you have a copy of the McKeesport High School yearbook for nineteen eighty-five?”
“No. Eighty-four,” Tommy said.
I blinked at him, confused.
“You were born in eighty-five, right?”
“Right.” I turned back to the pudgy, caramel-haired woman behind the desk. “Nineteen eighty-four.”
Her long hair was pulled into a tight ponytail at the crown of her head, grayish white strands streaking through the darker color. Despite the fact that we were standing, towering over her by several feet, she still managed to look down her nose at me. Her puckered brows grew tighter by the second.
She tsked and pointed off behind her to the left, her shirt shifting over her double-G-sized boobs with a swooshing sound.
“Bottom shelf, last aisle in front of the computer room,” she said. “You can’t borrow them, though.”
“Why?”
Her mousy brown gaze narrowed, looking me up and down. “Because some people don’t return them and they can’t be replaced. We’re missing several years because of a few thoughtless borrowers, and now decent folks have to suffer.”
She said it like I’d been one of the people who’d ripped them off. I wasn’t. Honest.
“We can photocopy pages though, right?” Tommy asked.
The woman rolled her big shoulders. “I suppose. But don’t break the spines. And don’t bend the corners of the pages.”
Tommy shook his head. “No. We won’t.”
We walked around the large oval reference counter, feeling her eyes tracking us until the rows of bookshelves hid her view. Zigzagging through the shelves to the back aisle, we came to the windowed computer room and made a left toward the far wall.
At this time of day the computer room was empty. Except for the two librarians, Tommy and I practically had the entire place to ourselves. The sound of a soda can clunking through a vending machine in the snack room echoed off the quiet walls. The library wasn’t empty, but close.
“It’s not here,” Tommy said, pushing up from his squat.
“No way.” I knelt, checking for myself. Running a finger along the spines, I counted through the years—seventy-nine, eighty, eighty-one, eighty-two, eighty-seven… Crap.
“It’s not here.” I sat back on my heels and swung my gaze up to Tommy. “Coincidence?”
He shrugged. “Probably. It’s not the only year missing.”
I wasn’t so sure, but then again, I’m convinced Oswald didn’t act alone and I’ve always been suspicious of that moon landing footage. I heart conspiracy theories.
“You could try the school,” Tommy said.
I got to my feet. “Yeah, but the school librarian won’t be nearly as nice as our friend at the reference desk.”
Tommy laughed, turning to lead our way back along the computer room wall. We were five steps from the wide center aisle when a nauseating odor filled my nose.
“Uck, did you fart?” As soon as I asked, I knew that wasn’t it. “Oh no.”
Tommy drew his sword, knees bent. His steps turned cautious, silent. He motioned for me to stay back. I nodded and slid my hilt from its sheath, willing the blade to form. I dropped my purse, adjusting my grip on the sword.
The stench of rotten eggs grew thick enough to taste. I gagged, my stomach churning. Bile threatened at the back of my throat and I swallowed it down, shadowing two steps behind Tommy, turning right into the main aisle. Rows of bookshelves lined the aisle on either side of us.
Adrenaline coursed through my veins. My reflexes were on hyper alert, keeping me on my toes. We paused, listening, moving as one fluid battling force, first and second wave, instinct choreographing us more than conscious thought. But there was no one there. With each passing second my muscles tightened, ready to thrust, block, jab.
Nothing happened.
I couldn’t hold the intensity. I straightened, let my sword drop to my side. What the—
“Oh,” someone said to my right.
I jumped, twisting to face back down the aisle we’d just come up. A woman holding children’s books stood at the far end of the aisle next to where we’d just come from. She dropped the books and held up her hands in surrender. She looked like a mousy schoolteacher—short, butterscotch hair; bland conservative blouse, slacks; and sensible shoes. She was maybe three inches taller than me, with an athletic build a lot like mine.
“Uh, sorry?” she said, her dark eyes flicking from my face to my sword. She looked at me like I’d just licked a light socket for the zesty charge. I tucked the sword behind me.
“No. It’s okay, we were just…Um…” I had nothing.
“Is that a sword? Did you bring a weapon into the library?” she asked, stepping toward me, craning her neck trying to see what I hid behind my back. Busted.
I shrugged and stepped out of the main aisle between the bookshelf and the computer room wall again, bringing the sword out where she could see it. “Um, yeah. It is. We were at a Renaissance demonstration and…” Crap. I went blank. My bullshit skills were on the fritz.
“Emma,” Tommy said from the center aisle. I looked for him over my shoulder, but I’d gone far enough down the side aisle I couldn’t see him around the corner.
“Don’t worry about it,” the woman said, and I looked back in time to see her draw a dagger from a sheath at the small of her back. “I brought one, too.”
“Oh, shit.”
She lunged at me, thrusting the twelve-inch dagger straight at my gut. I arched, jumping backward and swinging my sword down in front of me to block. Metal clanked against metal, knocking her dagger arm to the side. Her momentum drove her forward anyway, her free hand reaching up, lightning quick, to snag my neck.
Her grip was superhuman, and my hand went to her wrist on reflex. She squeezed, cutting off air, and my brain raced for options. Girl instincts rocketed to the forefront, my nails scratching and digging at her hand. But she wasn’t fazed, her fingers tightening, her nails cutting into my skin.
I kicked at her, panic keeping me from thinking to use my sword. My foot landed hard against her shin. I kicked again and caught her in the gut. She huffed, but didn’t let go.
Her sweet, schoolteacher face twisted in rage. I could see now her dark eyes were really a deep purple. I’d think they were pretty…if she weren’t trying to kill me.
“Filthy-blooded nephilim,” she said, before she slammed me hard against the bookshelf. “I’ll snap your head off your neck.”
Books rained down on us, knocking my shoulder, bouncing like boulders off my head. The big shelf rocked from the force of the impact, and she used my neck like a handle to slam me the other way against the glass computer wall.
Air exploded from my lungs on impact and a sharp crack sounded. I winced, eyes shut against the pain jolting across my shoulder, radiating through my body. Something had broken. I hoped it was the glass and not me.
The demon lifted me in front of her, shaking my body like a German shepherd would a cat. She wasn’t much taller than I was, and she had to lift me high to keep me hanging. She managed. My feet dangled, scraping the floor, almost touching, but not enough to let me get a foothold and leverage to pull away. My vision tunneled, blackness closing in as my lungs burned for air.
Something inside me shut down. Instincts, born from the melding of my blood with angelic grace, took hold. A tingling swell of power coursed up from the depths of my being. I couldn’t give up. Not to this…thing. Never.
I swung my sword, bringing it around in an arch, hard and sure into her side. The distinct wet thunk as the sharp blade cut through meat and bone reverberated up my arm. It was like hitting a tree trunk. But her scream was human, shrill, and she bent with the blow. Her grip only grew tighter.
My sword was stuck in her side for a second. I had to wiggle and jerk it to get it free of her body. She should’ve gone down—I’d nearly cut her in half—but she didn’t. For a split second, the exact moment my blade popped out of her, relief made her lower me. I found my feet quickly.
My knees wobbled, but they held long enough for me to lift my sword between us. My elbow swung back, gaining momentum to drive the point deep into her gut. My nephilim strength shoved her backward, her nails gouging my neck as her grasp slipped away.
She didn’t scream this time, but the air gushed out of her, and she doubled over the sword. Her hand opened on her dagger, and it clanked against the linoleum floor. She grabbed the blade of my sword and raised her head to meet my eyes.
Her pretty purple irises had turned demon yellow, glowing, the pupils now ink-black vertical slits. She snarled at me, showing inhumanly sharp white teeth. Then she took a step, the move driving my sword deeper into her body.
“Die already,” I said.
“You first.” Her voice was raw, growling. Then the bitch punched me, popped me right in the nose.
The force sent me sailing backward and brought stars flashing in a circle around my head as I slid on my butt across the center aisle. One of those rotating magazine towers crashed against my back, stopping my slide and showering metal and paper over my head. I crumpled on the floor, the metal tower across my legs, magazines scattered over my back and shoulders.
I couldn’t catch my breath. I needed a second, just a moment to fill my lungs. The deep inhale raced down my throat, and with it went blood and spit. I took another fast deep breath. Bloody air was better than nothing.
A loud clank and rattle—like the sound of metal hitting and sliding across the floor near my feet—drew me up an instant before someone lifted the magazine rack off my legs. I heard the rack crash down the aisle, slamming into a far-off bookcase.
My sword. I’d lost my grip when she sent me flying. I’d left it stuck in her belly, but I could see it wasn’t in her anymore. She must have pulled it out and thrown it. Shifting my gaze in the direction I’d heard the clamor of metal, I saw the hilt now sticking out from under a scatter of magazines.
Just as I reached for the sword, her iron-hard grip latched around my ankle and yanked me hard. The demon dragged me free of the debris. I rolled to my back, bringing my other foot up to drive into her elbow.
Like the crack of a wooden bat, her bones snapped. She screeched, her wails piercing my ears like ice. She let my ankle go, protecting the broken arm against her body. I rolled to my belly, scrambling back for my sword.
My fingers purchased metal, tugged the grip into my palm a half-breath before the demon’s steely fingers fisted in my hair. She yanked, snapping my head back, bringing the rest of my body flying backward over my legs so my feet were under me again.
Big mistake. I found my footing and twisted, ignoring the sharp bite of pain as my hair ripped out by the roots. I backhanded her, the solid pommel of my sword driving into the side of her head.
Black goo splattered from her temple. She staggered back, and I glanced down to see way too many of my straight, blonde strands stringing between her fingers. The demon stumbled, teetering on her feet as she turned to face me. She held her head where the oozing blood still flowed, streaking down her face and neck. Her other arm hung at a strange angle, useless at her side.
More thick goo blackened her side and stained the front of her shirt at her belly. She panted, glaring at me, spittle mixed with demon blood bubbling at the corners of her mouth with her breaths.
I gave a quick wipe to the dampness under my nose with the back of my hand. My wrist and forearm came away smeared with blood. The coppery taste trickled into my mouth, down the back of my throat. Warm, wet streams traced my chin and neck. Pain throbbed in my shoulder. My neck burned like acid.
I pushed all thoughts of my injuries from my mind and double fisted my sword. Ready.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew Tommy was fighting farther up the aisle. I’d caught glimpses of metal flashing, bodies launching toward him, falling back. Blood, red and black alike, splattered the floors, the shelves, the books. Sounds of battle echoed loudly through the small library, but for me the world went suddenly silent.
The demon woman roared at me, like an elephant trumpeting the charge. She reached for the long magazine rack, cumbersome with the wire holders swinging around the center pole. She hefted it on her hip, holding it like a jousting pole, and charged.
I blinked, and time shifted, slowed, or maybe I just moved that much faster. I watched her come, every step, every subtle shift of muscle, and I waited. Waited. The tip of the rack only two feet from my gut, I spun to the side and brought my sword home to its target.
The cut was clean, quick, and over before her scream left her lips. Butterscotch hair, button nose, and glowing yellow demon eyes came and went—came and went—as the demon’s head rolled and bounced into the bottom of the nearest bookshelf. Then the whole of her turned to a steaming pile of goo.
“Emma,” Tommy said, breathless. I turned to see him panting in the middle of the aisle, sword loose at his side. Black ooze dripped from his blade, taken from the pile of goo on the floor to his left. Farther back another heap smoldered. He’d fought two and come away without a scratch. I’d barely survived one…and mine was a chick.
“You okay?” he asked.
I nodded without really thinking about the question or the answer. Adrenaline seeped away, and pain swelled up to match its retreat. I winced and doubled over, bracing my hands on my knees. Crap. I couldn’t get a good breath, and my whole face felt like I’d run headlong into a Mack truck. I let my sword fall to my feet. I couldn’t stop shaking; my heart raced like a gerbil on a wheel. Not a good sign.
“Just take deep slow breaths,” he said, but I could hear the laughter in his voice. Jerk. “You’ll get used to it. After fifty or so fights like this, that is.”
I swung my gaze to the side to see him walking toward me, his hand swiftly twirling the grip of his sword in his palm like a tennis player does his racket. His smile brightened, dimples going deep, sky blue eyes sparkling with relief.
Then he stopped. His brows drew tight and the brilliant handsome smile flattened. He looked down, and my gaze followed, both of us seeing the long sharp metal point jutting from his chest at the same time.
“What is that?” I said.
Tommy’s gaze swung back to mine, his eye questioning as though he’d had the same thought. The blade twisted, boring a hole, and his knees buckled, dropping him to the floor. He knelt there for several seconds, staring at me. Someone yelled his name.
A second later I realized it was me.
He fell forward, face first, no life left to even lift his hands against the impact. He bounced when he hit, jamming his face in insult against the hard floor. Blood pooled around his head almost instantly. I stared at him, hands still on my knees, sword flat on the floor beside my feet.
Slowly, my gaze lifted to the figure standing where he’d been. He was big, dark hair and even darker eyes, dressed like he’d just stepped out of the gym. His mesh shirt and bicycle shorts strained over muscles bigger than my head. Where had he come from? How had we missed him? It didn’t matter. He snarled at me, just as the female demon had, his teeth too white, too damn sharp.
His body shifted, his long legs stretching over Tommy’s body, bringing him toward me. The long dagger in his hand dripped brilliant red with Tommy’s blood.<
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I should’ve screamed. I should’ve gone mad with rage and heartache. I should’ve let loose my revenge and sliced him to ribbons before his slow demon brain even knew I’d moved.
I didn’t. I let him come.
I reached for my sword on the floor at my feet, felt it heavy and solid in my grip. A sudden sense of meaning snaked down through my heart and into my gut as the demon came within reach. A feeling of destiny that I’d never felt before welled inside me.
I exploded in a rush of speed, swinging the long blade in a wide slanting circle as I went. My body spun, the extra momentum traveling up my arm, driving the sword easily through the bottom of his chin and out the top of his head. Half his face slipped off.
I finished the spin, three-hundred-and-sixty degrees, and stopped with a quick plant of my toe back where I’d started—just in time to see the bastard drop.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I don’t know who called the police and paramedics.” My eyes did a slow blink at the black zippered body bag on the gurney in front of me, trying to wrap my brain around the fact Tommy was inside. They wouldn’t let me ride with him to the hospital, or wherever they were going to take him. But Eli asked the attendants to give me a few minutes with him before they left. The “no” on the guy’s lips had faded into a “yes” at the angel’s request and the two men walked to the side of the ambulance to wait without questioning.
Eli’s arm warmed around me. He scooted closer on the bench seat. “It doesn’t matter.”
I swung my gaze to him, my body numb. “I couldn’t find his sword. I don’t know what happened to it.”
“His soul took it back from whence it came,” Eli said. His smooth voice rippled through me, soothing the edges of my tattered emotions. But it was just a voice, normal, human, not the intense blissful stroke of an angel’s voice.
I could’ve used the sweet numbing escape, the sense of carefree comfort he could offer. But it wouldn’t be real. Eli could distract me, turn my thoughts and feelings to other, more carnal things, but nothing would change. Tommy would still be dead.
Hellsbane 01 - Hellsbane Page 13