by Laura Bickle
I roll over and shove off the creature perched on me, aiming both my boot heels into its face. I see sunshine in my periphery, slashing...like a streak that flashes between buildings when you’re in a car on a sunny afternoon. She spins like a dervish, spewing dark blood into the mud. It’s like watching a hummingbird flit around, delicate—but deadly.
Christ. That is my mom. The lady who made Christmas cookies every year and never figured out how to drive a stick shift. My mom is a Jedi.
Carl reaches me, in a tangle of tails and legs. He hauls me upright.
“We gotta get out of here,” he says. Blood runs from his split lip down his chin, like a beard. He hauls me up out of the mud.
I crawl to Lily. She’s motionless in the muck. Hoodie’s slipped down from his perch and crawls toward her on hands and feet. His mouth is open, and rows upon rows of teeth glisten. I lunge for him. It’s stupid, but I put my hands out before me, trying to tackle him with all the force I can muster.
That doesn’t go so well. I find myself in a mass of claws and teeth. I cry out as Hoodie’s jaws clamp down on my left forearm. The pain is incredible—how I imagine it must feel to be attacked by a crocodile. With my free hand, I pound on his head. I get my other hand in his jaws and try to pry them open. No go. Blood is running down my arm.
There’s a swirl of pale movement in my vision. It’s Lily—she’s gathered a rock that’s as large as her head, and slams it down. Something splinters, crackles. Hoodie’s jaw. My arm comes free, and I land on my ass in the mud, cradling my arm to my chest.
“Lily!” I gasp.
She tries to pull herself up in the muck, but I can see it took all her strength to wield that rock. She slumps into the hot mud, her cheek pressed to the surface. I reach for her.
“Don’t move.”
The metal of a gun barrel is cold against my temple. I glance right. A very unfriendly reptile is holding Bert’s guns. Blood drips down my arm, pooling at my elbow and soaking my white shirt. I’m dizzy. I don’t know if it’s the blood loss or something else—my arm is turning black around the bite, and it burns like frostbite.
My mother stands before me, sword in both hands. Her gaze flickers from me to the reptile with the guns, as if she’s calculating if she can take the reptile’s head without taking mine. I think it’s a poor bet. Not that I’m in a position to judge.
Hoodie’s scraping himself out of the muck. There’s blood running from his mouth, but his jaw still works well enough for him to form some words. “Get back. I’ll have him shot and drink his blood before it’s cold.”
The point of my mother’s sword dips slightly, wavers, then drops. The glittering point grazes the mud before us. A reptoid takes it from her, but immediately drops it, like it’s hot. It falls with its point in the mud, like Excalibur. The reptoids busy themselves with tying my mother’s hands.
Hoodie nods, wiping his chin. More reptoids bring Bert to him. He’s badly beaten, his right eye swollen shut, and two of the reptoids are restraining him.
“I’ll take the traitor first.”
“No!” I hear myself say. “It’s too much blood. Far too much for the bargain.”
The demon turns. “His blood isn’t yours.”
“No...but...” My thoughts are racing. “The deal was blood for blood. One for one.”
Hoodie’s milk-white eyes narrow. I’ve got him on some technicality here. Demons are big on words. Names, bargains. The sweat and blood are sliding down my arms, and I’m trying to think.
“What about if I make things interesting for you?” I say.
“Interesting...how?”
My gaze slides to the silver pistols. “How about if I play Russian roulette for you. With one of those guns?”
Hoodie’s tongue flickers out from his mouth. “That is interesting.”
My mother shouts, “No. Take me, instead.”
Hoodie waves negligently. “That’s tempting, but not nearly as interesting.” He leans forward. “But only if I get to pull the trigger.”
“Okay,” I say. “We play. And if I win, then everyone gets out of here—my mom, Carl, Bert, and Lily. With me.” I’ve got to spell it out exactly.
“Agreed.”
The gun barrel presses hard into my temple. I close my eyes for an instant, trying to use the Bunko on that touch.
I flash on an image from the past. A demon climbing out of the shrubbery to confront the duelers. Moonlight outlines him. He’s familiar...the way his gait glides when he walks. The smooth head...teeth when he smiles. Hoodie.
Oh, Jesus. A shiver wracks my spine. It’s him, and I’m praying he doesn’t recognize these guns. Smoke from this gun burns into my temple. I know, without a doubt, that this is the pistol that killed the dueler. The one that always finds its mark.
Hoodie glides to me, his claws making chunky tracks in the mud. He takes the guns from his henchman, careful to keep them aimed on me. His white eyes glow like new fallen snow under a halogen light.
I swallow hard. My gaze moves back and forth between the guns.
He lifts one to the light. “I think you like this one.”
My mouth is dry. “A gun is a gun.”
“These aren’t ordinary guns.”
Dammit. He knows the guns. And he knows that I know.
He turns them right and left in the light. “If you were me, which one would you choose?”
Trick demon question. Will he pick the one I pick? Will he assume I choose the one that always misses, and he’ll choose the other, the one that always hits its mark?
“I don’t know,” I say.
“I think you like this one.” He lifts the one that always misses, aims it at me.
My mother gives a strangled squeak.
“But no. We shall use the other.” He aims the other gun at me. “Are you ready to give your blood to me?”
I cradle my wounded arm in my hand. The watch is on my wrist. In the slick of blood and mud, I wind the stem with my thumb. I wind it so tight it feels like the mechanism will break. I punch the button.
Time locks down. The watch ticks, slowly, loudly, as everyone around me freezes. I pull myself out of the sucking mud in an explosion of crud and rush to Hoodie. My feet sink into the mud, and my body feels weak from blood loss. But I force myself to wrench the gun from his hand. I awkwardly jam it into my armpit, fumble to get the second gun out of his grip. Hoodie’s hands are warm, like fresh toast. They’re slick with mud, like mine, and I struggle to get his fingers around the guard, positioned on the trigger, exactly as they were.
For this moment, I’m thankful for my father. I’m thankful he gave me the watch, my last chance to save our bacon. It’s a weird feeling, that bit of love trickling in all this adrenaline mess.
Maybe it’s weird because I’m this close to dying.
I glance at my mother. Jesus. I have questions for her. Where the fuck has she been? What’s she been doing all this time? Where the heck did she get that awesome sword? But I feel that love for her, too. That she somehow came to my rescue.
She came for me.
And, in this instant, I feel loved like I never have before.
I finish switching the guns and retreat to my position. The ticking of the watch is speeding up, and I think it’s nearly lost its magic. I’ve left tracks in the mud, but I hope to God he won’t see them.
I take a deep breath. Time hiccups back into its regular pace.
“Just get it over with,” I say. “Shoot.”
My mother shrieks. She lunges forward, but is hauled back by the reptoids.
Hoodie takes aim and fires.
I can’t help it. I flinch. I suck in my breath and expect everything to go to pieces. My arms reflexively come up to cover my head. My mother screams.
My breath and pulse pound in my ears. But there’s no new pain. Slowly, I open my arms. I run my hands over my chest. My fingers shake, but I find no holes.
Finally, I look up.
Hoodie stares at me, unblinkin
g, over the smoking barrel of the pistol. His lips draw back in a terrible, cruel smile. In this instant, I’m not sure he’s going to let us go.
I lift my chin, trying to summon up some bravado. “We played. You lost. We get to go home. That was the deal.”
CHAPTER 29
Hoodie laughs, a withered sound like dry leaves rattling. “You cheated.”
A chill settles deep into my bones. Fuck.
Hoodie gestures to me, his claw upturned, beckoning. His cold white gaze presses on me like a leaden winter sky. “You stay. The others can go.”
My mother growls like one of the alley cats. “No.”
“Mom, please. Get Lily and the rest out of here.” It hurts me to say it. I want to go with them...but there’s no way.
Her eyes shift right and left, to the sword and to Hoodie. Bert limps to her, puts his hand on her shoulder. “Jackie...”
“No! He can’t have both my sons.” She struggles against the reptoids restraining her, tears glittering on her cheeks.
“Get her out of here,” Hoodie orders. The two reptile men haul her toward the door. Her white cloak drags in the mud and her boots kick up globs of muck.
Bert picks up Lily, tucking my jacket around her.
“Take care of her, okay?” I ask.
Bert nods. He follows the reptoids hauling my mother out, his tail making a furrow in the mud that quickly fills in with slop.
Carl clasps me against his chest in a bear hug. “I’m not leaving you behind, man,” he whispers.
“Carl, you gotta go.” I’m scared. I saw what Hoodie did to Lily, and trust me, I’m not in any hurry to be tortured by him. Maybe he’ll make my death quick and clean. But I doubt it. “This is no time to be a football hero.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
I’m dimly aware of Carl’s hands fidgeting behind my back. I suddenly remember his ring, and hope flares redly in me. He draws a breath and holds it, his chest flexing against mine.
Hoodie roars behind me, and reptoids hiss in consternation. And I realize that Carl’s invisible. And because he’s touching me, I’m invisible, too. Carl grips my arm and pulls me toward the mouth of the cave. I make a grab for my mother’s sword with my injured hand, pulling it from the mud. The metal’s scalding hot against my palm. I run, clinging to Carl’s arm. I glance over my shoulder at the reptoids milling in the mud, digging, growling, slashing.
Hoodie’s voice growls over the din behind us. “I will take the blood that’s mine.”
Carl and I drag our sorry asses out of the tunnel. He sucks in a deep breath as we plunge over the rope bridge. Bert, my mother, and the unconscious Lily wait for us at the far bank.
“Nice going, man.” Bert nods appreciatively.
I drop the sword. It’s burning the fuck out of my hand. It went from feeling like a hot leather car seat in the summer to scorching like a fistful of electrical wires. “Dammit!”
My mother scoops up the sword. The blade slices through the ties around her wrists. She swings it toward the rope bridge, and the strands separate cleanly under it. The bridge collapses into the muck, floating on top like a candy wrapper on a puddle.
“What the hell is that thing made of?” I mutter.
“C’mon, boys and girls!” Bert shifts Lily into my arms. He slithers into the forest, taking point. “Time to haul ass.”
The night is soft and seething with sound: the drone of insects, the shrieking of birds, and the hum of the trap lights. We scuttle into the darkness like what we are: prey. I’m exhilarated at the escape, but also worried. Hoodie and his henchmen haven’t tried very hard to follow us. I shudder.
My mother rests her cool hand on the back of my neck, like she did when I was a child and sick.
“Where have you been?” I’m still stunned by her presence.
Her lips curve upward. She looks just the same as I remember, as if she hasn’t aged. “Lots of stories to tell, but...” She lets out a sigh. “Believe me when I say I didn’t want to leave you.”
I swallow. Somehow, I do believe her. I shift Lily in my arms. My wounded arm aches, and I don’t know how much longer I can carry her. The adrenaline charge is flagging, and I’m stumbling.
Carl takes her from me, and we pause in the shade of a tree that looks like a giant palm. Bert climbs up the tree to watch for predators.
“Will she be all right?” I ask my mother. I sit beside her with my back against the scaled trunk of the tree. I’m so tired, I could sleep here.
She places her cool hand on Lily’s forehead. “Yes. It’s a bad shock. But she’s strong. She’ll recover.” She turns her dark gaze to me. “I’m more worried about your arm. Let me see it.”
I extend my arm to her. I feel like a child with a playground injury. My mother stretches my arm out in her lap. The edges of the wound are black and curling inward.
“Carl, can you bring us some water?” she asks. “There should be some gathered in the leaves of that shrub.”
Carl nods and goes to gather the giant leaves that are shaped like pitchers. My mother stares at the wound.
“What’s wrong with it?” I ask.
“There’s something in it,” she says. “It needs to come out.”
I nod, fearful. I tighten my hand into a fist, anticipating pain.
My mother pulls a small knife from a pouch at her waist. She carefully opens the edges of the wound, with a touch like a butterfly. “Do you remember when you were four and you stepped on a nail in the alley?”
I nod. “Yeah. Went right through my shoe. You pulled it out with a pair of pliers.”
She laughs softly. “You were more concerned with your ruined shoes. That, and the tetanus shot. Which reminds me...have you had one lately?”
“Eh...probably not.”
“Your father...” She sighs and probes deeper into the wound.
I close my eyes. I don’t want to watch this. I’ll flinch. There’s a bright flash of pain. I suck in my breath, swear.
“Don’t talk to your mother like that.”
I open my eyes. My mom is holding something bloody in her hand, peering at it with curiosity.
“What is it?”
She wipes it off with the edge of her cloak. It’s pale, curving, about an inch long. “A tooth.”
I blink. “A tooth? From Hoodie?”
“Yes.”
Bert scuttles down the tree. He pauses a couple of feet above us, upside down. He cranes his neck. “Yup. A demon tooth. You are a lucky SOB.”
“What?” I snarl at him. “Are you kidding?”
“Nice to see you again, Bert,” my mother says.
“We missed you, Jackie.” Bert grins at her.
She reaches up and pats his head. His tail swishes like a happy cat’s.
Carl’s brought us water in the pitcher leaves. “Is this enough, Aunt Jackie?”
“Yes, thank you, Carl. You’ve grown so big! I last saw you when you were waist-high.”
Carl squirms under the attention, blushing. “Coach thinks I’m done growing.”
“Your coach is wrong.”
I hiss as my mother rinses the wound out. “What about this tooth?”
“You have part of a demon,” Bert says. “That’s much more valuable than a name. You can use that to negotiate with him. Get a favor. He’ll have to do something you ask. It’s a boon.”
“Awesome. Just awesome.”
“I need to cauterize the wound.” My mother sounds as if she’ll brook no argument. “A demon bite will cause you no end of trouble if it’s not taken care of now.”
I gaze at the black-edged wound. “Um. Is it poisonous?”
“Physically, not any more than a spider bite. But it can do a lot of damage to your spirit.” My mother reaches for her sword. It flares yellow, like afternoon sunshine. The blade is engraved with a pattern of suns and moons.
“Crap,” I say.
“Hold still. This will only take a second.”
I extend my arm. My mother gazes a
t me soothingly. “On the count of three. One...”
She presses the flaming flat of the blade to my arm.
“OhmyfuckingGod.” I do my best not to scream like a little girl. The blade sizzles against my skin. The pain is a hundred times worse than the bite. I smell something like bacon.
I stop this short of calling my mom a bitch.
I snatch my arm away. It’s smoking. I grip my wrist, staring at the red mark like a brand on the inside of my forearm. “I thought you were going to do it on three,” I gasp.
My mom shrugs. “You always built things up in your head to be much worse than they actually were. You’re terrible with anticipation. I never, ever counted to three with you.”
Carl leans over my shoulder. “Lemme see. Oh, cool.”
“This is most certainly not cool,” I snarl. There’s a red mark in the shape of my mother’s sword over the tender flesh of my forearm. The sun and and moon etchings march over my flesh, like a tattoo or an elaborate brand. The black edges of the wound are gone, turned white under the heat and light. If it didn’t hurt so damn much, I might admit that it was cool.
“Sorry, Raz.” My mother ruffles the stubble on my scalp, as if I’m still a small child. She frowns. “You cut your hair.”
“Mom,” I begin. “Where have you been? Why did you leave? Where did you get the sword? What on earth are you doing in...in hell?”
My mother cups my head in her hands. “You are my dear, sweet child. Just believe that I didn’t want to leave you. And no...I’m not a habitual resident of this dimension.”
My voice sounds small. “Why didn’t you come home? Are you coming home now?”
She sighs. “I think this is going to be a discussion for when you’re older.”
“Damn it. I’m almost eighteen!” I throw up my hands.
My mother holds my face fast, forcing me to look at her. “I can’t go back with you,” she says fiercely, blinking back tears. “I want to, more than anything. But there are things I must do out here.”
I glare at her. “What could be more important than us?” Than me?
“I made a promise,” she said. “A deal. With entities much more powerful than Hoodie. And that means I can’t go home. Not yet.”