Bladed Wings (22 page)

              In front of Timothy, Roman ran forward, swinging down with one claw. Timothy threw up his tendrils, parallel to create a shield. Slashing up and around, Roman tried to get around those prongs of shadowed energy. Timothy dropped back, barely avoiding another fireball. That dodge was all luck. He knew it, and these demons probably did too. They all knew it would run out too. Timothy couldn’t stay in the crossfire. He dropped his tendrils, bringing the energy back into a disk. It floated in front of him, dancing to counter Roman’s attacks. Every hit and there were scratches in the circle of demonic energy, cancelling his attempts to kill Timothy.

              “You’re outnumbered and surrounded. Surrender,” Petra said. She sounded calm as she culled more flames into her hands, shaping them like snowballs. But she threw another one without waiting for a response, and this one might have hit Timothy right in the neck if he hadn’t stepped to the side, pummeled under the pressure of Roman’s attacks.

              This wouldn’t work since he couldn’t just wait there for one of those flaming spheres to explode in his back. A glance at the ashen remains of her first sphere, and Timothy didn’t think he’d be able to heal such a brutal wound.

              Another one flew by him. She was being careful, Timothy realized. That’s why she missed each time. She didn’t want to kill Roman. He would’ve expected her to do whatever it took to kill him, no matter if she had to risk Roman’s life. But the why didn’t matter. Instead Timothy had to get past Roman; if he could get to his car, he might be able to drive away to get hunted another day.

              Ducked down, he threw blind tendrils in both directions. Petra evaded hers without thinking, jumping back. That first part was easier, but Timothy turned to her, kept his concentration on her. He didn’t think about how bad an idea it would be to focus on just one of them. A little effort or instinct and his tendril grew, stretching across the distance to stab Petra. Heat rushed back to Timothy, but he didn’t feel it. Not the way Petra felt that strike.

              When Timothy turned back, Roman came at him, slashing down. Timothy tried to dodge or step back, but all he managed was falling. Landing with jolts of pain from too many places, he hit his head and everything got blurred. Roman was over him, but not for long as Timothy held his palms to the sky. As one, his tendrils snapped out for the demon. Busy cutting at one, Roman missed the second. He rolled away, avoiding both tendrils as they poked and jabbed at him. He was being more cautious; Timothy didn’t know why, guessing maybe he was still hurt.

              In any case, it gave Timothy a couple seconds, time to get to his knees, then to his feet.

              He felt pressure in the tendrils, felt them get smacked away. A glance up and he saw the claws smashing into his tendrils. Roman could’ve grabbed them again, but that would’ve taken time and it might’ve opened him to another attack. A sphere of fire sizzled centimeters over Timothy’s head. Stinging heat sizzled against winter air and burned into forehead. He ducked enough to avoid some of the hurt.

              Then Roman flew back at him. Timothy turned back and ran for Petra. Encased in fire, she didn’t worry about the college student running at her.

              He ducked beneath another sphere. He only avoided it because of his demon’s soul. As a regular person, he would’ve been cooked a long time ago. Rushing to a stop, Timothy paused like he was thinking of a strategy. To one side Petra gathered more energy for a strike. To the other side, Roman strode for him, someone angry enough to rip him apart with his bare claws.             

              Timothy threw out one tendril. It shot for Roman’s shin, like a low shot might be able to get past the demon’s reflexes. It didn’t work. Timothy hoped he wouldn’t regret this bluff. With a predator’s grin, Roman yanked, pulling Timothying closer. Timothy let the momentum carry him, throwing out his second tendril. Spear tipped and as sharp as his demonic soul could produce, it flew for Roman and connected. Through divisible air into soft flesh, the tendril ripped into Roman’s stomach. A grunt of pain was his only reaction as he reached down, but Timothy was still coming, still barreling forward.

              Another second and Timothy could’ve been killed.

              If Roman hadn’t been distracted, hadn’t let surprise or pain erase strategy, he could’ve cut in Timothy in two. A quick slash at the college student’s throat and it would’ve been all over. Timothy never could’ve dodged something like that. But Timothy got by him, knocked his shoulder into Roman, and stumbled past. He almost fell, almost lost his balance and would have had his back to both enemies, but he kept moving, enough speed or balance to keep him up and then he ran for his car.

              Timothy got in car, hit the locks, started the engine, and jumped into traffic. Behind him, he saw the two demons begin to shrink with every inch of distance. And he exhaled, half-convinced he was safe. They wouldn’t chase him. He ran a red and felt like a ticket was the biggest danger now.

              Deciding he should talk to Cordinox, Timothy thought about what they’d said. They thought he was an angel, some hybrid of human, angel, and demon souls. Bad, that was bad because it meant they’d want him. Then it was good because they didn’t know. They didn’t know that Jenny was the real angel.

              Careful, Timothy saw their reflection in the rearview mirror. First he saw the woman, then he noticed the driver: Roman. Irritated, silently fuming that demons shouldn’t use cars, Timothy hoped he wouldn’t do something he’d wildly regret. He pressed the gas, Victorian houses blurring past as he sped through downtown.

              He turned onto one of the residential streets. Victorian, Tudor, and craftsman style homes lined the street along with bright green lawns and thick trunked oaks. This neighborhood was probably really beautiful. Timothy might have appreciated if there weren’t two demons looking to gut him a few car lengths back. Every time he ran a stop sign, he felt his stomach jerk, and he expected to hear the whirr of a siren somewhere behind him. He didn’t know what he’d do if cops started chasing him.

              Roman and Petra gained on him winning another couple feet every few seconds. At first they were half a block back, then a quarter. Timothy calculated the best path that might lead to safety. He sped up some more, running sixty through residential streets. Some old lady honked at him; he would’ve apologized. Terrified some kid would run into the street, that a leashed guide dog would decide that this moment was safe to cross, Timothy clenched the wheel until his knuckles went pink then white.

              Then his car bounced and shuddered over the speed bump leading into the yard of concrete, fenced off except for that entrance, to Cordinox’s warehouse. Timothy parked in front, leapt out, somehow remembering to lock the doors, and ran for the entrance.

              “A little help!” he shouted, feeling like an idiot because he’d never had to call out something like this before. Isis appeared on the roof.

              “Some fun!” she laughed as the second car screeched to a stop. Petra and Roman glanced at one another. With his band, Timothy was protected, but they only saw the two demons. Maybe Cordinox and the others were gone, hunting a lone demon or on some other mission.

              In either case, Roman stepped outside and shouted, “Give us the angel!”

              “What?” Isis laughed. “What angel? There aren’t any angels here. We’re demons.”

              “We know about the angel.”

              “You know about her?” Isis laughed again and Timothy felt his stomach fall.

              Roman tilted his head, shocked but more than willing to accept this. Timothy saw it, saw him thinking and tracking through everything he knew. Roman said it was scent. If it was scent, maybe the demon could track her down. It couldn’t come to that.

              Timothy didn’t wait for help; he ran. He ran straight for Petra and Roman. Now he had to kill them. His shadow tentacles reappeared and shot out, angry scorpion tails thirsty for blood. He aimed them both for Roman. Petra threw up her arms anyway, not realizing they’d both go for her ally. That was another lucky trick, but a second later she had a sphere of fire and threw it as her ally got tangled in Timothy’s tendrils. Timothy yanked with the mass of his strength. He’d hoped to pull Roman into the line of fire, but he did enough, because he stumbled the half an inch he needed to survive. Still, he felt the ambient heat, felt it sizzle his skin. Anywhere else and it would’ve hurt enough to make the world go dark, but right now he had to survive this.

              Deciding he didn’t care about the tendrils, Roman ran for Timothy. First it was a wild swing with one claw that Timothy blocked. That’s when he expected a fireball to hit him. He couldn’t pull away, had to stay focused on Roman, but he heard a roar and saw a bear lope across the ground only to jump and smash into Petra.

              A swipe of Isis’s bear claws tore a long gash down Petra’s torso. Despite the fire, despite the burns spreading across her body, Isis kept up her attack. She ignored the pain. With every second, Timothy could see her channel fury and rage into a flurry of strikes.

              Timothy wanted to help her, but Roman wouldn’t give up. He cut again and again, dancing from side to side, down and up, tiny ducks and jumps to make sure Timothy wouldn’t anticipate where he was. The tentacles pulled back, just a foot long, and went rigid. Without thinking, Timothy realized they would be clubs now.

              He swung down with his right. Roman grabbed it, his claws gripped around the solidified shadow. Timothy stabbed out with his other club. He realized it was still sharp, two feet of club tipped with a sharpened point. That would do plenty, so he punched out with it. Roman didn’t let go of Timothy’s right club as he avoided the left.

              “It’s not you, is it?”

              Timothy didn’t answer. Blood rushed his face, his heart pounding strength to his arms. If he could move his left hand just another six inches, Roman would be more worried about the hole in his stomach than some angel that may or may not exist. “It’s not you,” and Roman’s eyes shined with triumphant revelation. “Who?” he hissed. “Tell me. Give up the angel, and you can join Despada. Give up on Cordinox and these weaklings. Just tell me.”

              “No.”

              “Why not?”

              “I don’t trust you.”

              “We’re demons. We’re people. We never trust one another.” Each word was blunt, dull puffs of air as he tried to keep Timothy’s miniature spear from making a new opening to his vital organs. “But you know, don’t you?”

              Timothy ignored him. He wouldn’t answer, hoping that this demon couldn’t see into his mind. It seemed like they could do everything else. “Love, that’s it, isn’t it? Someone you care about, someone you’d never want to see hurt because you still haven’t learned.”

              Grunting, Timothy managed, “Just die.” And he pushed all of his strength into his arms, braced his feet against the pavement for every ounce of leverage he could win.

“Friend?” Roman reasoned it out. “Family?”

“No one,” Timothy grunted. “No one, but, but I am going to kill you.”

“Not likely,” and Timothy tried to ignore that. He tried to pretend he could do this, kill this demon before he reported what he’d figured out. Then Timothy almost lost his grip. It felt like his muscles melted with all the strength of ice water when Roman guessed, “A lover. That’s it. Isn’t it?” Maybe Timothy’s eyes flickered or he twitched or Roman felt a burst of weakness, a moment when Timothy almost lost their contest. That would have been the moment when Roman could snap Timothy’s clubs and slash out, drawing four new grooves into Timothy’s neck.

“Keep guessing.”

“You’re a terrible liar. You should practice,” Roman said. He leaped up, planted his feet against Timothy’s chest, and kicked back. He flew across the pavement, landed in a crouch, then turned and ran. He moved like a professional runner, dashing across the warehouse yard.

When Timothy turned around, he saw a black bear looking down at him with big brown eyes above rows of sharpened teeth and a pair of destructive claws. Then she shifted and Isis was a girl again. Scorched flesh lined her arms.

“Are you okay?”

“Petra?”

“I ate her.”

“Figuratively, right?” Timothy refused to look past Isis at the spot of burned ground.

“Sure,” Isis laughed, though her eyes were wet.

“We have to stop him,” Timothy said. He turned back only to see the other demon’s car disappear down the street.

“Too late for that.”

“Can he read minds?”

“No, of course not,” she said. “No one can do that.”

“He knows there’s an angel out there and he knows it’s not me.”

“Why would he think it’s you? You’re a demon. Well, kind of.”

“He smelled her on me.”

“Yes, well, that is definitely something he might be able to do. Some people see energies like you. Some of us can taste people. Others see it, and then demons like Roman can smell them. It’s a neat talent.”

“He has her scent.”

“You should talk to Cordinox,” Isis said, turning for the door to the warehouse. Morgon ran up and scanned the warehouse yard for enemies. Instead of waiting to learn anything that probably wouldn’t be useful, Timothy listened to the rushing fear in his skull. He turned, jumped back in his car, and drove back to The Verge.