Bladed Wings (27 page)

              Another pair of jabs and Vencerico blocked those too, leaping and landing right in front of Timothy. One of those blades would have rammed right into Timothy if he hadn’t thrown up a shield. He saw it form, saw Vencerico’s blade deflect away, but that wouldn’t work. He couldn’t just shell up, hide behind that shield hope the demons got tired of attacking.

              Roman stopped a few feet away. The look on his face said he would enjoy this. But then he didn’t rush or charge. Instead he let his hands crystallize into diamond and waited.

              Vencerico twisted around, his blades flashing lightning. After every strike against Timothy’s shield, Vencerico jumped or ducked, always to get a better angle for his next attack. Each time, though, Timothy got the shield back in place, his disk matching Vencerico’s every move. Each thrust blocked, the demon growled in frustration. And that might’ve made Timothy feel better, but it didn’t matter. The drudges approached getting closer by the second. They were the shambling variety, easy to kill, but they’d offer extra targets, and he couldn’t hold them all back, especially with Roman and Vencerico. They would be there stabbing and slashing.

              And Jenny.

              That was the first time he fought with someone else involved. Right now she was pressed against the wall, doing everything she could to stay out of the way. He didn’t know how long that would last; she might grab a weapon if she saw one.

              Timothy weakened the shield, drawing more strength to his tendrils.

              He didn’t know what he was doing, hoped it didn’t just disappear when he threw out one tendril. It flared out, pale but solid, and that was good enough. Vencerico slashed out, trying to get past the shield to strike Timothy’s thigh. The disk darted down, blocking the hit. Timothy saw it was smaller. Vencerico threw out his second blade, its tip right on target to pierce Timothy’s chest. It didn’t get there though; Timothy’s tendril flashed up, knocking the blade away.

              The drudges shambled closer, arms outstretched.

              They would have been perfect for a zombie movie.

              Vencerico stepped back and slapped his palms together. The blades melted into one another like they weren’t even solid. Together they stretched. The hilts pooled with the rest of the weapon. Half a second later, Vencerico held a spear. He spun it over his head and lanced out.

              The weapon pierced Timothy’s shield. Stuck there, it only stopped a few inches from Timothy’s stomach. He let the shield drop just as Vencerico wrenched his weapon back. All of the resistance was gone. Disoriented he fell back, and Timothy’s tendrils were there. They rushed him, ripping through his shirt for the flesh beneath. Blood rushed up, but Timothy didn’t see it because his eyes were back on Roman. The spear disappeared and Vencerico didn’t move. He might’ve been dead.

              “Timothy Santos and Jennifer Morgado,” came a silky voice. Timothy recognized it: Maria Despada.

              The drudges halted. That’s all that mattered. The tendril disappeared; so did the shield.

              “That’s us,” Jenny said sounded brave. Timothy felt her step closer to him. She reached out, her fingers interlocked with his. He squeezed back. Despada was there, though he couldn’t see her. He remembered her fight on the warehouse, the way she moved. Vencerico danced his combat, but she made him look like a robot from the seventies. He couldn’t match her speed, power, or simple grace.

              “This doesn’t have to end badly.” Maria Despada’s voice sounded quiet, like someone nearby, though Timothy couldn’t find the source. That meant she was hidden; maybe she could go invisible. “Timothy, give me this girl without killing any more of my drudges, and you can go.”

              “Why would I trust you?” he asked, talking for time.

              “You probably shouldn’t, though you might because we both know you could get lucky and kill one of my demons. That’s a loss of resources I’d rather not face.”

              “You sound like Cordinox.”

              “We all grow,” Despada said, a streak of humor running through that response.

              “Take me instead of her.”

              “Screw that!” Jenny shouldn’t have had that much fury.

              “I’ve killed three demons,” Timothy explained. “Take those souls. Take mine too, just let her go. That’s got to be a good deal.”

              “It’s not. Just leave and enjoy the rest of your life. That’s all it takes. Just go.”

              “No.”

              “Timothy, you should do it,” Jenny said from behind him.

              “No.”

              “She’ll kill you. Right?”

              “I don’t care,” he told her.

              “Please,” Jenny said as her voice cracked. That hurt. That hurt a lot more than he could admit. One word and he’d never heard a better argument. It’s what she wanted. And all of that still couldn’t stand to the thought of letting this happen. He’d fight and he’d die if that’s what it took. He made the unvoiced promise as the demonic leader appeared.

              Timothy couldn’t look at her; instead he kept his focus on Maria, on that woman who looked so normal but was the most powerful demon for hundreds of miles. And he told her, “I’m going to fight hard.” It wasn’t much of a threat, but it was the truth.

              “Yes?”

              He stood defiant, “You can tell how much I love her, can’t you?”

              “I feel some of the radiation, some of those feelings from your soul, connected to hers.”

              “So you know I won’t give up. Everything I have will be one mission to kill as many of your creatures as possible. And if I get lucky, you’re right, I could kill more of your demons. Vencerico’s probably dead. You want the other ones dead or bleeding, you make me fight. If you want three souls for nothing, you let her go and I won’t try to stop you.”

              A grin crawled along her face, “How long have you been one of us?”

              “A week, a week and a half.”

              “And you still don’t understand.”

              “Understand what?”

              “You’re not important. Take them both. Take them both alive,” she ordered with a wave of her hand.

              “As you say,” came the answer, Oculus or maybe Vencerico.

              The drudges advanced, slimy and wet every time Timothy struck them. The fury of his tendrils tore and ripped through them. He’d die, and he didn’t care, but he’d keep his promise. He had to kill as many of these things as possible because every time one fell, that meant he’d get the chance to win. Jenny might be able to get away. He wished he could tell her that, but he didn’t have the energy or the air, and they’d hear him. They’d know to run after her. But their attention had to be on him. They became a storm of bladed tendrils, blurred together as a gray mass that cut through the hordes.

              In seconds, Timothy had four of the drudges down. Vencerico was done, and Roman was out of sight. But the creatures kept coming and Timothy kept answering with fresh slashes, cuts, and wounds, forcing them back.

              Timothy fought like a frenzied storm of blades.

              But they didn’t stop.

              Each one fell, and another replaced it. Timothy searched for an answer, some way to get away, to get them back to safety. Hours ago they were in her apartment, watching TV. He didn’t know how this happened. Every direction, and there weren’t any answers. He couldn’t see the right strategy or escape plan that would get them out.

All he saw were drudges, a dozen of the shadowed creatures all around him.

              The drudges were on them. Roman rushed forward; he took a punch from Jenny before he spun back on her, backhanded her. That sent her into the wall; with her disoriented, he grabbed her. Timothy would’ve done anything to get her from between his claws. And he couldn’t do anything as the drudges swarmed punching and kicking and scratching.

Vencerico backed up. The warrior demon spun the shaft of his spear again, smashing its back tip into Timothy’s face.

              Everything hurt. His face still burned. Poking his nose with one finger, Timothy guessed one of the drudges broke it. An hour or two healed it, though it still screamed its aches like the rest of his body. “How long?” He groaned and rolled over.

              “You’re okay,” she breathed. His right hand stung hot. There was something soft and solid around it. He smiled when he realized it was Jenny, his hand was cupped between her palms. He’d die, and that was scary, but she was holding his hands and that could make it feel almost okay. “You’re okay?” Jenny asked this time.

              “Hurt. But I’ll live. For a little while anyway.” Jenny didn’t laugh at that, “How long? How long was I out?” he asked again. His throat felt cracked and brittle.

              “A couple hours,” Jenny said. He opened his eyes. She kneeled at his side, her hands clutched over his. “I—I didn’t know if you’d wake up.”

              “Demons heal.”

              “I saw. You were bleeding and so badly bruised. I didn’t think you’d live. Timothy, I really thought you’d die.  Like they broke a bunch of bones. But then I watched you for a long time, and I saw you start to get better.”

              “So you believe me?”

              “Oh yeah.”

              Timothy glanced at the door and saw it was open. “We can’t get out,” Jenny told him, answering his confusion. Despite the guess in mind, Timothy stared at the threshold. Demonic energies, black from overlaid souls, coated the floor, walls, and ceiling. There would be no way he could break through those. So without much hope, Timothy extended his tendrils. They flew for the exit and skidded off an invisible barrier. For all of the resistance, Timothy might as well have tried to ram concrete. No, concrete he could scratch. Timothy didn’t sense any give with his attack.

              “You can’t break it, can you?” Jenny asked.

              “No.”

              “What happens now?”

              “I don’t know.”

              “They’re going to kill us?”

              Timothy could face dying. He didn’t expect that part, that he’d be okay with the end of his life. Like he always thought he would be terrified and shaking and crying and everything a man shouldn’t be, but right then, he felt okay. There wasn’t any other word for it. Answering Jenny was the hard part. He didn’t know language could hurt that much, like sounds injecting raw, unprocessed pain. Her fear stung, far more than he could’ve guessed.

              His hands shook a little. He put them on his knees when he forced himself to meet her eyes. They were warm and shiny and that hurt too. “Yes. They’re going to kill us.”

              “And there’s nothing we can do?” Jenny asked it like someone who had spent hours trying think of a way out, someone who’d accepted her fate. Another second and Timothy noticed the chair was broken, like someone had spent hours whacking it against a very invisible and very impenetrable wall. Shifting his legs, Timothy’s shoes crunched under the broken glass from the monitor that looked like an empty shell, smashed in the corner.

              “I don’t think so.”

              Jenny nodded and scooted closer. He leaned back on his arms and he whispered, “I’m sorry.” He wished there were better words for it.

              “It’s not your fault.” He wanted to believe her.

              “You really don’t think there’s a hell?”

              “No.”

              “I hope you’re right.”

              “Friday to now,” she said. “Our relationship. Friday to now. Just a couple days.” Timothy swallowed, a flare of nerves that Jenny would talk about how it wasn’t worth it. She should hate him. She should scream at him, claw his face off, watch it heal, and do it again. He wondered how much her soul had to do with her personality. He wondered how much his soul controlled his feelings. “It’s not long enough,” Jenny said.

              “No.”

              “What would we do?”

              The question stung even as it caressed. Their future ached like the opposite of nostalgia and was just as addictive. He suggested, “We would date for a while.”

              “Then you would seduce me? Rob me of my virtue?”

              “Something like that.”

              “How long? How long would it take you to make your move?”

              “I’m thinking you would have jumped me.”

              “What kind of girl do you take me for?”

              “Someone who knows what she wants.”

              “I didn’t with Terrance. Months of dating and I never really knew how I felt about him.”

              “He was a demon too. He dosed you.”

              She stiffened. Then, “Oh.” As Timothy grappled for something comforting, she asked, “How many of you are there? Two guys I date and they’re both demons?”