Experiment in Terror 05 On Demon Wings

Also by Karina Halle

The Experiment in Terror Series

Darkhouse (EIT #1)

Red Fox (EIT #2)

The Benson (EIT #2.5)

Dead Sky Morning (EIT #3)

Lying Season (EIT #4)

On Demon Wings (EIT #5)

Old Blood (EIT #5.5)

Into the Hol ow (EIT #6) – Fal 2012

Novels by Karina Halle

Lost in Wanderlust

ON

DEMON WINGS

∞Karina Halle∞

\m/ Metal Blonde Books \m/

First Kindle edition published by Metal Blonde Books May

2012

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names,

characters, places, and incidents either are the product of

the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any

resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or

dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 by Karina Hal e

Al rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this

book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

Published at Amazon Kindle

Cover design by Bret Taylor

Author photo by Amanda Sanderson

Edited by Robert Hel e

ISBN-13: 978-1475079371

ISBN-10: 1475079370

Metal Blonde Books

P.O. Box 845

Point Roberts, WA

98281 USA

Manufactured in the USA

For more information about the series

and author visit:
www.experimentinterror.com

For my, my, my, my Mitchel for always being my number

one fan and one heck of a sexy cover model

I was standing in a forest, the trunks of the slender trees

wrapped in a blue-green twilight that fell quickly from the

East. I was alone except for the fireflies that darted about

in the pine-scented air above my head. My body felt odd

and slightly feverish, my limbs went from cold and goose-

pimply to hot and sweat-sheened in cycles. I wasn’t sure

where I was, maybe by the river where I had walked earlier

in the day, but further away from the roar of the currents.

I couldn’t remember how I got here, or why I was in my

sleeping attire, but I wasn’t worried and I wasn’t afraid.

For once, in a very long time, I was not afraid.

“
Perry…”

I heard my name on the wind as it brushed my hair off

my shoulders and swirled the aqua light away from me. I

followed it, my feet quick and quiet on the damp grass.

I cleared back the branches of the trees, hearing

strange voices emerging from the dark places around me.

They sounded so far away. I heard someone crying. She

sounded like my sister.

I continued through the glade, my pace quickening as

the darkness dropped even faster. Finally I saw him, the

one who had been calling for me.

He sat on a log with his back to me, a camera placed

beside him, the light from it illuminating the trees and

adding extra sparkle to the fireflies.

I glided toward him, drawn forth like a magnet. I couldn’t

keep away.

He didn’t stir until I was standing right behind him. He

raised his head without looking at me. Another breeze

wafted past and tossed his black hair delicately. The scent

of Old Spice and Nicorette filled my nose.

I hated that smell.

“
Perry,” he said, his voice unmistakably Dex. “I thought

I’d never see you again.”

“
And you still won’t,” I replied.

I reached down with my hands, placed them on both

sides of his cold, rough face and with one quick motion I

broke his neck, the SNAP of his vertebrae shattering

through the still forest.

Dex slumped to the ground, motionless.

Dead.

I smiled to myself and walked away.

~~~

A giant shudder ran through me, almost causing the coffee I

was handling to spil out over the sides. Sorry, not
coffee
,

but an extra-hot, no-foam, triple-shot, gold-dusted, magic-

whipped, unicorn-blessed mother of al cappuccinos.

I quickly glanced up at Larry, the regular who waited

impatiently for his daily creation of pomp and circumstance

in a paper cup. His lips were squeezed tightly together, his

eyes on the beverage, more concerned for it than the

deathly shiver that had just rol ed through his barista.

I composed myself – that was the last time I’d let myself

think about my disturbing dreams at work – and handed

him his coffee with a smile.

“Have a great day!” I exclaimed.
You nitpicking twat
.

Larry took the drink from my hands as if I were seconds

from dumping it on his head (he wasn’t too far off), shot me

a barely perceptible look of disdain, and left the coffee

shop.

I let out a sigh of relief and closed my eyes, a migraine

threatening to appear.

“Hey, Perry, you doing OK?” Ash asked.

I looked up and gave my col eague a tight smile. I could

keep up the cheery pretenses with the customers, but not

with Ash.

“Just feeling a bit under the weather again,” I said

sheepishly. I had only been working at Port-Town coffee for

six weeks and it seemed like every other day I was

suffering from kil er cramps, a terrible migraine, dizzy

spel s, painful bloating or plain old pissyness. Oh, and a

broken heart. I tried to keep my complaints at a minimum

because I didn’t want the manager, Shay, to regret hiring

me but sometimes it was hard to hide.

Ash was extremely observant, too. He was a few years

younger than me and had aspirations of being a criminal

investigator but his dirt-poor upbringing forced him to be a

barista for way longer than he ought. I wasn’t much better.

There I was, a failed internet host, who, despite having a

degree in advertising, had found herself unable to get any

kind of respectful employment aside from shoving coffee

down Portland’s throat. Not that being a barista was

anything to look down upon, but I wondered if al my sudden

ailments were related to the nagging feeling that I wasn’t

doing what I
should
be doing.

That said, things weren’t al bad. Ash was a cute kid and

I’d hung out with him quite a bit, as I did with Shay, Steve,

Mikeala and a few other coffee pushers. We had fun at

work, and when I wasn’t being bombarded with people like

Larry, who demanded the most ridiculous drinks, or Marge,

the old lady who paid with pennies, the job was fairly low-

stress and it al owed me to continue living at my parents’

house without being guilt-tripped about it. It also ended the

“I told you sos,” which had lasted for at least a few weeks

after I returned from Seattle.

Oh yes,
Seattle
.

I don’t like to talk about that time, let alone think about

that time. It’s probably why I’d been having so many icky

dreams lately – my subconscious was pushing them up

through the ground, like bones through a fresh grave.

To put it mildly, December had been a hel of a month. I

was in a very black place, one I feared I would never crawl

out of. But I did eventual y crawl out that hole, dragging

myself out of the depression by my fingernails. My younger

sister Ada helped; she was a great shoulder to cry on. And

by cry, I mean slobber. I was an ugly, hysterical mess more

often than not. I never knew that kind of agony before.

Perhaps I had been lucky that so many boys ignored me for

most of my life.

Final y, getting this job helped, too. It forced me to go

somewhere every day and put on my best face. Put on my

best face and try to forget the pain that stil ricocheted

through me from time to time, pain that intensified when

certain songs came on the radio, a pain that left you with a

tear-soaked pil ow in the morning.

I never spoke to Dex again. He tried, though, but I’l give

him no credit for it. I got cal s from him right after he twisted

that pin in my heart, a mil ion voicemails that I deleted

(before I smashed my phone in a fit of rage). I got a new

number, changed my email and total y withdrew from the

little life I had attempted, which meant no contact with

Jimmy, Rebecca or anyone at the Shownet office. Nothing

against them – personal y – but it was just too hard. I

needed to move on.

By the time February rol ed around, I was in a better

place. Of course, it’s not fun to feel sick al the time. I

gained that pre-bootcamp weight back, and I felt pretty

disappointed in myself for taking the risk on Experiment in

Terror in the first place. For putting my heart on the line.

But I learned, and I
will
live.

“Do you stil want to come out tomorrow tonight?” Ash

asked, his eyes staying on me and not on the customer

who just walked in the shop. He had very nice, bright hazel

eyes. They didn’t appeal to me in a romantic way but they

reminded me of a brother I never had.

“Definitely,” I told him. I pointed to the washrooms. “I’m

fine. I think I just need to splash cold water on my face.”

He nodded and took care of the customer as I escaped

to the safety of the washroom. I was lucky to have someone

like Ash. I was only working part-time, but I desperately

wanted to move onto ful -time and then hopeful y shift

supervisor. As you can imagine, I made minimum wage

and if I were to ever get out of my parents’ house, I needed

a lot more dough. Feeling sick and occasional y trying to

fight back tears when Bil y Joel comes on the stereo

doesn’t make me look like the best employee, someone

Shay would want to eventual y promote, but Ash has been

the only one who has caught on that not al is right with me

and he’s been doing a pretty good job of covering up.