Lesson number three: they didn’t share their food.
Wrong again.
And lesson number four: they didn’t hunt half-bloods.
I was so going to kick a Covenant Instructor in the face if I ever made it back there alive.
John took a step back. “Too many people at this—” The first daimon held up his hand and a gust of wind came rushing from the field behind the trio. It shot down the dirt path, slamming into John’s chest, sending him flying through the air. John hit the back of the rest stop, his surprised shriek cut off by the snapping of his bones. He fell into the shrubs, a dark, lifeless lump.
Red tried to move, but the wind was still coming. It pushed him back and knocked my arm down. It was like being caught in an invisible tornado. Hundred dollar bills, a bunch of singles, and my bus ticket flew up in the air, caught and tossed by the wind. A hole opened in my chest as the rushing wind took them up and up. It was almost as if the daimons knew that, without those things, I was trapped.
Completely, freaking trapped.
Lesson number five: They could still control the elements.
At least the Covenant Instructors had gotten that part right.
“What’s going on?” Red backed up, stumbling over his own feet.
“What the hell is going on?”
“You’re going to die,” said the daimon in Gap jeans. “That’s what’s going on.”
I reached out, grabbing Red’s flailing arm. “Come on! You’ve got to run!”
Fear rooted Red to the spot. I pulled on his arm until he twisted around. Then we were running, me and the guy who’d held a knife to my throat moments before. Flat laughter followed us as our feet left the dirt path and crashed through field grass.
“Run!” I yelled, pumping my legs until they burned. “Run! RUN!”
Red was so much slower than I was and he fell—
Lightning zipped overhead and a crash of thunder jolted both of us.
Another bolt of light split the dark sky.
Through the fog rolling over the field, I could make out the shapes of more warehouses beyond a cluster of ancient maples. We had to make it there. We could lose them, or at least we could try.
Anywhere was better than being out in the open. I pushed harder—pulled on Red harder.
Our shoes tripped in the tangled weeds and my chest was hurting, the muscles in my arm straining to keep Red on his feet.
“Move,” I gasped as we dashed under the canopy of trees, darting to the right. It seemed better than running in a straight line. “Keep moving.”
Red finally fell in step beside me. The beanie was gone, revealing a head full of thick dreads. We dipped around a tree, both of us stumbling over thick roots and underbrush. Low hanging branches slapped at us, tearing at our clothing. But we kept running.
“What… are they?” Red asked breathlessly.
“Death,” I said, knowing no better way to describe them to a mortal.
Red whimpered. I think he knew I wasn’t kidding.
It came out of nowhere then, slamming into us with the ferocity of a freight train. I hit the ground face first, inhaling spit and dirt. Somehow I kept ahold of the spade and rolled onto my back, praying we’d just gotten tackled by a chupacabra or a minotaur. Right now either would be far better than the alternative.
And I was not that lucky.
I stared up at the daimon as he picked Red up and held him several feet off the ground with one hand.
Thrashing wildly, Red screamed as the daimon smiled, although he didn’t see the rows of razor teeth that I could. Full of panic and terror, I rolled to my feet and rushed the daimon.
Before I could reach them, the daimon drew back his free arm and a burst of flames encompassed his hand. The elemental fire burned unnaturally bright, but the gaping eyeholes remained dark. Seemingly indifferent to the horror playing out across Red’s face and his terrified screams, the daimon placed his fiery hand on Red’s cheek. The fire sparked from the daimon’s hand, swallowing Red’s face and body within seconds. Red shrieked until his voice cut off, his body nothing but flames.
I stumbled backward, choking on a silent scream. The taste of bile filled my mouth.
The daimon dropped Red’s corpse to the ground. The moment his hands left the body, the flames vanished. He turned to me and laughed as the elemental magic cloaked his true form.
My brain refused to accept reality. He wasn’t the daimon from Miami or the one who had spoken behind the rest stop. A fourth. There were four of them—
My heart pounded fiercely as I backed up, feeling a cold desperation well up inside me. I whirled around and found him now standing in front of me. Nothing moved as fast as a daimon, I realized. Not even me.
He winked.
I darted to the side, but he mimicked my movements. He shadowed each step I took and laughed at my pathetic attempts to get around him.
Then he stilled, letting his hands fall harmlessly to his sides. “Poor, little half-blood, there is nothing you can do. You can’t escape us.”
I clenched the handle of the spade, unable to speak as he stepped to the side.
“Run, half-blood.” The daimon tilted his head toward me. “I’ll enjoy the chase. And once I catch you, even the gods won’t be able to stop what I will do to you. Run!”
I took off. No matter how much air I dragged into my lungs as I ran, it didn’t seem like I could breathe. All I could think as branches snagged strands of my hair was that I didn’t want to die like that. Not like that.
Oh, gods—not like that.
The ground become uneven; each step sent a spike of pain up my leg and through my hips. I broke free from the trees as another rumble of thunder drowned out every sound except that of the blood pounding in my temples. Seeing the outline of the warehouses, I pushed my sore muscles harder. My sneakers left the weed- covered earth and pounded across a thin layer of gravel. I darted between the buildings, knowing wherever I went I might have only a few stolen moments of safety.
One of the buildings, the furthest from the woods, was several stories tall while the rest looked squat in comparison. The windows on the ground floor were either broken or boarded up. I slowed down, peering over my shoulder before I tried the door. I kicked at the rust-frozen handle and the surrounding wood cracked and gave way. I ducked inside and shut the door behind me.
My eyes roamed the dark interior, searching for something to secure the door with. It took several seconds for my eyes to adjust, and when they did, I could make out the shapes of abandoned work benches, presses, and a set of stairs. I struggled to get my fingers to stop shaking as I shoved the spade back into my pants. Grabbing a work bench, I yanked it toward the door. The screeching sound it made reminded me too much of a daimon’s howl, and it also seemed to send things scurrying in the shadows. Once I’d barricaded the door, I rushed the stairs. They creaked and shifted under my weight as I took the steps two at a time, keeping a death grip on the metal railing. On the third floor, I went straight to a room with a large set of windows, dodging discarded benches and flattened boxes. A startling realization hit me as I peered out the window frantically, scouring the ground for daimons.
If I didn’t make it to Nashville—if I ended up dead tonight—no one would even know. No one would even miss me or care. My face wouldn’t even end up on the back of a milk carton.
I flipped out.
Leaving the room, I hit the rickety stairs and kept climbing until I reached the top floor. I raced through the dark hallway, ignoring the startled squeaks. I threw open the door and tumbled onto the roof.
The storm continued violently overhead as if it had become a part of me. Lightning streaked across the sky, and a crack of thunder vibrated through my core, mocking the cyclone of emotions building inside.
Going to the edge of the roof, I peered through the fog. My eyes scanned every inch of the nearby woods
