Angels of Darkness

glow crimson.

“Come on, then,” the demon challenged them.

Marc shook his head. “I just want to know about the book you used to poison Miklia and her friends. Did you write it yourself?”

“It’s a work in progress.” The demon smiled, exposing long, dangerous fangs. “So were they. And after I kill you both, I’ll just write another one, and find another human.”

Radha sighed. Why did demons always sound the same? Blah blah kill you all blah. Neither Radha nor Marc was worried about the influence that book might have on someone who picked it up, because it had probably been written specifically to exploit the girls’ individual vulnerabilities—but it might have information that would expose the local vampire community.

She guessed, “So you wrote something like instructions or a revelation, then left it for them to find. Or maybe you dropped it out of your cache, and it seemed to appear by magic to them. Did they think a Guardian was doing it? Watching over them, guiding them?”

The demon’s lips drew back in a sneer. “They all loved the Guardians. Pathetic.”

The insult was probably as close to a confirmation as they’d get. Good enough. They’d search the library afterward, just in case, but if the demon kept the book in his cache, it would be destroyed when Marc slayed him.

Not in here, though.

“Pathetic, but they almost took us out,” Marc said. “I have to appreciate that. And since you didn’t do any killing, I’m prepared to let you go. But you have to promise to leave now, today—to fly out of town and never return.”

The demon laughed. “Lies.”

“No. I’m prepared to offer a bargain. If you walk out this door now and fly away, we’ll let you leave, no fighting or blood drawn. Neither of us will fly after you. You just have to agree to go without fighting or drawing blood.”

“Why?” The demon’s wary gaze ran from Marc to Radha. “There are two of you. Though mistaken, you must believe you’ll defeat me.”

“I just want you out of this town,” Marc said. “You’ve done enough damage; I won’t add to it now by destroying half the library while we fight. I’ll hunt you down another day.”

“And you will back this up with a bargain?” The demon all but licked his lips. Anyone who broke a bargain would find their soul trapped in Hell for eternity—and so that meant Marc couldn’t lie. It was a free pass out of Riverbend. “I leave, then. None of us draws blood while I go out. I fly away, and you don’t fly after me. Is that the agreement?”

Marc nodded. “Yes.”

“Then it is done. Fools. I know your scents now, but you will not know mine. I will kill you so quickly that you will still be screaming while your head rolls on the ground.”

Would the bastard ever stop talking and just leave? Demons were even worse than fanatics. Irritated, Radha asked, “Kind of like this?”

Whimpering, a double of the demon’s head rolled across the library floor, bumping along over its black curving horns.

The demon bared its teeth at her. “I’ll hunt you down first.”

“Back off, demon.” Marc’s expression hardened. “If you don’t leave in a few seconds, you’ll be breaking your bargain.”

And the demon wouldn’t risk whatever diseased thing passed for its soul, either—not when it meant eternal torture in Hell. Swords held at ready, it came around the desk, backing toward the door on cloven feet.

“I’ll keep you hidden from human sight until you’re out of mine,” Radha said. “So fly away, demon.”

Its huge, membranous wings formed as it passed through the door. Marc followed it out, vanishing his sword.

As soon as it stepped onto the sidewalk, the demon smiled. “I didn’t draw blood on my way out. I’m out now. I could kill you.”

“You’d be a fool to try,” Marc said. “Because this is all an illusion, and I’m really standing behind you.”

The demon whirled. Radha grinned while Marc shook with silent laughter. No one stood behind the bastard. Still, it wasn’t sure. Carefully, it extended a sword, poking the air.

“He said he’d let you fly away,” Radha reminded it. “So, go.”

It hissed. “This isn’t over, Guardians.”

“’Bye,” Radha said. “Before I remember that his bargain doesn’t stop me from slaying you.”

With another snarl, it flapped its giant wings. Radha watched it climb. When she glanced back at Marc, he’d already left her side, heading toward a small strip of bare earth at the end of the street. She followed him, tracing the southbound flight of the demon.

“We should have slain him in the street.”

“That’s not as fun.” Marc glanced at her, smiling. “And it would never have left the library if we hadn’t said it could fly away.”

She knew. Still, she worried. Marc’s Gift allowed him to haul dirt, he’d said . . . and the demon had already flown high and far. “Do you wait for him to land?”

Marc didn’t immediately answer. His eyes had narrowed on the demon in the distance, and the power of his Gift became a low, gathering hum against Radha’s shields. Strong, overwhelming all of her senses—she could almost smell the fresh dirt. Reflexively, she looked down.

His feet were bare, toes digging into the frozen soil.

“Radha,” he said, “he’s about to fly over an empty field, do you see?”

Flat, covered with snow. “Yes.”

“Create an illusion that duplicates that entire area. The field, the sky, everything in between. Anybody who looks in that direction has to see the same thing they would now. Ready?”

The field, the sky, everything in between. Was he serious?

Her heart pounding, she created the illusion. “Yes.”

The gathering hum of his Gift suddenly wound higher, a controlled thrust of incredible power against her shields. The entire field erupted upward in a long column, as if pushed from below by a giant hand into a rectangular tower of dirt and stone—directly beneath the demon. The field at the top of the tower hinged like an enormous jaw. Unable to avoid it, the demon stopped flying, sword drawn, as the earthen mouth opened around its body. Hundreds of tons of soil and stone snapped together.

Maybe thousands of tons.

“Marc.” She breathed his name, awed. She’d never seen anything like his Gift. “Marc.”

“Keep the illusion up,” he said softly.

The tower receded again, carrying the crushed demon back to earth. The field returned to its proper altitude, but the thrust of his Gift continued, hardening now against her shields, no longer smelling of soil but of molten stone.

Then hotter, and his Gift pressed like a burning, heavy weight against her tongue. “What are you doing?”

“Burying the demon.”

Far enough that it affected the sensation of his Gift? Past the Earth’s crust? But she shouldn’t have been surprised, she realized. She’d believed his Gift had fit him, the young farmer that he’d once been; she just hadn’t known how well. But he was solid, so strong—and he burned within, too.

“How deep?”

“Deep. It’s not Hell, but it’s hot, and—he’s vaporized now. There’s nothing left to keep burying.” He glanced at her, and his eyes were glowing. “Keep holding the illusion on the field.”

This time the thrust of his Gift held a delicate edge, was more than just pure power. The field lifted again, but not in a solid tower. Columned temples formed from dark soil and stone. Elegant domes rose, covered in snow. Thin spires speared into the sky.