hand a blur between gun and vest, Sullivan tried again. The second magazine was as useless as the first. The demon was closer now, and it was like trying to stand during an earthquake. Stumbling, he turned and ran for the cover of the Roosevelt Memorial. He dove behind a concrete flowerbed as one of the demon’s huge feet kicked the iron bars of the perimeter fence overhead.
The demon had an overpowering stink to it, like damp ground and ozone. Sullivan crawled forward as another foot landed only twenty feet away, bouncing him across the grass. The foot was shaped like a monkey’s paw, with toes like fingers, each as long as a tall man, with an obsidian nail on the end like a shovel head. The limb was covered with plates like broken asphalt chunks, while the skin beneath was black as oil and appeared slick and moist.
Tracer bullets splashed across the reflecting pool, tore up clumps of dirt, and ripped into the demon. A sleek Curtiss biplane banked away, engine buzzing. The demon roared with a noise that threatened to make Sullivan’s ears bleed. There was a terrible sound as the bronze statue of Teddy Roosevelt and his horse was ripped from its base and hurled after the speeding plane. This time the demon connected, and the statue tore one set of wings off. The Curtiss went spiraling downward in a cloud of wood splinters and aluminum shrapnel.
Sullivan gathered enough Power for a brutal Spike, rose, and concentrated on the nearest foot. He brought gravity down on it, sloppy, but hard and fast as he possibly could. A visible depression appeared in the oily skin and the plates cracked. A cloud of demon smoke spilled forth as the foot jerked into the sky. Summoned oil fell on him like rain. It can be damaged!
Then the massive foot came down right on top of him.
The Power use was instinctive, and he flared it hard, increasing his density as everything went black. He was driven deep into the ground, flat on his back, stomped like a bug.
There was no light. There was no air. No sound. There was dirt in his eyes, filling his ears and mouth. He was buried alive beneath the black oily heel of the demon. His Power was burning hot, dwindling quickly, but he was alive. Alive and crushed beneath the incalculable weight of a god.
This had to be how he’d survived the year before when he’d fallen from a blimp and through a train car. There was no calculation to this magic, only a pure desire to live. Even seconds from death, in a race between what would run out first, his air or his magic, Sullivan’s analytical mind was making notes of this surprising use of his Power. Fascinating.
The wounded foot rose, leaving Sullivan at the bottom of a footprint in the grass. His mass returned to normal and he could move again. His lungs filled with air. Desperate, he scrambled upward, drawing himself out into the night. The demon was moving on. Sullivan had to hurry and strike with whatever he had left.
But before Sullivan could do anything else, the beast spun, tearing one leg through the Memorial. The landscape seemed to curl into a wave of approaching earth. An uprooted tree spun his way and he barely had time to increase his density before impact.
He found himself sailing through the air. Water came rushing up to meet him, but not nearly deep enough to cushion the impact. The splash was far too brief and his shoulder cracked the concrete beneath. Sullivan sat up in the middle of the reflecting pool, gasping and choking.
The injured foot came down, still mangled and bleeding smoke, but the demon just contorted its unnatural body and used one of its spare hands to steady itself. It must not have realized where that attack had come from, or he’d be dead for sure. It knew that something in the area had severely injured it though, and that something had to be eliminated. Both mouths opened wide and emitted a blast of pure fire in an arc that stretched for hundreds of feet. It swept its head across the mall, side to side, immolating everything. Trees exploded into flame. Innocent people were burned to ash. Sullivan ducked back under the lifesaving water as the fire tore across the pool.
The son of a bitch breathes fire, too? he thought as he hugged the bottom. It was very shallow, and much of his back was still exposed to the intense heat. He rolled quickly to put himself out. This keeps getting worse.
Holding his breath as long as he could, it finally felt as if the worst of the heat had passed. The water was scalding as he sprang up and gasped for breath. The air was filled with smoke. Being crushed had left him dizzy and weak. It took quite some time to collect himself.
Sullivan wiped his eyes and watched as the demon went on to attack the Washington Monument. It covered a football field’s worth of ground every couple of steps and reached the monolith in no time. Even as big as the demon was, the monument was far taller still, and that just seemed to make it mad. The creature struck it several times, angry that anything else might upstage it, but after clawing away several chunks of stone it seemed to realize that the monument was no threat to its superiority. Instead it scrambled effortlessly up the side of the monument, climbing to a higher vantage point so that it could survey its new kingdom.
A pair of biplanes did a strafing run against the demon. This time it simply turned and engulfed the incoming planes in a stream of fire. One was struck and exploded in midair. The other managed to dodge under the flames, only to cut too close to the monument and was swatted from the sky by one of the demon’s extra arms. It would accept no challenges to its rule.
Sullivan waded across the pool. He had to follow this thing before it was too late. His Healing spells were working like mad. His own Power was battered and weak. He still had his gun, and the only reason it hadn’t been destroyed beneath the demon’s foot was because John Browning had enchanted it with runes of durability. He didn’t know what he was going to do when he reached the monster, but he had to try something.
The demon’s eyes turned to the east, toward the lights of the Capitol and the field of screaming, fleeing humans. It climbed down and lumbered onward.
Faye stepped through space and found herself back on the west side of the river at the Grimnoir staging grounds. “Next!”
She’d just dropped Lance Talon off behind one of the museums. He had insisted on taking the Stokes mortar from the back of his truck. Between Lance, the mortar and its shells-it had been quite a bit of weight-and it had forced her to make a couple of quick hops to get him in place. Before that had been Diamond armed with one of those Goddard rocket launchers. She’d stuck around long enough to watch him shoot one of the explosive rockets into the demon’s back, but their only reward on impact had been a puff of smoke. It had flicked off the Iron Guard, stepped on Mr. Sullivan, and was swatting down fighter planes like hornets. She was beginning to fear that nothing they could do could hurt this thing.
The knights had actually formed a line like they were waiting for a turn on a Ferris wheel. Heinrich stepped up next. He hadn’t been Mended yet, but he had one of Mr. Sullivan’s Healing spells carved on him so he was hanging in there, and he’d found a pickax in the tool shed. “Drop me right on its head.”
“Are you sure?”
“It should prove fun,” Heinrich said as he put the pickax over one shoulder. He gave her a battered grin. “What is the worst that could happen?”
And people say I’m crazy. Faye took him by the arm.
Her Power was burning hot. Though she’d jumped far and often over the last few hours, she seemed to be getting stronger and stronger as the night went on. Her greatest limitation right now was her physical body, which was completely exhausted. One mistake because she was not thinking clearly would get her, and even worse, anybody she was carrying, killed. Her magic was feeling nearly as strong as it had been aboard the Tokugawa and she had no idea why, but she was thankful for it. Even then, it was taking her a couple of shorter hops to get back to the demon. She had a passenger and it was getting further away. By herself, she figured she should be able to make the return trip in one jump.
They landed near the Washington Monument. It was scored with several deep claw marks. A biplane had crashed on its side nearby. The area was in complete pandemonium. There were hundreds of people present, some running away, some stumbling about injured, others trying to help. Fires were burning everywhere. The demon was busy tearing apart the big museum on the north side of the lawn while it ignored the flock of biplanes that were taking turns swooping down to shoot at it. The monster had to be a hundred feet tall now.
“Still want to do this?” she asked Heinrich.
“I do. But before you put me on that thing, I just want to say again that I am very sorry for that time that I shot you in the heart.”
“Oh, Heinrich. Don’t go talking like that!”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re saying goodbyes.”
“Why would I do that?” This smile was a sad one. “Of course I’m not, Faye. Let’s go.”
