The Liberator

from a young girl strolling through a park with a boy’s face in her mind. It’s a sweet, innocent noise, but coming from this creature it’s chilling.

This thing, this creature, used to be a person.

The demon moves toward me, toenails clicking against the bridge. Behind it, Patrick scurries backward. He smiles. This is exactly what he wanted. I contemplate what action to take. If I flee, the demon probably won’t catch me, but I’ll lose sight of Patrick. And it’s better to have your enemy in view than hidden in the shadows. So I’ll fight it. I’ll toss it back into its bubbling grave and then toss Patrick in after him.

But I’ve got to hurry, because more demons are coming.

The creature is bigger than me, but not nearly as quick. And that’s what I’m counting on. I rush toward the monster but stop when a thump-thump-thump comes from behind.

Aspen rushes past and charges toward the demon. The heel of her hand rams into its mutated nose, and the creature hisses and falls back. She doesn’t give it a moment to think. Aspen ducks when the monster swipes a clawed hand at her, then she drives a closed fist into its side. She hits it again on the opposite side.

“Oh, man!” Patrick says from a few feet away. “Boss Man is going to love her.”

My mind buzzes as I try to pull her away, but she brushes me off and keeps fighting. This time she rears back and thrusts her foot into its stomach. When the demon hunches over with a sickening gurgle, she kicks it in the face. The demon recovers quickly and attacks. It drags a single claw across her bicep, and somehow Aspen doesn’t scream.

She just gets angry.

Her fists fly faster than I can follow. She’s totally kicking its ass, and though I don’t want to leave her alone with the creature, I know this frees me up to take care of Patrick.

I set my gaze on the collector. Then I brush past Aspen and tackle him to the planks. He grabs the rope handrail over his head and uses it as leverage to kick me away.

I’m back on him in a blaze, sweat covering my brow. It’s sweltering in here, and the smell. I ignore both and fling myself on him. Taking a cue from Aspen, I throw my fist into his sides, then land a blow straight into his shining teeth.

Once I’m standing, I pull him up with me. And then I underestimate him, forget how fast he is on his feet. He reaches out and grabs a handful of my hair. My scalp stings as he rips me forward and then past him. I fly toward the edge of the bridge and just manage to keep from falling by grabbing onto the handrail. The bridge sways like a drunken sailor, and it’s everything I can do to stop myself from tumbling over the side.

I look back at Patrick. He grins from ear to ear. Then he lifts his leg up. I understand what he’s about to do a moment before he does it. He’s going to kick me off the edge. And that’s going to be it.

But the collector stops cold, his knee still raised, when he hears the whistling sound over his shoulder.

The demon rises up from behind him like the moon. It lowers its black shiny head until their cheeks are pressed together. They almost look like lovers. Patrick is shaking and turns a shade of white that seems impossible.

The demon wraps his arms around Patrick and then kicks off from the side of the bridge.

They are gone.

Falling toward the thick oil.

The collector may be there an hour, a day. Or he may stay for eternity. It just depends how hard he fights, and for how long. Maybe he’ll let go of his humanity entirely and become one of them. The same way I think Rector has begun to do.

Once I hear the splash of his body hitting the oil, I join Aspen in her battle against the demon. Together, we are able to shove it back toward the dark liquid blanket. Aspen glances around, her breath coming fast.

“Is he gone?” she asks.

“For now,” I answer. “How’s your arm?”

She grips the place where the creature cut her. “I’ll be fine. What now?”

“Stick to the plan. Get to the soul storage room and get out of here. Handle obstacles as they come.” We race toward the end of the bridge as more demons claw their way over the side. Thankfully, they’ll never make it to us in time. We near the door, and I tell Aspen, “Remind me to thank Lincoln for teaching you how to fight. You’re an animal.”

She grins. “That was a lie.”

“What?”

“He didn’t teach me how to fight. I taught him.”

I slow down and stare at her. “How did you—?”

“Dante. The door. Do we need a key or…?”

I shake my head. “Right. No, we just go through.” The door swings open beneath my hand, and we step into the next room. Aspen immediately falls back with fright, but I push her forward. We must close the door behind us, or the demons will keep coming.

Aspen’s hands fly to her ears, and she looks at me, eyes dancing with fear at what she sees.

38 Fire Dancer

Around the circular room are twelve fireplaces. They are ten feet tall and ten feet wide. Inside them, humans are bound by their ankles. Flames shoot up from stacks of wood at their feet and lick their skin. The moans are louder here than almost anywhere else. Every once in a while someone lets out a scream. When that happens, the fire burns blue. It engulfs their entire body and singes their hair. The demons don’t come when they scream. The fire takes care of that.

The smell of burning flesh and smoke fills my senses, and even though I’ve smelled it a hundred times, I almost heave.

With my chin, I motion toward an empty fireplace. It burns just as bright as the others, but there aren’t any bodies in this one. “That’s where we’re going.”

“Inside there?” Aspen gasps. “With the fire?”

“We just have to walk through it,” I say, as if this is somehow better.

Aspen’s gaze turns to the burning bodies. “Can we do anything for these people?”

I shake my head. “It’s too late for them.”

She bites her lip and cringes. I wonder if it’s the sound they’re making, or the smell, or perhaps the sight of them that bothers her the most. She looks back at the empty fireplace. “Will it hurt?”

I want to tell her no. I want to protect her from all of this. But I can’t. “It will,” I answer honestly. “But only as you pass through it. Once we’re on the other side, your wounds will heal.”

She squats down, and her gloved hands touch the ground. It’s like she’s lost the will to stand. “How much farther?”

“We’re almost there.” I grip her shoulder, and she stands back up. Then she grits her teeth.

“Let’s go, then.”

We clasp hands and approach the flames. They seem to bend toward us, eager for a taste. “Ready?” I ask.

“Could I ever be ready for this? For any of this?”

I almost laugh. Almost.

“Quickly!” I order. We dart toward the hearth, and within seconds we’re engulfed. The scent of my own flesh burning fills my nose, making me gag. Aspen’s hair is on fire, flaming orange. Her mouth is open in a perfect circle of black, but no sound comes out. Pain radiates through every nerve in my body. It’s so intense, I think I’ll collapse.

I forget about Aspen. I forget about Charlie. There’s only agony, slicing open my skin and filling it with blinding heat. The skull buckle on my belt melts and drips silver onto my shoes. My right ear peels off and falls to the ashes below, a hunk of charred meat. The sizzling sound I heard before is now cut in half. My vision blurs, and I know the fire is eating my eyes, sucking them from their sockets like the pimento in a stuffed olive. The misery is