I’ve marked you, Merihim said. You can’t escape me. But I want to see what you’re capable of. So I will let you live. For now.
The threat woke Warren because it seemed so real. He had to wake and make certain the demon wasn’t in his bedroom.
Feverish and dry-mouthed, he rolled from the bed and reached for a bottle of water. Someone had taken all his reserves from beside his bed. He knew his roommates had done it.
Movement on the wall caught his attention. He peered into the mirror hanging there. Although the room was dark with the windows covered, he could still see plainly. Maybe it was the trick he’d learned back with the Cabalists.
The ghastly image that peered back at him from the mirror was his own, but he wouldn’t have recognized it if it hadn’t been framed in the mirror. The right side of his face was thick, crusty blackened meat that was pulling away from his cheekbone. His hair was singed close to his skull. Swelling half-closed his right eye. As he blinked, blood trickled down the side of his face.
Gazing down at his ruined hand, he saw white bone showing through at the knuckles. His fingers were thick as sausages from the swelling and black as coal. His chocolate-brown skin looked pale around the burned patches. He couldn’t close his fist.
Panic set in then, clawing and screaming through his heart, spraying his nerves with adrenaline. Even if he lived, he’d never be the same again. He was going to be a monstrosity. He shivered and shook, feeling too weak to stand as his heart pounded wildly.
Footsteps sounded behind him.
Warren turned as Kelli pulled the curtain back. She looked shocked.
“You’re still alive?” she asked.
“Where…is my water?” Warren asked.
“We didn’t think you’d need it.”
He got angry then and took two stumbling steps toward her. “You had…no right…taking my water.”
“We didn’t want it to go to waste. We thought you were dead.”
“I’m not.” Warren focused on her, reaching for that power that had dwelt within him for so long. It felt stronger and more sure than he’d ever felt before. “Bring me…my water.”
Kelli vanished immediately and returned with a liter of water.
Warren struggled with the cap and finally got it off. His lips felt crusty and thick as he drank. He looked at her, focusing everything inside him on her. “You will…take care…of me. Do you…understand? You will…make sure I…have food and…water.”
“I will,” she said.
Warren drank more water. Nausea swam in his stomach. He retreated to the bed, hoping to keep the water down. His body needed it. He closed his eyes and hoped he didn’t die. But he wasn’t convinced he wanted to live as he was, either. He had to heal, but he didn’t want to live scarred and incomplete.
Eighteen
THE ENGLISH COAST
ENGLAND
S o these are friends of yours?”
Simon glanced over at Leah Creasey seated on a rock only a short distance from him and thought about that question. Were they friends? He wasn’t sure. He was cleaning weapons, getting the blood and ichors clear of the actions.
Leah was eating a self-heat can of soup and a freeze-dried roast beef sandwich. Simon had eaten one of the sandwiches and felt certain that the plastic wrap it had come in had possessed more taste.
“I know a couple of them,” Simon admitted.
“Giselle.”
“Her best of all.”
Leah watched the Templars. They’d separated themselves from Simon and Leah. At first Simon hadn’t known how to feel about that, then he’d decided he felt fine about it. He didn’t owe them anything, and they didn’t owe him anything.
“How well did you know her?” Leah asked.
Simon knew the interest at that point was purely feminine curiosity, which almost—for just the moment—made everything seem normal and natural. Like they hadn’t just buried seven people in a shallow grave.
“Not that well,” Simon said. “Not like that.”
Leah appeared to relax a little. “Why is she so mad at you?”
“It’s a long story.”
Glancing meaningfully toward the east where the sun was painting a golden nimbus at the horizon, Leah said, “I think we have time for a long story. From what I gather from your friends, we’re not going to be traveling during the day.”
They weren’t. Giselle had already informed Simon of that. The demons hunted at night and at day, but with the sun out they could see farther and movement was more easily detected. She wanted to use the night as cover while they traveled.
“I used to be one of them,” Simon said.
“You don’t look like the type for one of those tin can suits.”
Simon grimaced. “That’s armor. Made from palladium alloy.”
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s a precious metal. Hard to come by. Even harder to work on a forge.”
“You made your own body armor?”
“My father—” Simon’s voice broke unexpectedly. He concentrated on cleaning a Grappler until he had control of his voice again. “My father helped me forge it. That’s how it’s done. That’s how it always has to be done. And it’s not body armor. Not like Kevlar or anything like that.” He nodded at the Templar. “When you’re inside that armor, you’re more like a tank. It’s very high-tech.”
“It’s computerized? I figured that out from watching it work. And since there aren’t any eye slits, I got the idea they’d either been trained by blind monks or there was some kind of imaging system.”
“An imaging system. A head’s-up display. Way more technical than anything the military has.” Simon couldn’t help noticing the pride in his voice when he said that. “And magic.”
Leah arched her brows. “Did you just say ‘magic’?”
“Yeah.”
“As in scientific wizardry?”
“No, as in an energy field that can’t be accessed through physical science.” Simon looked at her, suddenly realizing that so much of the rest of the world was just like Leah. They were trapped in
