“I don’t know yet. I’ll figure it out,”
“But”
Warren turned and shot her a harsh glance. “I need you to help me, not tellme how impossible this is. If you’re going to do that, you might as well goaway.”
For a moment, he thought she might do exactly that. It was what he would havedone.
She reached for him and placed her palm against the side of his face. “I’llhelp you. It’s just that I feel so… overwhelmed by this. By all ofthis.”
“But this is what you trained to do.”
Naomi shook her head. “We believed. We had tapped into them over the years.But we never believed that anything like the demon invasion would happen. At least, I didn’t.”
Warren looked closely at her and stared into her eyes. “If this thing becomesimpossible” He couldn’t finish, and he couldn’t believe that it wouldn’t turnout to be impossible.
“Then I’ll leave you and save myself.” Naomi at least had the decency to lookashamed and sorrowful. “It’s the way it has to be, and you need to know that.”
Warren took in a deep breath and let it out.
Naomi smiled a little and took her hand back from his face. “If I hadanswered any other way/you wouldn’t have believed me.”
That was true.
“I’m staying for now because I care about you, and that’s the truth whetheryou believe it or not. But I also want a chance to get more power, Warren. You need to know that too.”
Actually, Warren could understand that perfectly. He nodded toward the street. “The rain’s stopped. We can go.” He turned from her and stepped into thestreet.
Warren followed a twisting maze of alleys and dead-end streets. He had memorized the path a long time ago. When he’d been a child, his mother haddragged him all over the London looking for books on magic and spell casting. There had been dozens of small businesses that had catered to the quiet, but ever-growing, section of the city’s population that had gotten interested in arcane matters.
His destination was one of those.
When he reached the place, he found it was far smaller than he remembered. It was a third-story walk-up above a consignment shop and photography studio.
The name of the bookstore, Horowitz Archives, was neatly lettered on the small brass plate beside the stairwell. Memories churned within Warren as he stepped through the broken doors and headed up the stairs.
The stairwell was dark and smelled of urine. That wasn’t new, because thosedetails were in his memories of the place.
He couldn’t remember how many times his mother had hurried him through thehallway. She had always been afraid that her husband, Warren’s stepfather, wouldfind out she was their spending what little money she made on books about magic. The memory of her hand shaking in his was so strong that for a moment Warren felt certain he could close his hand and slow her down the way he had back in those days.
That’s over now. Let it go. Otherwise you’re going to be as dead as she is.
At the top of the stairs, Warren turned to the left and spotted the simple, frosted pane glass door. The glass had been broken out for the most part. A few jagged shards remained in the frame. Beyond that, the room was filled with books.
Nearby, what Warren had believed only to be a bundle of rags stood up and became a man. The man was scruffy and gaunt, and his complexion gone to a grotesque yellow, like he had been jaundiced.
He held a gun, which he pointed at Warren. “You people need to get out ofhere. This is my place. All mine.”
Warren came to a stop and glared at the man. “I’m not here to take yourplace. I came to visit the bookstore.”
“Bookstore’s closed for business.” The man cackled madly at his own sense ofhumor. He waved the pistol meaningfully. “Now I’ll see the backside of youleaving this place, or I’m going to put a bullet in the front side.”
With a slight twist of the power that filled him, Warren changed his vision to night sight to better see the man. What he saw surprised him.
“You’re yellow,” Warren said.
The man shifted defensively. “I’ve been sick.”
“You haven’t been sick.” Warren stared at the man, then shifted to the pileof ragged blankets and quilts lying on the floor.
Long bones, too long to belong to a dog or cat, like partially concealed within the material. Horror twisted Warren’s stomach when he realized what thebones belonged to.
“You’re a cannibal,” Warren accused.
“No I’m not.” The man’s voice turned shrill and desperate. “Don’t say that.You’ve got no reason to say that.”
Cannibalism, though not rampant, did happen within the city. Warren had seen cases of it. The yellow coloration of the skin generally came from the hepatitis infection that was carried through the blood. If the victim did not have hepatitis before getting killed by demons, they often did at the time of death. Most demons carried all sorts of infectious diseases.
The man raised his pistol and in his shaking fist. “No more warnings! Get outbloody well now or I’m going to kill you!”
Warren concentrated for a moment to consolidate his strength, then pushed at the man with his open palm.
The man flew backward as if he’d been hit by a double-decker bus. Bonescrunched under the magical impact, and it was all punctuated by the loud bark of the pistol. After he hit thewall, the man hurked and gasped for a moment, then shivered and lay still.
“Are you” Naomi began.
Warren halted her question with a raised hand. He listened to the silence, straining his ears for the sounds of human feet or demon claws or hooves.
There was nothing.
He let out a tense breath and turned toward the bookstore. A gouge in the wall showed where the bullet had hit. From the angle, Warren knew the bullet hadn’t missed him by more than a few inches.
If he hadn’t been afraid of Merihim and the task that lay
