The object squirmed inside Warren’s hand.
“Stop,” he said softly, too quietly for the men below to hear.
The thing stopped trying to escape.
Warren opened his hand and examined it. The object was an eyeball he’dplucked from a dying Blood Angel. As the demon had expired, Warren had worked the binding spell that Merihim had coached him in.
When he’d finished, the eye had been his and he could see through it asMerihim could see through his eyes. Over the years, he’d made more of them. He’dcreated other things as well. They sometimes moved and jerked in the demonhide bag he carried slung over one shoulder.
None of the other Cabalists he knew had been able to make such things. Of course, none of the others were bound to a demon.
He pushed the Blood Angel’s eye into the bag and shook off the attempts ofthe other things in there to get free. None of them could escape the bag. His power bound them there.
Do not fail me.
Warren summoned the power within him. He felt strong. On those occasions when he directly obeyed the demon’s orders, he had discovered that his reservoirs ofpower were a lot bigger. Tonight he felt especially strong.
He threw the demon’s hand before him, fingers outspread. Force shimmeredagainst his palm. He felt it, and he saw it as a rippling wave of smoke. With a flick, the force shot from hishand and struck one of the two rear guards.
The man went down without a sound. He sprawled in a loose tangle of limbs.
The other rear guard shouted a warning, then hunkered down into a half-crouch with his weapon raised in his hands. It was some kind of machine pistol. Warren knew that from countless online First-Person Shooters and PvPGs he’d played.
One of the other two guards clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder and jerkedhim into rapid motion. The man, overburdened by the body armor, almost tripped and fell. The guard managed to keep him upright and moving.
The other guard half-crouched as well and looked around the alley. His eyes drifted up and locked onto Warren. Too late, Warren saw that the man had flipped down lenses from the Kevlar helmet. Obviously they offered some kind of infrared or night-vision capabilities because the man had no problem spotting Warren.
Even as he felt the man’s gaze on him, Warren leaped from the third-storyfire escape landing. No human could have survived the drop without serious injury. Warren landed and barely flexed his legs to absorb the shock.
A line of bullets, interspersed with red tracer rounds, slammed into the fire escape where he’d been. Metal clanged and shrieked under the barrage.
That’s going to draw demons, Warren thought sourly. Maybe the police.
Incredibly, ragged remnants of the London Metropolitan Police Department continued to live inside the city. In the beginning, they’d tried to keep orderin the streets, thinking that the military would put things to rights in short order. When that hadn’t happened, most of them turned as mercenary aseveryone else trying to survive in the city.
But they still investigated disturbances. It was in their nature. Also, they’d claimed weapons taken from military stockpiles. Normally they weren’tarmed. Times changed. Equipped with the new weapons, the police officers had become more dangerous.
Warren held his fist out and popped it open suddenly. Flames jetted from his hand and enveloped the security guard with the quick trigger finger. The man surged up, dropped his weapon, and batted at the flames as he ran as though he could leave the fire behind.
“James!” the guard holding the civilian yelled. “Don’t run, mate! It onlyfeeds the fire!”
If the burning man heard his friend, he gave no sign. He careened into the wall and fell into a pile of debris that also caught on fire.
At that moment, Warren lost sight of the man as he concentrated on the other one who was even then turning on him with the machine pistol. Warren brought his hand up in front of him and pushed more energy into the spell he had ready.
The guard fired his weapon. Dozens of bullets spat from the machine pistol like a swarm of metallic bees. Muzzle flashes lit the alley like miniature lightning strikes.
Despite his confidence in his abilities, fear trickled through Warren. His senses sped up so much that he could see the bullets clearly as they streaked for him. Most of them wouldn’t miss.
Afraid? Merihim taunted.
Warren ignored the mocking voice. He flicked his hand open over his heart. A shimmer passed over his body several inches from his skin.
The bullets struck the barrier he’d called up and froze in mid-air onlyinches from him. The lead projectiles were partially melted from the heat created in the barrel, and from the impact against the shield. They hung suspended as he gazed at them.
Then he realized his left shoulder felt as if it was on fire. When he looked, he saw that one of the bullets had evidently struck him and penetrated the flesh. The sensation of blood spreading down his back let him know the bullet had gone all the way through.
How?
It is a reminder, Merihim said. I do not want you to get too complacent. You will not take for granted what I’ve given you.
Silently, Warren wondered if Merihim had intentionally let him be wounded, or if the demon’s powers weren’t as strong as he’d claimed. The fact that he couldquestion such a thing without Merihim knowing also proved the demon didn’t havequite the hold he professed.
Of course, the possibility existed that the demon did know and only allowed Warren his misplaced confidence. Warren forced the thought away almost as soon as it dawned. He concentrated on survival.
He ignored the pain in his shoulder and focused on the guard that had shot at him. Shot me, Warren corrected.
The man brought his weapon up
