The thing that would be making my palms sweat right now—if I could still sweat—was the idea that the succubus bitch might descend on us with other demons, or with Caspian and a flight of Fae in tow. Or with an army of controlled humans, for that matter, or...
Or, or, or.
Basically, there were a bunch of scenarios in which we would almost certainly end up toast, but only a handful where we prevailed. But... wasn’t that what I’d signed us up for, after all? An end to things, for better or worse?
Somehow, until this moment I hadn’t fully appreciated the part where Rans and I would be putting other people’s lives on the line, too. Albigard had his own agenda and reason for being here, but... Guthrie. Edward. Dad. Nigellus had the same advantage of immortality Myrial did, but if he were pushed far enough, would he drain Dad and Edward to save himself? Were we using a monster to fight monsters?
Rans appeared in front of me, jerking me out of my reverie. His eyes took in my glazed expression.
“Whatever it is you’re thinking about, it’s too late to worry about it now, love. Strap these on.”
I accepted the knife belt and shoulder holster, feeling like the fraudiest fraud who’d ever frauded. The belt had a sheath at each hip—one of our three salt daggers nestling in the left one in preparation for a right-handed draw, and an iron dagger in the right one for a left-handed draw.
The shoulder holster held a nine-millimeter Makarov semi-automatic pistol loaded with iron bullets, along with two replacement clips. I was honestly less than sanguine about trying to use it with Edward and my father in the vicinity, given how little real-world fighting experience I had with firearms. But Rans had insisted I take it, given the likelihood of Caspian’s involvement.
He was armed to the teeth as well, as was Albigard. Guthrie had once again refused an iron blade, though he’d eventually agreed to take the third salt dagger since it might be his best shot at taking out Myrial. He’d also scared up a double-barreled shotgun from somewhere, and filled a dozen twelve-gauge shells with rock salt.
Edward had refused any weapons, claiming he was only there for the purpose of casting magical barriers. Nigellus was likewise uninterested in the arsenal we had available, but I knew better than to think that meant he was unarmed. When he needed it, he would call forth a flaming sword from the ether that would put the rest of our guns and blades to shame.
“Dad,” I said, distracting my father from his wary examination of the glowing light at his shoulder. “You’re on van duty. Keep it parked just outside Edward’s barrier with the engine running. If we manage to overpower Myrial, get a bag of salt to us as fast as you can. And if it looks like were losing the fight, slam on the gas pedal and make a run for it with anyone still left alive.”
All of my instructions were probably pointless, of course. If Myrial got the upper hand and wanted the mortals dead, a rusted-out van from the early nineties wasn’t going to outrun a being that could teleport at will. But... it made me feel like I was at least trying to keep my dad safe in an inherently unsafe situation. I also hoped that if he felt like he had a specific role to play during the fight, it would prevent him from doing anything stupid.
With the van positioned, and everyone who knew how to use a weapon armed... we waited.
“What are the chances that Myrial will be able to talk the other demons around to her side?” I asked, when the lengthening silence threatened to upend my fragile equilibrium. “You said you didn’t think she’d be successful?”
Nigellus shifted minutely where he was resting against the lip of the van’s cargo area. “Low,” he replied. “There is always a certain amount of inertia to be overcome when attempting to change the status quo. However, if Myrial is successful in overcoming me and destroying all the vampires except for hers, that will likely change. And in the meantime, there is still the matter of her collusion with the Fae.”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t refer to me as property, demon,” Guthrie said.
Nigellus raised an eyebrow. “I do beg your pardon. Does Myrial not own your soul, Mr. Leonides?”
Guthrie’s lip pressed into a thin, unhappy line. “I didn’t say the statement was inaccurate. I said I didn’t appreciate it.”
The demon tilted his chin in acknowledgement. “Yes—so you did. My apologies.”
Rans tensed beside me. “Two people are approaching on foot from the direction of the park boundary. Zorah?”
My lack of a heartbeat did nothing to prevent a flood of adrenaline racing through me. I reached out with all my senses, looking for anything magical.
“Not Fae,” I said.
“Not demon,” Nigellus added. “Merely human.”
I saw Guthrie and my father both bristling at the ‘merely.’ Ironic, given that the description only applied to one of them now.
“They could be controlled,” Rans said tightly. “If so, they’re likely to be armed. Look sharp.”
I waved Dad inside the van’s cab with emphatic movements, ignoring his glare of displeasure. Only when the door closed and his silhouette disappeared into the back, protected by windowless metal, did I turn to face the potential threat. My hand rested on the butt of the gun, ready to draw.
Low voices approached, arguing.
“... don’t see why we had to come all the way out here to do the deal, man.”
“Because there’s no surveillance cameras out here, and no witnesses, asshole. You wanna buy from me, you get your punk ass out here where we can do this shit in private.”
Next to me, Rans relaxed. The would-be drug dealer and his customer wandered into the clearing, their flashlight apps illuminating our heavily armed group gathered around an unmarked commercial van. Both men came to an abrupt stop, jaws dropping.
“Oh, dear,” Rans drawled. “So much for
