Torn (28 page)

I stabbed my knife down deep into the spongy flesh, and started sawing, wishing the blade was serrated, because I was damn well going to saw through all fifteen inches of flesh if that was what it took.

But I had to saw fast, because she was struggling, her mouth open, her breath coming in gasps, and fear pounding behind her eyes.

I was going to lose her.
Oh, God, oh, God.
I was going to lose her. Rose. My little sister. The little girl I’d risked everything—including the Apocalypse—to save.

I felt numb. I felt raw. And I felt wholly and completely impotent.

And then, as her eyes began to dim and I could barely see the dent I was making in the demon’s flesh from the tears floating in my eyes, I heard it.

Low at first, and then building up strength. A deep, terrifying wail.

I turned, then saw the demon’s eyes go wide, the black shifting to red. I turned back fast, and acting solely on instinct I grabbed Rose around the waist, then spread my legs, my feet anchored inside the elevator, one foot on either side of the hole that had been blasted in the cage door.

It was the right move. The tentacle pulled back, retreating, and trying to take Rose with it.

But it couldn’t. Not easily, anyway. Not with me holding on to her.

And damned if it didn’t let go.

I didn’t completely understand why. All I knew was that whatever had produced that horrific wailing noise had scared Penemue. And he’d retreated into the darkness.

I figured it would be a good idea to get out of there, too. Because even in my limited experience in this world, I’d already figured out that it was a good idea to run from things that disturbed massive beasts from hell.

I slapped Rose’s face, heard her moan, and sighed with relief. I didn’t have time to do more, though. So I let go and let her fall to the floor of the elevator car. She coughed, and rolled over, and I knew that for the moment at least, she was safe.

I jabbed at the elevator buttons, but Rose was right—they didn’t work. We needed out of there, though, and I tilted my head back, searching for the emergency door that was standard in all elevators. Including, apparently, those installed by minions of hell.

I used the broken metal of the cage as a makeshift ladder and managed to get up there, then pulled the trapdoor down. Then I hopped back down and made a stirrup with my hands for Rose to step in. “Can you manage?”

She lifted her head, looking a lot like a girl who badly needed a nap.

“Rose, please. We’ve got to move.”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. To her credit, though, she did stand. As she did, her eyes darted toward the hole in the elevator door and out toward the chasm. I knew what she was thinking, because I was thinking the same thing:
Unless I’m dead or broken, I’m getting the hell out of here.

I held out a hand to steady her as she came over, then re-formed the stirrup for her. “Grab my shoulders,” I said.

“I’m okay.” Her voice was weak, but she meant what she said, and even before I had time to worry if she’d have the strength in her arms to pull herself up, she was through the hole and I saw her peering down, waiting for me to join her.

I was just about to do that very thing when the tentacle thrust toward me again. I leaped, trying to get through the trapdoor. Rose grabbed the back of my shirt and tugged, trying to help me up, but it wasn’t enough. Despite my strength and her valiant effort, the tug of the tentacle that had lashed around my waist kept me from climbing through the escape hatch.

It would have pulled me all the way back to hell with it, if it wasn’t for a coal black, winged creature that burst from the gorge. It shot forward as if fired from a cannon, flame dancing over its body, not as if it were on fire, but as if it
was
fire.

And the fire-creature roared straight for us, the flames dissipating as it grabbed me under my arms, and then shot straight up into the elevator shaft, effectively pulling my lower body free of the tentacle, which had loosened only slightly, as if shocked to see the creature.

It slowed enough to grab Rose with its other arm, and then it put on a fresh burst of speed and rocketed straight up, up, up—at least until we jerked to a stop, flipped over, and started moving in the opposite direction. In other words, back
toward
Penemue. Which really wasn’t where I wanted to go.

I called out in protest, but it was no use. Penemue was down there, two floors below, and we were heading right for him. The demon’s bulbous body filled the elevator shaft, that black pit of a mouth sucking us in, as if we were the very air he needed to breathe. As if we were caught in some damned sci-fi tractor beam, and we were moving backward, toward the gaping maw.

I screamed and struggled in my captor’s arms, desperate to get me and Rose out of there. A reaction that was, of course, idiotic, because if I got free, gravity would send me hurtling down into Penemue’s waiting mouth. And once that little fact registered in my head, I clung more tightly to my winged rescuer. I didn’t know who he was or what he wanted, but at least until he got us out of the elevator shaft, he was my new best friend.

And right then, my friend was fighting dirty.

He thrust his torso and legs up, so that his head was pointed down, and Rose and I were pulled in close to his side. And then, as I watched, he let out a wail that came straight from the deepest pit of hell, and emitted a burst of flame from his mouth so hot that I had to close my eyes and twist my face away. But when it dissipated, I turned back, then sucked in air at what I saw—the entire elevator shaft had melted away, and Penemue had retreated, leaving one burned-off tentacle behind, the flames still snapping at the crispy flesh.

“He will be back.” The low voice rumbled through me, rough and inhuman and yet also somehow familiar. My breath caught, and warm fear flowed through me as my mind filled with horrible possibilities.

I had no time to ponder those fears, though. Not then. Not as he shifted direction in the shaft and we began shooting upward, so fast I feared that we’d slam into the masonry and die from massive hematomas.

Not that I had to worry about that. As we approached at breakneck speed, our savior released another burst of flame and melted the floor above us, along with the ceiling above. Handy trick, that.

We burst out into the dead of night, rising high above the city, all of Boarhurst before us and the lights of Boston proper twinkling in the distance.

He dropped down then, and, as my heart pounded in my chest, the beast landed us softly on a patch of grass, his arms releasing us as he stepped back, wings folded, head down, crouched there in front of us.

Beside me, Rose was breathing in and out fast as she scrabbled backward, crablike, away from him.

Me, I stayed put, holding tight to my knife.

But I didn’t attack. I knew this creature. I was certain of it.

And when he lifted his head, I saw it in his eyes.

“Deacon?”

Something dark flashed in those eyes, and he lunged, teeth bared, mouth open as if another burst of flame was coming.

Rose screamed, and I tackled her to the ground, then rolled over and thrust out my knife, wondering what the hell use it could possibly be against a demon who could breathe fire as Deacon did.

“Go,”
he said, his muscles practically trembling with restraint.

I didn’t. I just stood there, awed and shaken and—yes—more than a little freaked-out.

“Go,”
he repeated. “Find the last key. Find it,” he growled, “before it’s too late.”