Page 82 of Death is My BFF

“Don’t touch her!”

Surprised, Malphas switched his attention to Thomas. Thomas’s chest heaved with adrenaline as he held out a glass bottle, which I suppose he’d found from the overflowing trash can at his side.

Smashing the bottle’s top, he threatened the raven demigod with the jagged edges. “Yeah, I’m talking to you, you ugly piece of shit. Ever hear of self-tanner?”

Malphas lifted his lip up in a snarl. “To think I almost spared you. Kill him. I don’t want mortal blood on my Louis Vuittons.” Two raven demons manifested behind Thomas. They grabbed him with their clawed hands.

“Get away from him!” I screamed.

Thomas writhed against the demons. “Get out of here, Faith!”

I watched in horror as the demon’s claws dug into his arms. “Go!”

“I’ll go with you!” I cried to Malphas. Adrenaline spiked through my veins. Without warning, my fingertips were singed with fire, and

I winced from the violent migraine now hammering at my skull.

“Just let him go!”

Malphas regarded me with a cold smile. “You’ll leave with me either way.” He gestured toward the demons to continue.

And I snapped.

“I said,get away from him!”

Out of instinct, I raised my hand toward Malphas’s demons, and a surge of energy poured out of me like liquid fire racing down my arm. There was a flash of light, so blinding I had to turn my eyes away, and a noise that could only be described as a sonic boom. The stench of burning flesh filled the air, bringing tears to my eyes. Acid rose up my throat.

The light burned out. The migraine dissipated. Ashes piled thickly on the ground where Malphas’s demons once stood. With an unsteady step backward, I gazed down at my hands and black splotches filled my vision. I stumbled, leaning against a patio table to keep myself up, my breathing shallow and quick. Panic made passing out that much more likely, so I tried to calm myself down. Through the gaps of consciousness, I saw Thomas. He had dropped to his knees in the ash, his entire body quaking as if he had an unending chill. Blood ran down both of his arms from the nails of those demons, mingled with a thick black substance.

He’d been poisoned, just like I’d been in the alleyway.

Thomas fell over on his side, his expression tightening into pure agony, and that’s when I saw Malphas manifest ahead of me. He looked down at the piles of ash with a docile expression, then flicked those coal eyes back to me. I watched him make the decision to leave me or take me.

Malphas snatched Thomas by the varsity jacket instead and evaporated with him.

“NO!”

I stared at the now empty spot with widening eyes. Shadows danced across the ground from above. I forced myself to run, run far away from this never-ending nightmare. The world around me swirled. I stumbled, my fingers smacking against the pavement several times to keep myself from falling, until I regained control over my equilibrium and took off.

I ran as hard as I could, my will to survive fueling my body past every limit I thought I had. When I felt I’d run far enough, I hunkered down into a random store. The Crossroads was the name of the little shop, according to its Ouija board–looking sign at the front of the building. It had an antique door with various bells on strings hanging on the entryway that chimed when I entered. I slammed the door behind me, my ears popping like crazy, as if I’d entered a pressurized room.

Fatigue hit me hard. I collapsed behind a mannequin by a front display window. I tried to make sense of what had just happened, but there was too much to process. I’d turned those demons to ash. Andwith what? What the hell had come out of my hands? Those demons had been after me.Me. Not Thomas. He’d tried to sacrifice himself so I could get away. Why? Why had he done that for me? Now he was gone. I’d saved him from the terrible fate I’d foreseen, only for him to suffer a worse one. The slow, agonizing death that I’d once evaded. Was there a chance Thomas could survive? Was there a chance Malphas would let him go? I’d failed. I’d failed Thomas.

My chest felt heavy, constricted. Wrenching gasps for air turned to tears, then uncontrollable sobbing. Crying was the release my body needed to keep going.

I wiped at my eyes with my sleeves and observed my fingers again, flexing them. Forcing myself off the floor, I peered out behind the mannequin and looked out into the street. No demons or cloaked men in sight.

I had to call someone. What would I even tell the police? I couldn’t endanger Marcy or my parents either. Marcy. How would I tell her what happened to Thomas? Could I? In my moment of fear, I’d called David. Now my mind was clearing up and that felt like a mistake. Relying on him was dangerous, especially considering I hadn’t made up my mind about trusting him.

Maybe I’d call my dad, just to hear his voice and gain the confidence to go back to my car. I glanced around the Crossroads store.

There was an empty cashier counter, which didn’t have a phone, and tons of meditation trinkets and paraphernalia. After a few tries at turning on my cell, I gave up and decided to take a look around for an employee’s help. It wasn’t like I was about to go outthere.

With wary steps, I walked through an archway ahead and my mouth went slack. Books were everywhere. Thousands and thousands of books. Old books on display in glass cases, thick books with stained bindings, books in various languages with leather covers. This place seemed to grow larger as I craned my neck to take in the towering shelves and the wooden staircases leading to different levels of balconies. A high ceiling curved with a glass dome at the top, arched above the spacious library. My Converse squeaked as I absorbed this quiet, magical place into memory. The more I wandered around, the more I forgot about why I’d entered the store to begin with, how my fingertips tingled from the remnants of that mysterious light, and how, for whatever reason, those demons hadn’t followed me in here.

There was a sound not too far away, a door slamming. A spell shattered and my whole body went into alert mode. Behind a wall of bookshelves, I heard low voices.

With a hand clutching the front of my coffee-stained T-shirt beneath my flannel, I tracked the location of the voices. To my right was a display of pamphlets on a velvet table, advertising a psychic. I picked one up, studying the golden, upside-down palm with a violet eye at the center. A small whooshing sound drew my eyes to a set of thick curtains on the wall that I hadn’t noticed before. The fabric swayed.

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