Page 45 of Virgil's Demons

"We've done this before," she whispered, offering me a small, knowing smile. "And we'll do it again."

I nodded, my mind already racing with the things we'd need. The preparations. The blood. The magic.

But one thing was clear—we were walking straight back into the fire. And this time? We had even more to lose.

VIRGIL

The silence in Bulldog's office was thick enough to choke on. My hand still gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white, as the conversation with Spectre still hung heavy in the air. I'd gotten what I needed, Spectre and Raven were in, but the real question still gnawed at me.

"What are you gonna do about Death?" Bulldog's gravelly voice broke through the quiet, cutting to the heart of the matter.

I dragged a hand through my hair, the weight of it all sinking into my bones. "I don't know," I admitted. "For now, I'll keep pretending I don't know the truth. Death's still protecting Barythaya's body, even if it's using her as a damn puppet. That demon's too close for comfort, and until I can figure out how to deal with both of them, this is the safest play."

Bulldog leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing like he was calculating a thousand different angles. "Can you exorcize Death?"

I let out a frustrated sigh, "I've faced down demons, sure. Done exorcisms before, but Death? I have no idea. It's not like anything I've dealt with. Exorcisms are for hell spawn, for things trying to break through and corrupt. But Death…" I trailed off,shaking my head. "It doesn't belong to either side, not heaven or hell. It's its own power. Old as time. Maybe older."

Bulldog's brow furrowed deeper, his lips pressing into a tight line as he absorbed my words. "So we're flyin' blind on this," he muttered.

"Yeah." I couldn't sugarcoat it. "It's more than just figuring out how to get rid of Death. I have to figure out how to do that without destroying Barythaya in the process. And right now, I got nothing. Every move I make feels like stepping into quicksand."

Bulldog leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk, his expression hardening. "Look, brother, you've pulled off some miracles before. You know how this shit goes. If anyone can figure out how to deal with Death, it's you. But we both know time's running short. That thing inside her—it's watching us. You gotta be careful."

I nodded, jaw tight. "I know. But the problem is, every second Death is in her, the further away Barythaya gets. I can feel it. She's slipping, Bulldog. And if I don't figure something out soon, I'm gonna lose her. For good."

Bulldog's eyes softened for just a moment, a rare thing for him. "You ain't gonna lose her, Virgil. Not if you don't quit. You just gotta find the right weapon. Ain't no war fought without the right artillery, and we're in one hell of a battle here."

I nodded, though the tension in my chest only tightened. "That's what scares me. I don't know if I have the firepower for this one."

Bulldog grunted, leaning forward on his elbows. "You don't need to know. You just need to find out. Ain't no shame in lookin' for reinforcements, brother."

I nodded, even though the weight of his advice felt heavier than I wanted to admit. This wasn't just some rogue demon or abad deal gone south. This was Death itself wearing Barythaya's skin, and I was running out of options—and time.

Walking into the apartment,I froze, my instincts screaming before my eyes even landed on her. The air had shifted, colder, sharper, like the entire room was holding its breath. I didn't need to see her to know she was there. Death didn't know it, but it had a way of announcing itself without a single sound.

Barythaya, or rather Death, stood in the doorway. There was something off about the way she looked at me like she was sizing me up, calculating every breath I took. Gone was the warmth I'd come to know in her; what stared back at me was cold and unfeeling, a mask that didn't belong to her.

"You left me." She said, her voice quiet but cutting through the space between us.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to keep my cool. "Yeah, just had to check on things back at the clubhouse."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, that eerie, knowing look piercing into me. "Is everything alright?" The softness of her voice was laced with something darker, something that made my skin crawl. I sensed she wasn't asking, she was testing me, waiting for me to slip.

I forced a nod, every muscle in my body tense. "Yeah, everything's fine. Just talked business with Bulldog, club stuff."

I kept my tone easy, casual, trying to keep it as if nothing was out of the ordinary, but inside, my mind was racing.

She stared at me a second too long, and I could feel Death watching me through her eyes. My heart slammed against my ribs, and for a moment, I wasn't sure if she was buying it.

But then, slowly, she nodded. "Alright," she said, her lips curling into a smile—a smile that didn't belong to Barythaya. It was like Death was playing with me, knowing how close I was to the edge. "You're sure?"

"Positive," I replied, forcing a grin. I needed to steer this conversation back into safer waters. "I was actually thinking we could have breakfast. What do you think?"

Death—or Barythaya—cocked her head, the motion almost too precise, like she was weighing my words. "I'd like that," she said, her tone low and measured.

I exhaled slowly, shrugging off my jacket and heading toward the fridge. "Are you hungry 'cause I'm starving?" I asked, pulling out ingredients and trying to keep my movements steady.

"Sure," she said, the entire I could feel her eyes on me, studying, waiting for me to trip up.

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