Page 94 of The Sinner and the Gunslinger
Flauros drags me from the cab by my hair. I drop the protection square when my arm scrapes broken glass in the window frame. Tiny white-hot pokers stab my scalp. I feel like it will rip off from the brute force of his pull versus my weight.
But it won’t.
I’m fucking made of stone. I’ve honed this body into a weapon, including my neck and head. When I trained with the Shaolin Monks, I had to walk for hours daily with a heavy laundry basket on my head. I didn’t break then, and I won’t break now.
The demon’s true leopard-like visage flickers over the body he occupies. I don’t know if he chose Puck’s body because he thought it would intimidate me, but when I look at him, I only remember how Zeke kicked this psychopath’s ass.
I grind my teeth, reach up and take hold of the hands that grip me. I latch on like a vice, scissor-kick my legs, and twist his arms with the force of my body. Breaking free, I roll to my feet like a cat with nine lives and immediately flow into a Kung Fureadystance.
Flauros can’t do much but drip flames from his glaring eyes. He’s not really here in this realm. He’s just a spirit occupying a human vessel. Here, on the asphalt, nothing can catch fire. Not even me with my sticky, Helwinga-covered body. Nor the wrecked car he must have been driving as it hit our truck.
Interesting. Either Asmodeus can’t teleport others with him, or Flauros stole a car just to crash into us like a petulant child playing with toys. The demon huffs smoke as he watches me circle him.
“Clever little doll,” he hisses, tracking me with his eyes. “But not clever enough.”
“For what?”
“For figuring out why I’m here.”
“Oh, I know that already.” I scoff as if it’s obvious.
He returns a smug, feline smile and I laugh. My reaction makes him hesitate.
“That’s right,” I tease. “I know who really pulls your strings, and it’s not him.”
Whistling to my right turns my focus to where Asmodeus casually strolls up a winding path on the boulder-littered hill. I follow the direction of the path up and see a church steeple over the top of the hill. The arrogant demon could teleport himself up there if he wanted. He wants to rub salt in my wounds.
“I’ll bet this accident was your idea, huh?”
Flauros snarls.
“I’ll bet you have something else up your sleeve, too. And I’ll bet your buddy up there has no idea what it is. And I’ll bet you just can’t wait to get rid of him.”
The flicker of acknowledgment in the demon’s eyes makes it all start to make sense. Lilith has never cared for the so-called individual horseman of the apocalypse. The real ones, she somehow locked up in hell. Asmodeus said it himself at the bar. Lilith only cares about making the cracks bigger. But she’s too late for me and Zeke.
Scraping behind me indicates Zeke is on his way out of the car. Our road must curve around the hill and enter the parking lot from behind, but the fastest way to the church is on foot—up that steep incline. Good thing I love running marathons. I can take that distance, barely breaking a sweat.
My gaze bounces between Flauros and Asmodeus, sizing up my chances, then I bolt.
Grunting, I pump effort into my legs and use my hard-earned strength. Running has always been something I’ve loved. It’s just me and the terrain, an easy target. Flauros will either chase me, or he’ll stay and fight Zeke. Either way, I can’t let Asmodeus get a head start. Zeke can handle himself with this shell of a demon.
I need to get to that crypt first. Running, I close the gap between Asmodeus and myself. It gets to a point where I don’t think he hears me coming. We’re almost at the top, and I still have energy to spare. For a split second, I even consider spear-tackling him to the ground. But then he flickers out of existence.
I stumble to a stop at the top of the path and survey my surroundings. Cool air brushes past me, lifting my hair. Glorious green grass and beautiful spiky red flowers sway. Red Amaranth—the same flower Claudia used to make the protection pouches. The old stone church looms ahead, fifty feet away. It’s about the size of the one back home. Enough for about a hundred people inside. The roof has holes in it. Gargoyles with broken noses loom over us from the eaves. A sinister vibe lives in the shadows, but the tiny flowers painted on the gravestones beside the church are just like the ones in the village.
This is definitely the Helwing church.
Dorothea was buried in a crypt.Heavy breathing behind me.I reach for my gun, but it’s not there. I also left my katana in the truck. Shit. My only other weapon is a blessed dagger strapped to my ankle. I spin and duck, ready to release it, but stop when I see it’s only Zeke. Alone.
“Where is Flauros?”
“I saw him,” he huffs, wheezing. “His fiery eyes were there instead of Puck’s.”
He said before that he witnessed the infection manifest as black webbing spreading from their eyes. Now he’s seen Flauros’s true face. I frown, disconcerted. There must be discord between the teams at home, unless...
“Did Flauros say something to you?”
A flash of guilt hits his eyes, and he shakes his head. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
