Riders (Riders, #1)(64)

Malaphar’s human face flickered out, then I saw a monstrous creature like Samrael, but deformed in different ways. He had melted features. Sagging skin. He was hideous. A wax figure left out in the hot sun. Then he blurred again and I was looking at Daryn.

She smiled, but it wasn’t her smile. It was nothing like her smile.

I was drawn to Daryn like I was drawn to the sea. But this girl only repulsed me.

“You will die, Gideon. Very soon,” she said.

Daryn’s voice. Her voice exactly, but the intonations were off.

“I’ll be twisting the knife in your back when you least expect it.”

I knew it wasn’t her but my body didn’t care. A sharp ache flared in the back of my throat.

Malaphar was laughing as he shifted back to his human form. Back to the weasel with the stringy hair and cratered skin. He laughed in big, hacking cackles that made Alevar duck inside his wings.

“That wasn’t what I was expecting, Malaphar,” Samrael said, his voice light, amused. “But perhaps it was better. Your face is a masterpiece, Gideon. I wish you could see it. I do enjoy my time with you.” He cast a glance toward the female demons, who’d started to prowl restlessly. “But we can’t delay any longer. Ra’om wishes to speak to you. It seems he’s lost his patience for your stubborn—”

I went after him with everything I had, but Samrael was ready. He sidestepped, and swung at me with the long knife in his hand. Our blades clashed, then I dodged and swung again. I met him evenly for a few more strikes, but he was faster. Fluid. Versed in this form of warfare. I couldn’t match him. He backed me against the wall of an apartment with a lightning-fast move and pinned my sword arm.

“Don’t fight it, Gideon.” He slipped the blade against my neck. Then that invisible pressure began over my eyes as he worked his way into my brain. “Stop struggling. Yes, good. I know it’s hard for you but the sooner this is over, the sooner we can find the key … and kill you.”

The world narrowed and pulled away from me. The whirling tunnel of darkness had become a familiar torture. I sank into it.

“You’ll see him soon,” Samrael said, as I sank deeper. Much deeper than I’d ever gone before. The darkness closed around me, swallowing light. Erasing everything until I couldn’t see the street or Samrael anymore.

Until there was only all-encompassing darkness and I was lost in it.

Adrift.

Then I heard a low, reptilian growl and deep red eyes emerged from the dark.

Ra’om.

Demon number seven.

Seven had to be bad.

The red eyes floated nearer. I saw black pupils, sickle-shaped. Then the curve of a heavy brow covered in gray scales the color of wet stone. Each one was inches thick. The size of my hand.

Hello, Gideon.

His voice was a nightmare. Dark. Resonant. The sound of evil.

Fear flowed through me like a current.

Ra’om came closer and a huge snout appeared with long teeth, sharp as swords. His black tongue flicked against them, sizzling with saliva. He shifted, revealing more of himself. Giving me glimpses of his enormous body. Of his wings. Of the spiked ridge of his back.

He didn’t deserve to be called a dragon. I had never seen a dragon as terrifying as this. The dark power I felt from him was hypnotic and hard to even comprehend.

That is the idea, Gideon. And I’m happy to know you feel so. Samrael has told me you’re a tough one. Uncooperative and resistant. But I believe I can persuade you to bring us the key yet.

Ra’om pulled back suddenly, withdrawing into the dark.

Panic crashed through me. This was different than Samrael. I didn’t know what to expect. What was this?

An image took shape before me, rising out of the darkness.

My mother stood on a green hillside, her black dress flapping in a breeze. Tears ran down her face. I knew this image. This place. It was the cemetery in the Santa Cruz Mountains where we’d buried my dad.

Mom looked down at his headstone, and the engraved inscription came into focus.

GIDEON CHRISTOPHER BLAKE

Except that was wrong. My dad was Christopher Gideon Blake. My parents had given me his name, only reversed.

I was seeing my funeral. I was seeing my mother mourn me.

Would that be enough to persuade you? Ra’om asked. Or would this?

The image faded out, then another faded in.

Anna. My sister was on the floor of an empty room, rocking in a ball on the grimy concrete. She cried and ripped out chunks of her dark hair. She tore at her own face with her nails and made herself bleed as she begged me to make it stop.

Me. Like I was doing that to her.

Yes. I’m getting to you, aren’t I? What about this, Gideon?

The image changed again, and I was seeing a party, everything dark and blurred except the golden shine of Daryn’s hair. I moved toward her, fighting through the crowd. As I finally reached her, I saw that she wasn’t alone. She stood tucked beneath a guy’s arm, smiling up at him like they were together. Then he looked right at me, and I saw that it was Samrael. And, somehow, I knew that she was with him because I’d failed. Because I’d let her down.

It was destroying me to see them together, but I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t even speak.

All I could do was watch.

Then it was me. I saw myself standing on the warped shingle roof of a yellow bungalow in Half Moon Bay. At my feet, my dad clung to the gutter, about to fall. He looked at me and asked for help. If I didn’t help, he was going to die.