Darker Days (The Darker Agency #1)(75)
Pushing Lukas toward the hall, Dad said, “Move!”
Our footsteps pounded against the hardwood as we sprinted around the corner and up the stairs to the apartment. Twice, I stumbled because Mom still hadn’t let go of my arm. She was taller and had longer legs. Longer legs, wider steps. If she wasn’t careful, I’d end up on my ass at the bottom.
We’d barely reached the top or the stairs when Dad pushed Lukas aside and called out, “Shut the lights!”
I threw myself at the wall and flipped the switch without question. It was evening now, and the light coming through the window at the end of the hall cast lengthwise shadows on the floor. It was all Dad needed. One hand on the large bookshelf, his hulking form dissolved into the darkness, shelves and all.
The end of the shadow stopped just above the top of the stairs. It was the perfect position for Dad to get the bookcase to the edge and shove it over. It tumbled down the stairs, books flying and small bits of wood cracking off as it went. When it reached the bottom, it crashed to a stop, wedging itself between the last few steps and the door.
Just in time, too. Screams split the air as the things—whatever they were—pounded against the door.
“That won’t hold them for long,” Mom said, taking inventory. She had a small gash across her forehead and a set of three similar ones across her right thigh through her jeans. Dad was about the same. Several scrapes across his cheek and down to his chin. A few shreds here and there. Nothing major.
“What are they?” Lukas asked, staring at Dad. He’d never seen him travel before.
Hell, I’d only seen it once or twice in my life and it never failed to impress. Had I really done that? Moved through the darkness like he did? Watching him in action, I was less sure that’s what had really happened.
“And why did you bring them home with you?” I added, making sure the windows were all locked. We’d shut ourselves inside the master bedroom, but the barricade at the bottom of the stairs wouldn’t last long. Pretty soon our company would come a knockin’.
“Lamiae,” Mom said, throwing open the closet door. “Nasty things with a bitch of a bite.”
Tossing boxes aside, she uncovered the trapdoor in the floor. As Mom pounded the right corner, it popped open to reveal her secret stash. You name it, it was in there. Everything from hand grenades to holy water. I had one just like it—only less stocked.
Mom didn’t trust me with explosives. Go figure.
Dad watched the door. “We tracked Kendra through town. Almost had her, too, but we were attacked.”
I grabbed the blade she held out and gave it a quick poke with my thumb. Nice and sharp. Perfect for gutting demonic home invaders. “Lamiae? Don’t they usually snack on kids?”
“These appear to be equal opportunity eaters.” Mom tossed a crossbow to Dad, along with a bundle of arrows.
“What’s a lamiae?” Lukas asked, taking the knife Mom thrust in his face. He was looking at it as though it might start singing show tunes. For the embodiment of rage, the guy was a bit of a pacifist sometimes.
Slamming the closet door closed, Mom jumped to her feet. “Demons. Humans consumed by the grief of losing a child. They made a deal to become this—to feel no more pain. Usually, they feed on small children.”
The office door rattled. Low growls and a strange mewling drifted in from the hall.
“This is the work of that witch,” Dad said. “Lamiae don’t hunt in packs.”
A crash sounded downstairs. More were coming in.
“She’s beginning to get on my nerves.” Mom stepped back, pulling me with her as the bedroom door exploded inward and hell broke loose.
They were hideous. I’d never seen one up close and personal before—and would have been happy to keep it that way. Standing about six feet tall and slightly hunched, they were pale with black splotches all over in varied sizes.
The one at the front was completely bald and dressed in rags that might have once been a business suit, with sunken black eyes and a row of razor-sharp black teeth. The others were pretty much the same. Identical, vacant black eyes and deadly teeth. Some had small patches of long, wispy white hairs dotting their skulls, while others had full heads of hair.
“Whatever you do, don’t let them bite you. Their venom isn’t deadly, but it will paralyze you.” Dad swung at the first lamiae through the door. It howled in rage—a gravelly sound that echoed through the room—and lunged forward, knocking him to the side like he was made of feathers.
With my back to Mom’s and Lukas by my side, I started swinging.
The first wave came at us fast and hard. Mom took two down right off the bat, slicing into them with the machete I’d given her for Christmas two years ago. Headless, the lamiae dropped to the floor, twitching and silent.
Close to the door, Dad took out three of his own. He’d dropped the crossbow, choosing to rely on more natural weapons. Blending in and out of the shadows, he tore through the room armed with nothing but his bare hands and a wicked smile. The lamiae never stood a chance.
Lukas wasn’t doing badly for a first timer. He’d apparently gotten over the knife and had already grounded one of the lamiae and was wrestling a second to the ground. For a brief moment, I panicked when it looked like the creature might have gotten the upper hand. Chomping black teeth dripping with green, tar-like fluid, and a purple forked tongue seemed intent on taking a huge chunk out of his face. But Lukas, always surprising me, tamped it down and hacked through the thing’s neck. A quick glance my way and a smile. A smile. He was enjoying himself. God. He was frigging perfect.