The Hearts We Sold(70)

Her eyes fell upon the umbrellas.

Every time she had seen the Daemon, he’d had an umbrella tucked beneath one arm. Even when the sky was clear, he carried one.

Certainty seized her and she snatched one up. She pressed the button and the umbrella sprang open, nearly blinding her. She flung her face back, but felt the whisper of metal as one of its arms slashed her cheek.

“Come on,” she said, not sure who she was talking to—the umbrella, the Daemon, or herself. Her voice sounded ragged. “Come on!”

She clumsily twisted the umbrella, doubting her instincts, certain that this wasn’t going to work, that the thing was going to kill them all.

The handle came free. The umbrella portion slid off, revealing a long, slender blade. A rapier.

Spinning around, she saw the creature had cornered James, plunging its legs at him, trying to impale him with one of its claws. Riley was behind it, beating uselessly at its back with her fists. Cora had entered the fray, too, using a fallen metal chair to try to injure one of its legs.

“Riley!” Dee screamed.

Riley turned.

Dee threw the sword. It skittered across the granite floor and Riley snatched it up. Her first slash was clumsy, ill-considered, and drew a line across the creature’s flank.

It trilled, turning to face her.

And Riley drove the blade through the creature’s head.

It spasmed and twitched horribly, looking like a squid speared by an agile fisherman. Then the colors along its skin began to die away, flickering into a sickened, dull gray. It slowly went limp, its many legs crumpling beneath it. Riley darted back, yanking the sword free. Her teeth were bared in a snarl and she held the blade at the ready.

But there was no need. The creature was dead.

Gazing at the creature’s corpse, Dee began to shake. Her legs wobbled and she sank to the floor. Her palms pressed to the cold granite, her gaze blurred.

Cora hurried from the room; a moment later, Dee heard the distinct sounds of retching.

Riley was looking down at the sword in her hand as if she couldn’t quite believe she was holding it.

Dee was dimly aware of all this—and then hands. Warm hands were on her shoulders, her arms, touching her as if to ensure that she was still whole.

“… Dee, talk to me. Are you okay? Dee?”

His voice came into focus, like a radio finally being tuned in to the right channel. Dee blinked several times. James knelt beside her. His tone was frantic, and she managed to find her words. “Fine. I—I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t.

“Your arms are all scratched up,” he said. “We need to clean those out. I have first-aid supplies in my car. We should—”

She looked at him, truly looked at him. He had a bruise on his face, and he favored his left side, but he was alive. He was alive—they were both alive. Her fingers found his collar and she pressed her forehead to his. He breathed, one heaving gasp after another, and then they were kissing. Tangled, breathless kisses, one bleeding into the next. She needed to feel this, to remember that she was still alive, she was still here, he was still here. They’d survived and—and the thought of losing him had torn a hole open inside of her.

She’d never felt this before, this terrifying, head-spinning sense that she could lose someone she cared about.

When they drew apart, he was speaking softly, repeating the same words over and over again. “… Okay,” he was murmuring, “you’re okay—” His hand cradled her cheek. “We need to get out of here. That void—”

“Is closed,” said Cora. She walked unsteadily back into the vault. “I checked. Whatever came through… well. It looks like the door shut behind it.”

“We can’t leave,” said Riley. Her voice was tinny, higher than normal. “We can’t just leave that thing here.”

“Well, what are we supposed to do with it?” Cora said hoarsely.

It didn’t sound like sarcasm—it was an honest question.

There was the corpse of something decidedly non-human splayed out before them. Dee looked to Cora. “Do you still know the Daemon’s cell number?”

Cora nodded.

“Then call him,” said Dee. “I think it’s time we got some answers.”





THIRTY-THREE


T he Daemon arrived at the bank an hour later. None of them had left—and while Cora claimed it was because she wanted answers, Dee suspected that they were all simply too shocked to move. He stepped into the vault, eyed the carnage and the four teenagers.

Cora sat with her back to the wall. Riley stood, the sword still in her hand, like some kind of guard. Dee leaned against a crate, her arms stinging with rubbing alcohol and covered in small bandages. James sat beside her. None of them had gone near the vases with the hearts—only Cora had suggested it, but Riley pointed out that since none of the hearts were labeled, the endeavor would likely prove fruitless. The Daemon’s attention slid over each of them in turn, and then he reached out and took the rapier from Riley. She relinquished it without a word. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and expertly ran it over the sword’s length, wiping away any remnants of the creature.

“You did well,” he said.

Silence.

Cora regained her voice first. “We—did well?”