The Hearts We Sold(78)

“You wouldn’t have it any other way,” said Dee.





THIRTY-SEVEN


T he Daemon led them through the decaying building.

They followed around several corners, until the space widened out into what must have been the mall’s main center. Wallpaper peeled in long strips, and the fog had slipped between the broken cracks in the walls. It hung low to the ground, making this place look as though it had no floor—as if they strode atop clouds.

The Daemon rounded another corner, turned so that they faced what might have once been a food court.

Dee saw the figures.

They stood, silent sentinels, side by side, their faces staring straight ahead. As if they had been placed there by some enormous child, putting his toy soldiers in a row. They were just the same as Dee remembered—all desiccated flesh and yellowed bones, horrific jigsaw puzzles of human pieces. Each was different, a sculpture shaped by individual hands—some had too many fingers, others were built thick and heavy like tanks, while others were thinner and smaller, lean as skeletons.

This is what comes of wishes.

Two smaller figures sat on a table. They maintained the illusion of humanity, even if their otherworldly beauty gave them away.

One of the other demons was the female, the one whose homunculus had been lost to the void in the field. She was straight-backed, her shaven head gleaming in the moonlight. She looked over the three teenagers with an air of grudging indulgence. “Heart-Monger,” she said, inclining her head to the Daemon.

“Cobbler,” replied the Daemon.

The last demon, this one blond and male, slid the Daemon a cool look. “I see you brought your flimsy little constructs.”

Riley snorted. “Flimsy my ass,” she said. “We’ll see who gets to the prize first and whose Franken-freaks end up in tiny pieces.”

The demon looked vaguely scandalized.

“Your creature is talking to me,” he said to the Daemon.

“Yes,” replied the Daemon. “That’s what happens when they have mouths.”

The male demon snorted and turned away.

Dee was only half listening; her gaze swept over the large room, looking for the smudge of unreality. It was against the far wall, larger than any of the other voids they’d faced. The distorted ripples made it look as though the entire food court’s floor was heated, but the air remained chill and damp.

“Hey,” said James softly. “I don’t know what we’re going to face in there.”

Dee turned to look at him. “No last speeches,” she said firmly. “We’ve done this before. We’re getting out of this.” She pointed at herself with their linked fingers. “Survivor, remember?”

A smile flickered across his face.

“That is what I love most about you,” he told her, and when he pulled her close, she shuddered with relief. For a moment, the mall ceased to exist, the demons weren’t there, and the breathless danger was gone. There was only the scent of paint, the familiar closeness, the top of her head tucked beneath his chin, and the silence in his chest.

This was all that mattered.

“Come,” said the Daemon. “It’s time.” He gestured to Riley. “You will stand half in, half out of the void. Without you, the void will collapse too quickly for the others to escape.” He slid a look at the other demons. “They may not care about losing their servants, but I like to keep mine intact.” He gazed at the three of them. “You are short-lived things, but you have served me well and I would not like to see you destroyed.”

Dee supposed that was his idea of a pep talk.

Riley went first. Her chin was lifted high, her shoulders rigid. She pressed her fingers to the void’s shimmering surface, then she stepped through, angled herself so that she was half in, half out.

One of the demons spoke an unfamiliar word.

The homunculi all moved in unison. Jerky, stiff steps. Their gaits were rigid, as if their joints and tendons were dried up, but the sheer size of their strides made up for it. One by one, they shambled into the enormous void, vanishing through it.

“They will fight, and that will distract the burrowers,” said the Daemon quietly. “Here.”

He held out a duffel bag.

Dee took one strap; James took the other. Her own backpack was still slung over her shoulder, its contents clinking. A lighter was in her right pocket. A knitted heart was in her left.

“Let’s get this done,” said James quietly. His hand found hers, squeezed.

They held on to each other as they stepped forward.

Dee squeezed her eyes shut as they passed through.

And opened them to chaos.

The wind tore the shout from her lips. James shoved Dee sideways and they stumbled, staggered out of the way as the shuddering body of a burrower slammed into the ground beside them.

It had been torn in half, twitching like some squashed beetle, all legs and jerky spasms. Utterly inhuman.

Dee and James lurched away from the creature, out of reach of those claw-tipped legs. Dee tried to catch her breath, but the air was thick and hot and heavy with the taste of burning metal.

This void resembled the interior of the mall—complete with the hollowed-out shells of the food court’s booths and tables. The walls and floor were raw, too new to be real, but that was not what caught Dee’s attention.