The Seal of Solomon (Alfred Kropp #2)(51)

“Well,” she said sharply. “What are you waiting for, Alfred?” “That which must be done,” I whispered. I took a deep breath, pivoted around, and swung the barrel of the demon-blaster toward the face of my mother.

“If this is just a dream—if this isn’t real—then this won’t hurt at all.”

I squeezed the trigger.

39

There was no blood, just a blinding flash of white and orange, flecked with black, and a huge distorted face shot out of the fireball, zooming across the room toward me, its mouth a yawning blackness, an abyss that swallowed me and a roaring voice boomed inside my head, THOU CANNOT ESCAPE US, FOR WE ARE INSIDE THEE ALREADY!

I heaved Op Nine to his feet, pulling his arm around my shoulders. He moaned against my chest. I pulled him into the hallway, my body turned at an angle so I could point the 3XD into the hospital room—only it wasn’t a hospital room anymore but a maelstrom of interlaced spinning wheels of fire. I wasn’t sure what that was about.

I headed toward the stairs, then stopped. A wave of twisting, squirming black creatures about the size of my fist was barreling toward us.

A wave of scorpions, millions of them, their three-inch tails hissing and whipping, smashed against our ankles and rose to our knees. Their barbs stabbed through my pants again and again as I pushed Op Nine through the undulating river of their swarming bodies. The pain was excruciating, but I told myself they weren’t real; that if my mind held we’d make it out okay.

Then the river parted and the scorpions disappeared into the cracks and crevices of the walls. We were halfway to the stairs when the walls began to sag as if they were melting, and faces began to emerge in the undulating plaster. I saw my mother and Bernard Samson, Uncle Farrell, and Lord Bennacio. I saw the faces of all the people who died because of me and they didn’t say anything, but their eyes were sad and filled with the loss of betrayal. I lowered my eyes and kept moving.

I came to the head of the stairs, but the stairs were gone. We were teetering on the edge of a black chasm and I could actually see rivulets of light pouring down into it, like water over falls, and something very hot was bearing down on us from behind. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck curl and singe, and tasted acrid smoke on my tongue. I shook Op Nine as hard as I could and shouted in his ear, “This would really be a good time for you to wake up!” But he didn’t.

“Not real,” I muttered. “Not real.”

I couldn’t go back, but this was the worst thing yet, so I couldn’t go forward either. We teetered on the edge while the heat grew more intense behind us. Something told me if I turned around to face it, we were lost. I closed my eyes, took a huge breath, and whispered, “Let go. Let go. Let go.”

I wrapped both arms around Op Nine and jumped into the chasm.

We tumbled into the utter darkness until we smacked at the bottom of the stairs.

Looming in the open doorway was a ten-foot-tall being of shimmering golden light, a demon without the masks of my mom or Mike’s mom. It had assumed its true form, and its face was more beautiful than anything nature gave us ordinary people, only the eyes were black pits, black as the chasm I just fell through, as if something had torn or burned them away.

“We’re leaving,” I gasped at it. “Let us pass.”

It didn’t move. I felt something squeezing the inside of my head, like when Paimon raised its fist and popped the agent named Bert like a human grape.

Then its voice: Bring us the Seal.

I emptied the clip as I rushed it, holding the trigger down as I moved forward, pulling Op Nine along with me. I ducked my head, clinching my eyes tightly closed, and felt some kind of membrane stretching over my entire body, and then we popped through it into the night, into the storm of pelting, freezing rain.

I dragged Op Nine over the frozen walkway to the Ford, yanked open the passenger door, tossed the empty 3XD into the backseat, and slung Op Nine into the car. I raced around to the other side and threw myself behind the wheel. A hunk of ice the size of a baseball smashed into the windshield, sending cracks racing toward the four corners. I jammed the car into reverse and slammed down on the accelerator. I whipped the wheel hard to the right and we spun around, the tires screaming on the slick pavement.

“Hold on, Nine!” I shouted, throwing the Ford into drive. Huge hunks of ice rained down, smacking into the roof and the hood, only now it was burning, and big globs of fire dotted the pavement. I roared out of the neighborhood while fire rained down from the sky with no idea where I was going but determined to get there as fast I could.

40

By the time I found the interstate I was shaking so badly, I could hardly keep us on the on-ramp. The pain in my head blurred my vision, but I could see streaks of black and gold as the burning hail hurtled down from the sky, and the tires went whump-whump-whump as we drove on the fiery hunks.

This wasn’t illusion created by the demons to drive me mad; this was real and, looking to my left as we flew into the southbound lanes I saw orange and black everywhere, and the flashing red and white lights of fire engines. Chicago was burning.

“Op Nine!” I screamed. “Op Nine, wake up! You gotta tell me what to do!”

His head leaned against the window. His eyes were closed, but I could see him breathing, so he wasn’t dead.

The interstate was deserted except for some cars that had either pulled into the emergency lanes or had been run off the road by the firestorm. I pushed us up to ninety-five, heading south, formulating the beginnings of a plan that probably wouldn’t save the day but might save me and Op Nine long enough to fight tomorrow.