Kingdom of the Wicked (Kingdom of the Wicked, #1)(68)

—Notes from the di Carlo grimoire

Wrath’s warning came a second too late. When I wasn’t focused on running for my life, I’d later wonder if it was intentional on his part. I hiked up my skirts and plunged into the twilight-colored streets, the sound of pursuit ringing all around me.

I charged down one narrow alley into the next, jumping over baskets of dried goods. I didn’t look back for fear of losing momentum. There was no way I’d end up drained of blood because curiosity got the better of me. As I dodged past closed doors and ducked under laundry lines, the clattering of cloven footsteps behind me never faltered or slowed.

I wasn’t just terrified for myself, I worried about any unsuspecting human unfortunate enough to be in my path as I led a hungry demon through the cramped quarters. I almost stumbled as reality crashed into me. A demon was chasing me through the streets of my city. Somehow it had breached the gates of Hell. And, if this was only the beginning . . . I couldn’t finish the thought.

I knocked into an empty barrel, and threw it in the beast’s path. My netherworldly attacker halted for all of a second before wood shattered. Not good. My witch blood gave me a little more strength than a human, but the creature tore through the barrel like paper.

My foot caught in a cobblestone, and I couldn’t stop morbid curiosity from taking over as I caught myself against a building and tossed a glance over my shoulder. I was ready to freeze from unrelenting horror as Death cornered me, its maw open wide, ready to devour me bones and all, but nothing was there. I warily glanced around. No demon lurked behind fluttering clothing. No wet-nosed snuffs broke the silence. The complete and utter unnatural silence.

Blood and bones.

Chills erupted out of nowhere. Like the first night I’d heard the disembodied voice of an Umbra demon, all sounds of life vanished around me. I wasn’t alone—I just couldn’t see any danger coming. But I sensed it closing in—a claw-tipped hand reaching out in the dark. Demons must have the ability to cloak themselves with some sort of glamour. Which was just perfect.

I turned and ran as fast as I could, and bounced off a body that was ice cold to the touch. I fell and crab-walked backward, slowly dragging my gaze up at my destruction. Apparently I’d been wrong about the glamour. It hadn’t been hiding at all—it just moved too fast for me to see it. It wasn’t moving now. The Aper demon was everything Wrath described and worse. Its enormous head resembled a wild boar almost perfectly, except for its bright red eyes. Slits of black carved down the middle of the irises, reminding me of a cat straight out of Hell.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Counted to ten, then opened them again. The demon was really there, and it was even worse than the first time I looked at it.

Holy goddess.

Thick globs of black drool dripped down its muzzle as its teeth clicked in anticipation. Its breath smelled like a fetid swamp on a hot summer day. I pushed up onto unsteady legs, and slowly inched away from those vicious, snapping instruments of death. The demon followed.

Every instinct I had shouted for me to flee, but I refused to break eye contact with it. I had a feeling if I turned my back, it’d pounce. No matter what I had to do to survive, I would live to see my family again. The demon moved swiftly when I went to turn left, so I moved in the opposite direction.

We maintained that same slow dance until we were trapped down a dead end. On my right there was a thick steel door with a pawprint holding a stalk of something painted onto the metal. The Aper demon stood before it, snuffing the air. Bloodlust gleamed in its strange red eyes.

Finally remembering the moon-blessed chalk in my pocket, I slowly reached down. One second I was standing, the next I was on the ground with teeth snapping at my neck. Pain shot through me, but was eclipsed by a more immeditate threat. Thousands of teeth were ready to slurp my blood. Hot breath touched my skin, and a low whine from the demon followed. Panic set in. I wouldn’t die like this. I couldn’t.

I fought wildly, but the demon was too strong. It drew back, ready to sink its teeth in and then . . . gray sludge exploded from the beast.

A blade shot through where the demon’s heart used to be, and shadows writhed like snakes from the wound. I cringed away, watching the dagger pull the shadows in and seemingly absorb the demon’s life force. The point stopped just shy of piercing my chest. I held my breath, waiting for Death to defy whoever had stolen its prize and claim me anyway.

I looked up, not into Death’s face, but the demon of war’s.

Wrath yanked the dead behemoth away and tossed its carcass aside. He sheathed his demon-slaying dagger, then knelt down. His expression was as hard as his tone. Which was helpful—I needed something to focus on besides the overwhelming terror coursing through me.

“Lesson number one: when fighting a demon, always have some weapon at the ready. Whether it’s spell chalk or a defensive charm. If you don’t have defensive magic, now’s the time to acquaint yourself with that part of your lineage. Demons are apex predators. They’re faster and stronger than you. Their sole purpose is to kill, and they’re very good at it.”

I leaned against the building, panting, waiting for the trembling to pass. If Wrath hadn’t gotten to me when he did, my family would have buried another child. Well, if there’d been anything left of me to bury. Tears pricked my eyes. I’d been forced into a game I knew nothing about and I was losing. Badly.

“Can you stand?”