The Lost Saint(41)

“Shut up.” The gunman smacked Talbot on the head with the gun. A trickle of red ran down his forehead. “Grab the girl, now!” he ordered his crony.

Talbot was right. That knot in my stomach had become a flaming rage. Daniel would tell me to push it away. Find balance. But as the large masked thug reached for me, I let that rage wash over me, and my fists went flying. I socked him in the gut, and he went sailing back several feet. I’d had no idea I was capable of hitting that hard.

He hit the brick wall of the adjacent building, but it didn’t seem to faze him. He caught himself and charged in my direction. I countered out of his way, but then he swung around and snatched at my shirt. One of his fists had tattoos of the letters S and K between his knuckles. This guy reeked, and the smell—like two-month-old milk—only aggravated me more. I grabbed his hands and twisted them away from me, then pulled his body down closer as I kneed him in the groin. He grunted with pain. His tongue lolled out of his mouth. I pushed him, and he stumbled back. I kicked him in the left kneecap while he was unstable, and he buckled under his own weight and fell to the ground. I glared down at him, my hands up in fists.

“Hey!” the gunman shouted. “You’ll pay for that.”

Watch out! I heard inside my head, and I looked up just in time to stare down the barrel of a gun.

“No!” Talbot shouted, and in a lightning-quick move, he wrenched himself out of the guy’s hold and then had the man’s gun-wielding hand in his. Talbot slammed the guy’s arm down and against his knee. I swear I heard the cracking of bones.

The guy dropped the gun and pulled his arm in against his chest, moaning. He took a wild swing at Talbot with his uninjured arm. Talbot blocked the blow and smashed the palm of his hand into the guy’s ski mask, presumably where his nose would be. The guy sputtered and coughed.

“What the hell, man?” He gasped and pulled at his ski mask, but before he could even yank it off, Talbot took a running leap, bounced off the cement wall like it was a springboard, and sent a flying kick right into the guy’s chest.

The gunman crumpled to the ground. Talbot landed in a crouching position next to him. There was just enough light left in the dim alley to glint off his green eyes, making them look like dazzling emeralds.

I gasped. “You’re a … You’re a …”

“An Urbat.” Talbot straightened up. He crossed the alley between us, then placed his warm, callused hand against my arm. “Just like you.”





BACK AT THE VAN




The thug I’d knocked down got away during the skirmish, and Talbot wanted to make sure the other one didn’t escape when he regained full consciousness. I couldn’t help watching the large muscles in Talbot’s forearms ripple as he used his belt to hog-tie the gunman next to the Dumpster. He did it with such ease I pictured him roping a calf on whatever farm he presumably came from. Talbot then emptied the gun of its bullets and tucked them into the front pocket of his flannel shirt. Then he wiped the gun clean with his shirttail and tossed it next to the semiconscious guy’s head. “For evidence,” he said.

“Should I call the police now?” I pulled out my phone.

“Let me do it,” Talbot said. “My phone’s a prepaid, so they won’t be able to trace it.”

“You mean we’re not sticking around?”

“What would we tell them? Besides, I gotta get you back to that bus before they think I’ve run off with you. I can’t afford to lose this job.” He pulled out his phone and motioned for me to follow him out of the alley.

“We’re just leaving him here like that?” I looked back at the guy, lying on his side, groaning with pain. “It seems a little inhumane.”

“That guy tried to kill you, Grace.” He flipped open his phone. “Besides, he isn’t human. That there is what you call a demon.”

At first I thought he was being metaphorical, but then his meaning clicked. “A demon? A living, breathing, bona fide demon?”

“What? Don’t tell me you haven’t seen one before.”

I shrugged. “Well, not really. I met one at a party once. She did this little mind-control trick with her eyes.”

“Ah, an Akh. They’re a terrible sort.” He clucked his tongue. “This one here is a Gelal. They prey on young women. That girl would have gone through all sorts of hell if we hadn’t shown up.”

“How can you tell?” I asked. The guy still seemed like a person to me. I was itching to go over and take off his mask to see what he really looked liked underneath.

“The smell.” Talbot crinkled his nose. “You really are a rookie, aren’t you? I bet you haven’t even figured out how to track someone yet.”

I looked down at the ground. The masked demon let out a loud, angry groan.

“We better go,” Talbot said. “I’m just hoping the police get here before he comes to enough to break free.”

Talbot hit a button on his phone and put it to his ear.

“You have 911 on speed dial?”

“I told you I make a lot of deliveries.”

I followed him out of the alley. “Wait, you mean you do this a lot?”

But Talbot didn’t respond. He was too busy telling the operator on the other end of the line that a young woman had been attacked near Tidwell Library and that they’d find the perpetrator behind a Dumpster near Tidwell and Vine. He hung up before they could ask him any questions.