Warren shivered, fearing for his life. His mother had gone on at length about learning to speak with “friendly” ghosts, but the voice that spoke through the Eye sounded purely evil.

  “I obey no human.”

  “I command you to name yourself!” Jonas shouted. His tattoos burned with amber light.

  Warren knew that names traditionally were supposed to give power over a demon. But since he’d never had a true interaction with a demon—especially one of this creature’s caliber—he wasn’t so sure that was true.

  The silver ellipse cleared like a tri-dee with an improved signal. A face, blunt and harsh as a lizard’s, covered in red scales and showing scars from past battles, stared back.

  “I am Merihim, the Bringer of Pestilence,” the demon roared. “Before me, you are nothing.”

  Growing larger, the silver ellipse showed the demon astride some great beast that didn’t fit in the view. It looked vaguely like an elephant covered in scales the size of manhole covers and with massive, curved horns.

  Merihim raised his right hand, holding tight to a trident made of green metal that crackled with energy. Shimmering waves passed through the silver ellipse.

  Gripped by an invisible hand, Jonas was raised from the floor. He screamed, high and shrill like a woman. He wasn’t in control of the situation or of himself. Futilely, he beat his hands against the force that surrounded him. He tried to move his legs and couldn’t.

  A moment later, Jonas jackknifed like he’d been twisted and bent. His back folded backwards. Bones snapped and shattered.

  The Cabalists who were gathered around the circle leaped to their feet and started for the doors. The doors swung shut, trapping them inside. They started crying and pleading for mercy.

  Edith made a show of trying to regroup them, but it was a lost cause. Warren felt the fear rolling off her in waves.

  The woman ran to Jonas, taking a dagger from beneath her robe. Even from across the room with all the magic already present in the room, Warren felt the power that radiated from the curved blade. It had an Eastern cast to it, like a scimitar.

  With his free hand, Merihim gestured again. Immediately demons that looked like gargantuan hounds leaped through the portal and landed in the room. They snarled and snapped, flailing spiked tails.

  “I’d been held back so far,” the demon said. “Thanks to you, I no longer have to wait for the Hellgates.” He caught the edges of the magical window and heaved himself through.

  Standing in the room, the demon’s horned head scraped against the ceiling. He had to have been at least eight feet tall. Massively thewed, he was as sculpted and built as a dedicated weight lifter. He wore blue-green armor made of lizard scales. A huge sword was belted at his waist.

  “No!” Edith shrilled. She threw her hands out before her and pushed.

  Waves of shimmering force broke across Merihim’s chest.

  The demon rocked back silently, then grinned. “Not bad. For a human. But you’ve no true mastery of the forces you wield.” His face looked hideous. “I’ll show you power.” He gestured with the trident again.

  Jonas screamed even though Warren wouldn’t have believed the man would have had the capacity to do so. His tattoos burned golden, so bright that Warren almost couldn’t stand to look at them. Then, in a twinkling, they turned an angry red, the color of sunset over a dust-filled horizon.

  Impossibly, Jonas exploded. Pieces of him flew all over the room.

  Warren was hit by the gore, then realized how hot it was and had to claw the pieces from his body. He mopped the blood as best as he could from his body.

  Giving a strangled cry, Edith lurched toward the demon. Warren was certain she knew she was going to her doom, but she didn’t hesitate.

  Casually, as if the act were nothing, Merihim flicked his trident at her. The three prongs pierced the woman’s chest and propelled her back across the room, pinning her against the wall like an insect on display.

  Edith struggled weakly to pull the trident from her chest.

  Merihim spoke in a language that Warren didn’t understand. Instantly flames engulfed Edith, consuming her and leaving only a stain of black soot on the wall.

  The demon spoke again, and the smaller demons launched themselves at the Cabalists. Their claws and fangs tore into the flesh of the men and women who had gathered in the room.

  The top floor of the building had become a madhouse. Death filled the room with the stench of blood and burned flesh.

  Finding himself suddenly free of whatever had held him, Warren ran toward one of the nearest windows. Maybe the demon’s powers had locked all the doors, but if he had to he was willing to throw himself through the window. He thought there was a fire escape below, though.

  “Where are you going?” the demon snarled.

  Although he knew the demon was talking to him, Warren ignored Merihim and ran for his life. He skirted one of the hound-demons as it disemboweled a man.

  At the window, Warren didn’t pause. He threw himself into it, one arm over his face to protect his eyes. He hit the glass and broke through.

  Seventeen

  E verything became a confusing whirl of action. Then it stopped. Suspended by the demon’s spell, Warren stared down at the snow-covered alley below him. He knew he would probably have died when he hit bottom, but it was preferable to whatever the demon intended.

  But that was no longer an option.

  Unable to move, he floated back into the room. When he was once more in the room, he looked around and saw that fires had started in several places. Hardly any of the humans remained alive.

  The demon stared at Warren. “You’re unusual,” Merihim stated. “Why do you wield so much power?”

  Warren thought he was too scared to answer, but he found his mouth opening and heard himself saying, “I don’t know.”

  “You humans only had a little power when we first came here,” Merihim said. “You believed—truly believed—in so few things until we showed ourselves.”

  When you look into the eyes of evil, Warren thought, it’s not something you easily forget.

  The demon laughed. “Do you think I’m evil, human?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Warren replied before he could stop himself.

  “I’m not evil, I’m powerful.” Merihim held out a hand and set it on fire for a moment. The flames seemed to caress his skin. “Power defines good and evil. The spoils go to the victor. That’s the way it’s always been. It’s not going to be any different this time.” He paused. “But I would know more about you.”

  Warren remained silent, gazing into the malevolent eyes. He gathered all his strength, all that energy that he sometimes used to detect lies and influence others. He focused it on the demon, preparing to strike with everything he had.

  But he couldn’t help thinking that it would have been better if he’d understood more about what he was attempting to do. Or if he believed he could do it.

  The hound-demons gathered at their master’s feet. Upon closer and prolonged exposure, Warren realized the hound-demons were more human than beast-like. Keen intelligence glowed in their lemon-yellow eyes.

  “What are you thinking, worm?” Merihim asked.

  Knowing he’d never get another chance, floating in the air while under the demon’s spell, Warren unleashed everything inside him at Merihim. The demon was blown backward by the onslaught, staggering back into the silver portal created by the Eye.

  As Warren watched, Merihim fell through the portal, pulled by whatever mystic forces were in play there. In the next instant, Warren was released from the demon’s spell and fell to the floor. Immediately, he tried to push himself up, aware that the Eye was closing the portal.

  Now all he needed to do was avoid the hound-demons. Some of them were hopping into the portal with their master.

  “Human!” Merihim snarled from the other side of the portal. He pointed with his trident.

  Flames shot from the tines, leaping out of the portal and slamming into Warren. Bowled over by the swirling mass of fire, Warren smashed through the window behind him and started the eight-story drop.

  There was no spell to catch him this time.

  As he fell, he was grimly aware that he was going to die. He was afraid to open his mouth to scream, afraid that he’d breathe in the flames that clung to him.

  When he hit bottom, he landed in inches of snow. But even that didn’t blunt the force of the landing. His head struck the pavement and everything went black.

  Hours later, Warren’s eyes flickered open. Pain filled his world. He realized he wasn’t breathing, so he took a breath. He didn’t know if he’d been breathing before, but he felt the need to now.

  Light filled the world. It was daytime. He’d slept—or been unconscious—throughout the night. He breathed again, certain something was broken inside his chest. His head spun and everything turned black again. His last thought was that he surely must be dead now.

  Only he awoke again.

  The pain was less, but he managed it better. When the broken bones grated inside his chest, he could bear the ripping agony without passing out.

  His clothing was sodden from melting snow, proving that his body held heat. Another—if unbelievable—proof that he still yet lived.

  He also grew aware of the fact that his feet were bare. Someone had stolen his boots while he was unconscious. Weakly, he cursed whoever did it and hoped the demons got him or her, then Warren had to wonder why the demons hadn’t gotten him.

  Moving slowly, he raised his left arm up in front of his face. It was numb. He thought it was from lying in the snow.

  Instead he saw that he had probably suffered nerve damage from the intense burns that covered his arm. They were definitely third-degree. Black patches of charcoaled flesh showed bright red blood and pink meat in the cracks.

  Grimly, he realized the nerve damage was probably a blessing. Without it he would be in agony. As it was, pain covered him from head to toe.

  It took Warren an hour to get to his feet. He knew that because he timed himself, peering through the heatcracked crystal of his watch. It was 10:43 in the morning.

  Conserving his strength, Warren leaned back against the wall and took a few deep breaths. He hadn’t been able to use his arm. He still couldn’t. It hung numb and useless against his side.

  More burns covered his other arm, chest, stomach, and legs. From the stiffness that froze his features in places, he guessed that his face had been burned as well. The smell of burned hair filled his nostrils and made him sick for a moment. He threw up, but it was only a thin, sour gruel.

  Wiping his mouth on his burned sleeve, Warren glanced up at the building. Flames had claimed the upper stories and even set the nearby buildings on fire. The snow must have retarded the fire, though, because none of the buildings had burned to the ground. But they were blackened hulks.

  Warren wondered how many of the Cabalists had survived. Then he doubted any of them had. Since there were no other bodies lying in the alley where he’d fallen, he assumed that none of them had been able to fight free.

  But why didn’t the hound-demons track me down and make certain I was dead?

  Three guys about his age wandered into the alley. Judging from the bags over their backs, they were scavenging.

  “Hey,” the one in front said. “Are you all right?”

  “No,” Warren replied, but he thought, Do I look all right? because he knew he didn’t.

  “What happened to you?” another asked.

  “Guy’s been burnt all to bloody hell,” the third stated. “That’s what happened to him.”

  “I need…help,” Warren said. “Please.” He didn’t like asking other people for help. It meant admitting weakness. In his experience, people tended to take advantage of others when weakness was shown.

  The lead guy shook his head. “Not me. I’m out. Got all I can do trying to take care of my girlfriend and her kid. The last thing I need to do is take on a gimp. Sorry, mate.”

  Warren wanted to say “please” again, but his pride wouldn’t let him. He just stared at the three.

  Silently, the trio turned and walked away.

  Feeling humiliated and hurt, Warren ducked his head. He thought tears might come because he felt so bad. But he hadn’t cried since the night his mother had died. He hadn’t asked anyone for help since that night, either.

  But the tears didn’t come. He didn’t know if it was because of his willpower or because his face was so badly damaged that his tear ducts wouldn’t work.

  After a while, when he realized no help would be forthcoming, he pushed away from the building, oriented himself, and started home. There was nothing else to do.

  Warren was surprised when he reached his apartment building. Even though it was nine blocks away, even though the way was made harder by the accumulated snow and ice, he’d kept putting one foot in front of the other until he stood before the building. His breath kept coming in gray wisps and he followed it.

  The loft was a four-story walkup, though.

  He paused in the foyer at the staircase, wishing he could simply sit down and rest. But he was afraid to. He was certain that if he sat down he’d never be able to get up and get going again. He also wasn’t sure if he was going to die. He hadn’t perished so far.

  He wished that someone—Kelli, George, or Dorothy—would come out and find him. He could accept their help without losing too much of himself. They were his flat mates. They were supposed to look out for each other.

  Taking a deep breath, hearing it whistle through his burnt sinus cavities, he headed up the stairs. Every movement brought renewed pain that throbbed through his body.

  Finally, he reached the landing and lurched toward his flat. Taking the key from his pocket, he opened the lock and went in.

  The familiar clutter was almost heartbreaking. Everything seemed almost normal, like he could just open his eyes and wake from the nightmare. Coals burned in the heating stove in the corner, filling the room with warmth that would have been pleasant if he hadn’t been so burned.

  Kelli stood in the kitchen area dressed in a short night-shirt. When she saw Warren, she screamed and stepped back.

  “It’s…okay,” Warren said hoarsely. His voice was worse. Speaking took greater effort. Blood from cracked flesh dripped down his burns to the wooden floor. “It’s…just…me.”

  “Warren?” Kelli took her hands down from her mouth and stared at him. But she didn’t approach or try to help.

  “Yeah.” Warren swallowed. “I had…some trouble.”

  “You need a doctor.”

  “I…know. Don’t…have one.” Dizziness swelled through his head. He had to look around to make sure he wasn’t falling over. “I’m just…gonna go…lie down.” He turned and lurched across the floor to the ladder that led up to the loft area.

  Climbing up took a long time. Warren couldn’t bring himself to ask Kelli for help.

  “Are you going to die?” Kelli asked.

  “I don’t…think so.” Warren answered while he’d paused to rest halfway up the ladder.

  “What happened to you?”

  Warren ignored her. Kelli had always been dense and selfish. He climbed to the top of the ladder and swung off. He barely made it to his bedroom area before he collapsed on the bed.

  He thought he heard Kelli asking him questions and thought she might even have followed him up. Ignoring her, unable to stay conscious any longer, he was easy prey for the pain that struck again and again within him.

  Do you still live, human?

  The words echoed in the fever haze that filled Warren’s dreams. He knew the voice belonged to Merihim. He also knew he would never forget the demon.

  You should be dead, the voice went on.

  I’m not. Warren took a savage pride in that. All his life, no one had expectations of him. Other than to fail. Now he had failed to die. He found that humorous. But if this had been real, not a dream, if the demon had truly been talking to him, he knew he would have been scared.

  I’ve marked you, Merihim said. You can’t escape me. But I want to see what you’re capable of. So I will let you live. For now.

  The threat woke Warren because it seemed so real. He had to wake and make certain the demon wasn’t in his bedroom.

  Feverish and dry-mouthed, he rolled from the bed and reached for a bottle of water. Someone had taken all his reserves from beside his bed. He knew his roommates had done it.

  Movement on the wall caught his attention. He peered into the mirror hanging there. Although the room was dark with the windows covered, he could still see plainly. Maybe it was the trick he’d learned back with the Cabalists.

  The ghastly image that peered back at him from the mirror was his own, but he wouldn’t have recognized it if it hadn’t been framed in the mirror. The right side of his face was thick, crusty blackened meat that was pulling away from his cheekbone. His hair was singed close to his skull. Swelling half-closed his right eye. As he blinked, blood trickled down the side of his face.

  Gazing down at his ruined hand, he saw white bone showing through at the knuckles. His fingers were thick as sausages from the swelling and black as coal. His chocolate-brown skin looked pale around the burned patches. He couldn’t close his fist.

  Panic set in then, clawing and screaming through his heart, spraying his nerves with adrenaline. Even if he lived, he’d never be the same again. He was going to be a monstrosity. He shivered and shook, feeling too weak to stand as his heart pounded wildly.

  Footsteps sounded behind him.

  Warren turned as Kelli pulled the curtain back. She looked shocked.

  “You’re still alive?” she asked.

  “Where…is my water?” Warren asked.

  “We didn’t think you’d need it.”

  He got angry then and took two stumbling steps toward her. “You had…no right…taking my water.”

  “We didn’t want it to go to waste. We thought you were dead.”

  “I’m not.” Warren focused on her, reaching for that power that had dwelt within him for so long. It felt stronger and more sure than he’d ever felt before. “Bring me…my water.”