Authors: Jarod Davis
Minutes and he was still tapping.
More and more time went by but he could feel the damage fade. Pretty soon the drudges were gone and so were some of his wounds. He could have waited for perfect healing, but that would’ve taken too much time.
Finally, he grabbed the edge of one box and pulled himself up. On his feet, his legs wobbled for a moment. He took a step and almost fell. Another step and he felt a little better. This had to work. He had to keep his body working. Every second meant he could heal a little more, but every second meant another chance for Despada to kill Jenny. Hating the dilemma, Timothy crept through the maze of storage.
A few minutes of luck kept him out of the way of any more drudges.
He saw another one.
It had its back to him. Timothy didn’t know how it missed the last fight, but he didn’t think about it when he threw out his tendrils. They stabbed the creature, breaking its head from the creature’s neck. It hit the concrete floor with a wet slap. Timothy stepped over the body and kept searching.
He didn’t find anything.
In this labyrinth of appliances and furniture, there weren’t any signs of Jenny or even the demons. That meant Timothy had to double back to the elevator. He snuck around each corner, always waiting to see more drudges or one of Despada’s demons. Then he came to the elevator and that felt like the hardest part.
Timothy hit the down button and waited. The elevator had gone back to the first floor since he got to the third. That could mean they’d been to the roof; maybe they knew someone was there. The doors opened with a ping, though Timothy felt his body relax when he didn’t see anyone waiting for him.
Back in the elevator, he hit the button for the second floor. The doors closed and the elevator lurched back down. Seconds went by; Timothy felt like his life was suddenly measured by seconds, by those instants when he waited for an enemy to appear.
And he thought about everywhere else he could be. He could be at his apartment, safe, chatting with Jeremiah about anything. He could have gone to the police and hoped they could deal with something like this. With a smirk, he remembered Cordinox. He could have told his bandleader. But all of that would have cost time. He would have to run down the street, looking for a payphone, that would take too much time, and Timothy didn’t want to be anywhere else.
The elevator doors rang, and Timothy braced himself. His muscles went taut, ready to throw out the tendrils. He didn’t see anyone at first. There were hundreds of couches, tables, desks, and dining room sets scattered across a cavernous show room. Spread out across the showroom, Timothy spotted a couple enemies. This is where the demons were. Vencerico, Oculus, and Roman were scattered around the room, lounging, sleeping, reading, or playing on cell phones. They all looked like they were waiting for something.
Most important, Timothy didn’t see Despada.
No one looked up when the elevator doors opened.
Timothy dropped to his knees and crawled behind one of the couches. Then he listened.
He didn’t hear anything. No one noticed he was there.
Heart thundering, Timothy held his breath and hated himself for the risk as he peeked over the top of the couch, careful not to crinkle the plastic cover. Every sound felt like a landmine. Vencerico was eating something from a bowl. Roman had a book, flipping through the pages like he wanted to find something.
Timothy didn’t see any cells, cages, or girls chained to the wall. That would have been too easy, he thought as he bit his lower lip. Three demons, Timothy knew he couldn’t fight all of them. He glanced at the walls and saw different doors. They looked like more offices, probably for the salespeople. One of those would be a good place to keep someone. He had to check them out. Silent, he counted across all six of them, three set into two different walls.
On his hands and knees, Timothy crawled for the first door. He stuck to the display side of the aisle that ringed the whole floor. That first door might not have been a very good choice since it was so exposed. There weren’t any couches or other products to hide behind. Hoping this wasn’t his worst idea, Timothy got to his feet, still bent over, and ran for the door. He grabbed the knob and twisted. The door opened and he stepped inside. An old computer and dusty files waited for him.
He cracked the door back open and glanced outside, half expecting a demon to be there, staring back. His luck held out. He couldn’t see or anything promising him an alarm had gone off. Sliding back outside, Timothy ducked back down behind a couch. The office door shut, and Timothy couldn’t know if anyone looked up.
He waited, running through absurd calculations. If Vencerico got there, he could take the demon out in the first few seconds. That would just leave Roman, Oculus, and Despada’s remaining drudges. Timothy didn’t know where Petra was. If two of the demons approached, Timothy might be able to take them both out at the same time. That would just leave one demon, maybe more if she had other minions he didn’t know about. Every scenario and he was still one guy against Sacramento’s most powerful band of demons.
Holding his breath on the chance that would slow his pulse, Timothy waited a few extra seconds. He guessed Jenny was safe for the moment. The demons would probably want to watch an angel die. So if they were all here, that meant they were probably on guard duty.
Timothy refused to think about the scenario where Despada wanted to be alone with Jenny as she tore about the angel’s soul. That just couldn’t happen. Irrational, he didn’t care about logic. After counting to twenty, Timothy dashed for the next couch. When no one shouted about there being an intruder, he crawled for the next door.
This time Timothy turned the knob and slid inside to see the girl on the floor. The door shut, loud and booming to Timothy’s ears, so he braced his shoulder against the wood, waiting for someone to show up. Again, there weren’t any shouts so he guessed they still didn’t hear him.
Terror and relief wrestled in Timothy’s head for dominance as he fell to Jenny’s side. Her eyes were closed. It looked like Roman carried her up here and dropped her. He didn’t see any wounds.
“Jenny!” he hissed. “Jenny, wake up. C’mon, wake up.” She could have hurt her head, brain damaged from the fall. Some demon was too lazy to set her down on one of the hundreds of couches outside. There wasn’t any reason to worry about her brain. After all, they only wanted her soul.
Jenny’s eyes started to move behind their lids like she was dreaming. Timothy pulled her close and squeezed her tighter than anyone he ever touched. “Timothy?” he heard from over his shoulder.
“It’s me,” he said, almost panting relief. “It’s me, it’s me and you’re okay.”
“My head,” she said.
He only loosened his hold as Jenny stretched her arm over her shoulder. She touched her fingertips to the back of her head and blinked, trying to wake up. “What happened?”
“These guys grabbed you. And I followed them.” Timothy checked the door for a lock. There wasn’t one. He guessed Despada assumed she’d be safe, knocked out.
“Why me?” she asked. He didn’t have an answer, because it didn’t matter when she asked, “Where are we?”
“I’m not sure. A department store. I jumped on their van, snuck inside to find you.”
“You did what?” If she’d been groggy from the cold, getting hit, dropped, or being unconscious, it disappeared under his answer. “Why didn’t you just call the cops?”
“They’re different,” Timothy said. “But we can’t worry about that right now. We have to get out of here.”
“Different? Different how?”
“They’re, they—” Timothy sputtered, looking for the right words. This would be the worst time to tell her since she might freak out. She could think he was insane. Maybe he hit her, dragged her off to an abandoned warehouse. Then she would run past that door screaming, attracting the attention of every one of Maria Despada’s demons.
“What?” Jenny took his arm, her fingers pressed into his skin. “Timothy, you can tell me.”
“They’re demons.”
“Demons?” she asked with all the disbelief everyone would expect.
“Demons,” Timothy said, “And I know that sounds stupid or crazy or whatever, but that’s what they are.”
“Monsters?”
“Something like that,” he said. “They form from human suffering or something.” He didn’t know which details she’d want to know.
“And they want me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” her question felt like a punch.
“They want to eat your soul.” It was a sentence he never imagined he would have to say. “They get stronger by killing other demons.”
“You’re saying I’m a demon?” Again, the disbelief.
“No, you’re something different.” He stopped, licked his lips, and forced the words into the air, “You’re an angel. You have an angel’s soul. And from I’ve been told, if a demon is strong enough and knows how, then eating an angel’s soul would make her a lot stronger.”
“How do you know all this?” that was the dark question, the one that he hoped she wouldn’t ask. All of the luck to get him to that point this night, and it dropped away because she asked the obvious.
“I’m a demon.”
“No you’re not.” Jenny said it like a fact, indisputable and perfectly solid.
“Do you remember that first time at the sandwich shop? You asked me what I was thinking about. This is what I was thinking about. I was thinking about everything I didn’t, everything I couldn’t tell you.” Rather than argue, Timothy held out one palm. “It happened a while ago.” It hurt, the first time his tendrils ever hurt. One of the shadowed tentacles formed, sliding from the base of his palm. “I killed a demon. I absorbed its soul, and now it’s a part of me. That’s how I got here. That’s why I came for you. That’s how I know you’re an angel.”
Her eyes on the tendril, she said, “I’m just a person. I’m not special. Not like that.”
“You are. If I look at you, if I really look, I can see it. I can see the vibes, the energy, whatever you want to call it all around you.”
Jenny let go of him, sat down in the office chair, and nibbled her lower lip. Timothy waited for her to say something but he couldn’t wait forever. She had to understand. He couldn’t drag her out onto the floor. Jenny had to trust him. The thought she wouldn’t, the very real and very likely chance dug a lot deeper than he expected.
“You sound pretty crazy right now.” Jenny said, her eyes on the door. For that moment, she wouldn’t face him. Since he didn’t have a good answer, he didn’t answer. She was right. He did sound crazy. Then her brown eyes were pointed at him, a look which burned and soothed at the same time. “But I trust you.”
“You believe me?”
“You wouldn’t lie to me. You might be wrong, but you wouldn’t lie.”
“So I’ll look outside, check to make sure we’re clear, then we run, okay?”
“Okay,” she said.
Timothy put his hand to the door and nudged it open, slowly. He spotted drudges, lots of them. His first instinct was to slam it shut, but there wasn’t another exit. He threw the door open. Cursing everything, he spun on Jenny and said, “We have to go.” He held out his hand. She took it and he pulled her from the little office.
Timothy never checked these doors for demonic energies; he didn’t know opening it sent the silent call to all of Despada’s minions. They were coming for him, running like Vencerico or walking with his hands behind his back like Roman. They knew who he was, what he could do, and most importantly, they knew he was trapped. So their speed didn’t matter.
Vencerico pounced, leaping the twenty feet between them. Midair he called on his heritage, his essence, and a part of his soul formed in both hands. There were twin swords, long and thin. Timothy knew they’d be sharp and guessed they’d be able to cut through his tendrils with enough time or force.
Timothy’s tendrils flew out, curving through the air for Vencerico as the demon side stepped between strides, dodging to one side. The tendrils adjusted. Timothy had to take the demon down fast. Roman was strolling for him, so if Timothy could take down this eager fighter, he’d have a chance of getting them out safely.
Safe, he would’ve laughed if he didn’t need all of his concentration for Vencerico.
The tendrils were on target, yet they didn’t get to do any damage. Vencerico, with an artist’s precision, knocked them away. He wielded his blades like parts of himself, like brushes he’d practiced with for years. Timothy realized he probably had.