No blood had dripped down, at least not yet.
There was a crash from somewhere inside the house, as if Crowley had fallen against something—or shattered it in a fit of rage. I nudged the car door closed and turned farther, until I was fully facing the street, then began backing slowly into the Crowleys' backyard. I went cautiously, step by step, relying on memory to lead me safely past the neatly shoveled snow without disturbing it or leaving any traces. Step by step. I heard another crash, closer now, somewhere on the ground floor, and gritted my teeth. I was almost there.
I reached the shed and maneuvered Neblin's legs farther out into the driveway. The shed sat parallel to the driveway, with the door facing the street, so I had always shoveled a walkway in front of it, leading off from the driveway. It was only a few feet long, but it went just far enough for me to step around the far side of the shed and pull the body into the narrow gap between the shed and the wood slat fence. I tugged Neblin in as far as I could go, without poking out myself from behind the short shed, and dropped him heavily in the snow.
The back door clattered, and I held my breath. Neblin's feet were still stuck out past the front of the shed, though just a few inches. This whole gap was shaded from the still-bright headlights by a wall of snow, so the demon might not see the feet. But if it came looking, if I'd left any kind of visible trail, it would see them for sure.
I held my breath for ages, listening to every sound: the low rumble of the car, the soft ding of the dashboard, the beating of my own heart. The demon took a few footsteps on the other side of the shed, arrhythmic and weak, then stepped or stumbled into the snow. The top, frozen layer crunched under its feet—once, twice, three times, followed again by normal steps back on the cement. He was unsteady and slow. This might actually work.
I listened to the footsteps drag themselves down the driveway: step-stop, step-stumble. I didn't dare to breathe, closing my eyes and willing the demon to keel over and die, to give up and be done forever. Step-stop, step-pause, step-grunt. It moved slower than it ever had. I stayed perfectly still, afraid to move an inch, and the cold, snow, and bitter air began to take their toll on me. I felt again the same sense of physical breakdown I'd felt when I first discovered the demon, when I'd hidden in the snow at Freak Lake, aware of each slowed heartbeat and faltering sense. My hands and feet were on fire with pinpricks, which faded to a tingling numbness, which faded to nothing at all. My body was like a spent clockwork machine, softly winding down until the last gear turned, the last spring popped, and the whole thing stopped forever.
Balancing carefully, with no good places to put my feet in the narrow gap, I bent down and slowly, imperceptibly, pulled Neblin's feet back behind the shed. Inch by inch, not making a sound. The footsteps on the driveway continued, halting and agonized. I tucked Neblin's knees up and quietly—oh so quietly—leaned them against the shed. A black shadow passed across the headlights, filling the fence, and the shed, and the yard behind me with the massive shape of the demon—a bulbous head and ten scythe-like claws, with his heavy coat and pants hanging loosely over his thin, inhuman lirnbs. I wondered if he'd even had a chance to change back to human form, or if he'd been forced to help Kay like this. He must be very close to death.
I took one delicate step forward, placing my foot carefully, and peeked around the edge of the shed. The demon struggled to stay on his feet, and staggered around the car, claws scrabbling across the paint as he leaned on the hood for support.
He worked his way slowly to the passenger's side, paused for a moment, nearly doubled over, and reached for the handle.
As his hand left the car, he lost his balance and fell sideways into the snow, landing heavily. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart, already straining, sped up even further.
Was this it? Was it dead? With a pathetic groan, the demon rose to its knees, clutched at its chest, and howled inhumanly.
It was not dead yet, but it was very close, and it knew it.
The demon ripped off its heavy coat, and lunged forward, falling against the car. Its huge white claws seemed to glow, and it dug them into the metal, with terrifying strength, to lift itself back upright. A clawed hand reached for the door handle, then stopped in midair. It stared at the car, unmoving.
It had seen the empty seat. It knew its only hope was gone. The demon fell to its knees and cried—not a roar or a growl, but a keening, high-pitched cry.
It was the sound I would ever after associate with the word despair.
The demon's cry turned to a shout—of rage or frustration,