“Kel gor mraz, Alavik!” Idris yelled as the reyza vaulted into the air and climbed with heavy beats of his wings. Though I didn’t know a lot of demon words, I was pretty sure kel gor mraz meant You’re a fucking piece of shit assface or a similar sentiment. Alavik was no doubt a reyza Idris had spent time with during his months as a captive of the Mraztur.
I had no clear shot, but I kept my gun trained on the reyza in case an opening appeared. Idris kept his head even as he dangled in Alavik’s grip. Before he was more than a half dozen feet from the ground, Idris yanked his folding knife off his belt, flicked it open, and slashed the razor sharp blade across the demon’s forearm.
Alavik keened in pain as blood sprayed and tendons parted. His clawed hand spasmed, and Idris dropped to the asphalt and rolled, teeth bared in defiance. With Idris clear, I opened fire, and Pellini did the same while still on his back. At least two bullets pierced Alavik’s wings, but even when other officers joined the shoot-the-demon game, he remained aloft. Unburdened, the reyza rose quickly then veered away over buildings and out of sight.
Idris scrambled up and ran back to the valve. “He has arcane shielding on his head and torso,” he called out to us. Pellini climbed to his feet and staggered toward Idris. I dropped my empty magazine, yanked a fresh one from my pocket and slapped it in.
“What the fuck was that thing?” a familiar voice said from behind me. I spun to see my favorite road sergeant, Scott Glassman, gun drawn and ready. Beside him, a wide-eyed Asian woman—likely his trainee—held her weapon in a death grip. Bet she hadn’t counted on anything like this when she signed up.
“Long story!” I shouted back over the rising din of people pouring into the street from nearby buildings. “But if you see it again, shoot it. Aim for the wings.” Shit. And the zhurn was still around somewhere. And who knew how many other demons had been stationed to keep us from undoing Katashi’s work. Out in the street, people milled or watched the sky or peered at cell phones and tablets. Videos of Alavik’s dramatic attack on Idris were about to go viral. The times they are a-changin’. But no sense worrying about what I couldn’t control.
“Get those people as far away from here as you can,” I told Scott. With any luck that would ensure he and his trainee were also far away if the worst happened. He gave me a sharp nod, and the two turned and yelled at people to move down the street. The woman had an impressive set of lungs and a commanding presence, both of which had everyone cowering and scurrying to obey her.
Alert and ready, I continued a survey of the area as Idris and Pellini worked furiously. Movement grabbed my attention. “Pellini! Behind you!” I yelled. “Under the red car!”
I expected the zhurn to go still and hide again, but to my dismay it streaked from the shadow and darted straight for the valve. Pellini shot at it one-handed, while I squeezed my trigger as fast as I could until the slide locked back. The demon squealed as bits of shadow flew from it, but kept moving. A dozen feet from the caution tape it launched itself toward the valve, wings and tail and body elongating as it dove into the dead center of the circle of cones and disappeared as if the asphalt had sucked it in.
A heavy tremor rocked the parking lot. Idris fell back with a cry of horror. “No. No!”
I ran toward him. “What? What happened?”
He scrambled to his feet then stared down at the asphalt, aghast. “The zhurn. It activated the charges.”
I yanked my gaze to the ground as if I could miraculously see what he meant. “That’s bad, right?”
Idris swallowed, paling. “The countdown started.”
Yeah, bad. “How long do we have?”
“Five minutes.” Sweat beaded on his upper lip. “Maybe ten if I can slow it.” He hauled his gaze up. “You two. Go, get clear.”
Pellini spoke up before I could tell Idris to get stuffed. “Can you stop it?” he asked.
Idris wiped sweat from his face. “Maybe. It’ll be a lot harder now.” For the first time, doubt and fear flickered in his eyes. “I . . . I don’t know. I might make it worse, or set it off sooner—”
I seized his shoulders. “You’re the son of a demonic lord!” I yelled and gave him a hard shake.
“A horrible one!” He shoved my hands away. To my dismay his uncertainty deepened. “I don’t want to be like him! He’s a manipulative asshole, and maybe that’s the reason my own mother never wanted me!”
My breath caught as his agony poured out, and I realized why his confidence had locked up. “Idris, you’re not him, and—”
“How do you know?” he demanded in what was perilously close to a sob. “I have the blood of one of the Mraztur, and I’ll be just as bad as them if I mess up this valve, and I—”