“Any more of these things around?” he shouted back.
“Probably! Shoot anything that doesn’t look like it belongs on Earth!” I hated labeling all demons as shoot-to-kill, but if I couldn’t distinguish enemy from ally in this situation, there was no way to explain it to a newbie.
He racked his shotgun one-handed. “Ten-four. I’ll pass the word. Deer slugs brought that thing down. Kelli has the assault rifle. She’s former marine and kicks ass.” He jogged back up the street, pulling out his radio as he moved. A few seconds later I heard his voice from the radio of every cop in the area with the directive to “shoot the hell out of the monsters.”
From the far side of the PD came the pop-pop-pop of multiple gunfire along with the blat of an automatic weapon—soon followed by the lovely music of a ripping crack.
Rednecks vs. Demons. I grinned. The tide had turned in our favor.
I kept the shotgun unslung and took out a zrila in three shots, hating every second of it. The zrila were brilliant artisans, and my only consolation was that it was highly unlikely this demon had ever died on Earth before. Half a minute later I blew two legs off a scuttling graa. While it scrabbled, I closed the distance and put a hole in its midsection. Though my shoulder whimpered with every shot, the shotgun was damn effective against the warding that shielded the demons. Thank you, Bryce!
A shadow passed over. Not a helicopter this time. Wings!
Alavik—bleeding, right hand hanging limp, and still a dire threat. Though he flew beyond the range of my shotgun, I didn’t switch weapons. I guarded what he wanted. He’d come to me in due time, and I’d be ready for him.
Wings beating strong, he soared over the ruined PD then wheeled in a tight and fast turn. He intended to come in hard and hot. I shoved the butt of the shotgun against my aching shoulder and sighted down the barrel. Just like shooting skeet. So what if I’d shot skeet only twice in my life. Badly.
“Pull, motherfucker,” I muttered.
I didn’t get the chance to test my demon-skeet skills. Before my finger could touch the trigger, Alavik jerked in midair as the boom of another shotgun echoed across the rubble. I dropped my shotgun a few inches to better see how this played out. I sucked at skeet, but someone else out here didn’t. The reyza beat hard to climb out of range, then screamed as buckshot shredded one wing. Two more powerful shots hit him, one right after the other. Cracks flared over his body as he tumbled down, and he vanished with a crack while in midair.
A chorus of cheers arose. I looked across the partially collapsed PD to see a tall black man in a business suit lowering a shotgun as he balanced atop a pile of rubble. My former captain and current Chief of Police, Robert Turnham. He scanned the skies then clambered nimbly down and disappeared from sight.
Though I harbored the cautious hope that we’d dispatched all the demons, I didn’t let my guard down. It would only take one to destroy us all. Aggravation flared as I shot a quick glance toward Idris and Pellini. Without my arcane senses I had zero idea if they were making progress and was forced to guess from their expressions. Sweaty and tired and intense. Yeah, that told me nothing.
A twitch of movement next to Idris sent my heart racing. A demon? How did it get past me?
My knees shook with relief. Not a demon—only the creepy-as-hell Katashi arm, fingers jerking and twitching. I resumed my watch of the area then hauled my gaze back to the arm. My eyes narrowed. At least ten minutes had passed since the last gunshots, but I knew there was no fucking way Katashi would give up simply because he ran out of demons. He wanted those charges reactivated, and he was determined, clever, and unafraid to do his own dirty work. But he also wasn’t stupid enough to stroll up without a disguise. Or wards to hide in.
The twitching grew more intense.