Water uncurled in a wave.
“What the hell is that?” the woman asks. “James, did you hear that?”
Screams pierce the night. All close. Too close. Screams, and the thunder of gunshots.
The man’s eyes are wide as he looks from his wife and kids to the window, to the flashes of light that last far too long for lightning or rifles.
“Stay here,” he says, his voice frantic. He pushes himself from the table, toppling his chair, and runs to the hall. The woman stands and gathers her two sons, pulling them back to the wall. Their wide eyes reflect the light and chaos outside, but in here, they are so silent they can hear the rapid flutter of their breath.
The man is back in a moment. He holds a shotgun.
“Get to the basement,” he says. “Quick.”
They turn. The basement is safety. It’s where they’ve gone for tornado sirens. It’s where they can escape.
But before they can move, something crashes through the window, sends glass screaming through the room. They flinch. Cower. It isn’t a brick or bomb landing before them. It’s a human. He stands slowly, unfolding himself until he towers above them all. Save for his height, there’s nothing to make him stand out—faded blue jeans, old flannel. Eighteen, maybe. But his eyes...
His eyes keep them from running. They are the most piercing blue.
Those eyes stop the breath in their throats.
“Good evening,” he says calmly, as though he hasn’t just crashed through a window. The mother pulls her boys close, and it is only now that she realizes the boy hasn’t been cut by his entrance. The husband moves in front of his family. A shepherd, vainly trying to defend his flock. “I thought I might join you for dinner.”
“Get out,” the husband says. His words waver. Outside, another scream rips through the air, cut off with a gurgle that makes the youngest boy shudder. “Whatever the hell you are, get out.”
The intruder smiles.
“That is no way to treat a guest.” His voice has a slow, Southern drawl. Charming. And dangerous.
The stranger steps forward.
The man shoots.
The blast from the gun is too loud for the room, too awful for the place they’ve quietly made their home. The echo is the nail in the coffin, the trumpet blaring that their quiet life is dead.
Blood splatters across their carpet, across the drapes. The boy staggers. Clutches his hands to his chest. But he only falters for a moment. When he looks from his bloody hands to the husband, his smile is gone. His eyes glow like the hottest part of a flame.
The man had raised his children to be decent and God-fearing, but the evil that cracks through the boy’s face is a force no faith can withstand. The man tries to reload. He knows he has damned them all, and already he is praying for forgiveness.
Salvation.
The boy snarls as his blood drips to the floor in deafening pats. His wound is already smaller. His flesh knits itself together, bloody and raw. When he speaks, the drawl is gone, replaced with a grit from the bowels of Hades.
“And here I was going to be merciful.”
The boy inhales.
It is like plummeting into the farthest reaches of space.
The man drops his gun and reaches for his throat, choking and gagging as his eyes bulge and his family falls beside him. They can’t even cry out as their lungs collapse. As the intruder pulls the air from their chests with a single breath.
The boy smiles again. There is blood in that smile. And hunger. He steps over to them. Just out of reach of their clawing hands, their rigid fingers. He smiles his demon smile and pulls the youngest child to his feet.
“I think I deserve dessert first, don’t you?” he asks, looking down at the father. He wants the father to understand. He wants the father to suffer the most. He pulls the boy’s face close to his and inhales. The kid’s eyes widen and roll back, bulging; his skin pales, and turns blue. His gasp is a rattle, a gurgle of bleeding lungs.
One long, last breath, and the child is dead.
The demon drops him to the ground.
“You will watch them die, old man,” he says, kneeling before the husband. His eyes dart to the rest of his family. “One by one.” Another flash of light outside, and the boy hesitates. Looks back to the engulfing darkness outside. “Actually, no.” He reaches out and runs a finger on the man’s jaw. “I think I will let you kill them. How does that sound?” He stands and walks to the window, calls out to the night beyond. “Matthias! I have a new convert!”
The demon turns. The hole in his chest has closed.
“Oh, we are about to have some fun. At least, I am.”
Someone slapped Tenn’s face, jarring the scene from his head.
Memories swirled in Tenn’s skull as Water slowly released its grip, sloshing back into silence in the pit of his stomach. His ears rang with the echo of gunshots and screams. So many screams. Matthias. Matthias is coming.
“Are you okay?” Jarrett asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
It was only then that the room swam back into focus. Pain lanced through his hands where he’d fallen on shards of window. His blood had turned the stained carpet crimson. He shook his head and forced himself up to sitting. He focused on his breath, on being here. Present. There were no bodies in the room. No screams or gunshots outside the window. Just him and Jarrett in the dining room. Tenn opened to Earth and pushed the power through his palms, healing the lacerations as pieces of glass plopped into the chilling blood like tears.
“What was that?” Tenn asked. He raised a shaky hand to his head. The ringing was worse, along with that train-coming-down-the-tracks vibration that always signaled a migraine. When he looked at Jarrett, the guy faded in and out of focus.
“What are you—”
“We heard a crash,” Dreya said, skidding into the room. Her eyes took in the scene in one quick sweep. “What happened?”
Tenn closed his eyes. The lights in the room were so bright. “I saw...something.” The scene played itself out over and over behind his eyelids. It wasn’t just a vision. He had been there, standing in the corner, watching the family die. He could hear them gasping. He could feel their panic, their dying emotions. He was there. They were here. It didn’t feel like the past at all.
“What did you see?” Dreya asked. Her voice was closer. He didn’t open his eyes, but he heard her kneel down beside him, her jeans crunching in the glass. She put one hand on the back of his neck. Her touch was cool and tingled with magic.
“I saw them die,” he whispered. “The family that lived here. I saw them get attacked by a Breathless One. And then he called out for Matthias.”
Jarrett was on his feet in a second.
“Here?”
“No. I mean, yes. But not now. It was like a vision...but stronger. Water opened up, and I saw it. No. I was there. I felt them. All of it. I felt them gagging for air.”