Page 115 of Dead Beat

The planes of hell appeared, littered with playground equipment this time, slides and swings, a rocking horse.

“Come, soldier,” Golgarot demanded. The yoke shone in his hand, its jewels sparkling. “Your hour is near.”

The weight was too much. The demon had gorged itself and it was thick with strength, filling her, pushing her own soul down, into the ground, into nothing. The children had surrounded her and their eyes were black pits.

“Something’s wrong.” Turner’s voice now, but she could barely hear him.

“Alex,” Darlington said. “Let it go.”

No, she could do this. One more into the box. One more win for her. One more loss for Golgarot.

You’re so sweet. A new voice in her head. I could just eat you up. Does he make you glad? Does he make you happy? I like happy.

“Screw you and your demon boss,” Alex gasped. “Get in the box.”

I don’t think I will. I think I’ll stay. I think I’ll turn you inside out, little piggy.

But this thing couldn’t kill her. Golgarot still needed her blood.

He’s not here, is he? And if he knew how good you taste, he’d understand. A Wheelwalker’s soul is a delicacy. Cry wee, wee, wee, little piggy. All the way back where you belong.

Deja de chingar. Another voice, the same one that had told her to be careful. But how had she even known aguas meant be careful? Get rid of it, hermanita. This isn’t where you die.

Alex took hold of the demon, a dead weight in her arms, a corpse she’d let crawl inside her. She wanted to try again, to drag it into the box. Instead, she shoved.

It poured out of her with an earsplitting shriek, sliding back into the teacher’s form.

The thing in overalls giggled. “Next time, piggy.”

The branches of Turner’s oak snapped toward the monster. Darlington lowered his head and charged, but the demon was already running. It leapt the fence with a single loping jump and it was gone.

Alex rolled over onto her hands and knees and vomited. She heard Turner rounding up the parents and kids.

“Gas leak,” he said. “Get your kids to the ER. Department of Health is shutting this place down.”

Darlington was beside her again, his hand on her back.

“Il Bastone,” she panted. She needed to be behind the wards.

He had her in his arms.

“Get her out of here,” said Turner.

She felt the leather of the back seat beneath her cheek, heard the engine of the Mercedes roar to life, Darlington on the phone to Dawes.

I failed, Alex thought. But it was Golgarot’s voice that chased her into darkness.

Soldier, your hour is near.

42

The crucible could handle physical damage, but what Alex had been through was something different. They got her tucked under the covers in the Dante bedroom and Dawes had him light a censer full of palo santo. Darlington had expected a hunt through the archives for a spell or a ritual, but instead, Dawes gathered rosemary, rue, hyssop, water sweetened with honey.

“They’re cures for banishing evil spirits,” Dawes said. “Alex’s grandmother was from Salonika, and I thought the connection might help her heal.”

When she was settled, they joined Turner downstairs in the kitchen. He was sipping coffee at the small breakfast table, his jacket thrown over the back of his chair.

“How is she?” he asked.