Demon Road

  Buxton sighed. “You could go to Desolation Hill.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Alaska. I don’t know the whys and wherefores, but that’s the one place you’d be invisible to the Shining Demon and anyone he’d send after you. When I was starting out, I thought I could hide there for a few months, maybe even a few years – but I only lasted a week. I wouldn’t advise making the journey.”

  “Mr Buxton, I was really hoping you’d be able to come up with some way to help me.”

  “Yeah, I get that. But, seeing as how my advice would be to kill your folks and their friends the first chance you get, I don’t think you’re going to be paying me too much heed. Which leaves us in an awkward situation.”

  “Uh,” said Edgar, “what would that be?”

  “Mr Spurrier, wasn’t it? Mr Spurrier, what Milo and Amber here have decided in the last few minutes, quite independently of one another, is to hand me over to the Shining Demon. Milo doesn’t really care what happens to me one way or the other, and Amber figures I’ve killed plenty of people already, so maybe I deserve to pay for my sins. To her credit, it wasn’t an easy decision to make, was it, Amber?”

  “I … Mr Buxton, I’m sorry.”

  Buxton waved away her apology. “Nonsense. And you may have a point. An argument could be made that I’ve done more harm than good in my—”

  He moved without warning, kicking the coffee table into Milo’s leg and knocking the gun from his knee. Milo’s hand flashed and he caught the pistol before it hit the ground, but Buxton was on his feet now, slamming another kick into Milo’s chest, driving him back and toppling his chair. In the three seconds it took Amber to grow horns, Buxton hurled her into Edgar, sending them both over the back of the couch.

  Milo reached for his fallen gun, but Buxton kicked it away. He grabbed the back of Milo’s jacket and threw him against the wall.

  Amber ran at him, claws out. He dodged her swipe and kicked her feet from under her. He picked up the chair Milo had been sitting on and broke it across her shoulders. Amber dropped, struggling to stay conscious.

  She heard Buxton grunt, saw Milo driving him backwards. They knocked over a lamp and hit the kitchen table, shifting it sideways. Buxton threw a punch and Milo covered up, moved in, responded with a headbutt and then an elbow to the bridge of the nose. Blood spurted. Buxton took an unsteady step. Milo kicked at his knee and spun him, got him in a chokehold, but Buxton powered backwards, slammed Milo into the wall. Milo didn’t let go. Buxton’s face was turning purple.

  Buxton staggered to the middle of the room, to where Milo’s gun had come to rest.

  Amber cursed, tried to get up, but her legs were still shaky. She wobbled and fell as Buxton dropped to his knees. He stopped trying to break the chokehold and his fingers closed around the gun. He lifted it, but instead of aiming over his shoulder to shoot Milo, he aimed right at Amber.

  Black scales rose on her skin. She doubted they’d do any good at this range.

  Milo released the hold immediately and stepped back, leaving Buxton to suck in lungfuls of air.

  “Is it over?” Edgar asked from behind the couch. “Did we win?” He peeked out. “Aw hell.”

  Scales retracting a little, Amber got to her feet slowly. Buxton did the same, moving so that he had all three of them covered. He wiped some of the blood from his nose.

  “Hard luck,” he said. “You almost got me.”

  He backed up to the door, opened it, gave them one last look, and ran.

  Amber hesitated. She looked at Milo, and he looked at her, and together they sprinted for the door.

  “But he’s still got the gun!” Edgar shouted after them.

  They burst out on to the landing, caught a glimpse of Buxton running up the stairs. They followed. Halfway up, Buxton dropped the gun. Milo scooped it up without slowing.

  Amber reached the door to the roof before Milo and she charged through. Buxton was running for the edge. Milo fired a warning shot into the night sky, but Buxton didn’t slow down. Amber piled on the speed. There was nowhere for Buxton to run.

  But, of course, he had no intention of running.

  He changed suddenly, from tall, broad-shouldered old man to taller, broader-shouldered demon. Wings, massive wings, split the back of his shirt. His dark skin turned grey. He reached the edge of the rooftop and those wings unfurled and he dived upwards, wings beating the air. Amber stopped running and watched, her mouth open. Buxton twisted, looked down at her. His grey face looked like it had been carved from granite. He had a crown of small horns circling his skull, just like Jacob had described.

  Milo ran up beside her, fired two more shots as Buxton’s wings closed over and he plummeted. Just before he fell out of sight, his wings opened and he swooped, disappearing into the darkness.

  “What do we do?” Edgar asked.

  “We chase,” said Amber.

  She ran to the roof’s edge and leaped.

  EDGAR CRIED OUT AND Milo called her name, but then rushing air filled Amber’s ears and she slammed into the fire escape of the auto-rental building across the alley, her strong fingers wrapping around the wrought-iron railing. She turned, braced her feet, and flung herself back to the other side, dropping lower as she did so. She flipped, curled her body, hit the bricks with her feet, and once again she powered back to the fire escape. Down she went, clinging to the railing one side and bounding off the other, until she dropped to the alley floor. Someone cursed in the darkness, a homeless woman huddled in a sleeping bag, and Amber jumped over her and sprinted for the street. A car passed, didn’t see her, and Amber ran out, eyes on the sky.

  There.

  She took off in pursuit, reverting when she approached people and shifting when she was clear. She cut across streets and alleys and car lots and barged through dogwalkers and couples out for a late-night stroll. She kept Buxton in view.

  Then she lost him. Of course she did. She knew she had to, she knew she couldn’t keep this up, but even so it stoked her anger, made her run faster, made her more determined to catch sight of him again.

  She caught glimpses that sent her hurtling in different directions. The more she ran, the less inclined she was to revert. As plain old Amber, she slowed down, she got out of breath, she puffed and panted and wheezed – but as the demon, she was relentless, her muscles were strong, and she never weakened.

  Let the people of New York wonder about her. Let them wonder if this was just another weirdo New Yorker going to some costume party or a real-life demon running through their streets. She didn’t care. The only thing she cared about was tracking down Buxton and tearing his goddamn wings off.

  Light behind her and her shadow lengthened and she whirled as the Charger braked. Edgar was already in the back seat. She jumped in and they took off. Amber had to duck her head so that her horns fitted.

  “You were running around in public,” said Milo as they turned a corner, drifting slightly. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking, if we let him get away, I’m dead,” she answered. “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  Milo craned his head out of the window. “You were seen.”

  “I’d rather be seen than be dead.”

  “Hold on,” said Milo.

  He turned the wheel sharply and they spun 180 degrees, the seat belt biting into Amber’s shoulder. She could see Buxton’s dark silhouette, barely visible beyond the street lights. The Charger pursued.

  “I’d just like to take this moment to apologise,” Edgar said from the back. “I know I was not the best use back there. Violence has never been my thing.”

  Amber lost sight of Buxton.

  “It’s fine, Edgar,” said Milo through gritted teeth.

  Edgar continued. “I just want to assure you that, were we to find ourselves in a similar situation again, I would do my very best to be a good source of backup.”

  Neither Amber nor Milo responded this time. They were too busy trying to spot Buxton.

/>   “It’s just,” Edgar went on, “I’ve never been that athletic. Even in high school, I was always considered to be on the slower side of fast. I preferred books and TV to going out and doing stuff. I blame my parents, to be honest. They rarely encouraged me, and when they did it was lacklustre and, I felt, disingenuous.”

  Amber pointed. “There!”

  Milo swerved, almost hitting a yellow cab coming the other way. Amber locked her eyes on Buxton’s beating wings. The beating was getting slower. He was tiring. Then he vanished.

  Amber frowned. “Where’s he gone?”

  “He dropped,” said Milo. He gunned the engine. “I’m going after him on foot. Edgar, you drive. Circle round the block, make sure he doesn’t slip away.”

  “Uh,” said Edgar, “you want me to drive this car?”

  “She won’t hurt you,” Milo said. “She likes Amber.”

  “What does she think of me?” Edgar asked.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  Edgar looked dismayed. “Rejected by an automobile. A new low.”

  “I’ll come with you,” said Amber as Milo undid his seat belt.

  “You stay with Edgar.”

  “No, I’m coming with—”

  “I can’t have you running around looking like that,” Milo said. “Stay in the damn car and I’ll chase Buxton towards you.”

  Amber stared at him, but Milo was already turning the wheel. He braked, then leaped out and ran between two buildings, his gun in his hand. She forced herself to remain in the car.

  It was a good plan. Despite her anger, despite her sudden fury, it was a good plan.

  Edgar grunted as he climbed out of the back seat and got behind the wheel. “Okay then,” he said. “Off we go.”

  The Charger moved away from the kerb slowly, and didn’t pick up a whole lot of speed.

  “Faster!” Amber snapped.

  “Driving a car is like riding a horse,” Edgar said patiently. “You’ve got to get to know her over time, figure out her—”

  Amber snarled at him. “Faster.”

  Edgar swallowed thickly, and put his foot down.

  They were just rounding the block when Edgar glanced up, hissed and wrenched the wheel in the opposite direction.

  Amber’s horns knocked heavily against the ceiling. “What the hell, Edgar?”

  They were speeding along now, Edgar spending more time looking out of the window than he was looking at the road ahead. “Buxton,” he said. “He’s got Milo.”

  “He’s what?”

  They turned on to a busier street.

  “You didn’t see? He’s carrying him,” Edgar said. “Milo looks unconscious. Oh God, you don’t think Buxton’s going to drop him, do you?”

  Amber ignored the question. “Where are they? I can’t see them.”

  “Straight ahead of us,” said Edgar, swerving round traffic. “See them? Straight … oh hell. Where are they? They were right there, they were – aha!”

  Another wrench of the wheel and once again Amber’s horns scraped the ceiling. “Little bit of warning,” she said, growing angrier.

  “Sorry,” said Edgar. “They’re over my side. Can you see them?”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  Edgar’s driving was attracting a lot of attention. Car horns blasted them when they passed, and Edgar shouted an apology to each one.

  “Stop doing that,” Amber said.

  “Driving?”

  “Apologising.”

  “Oh,” said Edgar. “Sorry. But this is exciting, isn’t it? I mean, if he doesn’t drop Milo, it’ll be exciting. If he drops Milo, it’ll be tragic and terrible, but right now it’s exciting. Can you feel it? Can you feel the excitement?”

  “I can feel it,” Amber said, wanting to kill him.

  “Look at me,” Edgar continued, “driving a demon car, hunting a winged beast … Danger is all around, but do I turn and flee? Does my courage fail me? It does not.”

  “Are you still talking?”

  “I talk when I’m nervous. I guess I talk when I hunt demons, too. This is my first time hunting a demon, and I’m talking, so I guess I must talk when I hunt demons. Ha! These are my demon-hunting pants. I always wear them when I’m hunting demons.”

  She wanted to tear out his throat, but didn’t. If she tore out his throat, he might crash.

  “This car is something magnificent, isn’t it?” he asked. “You hear people talking about how engines growl – well, this one actually does, doesn’t it? You can hear it, right? That growl. That power. This car is alive. Hey, I wonder if I’ll be affected. You know, because of … uh …”

  “Because Milo is the Ghost of the Highway and this car is possessed?”

  “Oooh,” Edgar said, “he told you, cool. Yeah, I wonder if I’ll suddenly get all possessed and dark and stuff.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.” Keeping track of Buxton and Milo through the open window, Edgar swept round a corner. Less traffic here. More closed-up businesses and art galleries. A hell of a lot of art galleries. They were heading towards the harbour. “It would be quite something, though. To feel that kind of power. When you’re like this, Amber, in this form, what’s it like? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

  She gave up trying to spot Buxton. “I’m better. Stronger. Faster.”

  “Beautiful.”

  She glared at him.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. A moment later, he slowed.

  Amber tensed. “What?”

  “They’re landing,” he said. He turned another corner. No cars here now. No pedestrians. Boarded-up businesses and warehouses. He killed the headlights and they cruised slowly through an open gate.

  They passed cargo containers, stacked high like building blocks, and massive cranes that loomed over temporary offices. Edgar drove so close to a pyramid of broken pipes that their jagged ends almost scraped the Charger’s bodywork. They crept by it all, to the warehouse on the yard’s east side, and Edgar cut the engine and looked at Amber nervously. She sighed, and got out. She could smell the sea.

  Beyond the yard’s high walls, New York rattled and hummed. But within them it was quiet.

  “I think they’re in there,” Edgar whispered, eyes on the warehouse ahead.

  Amber nodded, started walking towards the door.

  “I’d feel better if I had a weapon,” Edgar whispered beside her. “I should get a weapon. Maybe there’s a gun store nearby that’s still open.”

  “Get a weapon,” Amber responded, “don’t get a weapon, it’s all the same to me. I’m going in.”

  Edgar puffed out his chest. “And I’m going in with you.” He looked around, and picked up a rusted crowbar. “And I’m going in armed.”

  Amber shrugged. She really didn’t care.

  With Edgar on her heels, she passed through the door. There was a small corridor with stairs leading up. She skirted them, made straight for the door at the other end. It creaked slightly when she opened it. Beyond it was the warehouse proper. It was empty, apart from an engine block in the middle of the floor.

  “They’re not here,” she whispered.

  Edgar nodded. “Might be upstairs. Might be on the roof. I can’t go on the roof. I’m afraid of …”

  His voice trailed off.

  She followed his gaze to the engine block. The light from a street lamp came in through the high windows, and glinted off something shiny amid all that rust. She walked closer. Were they handcuffs?

  She turned, and Edgar swung the crowbar into her head.

  THE WORLD TILTED.

  Amber was aware – somehow – of being dragged. Unconsciousness pulled at her, but instead of going down, instead of sinking into its depths, she managed to stay afloat, managed to keep her head above the waterline. Something cold encircled her wrist. Something metal. Then her eyes were flickering open, and Edgar was walking away and she lay back, looking up at long bars of brightness. She wanted to rest. Stay
ing awake was so hard. And it hurt. Her head hurt, where Edgar had … where he had … what had he done?

  Hit her with a goddamn crowbar, that was it.

  Amber frowned. The pain was already receding. Her thoughts were beginning to clear. The bars of brightness above became strip lights hanging from the warehouse ceiling. The coldness on her wrist became a handcuff. She listened to a curious hissing and waited for her brain to sort itself out.

  She ran her tongue against her fangs and bit down, letting the pain sharpen her further. Then she sat up. Slowly.

  Edgar had cuffed her to the engine block. Of course he had. She didn’t know how much an engine block weighed, but it was a hell of a lot more than she could lift, even in her current state.

  She looked over at him. The hissing sound was the fine black powder being poured from the powder flask. Edgar moved sideways, close to joining up the large circle he was making around her.

  “You’re working for my parents,” Amber said.

  He glanced up, just long enough to smile and shake his head, then went back to work. “Nope. I understand why you’d think that, but I’ve never even met your folks. Don’t think I’d want to, either. What kind of people would eat their own children? I swear, there are some sick and twisted individuals in the world, are there not?”

  He moved sideways again, close to completing the circle.

  “Then what are you doing?” she asked, standing.

  “Hold on for just one moment,” he said distractedly. “Need to get this just right … There. Done.”

  The circle complete, he straightened up, a hand on his back. “Not as young as I used to be,” he chuckled, and stoppered the flask. “Amber, I really hope you understand that none of this is personal. It’s not that I don’t like you. I do, I really do. I think you’re a smart, interesting person. To go through the stuff you’re going through and still remain so positive and good-natured? That’s a rare gift you have, Amber. Value it. Truly.”

  “What are you doing? What’s the circle about?”

  “Come now,” he said. “You’re not stupid. You know what this is.”

  “You’re going to summon the Shining Demon?”