They’re gone. Both of them.
2
“All right, class,” my history professor says as the bell rings, signaling the end to my last class of the day. “Your homework is in the back of Chapter 29, Page 304-312. We’ll be having a test on the material on Monday, so make sure to study hard over the weekend!”
I raise my head blearily from the desk as the rest of the students hustle to pack up their bookbags. The usual Friday afternoon excitement buzzes in the air, but I can’t bring myself to get swept up in it. Ever since Cassandra disappeared with that strange man four nights ago, I’ve sunk into a depressed funk I can’t seem to claw my way out of. Besides, it’s not like I’ve got any fun plans. I’m working until close at the shop tonight, and I am so not looking forward to it.
Not wanting to draw attention to myself, I force myself out of my chair and sling my messenger bag over my shoulder so I can head out. The sun is shining as I walk outside, the sky a blue so gorgeous it’s insulting. How can the day be so bright and wonderful when my best friend is dead and gone?
Yeah, okay, so she was already dead when I met her. But she was still with me all the time, still my cheerleader and confidante. With both of my parents dead as well, and no living friends to speak of, there is no one else to fall back on, no one else to hold me and support me through my grief.
After Cassandra and the reaper guy had disappeared, it had taken me a while to figure out how to get back into my body. The demon had dissipated at some point, and aside from the damage it had done to the buildings, it was like it was never there. By the time I’d figured out how to get back into my body, the cops had arrived, and I’d been tied up for hours dealing with them before I was finally allowed to go back to my apartment. I’d called in sick and visited all our usual haunts, looking for Cass, then sat in my apartment all day, waiting for her to pop back in, to scold me for skipping class or not eating enough, to critique my sketches and tell each other about our day.
It took me two days to accept that she was really gone. And that she wasn’t coming back.
I drop by my apartment to drop off my bags, then head to the bodega on the corner for my shift. Mrs. Garcia is fussing with a magazine display, wearing a black glittering sequin dress that falls mid-calf. Her graying hair has been curled, and she’s wearing dark red lipstick.
“Mija!” She spins on her heel when she realizes I’m there, her lined face lighting up with relief. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here. He’s picking me up in twenty minutes and I forgot to feed the kittens!”
“Don’t worry about it, Mrs. Garcia.” I smile as I take the keys from her, then go behind the counter so I can hand my boss her purse. “Go have fun.”
She kisses my cheek, then rushes out the door, her heels clicking behind her. Normally I get Friday nights off, but Mrs. Garcia has a date tonight—her first in ten years, since her husband died of a heart attack. Her granddaughter had introduced them, had begged her to go, and I’d stepped in and offered to take the shift before she could back out. The woman hasn’t taken a proper day off in the three years I’ve known her—it’s high time she has a little fun.
The knowledge that I’m doing something good for someone makes me feel a little better, taking the edge off my loss. I’m also kept fairly busy by the steady stream of patrons coming in to buy beer and munchies, so I don’t have too much time to think about it. The traffic finally begins to thin out around midnight, and I yawn, leaning against the counter as I stare at the clock. It will be time to close up soon.
Now that the shop is empty, I flit around the bodega and tidy up, sweeping the floors and rearranging the displays. I’m just about to start closing out the till when a chill rushes down my spine, making my skin tingle. Suddenly, I’m aware that the street outside is deathly quiet. There are no cars driving by, no talk or laughter, not even the sigh of the wind.
Thump.
My entire body freezes as the floor reverberates beneath my feet. What the hell was that? Chicago is tornado country—we don’t get earthquakes here.
Thump. The sound is closer now. Thump. Almost like footsteps, but they would have to be massive—
THUMP.
That last one is right outside the door of the bodega. Heart hammering in my throat, I glance toward the window, and my mouth goes dry at the sight of a thick, furry leg. I know that if I press my face to the glass and follow the line down, I’ll see a cloven hoof at the bottom.
But I’m not going to stick around to wait.
I spin around and dash for the back alley exit, stopping only to grab the shotgun beneath the counter. Glass shatters behind me as I run, and I glance back to see the demon’s arm flailing through the shop window, grasping at the place I’d been just seconds ago. I burst through the back door and sprint down the alley, in the opposite direction of the bodega, but before I can make it to the street, another demon appears. This one’s horns are curled into twisting shapes, and it has four red slashes across its face rather that two.
“Human,” it groans, teeth clacking together. It opens its mouth, tasting the air with a long, forked tongue. “Your spiritual energy…the finest I’ve ever tasted. Come, come to me…”
It beckons me forward with a clawed hand, clearly expecting me to come hither. But whatever compulsion it wields has no effect on me, and I back away, lifting the shotgun. Remembering the reaper’s advice, I aim for the head and then fire, but the spray of buckshot passes right through his body, leaving him unharmed.
“Human weapons won’t work on it, Miss Blake. You need a reaper’s scythe.”
I spin around at the deep, unfamiliar voice to see a man standing behind me. He’s tall and lean, his body engulfed by the black robes he wears, and I swallow at the sight of the scythe in his hand. The hood of his cloak is up, shading his face, but I catch a glimpse of horn-rimmed glasses and a strong jaw. Behind him, at the other end of the alley, another demon looms—probably the one who had crashed through the bodega window.
The demon behind me chooses that moment to charge, and I barely manage to evade its attack. The reaper leaps effortlessly into the air, his hood falling back to reveal salt-and-pepper hair and a classically handsome face. I expect him to swing his scythe through the air and decapitate the demon—he’s certainly close enough to manage it—but instead he lets it charge past, then lands on the ground next to me.
“What are you doing?” I shriek. “Aren’t you going to kill that thing?”
The man turns to face me, holding the scythe out toward me. “No. You are.”
I make no move to take it from him. “No way,” I say, backing away toward the now-open mouth of the alley. “You’re the reaper, not me. It’s your job to fight them!”
“Actually, I’m a professor,” he says casually, as if he hadn’t noticed the two demons stalking toward us. “Professor Dalmatius, at your service…though most call me Professor Dal. I’m licensed to hunt demons, of course, but it’s been a few years and I’m a bit rusty.” He follows me into the street, his scythe still held out toward me. “If you want to survive tonight, you’re going to have to kill them yourself.”