FREEING THE DEMI-DEMON WASN’T much different from freeing a ghost. I suppose that made sense, since she’d gotten here by a type of summoning.
“Almost there, child,” she said, her warm breath swirling around me. “I can feel the shackles falling. A quarter century of servitude and finally I will be free. The very walls will tremble with my leaving, and they’ll scurry like frightened mice. Just a little more. Can you feel it?”
I couldn’t feel a thing, just wished she’d shut up and let me concentrate.
She let out a cry that made me jump, and the closet filled with whirling hot air. I braced myself. The wind whipped around me, then gradually subsided to a pleasant breeze before disappearing altogether.
Silence.
“Is that…it?” I said.
“Hmm. Do you feel anything else? A vibration, perhaps?”
“No.” I glowered in the direction of her voice. “You promised a distract—”
The closet shook. A dull rumble sounded overhead, like a train chugging across the roof. As I looked up, a sudden tremor knocked me off my feet.
A ceiling tile hit my shoulder. Then another. The tiny room creaked and groaned and crackled, walls splitting, chunks of drywall raining down.
“Out, child!” The demi-demon shouted to be heard above the din. “You need to get out!”
I tried to stand, but fell back to all fours. The room kept shaking and creaking, walls groaning as they ripped open. Drywall dust filled my nose and stung my eyes. I crawled blindly, following the demi-demon’s voice as she led me.
I made it out of the closet and into the main room. It was shaking just as much, the floor tiles buckling beneath me. A chunk of falling plaster hit my back. Another the size of a fist glanced off my injured arm, shattering as it hit the floor, bits flying into my mouth.
As I spat out the plaster, I smelled something other than drywall dust. A sweet scent, strangely familiar.
“Faster,” the demi-demon said. “Keep moving.”
As I crawled, the shaking stopped. The groaning stopped. The room went completely silent and still.
I looked around. Dust still filled my eyes, making them water. The floor was carpeted in plaster. The walls were a patchwork of cracks and hanging chunks of drywall.
The room groaned again, softer now, like it was settling, and all that remained was the sweet smell.
The demi-demon kept urging me on. I got to my feet. Outside, I could hear the distant shouts and cries of the Edison Group. Overhead the light flickered like a strobe, throwing the windowless room into darkness.
“You have your distraction,” the demi-demon said. “Now take advantage of it.”
As I stepped toward the door, something brushed my leg. I jumped and looked down. Nothing was there. Another step. Warm fingers stroked my cheek. Hot breath whispered wordlessly in my ear, blowing strands of hair, tickling my neck.
“I-Is that you?” I asked.
“Of course,” said the demi-demon…from across the room.
I looked around. I couldn’t see anything except debris. The light continued to flicker. Distant voices shouted about finding the computer tech.
“Their systems are down,” the demi-demon said. “Perfect. Now go.”
I started forward. At a giggle to my left, I spun. A growl sounded behind me and I spun again.
“The door,” the demi-demon said. “Get to the door.”
A blast of hot air knocked me off my feet, flat onto my back.
A giggle erupted above me. Then a low voice, speaking in a foreign language. I pushed up. Another blast slapped me down. Hot air whirled around, drywall dust flying like a sandstorm, filling my eyes, my nose, my mouth.
I crawled toward the door. The wind buffeted me from all sides. That sweet smell—sickly sweet now—made my stomach churn. Invisible hands stroked my head, my back, my face. Fingers plucked my shirt, pulled my hair, pinched my arms. Voices whispered and growled and shrieked in my ears. But the only one that mattered was the demi-demon’s, urging me on, guiding me to the door.
My head struck the wall. I patted around until I found the doorknob, pulled myself up, and turned it. Yanked. Turned. Yanked.
“No,” I whispered. “Please, no.”
Seems those electrical failures might not be so convenient after all.
Fingers ran through my hair. Warm breath caressed my cheek. Hot wind whipped around me. The light flickered.
“Sweet child,” a voice whispered.
“What is she?” another asked.
“Necromancer.”
A giggle. “Are you sure?”
“What have they done to her?”
“Something wonderful.”
“Get away from her,” the demi-demon said. “She’s not yours. Shoo. All of you.”
“Wh-what’s going on?” I asked.
“Nothing to worry about, child. It’s simply a bit of fallout from the liberation ritual. There are usually precautions taken against such a thing, but we didn’t have the time. Or the materials.”
“Precautions against what?”
“Well, when you free a demon, you open a…”
“Portal into the demon world?”
“Portal is a strong word. More like a teeny tiny tear.”
The voice continued as we talked. The unseen fingers touched me, poked me.
“These are demons?” I said.
“Hardly,” she said with a sniff. “Minor demonic spirits. Little more than pests.” She raised her voice. “Who are going to be in serious trouble if they don’t heed my commands.”
The spirits hissed and spat and chortled. And stayed where they were.
“Ignore them,” she said. “They can’t do more than touch you, and they can barely do that. Think of them as an infestation of otherworldly insects. Annoying and inconvenient, but hardly dangerous. They can’t manifest in this world without a dead body—”
She stopped short. We both looked at the closet door.
“Quickly,” she said. “Send me back to that guard. If his corpse is occupied, they can’t—”
A thump sounded from the closet. Then a low hiss. I spun and yanked on the exit door. Growls erupted from the closet. As I whaled on the door, I heard a scratching, like nails scraping wood. The click of a knob. The squeak of the door hinges. I spun toward the closet. The lights went out.