Seduced by Crimson (26 page)

Until a monk falls on top of her. She crashes forward, pressed hard into the ground, and she must break her concentration or breathe dirt. Then she begins to notice other things. She knows there are demons everywhere. She watches in stunned horror as one uses a short curved sword and slices Brother Kiman's head right off his shoulders. The gory object lands on the ground with a dull thud, then is kicked aside as the demon steps forward to kill again.

There is noise behind her. Xiao Fei turns in slow degrees, but she is restricted by the weight pinning her. She struggles, pushing ineffectively at it. She focuses on the open, lifeless eyes of Brother Solvann. He is the one weighing her down. He is the monk who played ball games with her and loved to braid her hair. His blood is thick and sticky on her belly.

She has lost all connection with the chanting. She looks to the abbot for help. She doesn't act with intention; she simply hears his bellow and responds as she was trained. She looks up to see him face the pink-eyed demon. In a country of dark hair and dark eyes, those irises frighten.

She barely notices the amulet clutched in demon's hand, but the abbot sees it and attacks with enough speed to stun. He uses a sharpened ax to chop off the pink-eyed one's hand, amulet and all. Then he buries his sharp blade through the center of the jewel. Xiao Fei sees it happen because the hand and amulet rest on a thick root of the ugly tree—and when the blade lands, she sees it severs fingers and metal, all the way through the gnarled root.

The tree won't live through that, she thinks, and neither does the abbot. The pink-eyed demon uses his remaining arm to punch straight through the cleric's chest.

The adult Xiao Fei screams. She's buried in bloody mud and she is screaming until her head bursts, but not the eight-year-old. Young Xiao Fei's head is swelling. Her body is bloating like a waterskin. She doesn't understand, and can't think through it.

Stop!

That is the word that soars through her spirit and shapes the power in the air. There are other words too, thoughts and shapes that she can't identify.

Stop! Stop! Stop!

Demons roar. Monks scream. The Phoenix Tears die.

The power is too much. She curls into herself and dies, too.

"Xiao Fei! It's a dream! Xiao Fei!"

She can't move. She can't breathe. She's dead. She knows it. She's dead.

"Wake up! Xiao Fei!"

She feels his hands on her shoulders, the press of his body against hers. She knows her mouth is open in a silent scream. It is always silent; the sound is never released. That's because she is dead, buried in the blood and the mud and the bodies.

She's dead. She can't wake. Except, she does.

"Xiao Fei!"

Her eyes fly open and a vision floods her swollen mind. Patrick, his blond hair shoved up on one side and flattened on the other. Patrick, with his golden tan and rich green eyes. Patrick, with a voice that booms like thunder.

"Xiao Fei!"

She can't breathe. She's buried in this black room underground. She can't think. She can't live. She has to get outside.

She shoves Patrick away, but he won't move. He's just like the other bodies—a heavy weight suffocating her.
Move
!

She shoves as hard as she can and he tumbles backward.

"Xiao Fei! Stop!"

They're chasing her. The bad ones.
Demons! Run
!

She hauls open the door but doesn't know where she is. At least there's some light, but it's not the moon; it's not the sun. She still can't breathe!

Someone is coming down the hall. Some part of her brain recognizes what he is: a werewolf. She draws back in alarm, but then reason kicks in, albeit sluggishly. Werewolves aren't the danger, demons are. She hesitates.

Boom
! The dull sound trembles in the air, echoes in the stone walls.
Boom
!

She cowers.
Hide! Run! Outside
! The different urges clamor in her brain and freeze her muscles. A man comes up behind her and she pivots, hands raised to attack. He holds up fabric—clothing?—and talks to her, but she can't understand his words.

The werewolf speaks in words she understands. "This way. Outside."

The sounds of righting continues. It lives in these tunnel walls. It surrounds her as she runs after the werewolf. She keeps her head low and her hands clutched over her ears.
Hide. Run. Outside. Away
.

Patrick is following her, and she cringes from him even as part of her mind wants his companionship. He is both pursuer and safety to her, part of the ugliness that was and is, and the wonder that could be. It makes no sense, and so she runs from him, but not so fast that he cannot follow.

"Up here."

The werewolf climbs up a ladder, punches buttons on an electronic keypad, then shoves off a manhole cover. Xiao Fei can smell the air, the tang of exhaust, the whisper of mist, and the brutal scent of sweat. But it is fresher up there than down here, so she scrambles up the ladder. Then she is outside.

Weak dawn. She can breathe. She closes her eyes and focuses on just that fact. She can breathe.

Then Patrick is beside her, pulling clothes over her head, coaxing her into pants. She does not fight him now. She is beginning to think again, beginning to separate dream from reality. He is real. The demon, the monks, and the deaths were a dream.

She zips her jeans shut. Has she been naked all this time? Behind her she hears the werewolf step around them. Where is he going? She doesn't really care. She is outside again. She can breathe.

"Demons!" the werewolf bellows around the corner. "Look over here! The ones you want are over here. Now leave the rest of us the hell alone!"

From the records of the druids of San Bernardino.

March 7, 1992
—
For health reasons, Draig-Athar relinquished his position. With prayer and blood, he passed the token of power to his son, who has chosen the title Draig-Teine. The proofs of power went according to ritual. The Draig-Teine can indeed wield the token of power. He now bears the burden for all of us
.

Patrick spun around, his mind flailing as he tried to keep up. Xiao Fei had had a nightmare that left her so freaked out that she'd scrambled naked for the front door. She'd followed a grizzled old werewolf up a manhole, outside, to an alleyway somewhere near downtown. The distant sounds of demon rampage weren't so distant up here. In fact, they were downright close, but the alleyway was a deserted dead end, so he took the time to regroup. Or it was more to dress, because, hallelujah, Xiao Fei began to recover once the gray morning light hit her face. She allowed him to put some clothes on her gorgeous body.

But then grizzled old guy betrayed them. Patrick hadn't even realized they were in a trap until he heard the demons roar.

"What the hell?" he sputtered.

"Sorry," the werewolf replied, dashing for the manhole. "We can't hold out against them, not forever. If it's you or us, I pick us." Then he disappeared back into the tunnels.

Patrick ran after him. He made it to the manhole a second after the Judas, but it was too late; the werewolves security coded their entrances, and this one was shut fast. Patrick spun around, too out of breath even to curse effectively. He'd just woken up, for God's sake. And now…

Oh, geez
. Four, no, eight, maybe nine demons were trying to cram themselves into the mouth of the little alleyway. All of them had a sharp weapon of some sort, though no guns. None of them looked particularly friendly, and damn it, none of them was even wounded. These were the bad guys.

The good guys—himself and Xiao Fei—had clothes and that was it. No weapons, no anything—though the amulet still dangled down Patrick's chest. Hell, he wasn't even wearing shoes.

He looked for an escape route as he yanked Xiao Fei behind him. There were three huge Dumpsters a couple yards away, two of which were painted green for recycling. Apparently they were on the garbage side of a large copy store. Behind him was a brick wall, probably the side of a condo complex, if he had to guess. It was completely useless for his purposes; there wasn't even a fire escape. And in the back… more brick. The condos apparently took a right turn and butted up against the copy shop. In short…

"Trapped," Xiao Fei muttered.

"Yeah," he agreed, though he was relieved to hear full lucidity in her voice. At least they would die fully aware.

Think
! he ordered himself. "They don't know who we are…" he began.

"They do," she rebutted, her voice grim. Damn, she sounded fatalistic, as if she'd already accepted the outcome.

"They can't—," he said.

"They know. And if they didn't, your amulet isn't exactly subtle."

Patrick glanced down, cursing himself for not putting on a shirt. All he'd had time to do was grab his pants and bag, then dash out after Xiao Fei. She was lucky he'd remembered her clothes.

His cell phone went off. Out of the tunnels, he had reception again and a dozen messages, probably all from Peter. Unfortunately the electronic noise was like a signal to the demons; they surged forward as one, their battle cry filling the air.

Patrick tensed, then did the only thing he could do: he grabbed Xiao Fei and threw her between two of the Dumpsters. Then he dove into the tiny space that was left. At a minimum, this would reduce the number of demons that could come at him at once. If he was really lucky, he'd find an Uzi in the trash.

No such luck. The demons charged with all the coordination of a ravaging horde—a really-skillful-with-a-sword ravaging horde. Their wicked blades cut through the air, and Patrick could hear the singing metal. Still, he wasn't sliced or diced. He flexed his muscles and prepared to fight.

He maneuvered as best he could in the narrow space, trying to get into a good position. For the moment, the demons were hampering one another. In fact, one demon howled as he received the brunt of another's attack. Patrick watched in pleased amusement as the two monsters clearly lost their tempers and started attacking each other.

Which gave him a moment to think. Adrenaline worked just as well as coffee.
Think
!