I walk towards the esplanade, sweat cooling on my skin. I should go home and shower, but I’m just as likely to run into Rafa or Daisy or anyone else I’m not ready to face. I have to work out how to wear my old life. I’ve been someone else for a whole year; I’m a different shape now.
I take the stairs to the boardwalk opposite the Pan Beach library and gallery. The glass catches the morning light and turns the façade golden. A flock of lorikeets fuss and squawk on the rooftop. The parrots are obsessed with the gleaming arc of sea green that dominates the gallery roofline: a sculpted wave that’s become Pan Beach’s most controversial piece of public art. Half the locals don’t think it’s art; the other half do, and hate the fact it’s always covered in bird shit.
Next door, the tables at the Green Bean are already filling up on the footpath. I head for the library.
I sense it as soon as I step through the automatic doors. The stacks crammed with books; the quiet hum of air conditioning; the smell of freshly ground coffee from the Green Bean. It feels like home—as much as the smell of leather and sweat in the gym at the Sanctuary ever did.
Jane, our head librarian, is at the service counter with her back to me, searching the reserved shelves. What day is it? If it’s Monday, I’m supposed to be working. I look around for Gaz, spot his dyed black hair and army fatigue t-shirt through a gap in the shelves. He might be lazy but he’s covered my shift without me asking. And it’s not the first time he’s done it in the past week.
I duck behind the Firefly display I set up a fortnight ago—comics, posters, small-scale replica of Serenity, a mannequin in a brown coat—and go upstairs to the gallery. Jacques’ freaky installation pieces dominate the space. It feels like forever since I interviewed him downstairs, but it’s only been nine days.
Nine days. My world has tilted dangerously on its axis since then. I don’t even remember what it felt like before Rafa came to town.
I wander over to the wedding dress, meticulously created from blonde hair and nail clippings painted a pearlescent white. From memory, the piece has dead skin woven through it too. Lovely.
I’ve hacked limbs from hellions and beheaded Gatekeeper demons, and Jacques’ collection still makes my skin crawl.
‘This is some weird shit.’
Micah is standing at the top of the stairs studying a birdcage made from tiny braids of human hair. I’m so distracted I didn’t hear him come up. He’s changed into a white t-shirt and dark grey boardies. With his broad shoulders, spiky blond hair and chilled vibe, he more than any of us could pass as a local surfer.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asks. ‘Did you forget that your town’s had a sudden influx of agitated Rephaim? You bring us all here and then and you go AWOL—’
‘I needed space.’
‘Interesting timing.’ He glances at a dove made from toenail slivers, shakes his head. ‘Daisy’s in your kitchen sharpening swords and getting twitchier by the minute. You’ve got the redneck brothers champing at the bit to barricade the town and stockpile weapons on the beach, the Outcasts wanting answers about Mya—’
‘I know, Micah.’
I cross the room and open the French doors to the deck. The sea breeze ruffles flyers on the information table. The esplanade hums with cars and cyclists. Beyond the beach, another set of waves rolls in. There are twice as many surfers out there now jostling for position.
Micah’s tennis shoes squeak on the polished wooden floor. ‘Why the urgent need to get away from us?’
‘It’s been a big few days.’ I don’t look at him when I answer. Instead, I watch a couple with ebony skin and fluorescent pink zinc cream weave a tandem bike along the boardwalk.
‘I don’t disagree, but—’ He stops at the sound of boots on the stairs.
It’s Gaz. He grins when he sees me. He’s got at least three more rings in his top lip since last week.
‘Gabzilla, I thought you must have died.’
I laugh. ‘It’s a common mistake.’
He blinks, his smile slightly confused. ‘Yeah, well, you owe me.’ He jerks his thumb in the general direction of the library. ‘I’ve got better things to do than work on a Monday.’
‘You’ll still have plenty of time for wanking when you get home.’
His grin widens and a swathe of dark fringe falls over one eye. ‘You’ve obviously spent a lot of time thinking about what I do when I’m alone. Who’s your mate?’
I introduce Micah as a friend from school. It’s close enough to the truth.
Gaz gives him a once-over. He has to tilt his head back to look Micah in the eye. ‘Seriously, Gabster, do you know any short ugly people?’
‘Just you,’ I say, and he laughs.
‘Burn.’ He punches my arm—light, playful—and moves past me to take up his usual spot on the deck.
Micah raises his eyebrows. ‘Look at you, making new friends.’
Gaz lounges against the folded door, watching two girls in bikinis cross the road to the boardwalk.
‘Don’t you have work to do?’ I prompt.
‘We’ve been open five minutes. Plenty of time.’ He frowns, his attention still outside. ‘Bloody hell, check out that dude. And people call me a freak.’
Gaz points to a short guy with wraparound sunnies and platinum hair. He’s wearing dress pants and a white business shirt, undone at the neck and sleeves rolled up.
But it’s not the out-of-place outfit that’s caught Gaz’s attention: it’s the fact the guy’s head looks too big for his body and when he lifts a hand to shield his eyes, his nails are long and sharp and black as midnight. My scalp tightens.
Immundi.
‘Gabe…’ Micah says.
‘I know.’
Seeing the demon in broad daylight on the esplanade—my esplanade—stirs something dark and violent within me. Gives me a moment of piercing clarity. No matter what else has changed, I’m a warrior. And I’m not allowing filth from the pit to harm anyone in this town. Even Gaz.
I pat his shoulder as I turn away. ‘You’ll never be as freaky as that guy.’
He grins. ‘I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.’
Micah and I take the stairs two at a time. We watch the demon through the glass doors. He’s still on the other side of the road, maybe thinking about crossing. The good news is that he doesn’t have the trademark Immundi blades strapped to his forearms. The bad news is that he’ll have weapons hidden on him somewhere.
‘A reconnaissance trip for Zarael?’ Micah asks.
I nod. ‘Has to be. He won’t risk his own horde, not so soon after last night.’ Not while they’re recovering from seeing Nathaniel’s true form. I have a flash of the Sanctuary: the commissary a ball of fire, a hole ripped in its side from Leon’s rocket launcher.
It’s still a few hours until the sun breaks over the mountains there. The damage will be so much worse in the daylight.
The Immundi turns in our direction but there’s no way he can see us inside with the sun reflecting off the glass.
It’s not the first time the Gatekeepers have used the lower demons to do their dirty work: they used Immundi in LA last week to draw the Outcasts to the club.
But this feels different. If Immundi are playing scout for Zarael, it means they’re involved in more than their usual nastiness. It could mean Zarael is conscripting every kind of pit scum this side of the veil to bring with him to Pan Beach. An army of hell spawn. I steady myself against the glass.
The demon is scanning the beach now, his back to us.
‘How do you want to do this?’ Micah asks.
‘Low key.’
We slip out between the electronic doors and jog across the road. The breeze is warmer now, salty. We’re completely exposed on the street. The bobble-headed demon only has to turn his head and he’ll see us. I check the gallery deck: Gaz is still there, watching. It doesn’t change what we have to do.
The Immundi is six metres away. I glance over at the Green Bean and the row of surfboards lined up against the café wall. Is Rafa in there brooding over an espresso? Micah and I hug the boardwalk railing. A kombi van drives past with its windows down, the John Butler Trio thumping from sub-woofers.
The demon is four metres away. He taps his deadly nails on his thigh, untucks the shirt from his waistband. I wish I had a sword. Two metres. Don’t look this way. Don’t—
The demon turns. Freezes.
I lunge but he skips out of reach, snarling. Slams into a woman in a tie-dyed dress, spins away and sprints onto the road. She drops the bags she’s carrying; cans of baked beans and a loaf of rye bread spill out onto the footpath. I glance back to check she’s okay and then dodge a cyclist and a taxi. Micah is right behind me.
The Immundi weaves around tables outside the Green Bean, his white shirt flapping behind him. He flings an empty wicker chair in our path and I jump over it. I hope Maggie’s mum is preoccupied inside. I hear gasps from a nearby table, a shout for us to stop. I catch a flash of steel before the Immundi ducks into the laneway beside the café.
I know exactly what I need to do.
And the certainty feels good. It feels right.
I sprint into the alley and check Micah is following, shielding me from the road. I slip into the void for a split second and materialise in front of the Immundi, plant my feet, and collect him with a straight-arm to the chest. He slams onto the concrete and his breath comes out in an ugly grunt. I’m on him, trying to pin him down, but he thrashes and gets a hand free. Something catches the sunlight—the glare blinds me for an instant—and I jerk back, feel a blade whisper across my t-shirt. The demon swings again, this time at my face. I catch his wrist and at the same time Micah slides to his knees beside me. He clamps a hand on my shoulder.
‘Go,’ he says. I drag him and the demon out of the alley, into the maelstrom.
I take them deep into the rainforest beyond the town. I’m still straddling the Immundi when we arrive and Micah immediately gives me room. I’m aware of the stillness—no cars, no seagulls, the surf too far away to hear—a second before the dagger comes at me again. I duck sideways and deflect the strike, use the momentum to flip the demon onto his stomach, wrench his arm behind his back. I push his face into the dark soil and dig my thumb into the pressure point on the back of his hand. He yelps and the dagger drops from his fingers. Micah scoops it up. The demon bucks and squirms underneath me but I’ve got him now.
‘Keep that up and the next stop will be the Sanctuary,’ I say, panting. Adrenaline surges through my limbs, singing to me. I feel strong. I am strong. The demon quietens, but tendons strain in his forearm.
Micah crouches near the Immundi, the demon’s dagger swinging loosely between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Why are you here?’
The Immundi bares pointed teeth. He struggles to look up at me, dirt smeared across the lens of his sunglasses. ‘Hordes are coming for you, nephilim filth.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ I press my fingers against the pulse in his wrist. It’s fast, but not erratic. ‘But why are you here?’
His lips stretch into something possibly intended as a smile. ‘To peruse the menu.’
I flick his sunglasses from his face, stare into flat, black irises. ‘Are you alone?’
‘I am legion.’
‘Spare me the fire and brimstone bullshit. Did you come here on your own?’
The demon swallows. ‘There are others.’ The steady beat under his skin stutters, picks up speed. He’s lying. I nod for Micah to hold him while I pat him down.
Micah obliges, all the while watching me, curious. ‘Nice shifting in the alley.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, not meeting his gaze. I find a mobile phone in the demon’s pocket and check recent calls. Nothing today. He hasn’t made contact with anyone. I blow out my breath and sit back on my heels. We can’t let Zarael find out we’re here. It might bring forward his attack plans and we’re nowhere near ready—me least of all.
Micah meets my gaze. ‘What do you want to do with our friend here?’
I reach for the Immundi’s sunglasses and brush off the dirt. Slide them back onto his face. ‘Kill him, I guess.’ But even as I say it, I know that’s not happening. Beating a demon in a fight to the death is one thing. Executing one in my favourite rainforest is quite another. Micah knows it too.
‘I’ll take him to the Sanctuary,’ he says and the Immundi snarls and squirms.
‘You can’t take him inside without Nathaniel’s permission.’
‘This piece of slime is proof Zarael’s coming. Nathaniel can’t turn me away without losing face with the Five. I’ll let Daniel know—’
‘Daniel’s not going to help. You’ve turned your back on him.’
Micah shakes his head, frustrated. ‘I’m going to hand him an Immundi who’s confirmed that a horde of demons is about to attack a town full of humans. Trust me, there’s no grudge in the world big enough to dull Daniel’s interest in that.’
‘And if Nathaniel still says no?’
Micah shrugs, musses the Immundi’s platinum hair. ‘Then I guess I’ll have to stake this one out on the mountains for the wolves.’