As the minutes ticked by and Greyson paced the roof alone, he became more and more convinced that Ember wasn’t coming back. It was something about the way she had refused to meet his gaze when she took Rane. Something about the tension in Rane’s body indicated that she knew it, too. But what choice did they have? The protean sorcerers, maybe dozens of them, howled and screeched through the streets, drawing closer.
With swift strides, he crossed the last few connected roofs to the far end, looking for another way down. The drop down to the street was too far to even consider jumping.
But there was a shorter addition tacked onto the back of the building across the alley. Its roof sloped down past a single window. If he took a running leap and was incredibly lucky, he could land on the addition, kick that window in, and get inside. If he did that, he could try to find another way out to the street.
But what then? Where was Hellbringer?
He reached out with his mind, searching for the speed demon that was so closely bound to him. He could feel the car’s presence lurking out there, somewhere. He couldn’t communicate with Hellbringer directly, yet the demon car lingered just beneath his thoughts, like an almost remembered nightmare.
Hellbringer wasn’t human, but an immortal being. It thrived on speed and destruction, and it was happiest—if that could be the right way to describe it—when it was free to trample everything in its path. The only thing it hated more than rival speed demons was being trapped. And right now, Greyson got the distinct impression that Hellbringer was stuck somewhere nearby, unable to move. The speed demon’s enraged frustration rang around the inside of his skull like a wordless shout, with no way to let it out.
Greyson leaned over the edge of the roof. As sunset crept in, the street below was swallowed by shadow. The blue-tinged darkness ate away at the fiery rays that still illuminated the lifeless buildings. The broken plate glass windows across the street gaped like an open mouth, and from within came the echoes of Hellbringer’s revving engine, combined with the zipper-like sound of tires spinning just a hairsbreadth away from full contact with the ground. So Hellbringer was stuck in there somehow, unable to escape. If he wanted to get out of this town alive, he would have to get the demon car loose.
He crossed the roof again and peered down at the roof of the rickety-looking addition across the alley. If he misjudged the distance, or hit the sloping roof at the wrong angle and slid off, he could die. If it was rotted out and gave way beneath him, he could die. Or if he stayed here and let the protean sorcerers catch up to him, he could die that way, too.
At least he could narrow it down to two out of three. He wouldn’t stay here and wait.
He gauged the jump as best as he could, then backed up, took a deep breath, and charged. As he raced toward the edge of the roof, he fought down the natural instinct to draw up short at the last second, knowing that it was too late to stop his momentum now. Instead, he pressed ahead, arms swinging, boots pounding the flat asphalt roof.
He reached the edge and leaped. Immediately, his stomach dropped out beneath him. The dirty alley below rushed up toward him. For a split second, he was sure he had made a terrible mistake.
Then he hit the sloping roof of the addition, hard enough that the toes of his boots punched through the sun-warped shingles. He started to slide and just barely caught himself on the edge of the window. With two swift kicks, he knocked in the metal screen and the dirty pane of glass.
Climbing inside, he found himself in darkness, but his demonic eyes allowed him to see. Giant rolls of dust-covered fabric, each the size of a person, hung suspended from the bare timbers of the ceiling. He ignored the itchy tickle in his nose and squeezed past them to reach a doorway, then crept through a larger room filled with furniture in all stages of disassembly and repair. Hand tools and rolls of fabric were set everywhere, as if all of the workers had gone on lunch break and never returned.
In the back of the room, a table was covered with maps and stacks of flyers, along with all of the materials for making protest signs: giant sheets of card stock, thin strips of lumber, hammers and nails, a mechanical staple gun, a few thin paintbrushes, and small cans of paint.
Hand-lettered signs leaned against the back wall, screaming with the echoes of long-dead outrage:
KILL NATURE for GA$ RICHE$?
No CONTAMINATION without REPRESENTATION
Soon YOU Will Radiate, Baby!
No NUKES! Radioactivity KILLS
Gov’t “Plowshare”: Planting the Seeds of DOOMSDAY
That last sign made Greyson stop in his tracks. He crossed over and picked up the dusty old sign. The wooden handle was dry and raw in his hand. The card stock rustled.
The word “Doomsday” was written in red paint, and the letters had dripped slightly, making them look like dried blood. Whatever these people had been protesting, they had a point. But they had failed. Some kind of catastrophe had irradiated this town, leaving it barren and empty.
As motes of dust drifted off the sign and swirled through the air, Greyson was acutely aware that everything in here was radioactive, even the dust. And he no longer had the protection of Dru’s crystal.
Carefully, he set down the sign and wiped off his hands. Could this be where doomsday had actually begun? Could the disaster in this town have been the catalyst that led to everything that followed? The Harbingers, the group of evil sorcerers that created Hellbringer and broke the first seals on the apocalypse scroll, had originally been some kind of radical protest group. Dru had uncovered their manifesto at one point. Could the Harbingers have been formed here, in this nameless ghost town?
No matter what the truth was, he had to find Dru and the others, fast. He located a creaky wooden staircase and quickly descended to the ground floor. The hinges of the exterior door creaked as he eased it open. It let out into the alley he had just jumped across.
The teeth-aching whine of Soulbreaker’s supercharged engine filled the street as the red demon car prowled past, hunting for him. Its headlights clicked on in the approaching dusk, bathing the street in twin cones of bluish light.
He could try to dominate Soulbreaker again, command it to back off. But when he had done that before, he had obviously caught the demon car off guard. He didn’t know if the same trick would work twice, and he had no intention of finding out the hard way if it didn’t.
Heart pounding, Greyson waited until Soulbreaker had turned the corner. Then, hoping he wouldn’t be spotted, he sprinted across the street toward the broken shop windows. Even before he got there, he could see the red glow of Hellbringer’s red taillights, pierced by the small white backup lights mounted beneath its rear bumper.
Inside the smashed plate glass windows was a small-town bar, which apparently Hellbringer had crashed into after losing the fight with Soulbreaker. The middle of the room was utterly destroyed, but the periphery was oddly untouched. Stacks of dusty glasses stood behind the bar, beneath cloudy stem glasses hanging upside down. A wide mirror covered the back wall, reflecting the angular shape of Hellbringer’s long black body and tall tail wing. The nose of the car had stopped just a few feet short of demolishing the bar.
The remains of broken wooden tables and stools, splintered from the crash, lay crushed beneath Hellbringer’s bulk, piled high enough to prop the car’s back wheels a fraction of an inch above the floor. It wasn’t much of a difference, but it was enough to immobilize the demon car, much to its obvious frustration.
Hellbringer revved its massive Hemi engine, making the rear tires spin just above the scratched wooden floorboards. The air was thick with the nostril-burning smell of smashed liquor bottles and exhaust fumes as Hellbringer struggled to free itself.
“Hitting the bar early, buddy?” Greyson said, rounding the car’s pointed nose. “Need me to call you a cab?”
With a grinding clunk, Hellbringer’s headlights slowly rose up from the sharp nose cone. They stared at him angrily, blinding in their brightness.
“Yeah, it’s been a rough day all around,” Greyson muttered. He bent down low and braced himself against the front of the car. “Ready?”
The engine revved again.
Greyson pushed. The car didn’t budge. He let go and worked his shoulders, trying to loosen them up.
The engine barked at him, and the exhaust growled.
“Just hold your horses. We’ll get this.” Greyson planted his hands against the black metal, fingers spread wide, and pushed until it hurt. He strained until the muscles in his arms shook and his vision narrowed to pinpoints. It still wasn’t enough. The car rocked slightly but didn’t break loose.
With a gasp, he let go. He straightened up, breathing hard and sweating, and cast a speculative glance at the bar, wondering if there was still anything back there worth drinking. But there was no time for that. Dru was missing. Ember had taken her and Rane who knew where. Soulbreaker could circle back around any minute, and they were sitting ducks here.
“Tools.” Greyson slapped Hellbringer’s trunk. “Open up.”
From the trunk, he got out the old-fashioned bumper jack. Less than a minute later, he had ratcheted the demon car up into the air, kicked the debris out from under it, and dropped it back to the ground.
Greyson got in, and the driver’s seat fit him like a glove. He backed Hellbringer out of the bar and into the middle of the street, alert for the first sign of Soulbreaker, protean sorcerers, or any other dangers. Nothing moved.
He eased off the clutch and fed the gas pedal. With the Hemi roaring under the hood, they charged down the street.
Free once more, Hellbringer charges after his hated enemy. He recognizes the scent of the other speed demon, and the trail burns like fire in his mind. He stretches his spell-enhanced senses across this dead town, mapping the swiftest route.
His exhaust growls with menace. He will hunt down Soulbreaker and sate his bloodlust once and for all.
“Easy, buddy,” his driver says. “Forget the other car. Where’s Dru? We need to find her.”
She is a pinpoint of pure sparkling energy at the edges of Hellbringer’s vision, off on the horizon outside town. He ignores her. His thirst for vengeance narrows his senses to Soulbreaker, who is only a few blocks away and heading the other direction. It will be easy to come up behind and catch him unawares. . . .
“No.” His driver interrupts his plans with a firm order: “FIND DRU.”
Every bit of Hellbringer wants to resist, but he can’t. With a growl, he obeys and heads toward the dirt road leading out of town.
At the next empty intersection, Hellbringer jerked the wheel from Greyson’s grip and turned left. The engine throttled up, pushing Greyson back in the seat.
As they flew through the town at breakneck speed, he spotted debris lying in the street ahead, beneath a sign for a hardware and paint store. A hole gaped in the building’s brick wall, making the place look like it had been bombed. Greyson slowed them down slightly, watching for danger.
Just then, Salem came hurtling out of the hole as if he’d been kicked. His black silk hat sailed off the top of his head from the force of the blow, and his long hair flew out around him. As he hit the ground, a giant brown-and-black tarantula charged out of the hole, thick fangs twitching as it pounced on him.
Greyson had only a fraction of a second to react. Eyeballing the distance to Salem’s slim body, he swung the wheel and brought Hellbringer dangerously close. The passenger side would pass only inches away from the legs of the hideous tarantula pinning Salem down.
“DOOR!” Greyson commanded Hellbringer.
The speed demon obediently swung open its long black passenger door, letting in a blast of wind and the rush of road noise. The giant spider tensed, as if sensing their approach, but didn’t get out of the way fast enough. The long door swatted it with a putrid crunching sound, not all that different from cracking into a large crab leg.
The impact slammed the door hard enough to make Greyson’s eardrums pop. He worked the pedals and emergency brake as he spun the wheel, forcing Hellbringer into a gut-clenching turn. The rear tires howled in protest, spinning out clouds of white smoke as they slewed around to face the spider again.
Greyson was ready to run the thing down if need be, but it tumbled away across the road, its shaggy legs tucked tight around its body, and lay still. Greyson goosed the gas and rolled up next to Salem, cranking down his window as he approached.
Rane limped out through the hole in the brick wall, her body made of shimmering metal now gashed with scratches. Deep claw marks gouged one leg, and her face was twisted in pain. She carried Ember, who lay bloody and limp in her arms, black coat tattered and shredded. “Dude, Ember got her ass kicked. You get any spider drool on you?”
Salem sat up, dazed, and quickly patted down his chest as if looking for fang holes. He peered up at Greyson with sheer astonishment, which was quickly buried under a flicker of contempt, and then his expression transformed into quiet awe, as if he saw something in Greyson he couldn’t even begin to fathom.
Greyson nodded. “Need a lift?”