Lead Demon

A Timely Lie

“We’re so proud of you,” Mom says, hugging him one last time. They stand outside the dormitory, Dad idling the car in the street. Dad never likes goodbyes; one quick hug had been enough for him. “You’re going to be great.”

Seven takes a deep breath. Tears burn behind his eyes, and he wants so badly to tell her to take him back home, to lie and say he doesn’t want to learn about the Spheres and magic, even though a week ago it was all he could think about. The buildings are too big, the other kids too loud. Home is too far away, and no magic, no power, could be worth this much hurt.

“I love you,” she says. One more hug. He inhales the scent of her, the perfume that lingers against his clothes. She is shaking. She’s trying not to cry. That makes it harder to keep his own emotions in check. It’s always been hard to keep his emotions in check. “I’ll see you soon. Over winter break.”

He tries to stem his tears while she turns and walks back to the car. The dorm-mother shuffles up behind him and puts her hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, son,” she says. “You’ll see her again before you know it.”

He knows it’s a lie.

He knows it’s a lie.

And there’s nothing he can say to bring her back.

“Shut up!” he screamed.

His words ripped through the memory and slammed him—throbbing and raw—back to the battle, back to the roof of the motel and the screams of the monsters now crashing against the shield. He knelt on the ground, hands pressed to his head. The memory pulsed in his ears like a migraine and tears ran down his face like the rain. What the hell was happening? The visions were becoming stronger. Water was gaining control. Sobs welled up in the back of his throat, but a scream from outside the barrier cut them short.

He pushed down the sadness, buried it deep under Earth, forced Water away with a wrench of willpower.

He was in charge. Not the Spheres.

He grabbed his staff from where it had clattered to the ground and pushed himself to standing. Then he reached his senses deep into Earth and pushed the power out.

The ground rippled. Just outside the shield and beyond his comrades, a wave of soil burst up and spilled out, sending Howls and their human slave drivers stumbling. It was a small act of magic, but Earth sapped him fast. Too fast. He leaned heavily against his staff as hunger gnawed at his sSebastianch and his knees shook. If he used much more, he’d drain himself completely.

Lightning flashed down outside the shield like the spears of angry gods, piercing Howls and necromancers and filling his ears with thunder. More fires raged, these spurred by the powers of his friends, flames hungry for undead flesh. The sky swirled faster as great funnel clouds sank from the heavens and roared across the plains. He could feel the power of his comrades, could feel the magic racing through the air as they struggled to hold their ground. It was enough magic to level cities.

The army still came.

He wondered if their power was enough.

Electric-blue cracks spiked along the shield where Howls threw themselves upon it. He gripped his staff tighter. He wanted to be out there. Water wanted to fight. Even now, tired from Earth, he wanted to be close to the blood. More cracks lanced over the shield. He gritted his teeth. If they could just kill off enough before...

Devon gasped.

The shield above them shattered with the sound of breaking glass, blue sparks raining down like snowflakes. Screams pierced the night as the shield collapsed and the hordes of Howls broke through.

“What happened?” Seven yelled. He ran over to Dreya’s side, to where she cradled her unconscious brother. The town around him erupted in flames, the earth shaking with magical tremors. This magic, he knew, wasn’t fighting for his side.

Dreya’s eyes were wide.

“Someone drained him,” she whispered. “He’s been tapped.”

Seven’s thoughts spun with the impossibility. Someone tried to drain his Spheres. Someone tried to turn him into a Howl. That shouldn’t be possible, not from so far away.

Dreya glanced up. Her eyes covered over in shadow. She didn’t flinch when someone screamed below them. The Howls weren’t just coming...they were here.

Power surged and the motel shuddered.

“s**t,” Seven hissed. He ran to the edge and glanced down. Howls filled the streets, swarmed like ants around a person he could only guess was one of his own.

The Hunter’s screams were cut short.

“We have to get out of here,” he yelled.

The motel lurched again, magic laced through its very foundations. Necromancers were trying to raze the whole city. He glanced over to Dreya, who still knelt beside her brother with her hands on his chest.

“Dreya, we can’t stay here.” A wail came from the streets below him. If it was human or undead, he couldn’t tell. “We need an escape route.”

She looked up from her brother; he expected her to wallow, but her gaze was sharp.

“That I can give,” she said. She closed her eyes, and Air blazed in her throat.

Wind tore through the streets. It whipped up rubble and shoved cars, bashed through windows and shattered bones. Seven shielded his eyes as it screamed past him, as the Howls below were swept up and tossed about like crumpled paper, splatting against buildings, crashing through trucks. He didn’t watch for long. He ran over to the twins and pulled Devon to standing. Dreya still channeled Air, still cleared the streets of Howls, but she helped drag Devon toward the fire escape.

It wasn’t any safer down there, but at least they wouldn’t die in a building collapse.

They rushed down the fire escape and into the back alley. The street was clear, wind screaming like a banshee. Seven kept his eyes narrowed, tried to see through the dirt and rain and debris that swarmed around him like wasps. He needed to keep Devon out of harm’s way. If another necromancer came along and tapped him again, he’d die. Or worse, he’d become a Howl. Seven couldn’t let that happen. He needed to get them someplace safe. But where in this hell could be considered safe?