I used the last of the gasoline, drawing a line from the the dwindling circle to my left. More tendrils moving and lurching, this time at Evan’s benefit. I let go of the empty can, letting it fall somewhere near the thin trail of fire and burning demon.
Fifteen feet. I staggered forward, nearly losing my balance. I could barely make out the door, had to shut my eyes for terrifying moments when the light began to fade, a cloud passing over the moon, because I couldn’t let the demon in.
Something barred my way. Like an arm in my path, pressing against my chest.
Evan flew close, and jarred it enough for me to slip past.
The head of the demon was drawing closer, shuffling, near-silent, and I heard teeth slam shut.
Evan turned, clearly intent on distracting it.
I caught Evan out of the air. “No.”
Let go. He took another path.
Something told me Evan wouldn’t escape a third time.
I ducked under the next limb to bar my way. Between fatigue and the activity of the demon, the increased shadow closer to the far wall, I felt like it was getting twice as hard with every handful of steps. As I bent low, the stretches of demon nearest to the floor shrunk away at the sudden approach of the light.
I saw one of the demon’s arms that didn’t shrink away.
Dead, severed. It had cut the arm off when it had been snatching up a goblin.
I grabbed it.
As I staggered to an upright position, though, my idiocy became apparent.
My torch hadn’t been made that well.
The wood branch that held the burning coil of gasoline-soaked bandage burned before the bandage did, and the head fell to the ground.
Ten feet to the door.
I kicked the torch’s head. Limbs and body shrunk away, and I broke into a shambling run, off-balance, so slow a person that was walking fast might have outrun me. The torch head bounced off the door, leaving a small, lingering flame.
Evan soared forth, through the gap of the partially open door.
I reached the door and Evan came back inside, forcefully enough to blow it open a fraction. I saw the approaching connection, moved my hand-
Dropped the useless torch-branch and caught him, instead of letting him continue forward, back inside.
We stepped out of the factory. The door banged against the two-by-four that still held it partially open.
I collapsed on the snow. I saw the limb shriveling in the light, and shoved it into the cold snow where the light wouldn’t find it.
Evan settled onto my stomach.
We’d failed.
Only a detached limb to show for it. Three allies gone.
How were we supposed to face down Conquest like this?
5.x (Histories)
The streets were thick with people. Men in bowler hats, with long coats. The streets had both automobiles and horses and carriages. Joseph glanced around, wary of attack from any direction, tales of pickpockets made him anxious. He couldn’t shake the idea that his wallet would disappear at any moment.
“Rest easy,” the man’s companion said. “You have me here.”
“You’re right,” Joseph said.
“Is it worth it, this trip? These extremes?” his companion asked.
“I’m offended that you even have to ask,” Joseph said.
“Hm,” the familiar responded. “Chalk it up to differences in how we look at the world.”
Joseph turned to regard his familiar. The man was dressed as well as anyone else on the street, his hair cut short, neatly parted, a long coat over a suit with a tie, and over-the-ankle boots with slight heels. The only oddity, one that no passerby seemed to take note of, was the face. The familiar’s face appeared to have been carved off and pulled free, only to be haphazardly nailed back into position, with nails all around the edges. The skin hung loose in places, was stretched too tight in others, and he had a permanent leer, exposing perfect white teeth that looked like they had never touched food.
The nameless bogeyman had adopted this new role and familiarhood with a surprising ease. Then again, he was a stealer of faces by trade. An actor. Toronto was very much his sort of city.
A boy in a cap came running down the street, jostling the familiar.
“Careful, my lad,” the bogeyman said, clapping a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the boy said.
Then the boy looked up, and his eyes widened in fear.
The boy was still young enough to be innocent, it seemed.
No matter. The boy was already running away, releasing only a small, incoherent, frightened noise before he was gone from view.
“I’m getting turned around. I’m not used to wrapping my head around this sort of place. Would you find us the way?” Joseph asked. He passed his sheathed knife to his companion.
The face-stealer drew the blade from its ornate sheath, then held out the sheath, arm outstretched.
They passed a gaggle of young women. One glanced at Joseph, then looked away, suddenly shy, demure. No attention paid to the bogeyman with the knife and reaching arm.
The companion found the point where he could balance the sheath on one extended fingertip. A tap of the thumb made it spin.