“So, tell me,” I said, desperation creeping into my hushed voice.
“I’m terrified you’ll hate me, even though I deserve it. But I—”
“Is this a private party?” Travis called, interrupting us with an exuberantly cheerful voice.
“Great timing, Travis,” Logan hissed, dropping his forehead to my shoulder before releasing my hands, turning to glare at our towheaded dead friend as he sauntered down the aisle, dragging along a reluctant Dottie.
“We’re interrupting them,” she loudly whispered, pulling Travis back a few feet.
“Can you give us a minute?” I asked as Travis grinned devilishly at Dottie, knowing exactly what he was doing.
“Come on, they’re always interrupting us,” Travis replied, dragging her back and wrapping his arms around her. “Payback’s a bitch.”
“So am I if you don’t give us some space, Travis,” I retorted, darting my eyes to Logan. His face was guarded—whatever he was about to tell me now locked away beneath his steely expression.
“Oh, please, like you guys aren’t going to go up to your roof and have tons of alone time all weekend,” Travis said as Dottie stared at the stage in awe.
“This is so romantic,” she cooed, clasping her hands together.
“It was romantic,” I muttered, resentful that the moment had passed—and Logan was clearly not about to open up to me with an audience. He stood there with his arms folded, the muscle in his jaw twitching as whatever he’d been about to tell me churned behind his stormy eyes. Dottie frowned, and I noticed that she was slightly transparent—giving me a first-class ticket for a guilt trip.
“Dots, you don’t have to leave,” I said apologetically. It’s not like she’d known Logan and I were about to have a breakthrough before stupid Travis barged in. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” she replied faintly, her voice slightly panicked.
I looked up at Logan in terror, and he quickly pushed me behind him, withdrawing his sword as he assumed an aggressive stance.
“Is it Aiden?” I whispered, gripping on to the back of Logan’s shirt as Travis and Dottie disappeared entirely.
And then everything in the auditorium went black.
Chapter 12
ADRENALINE FLOODED MY veins, a sickening tension chilling my body as I grabbed the back of Logan’s shirt more tightly, needing to stay connected to him in the darkness. He spoke quickly, repeating “Luserna Illuminabit” in that unfamiliar language. His voice was confident and strong—reassuring me in the darkness. If he was afraid, he was hiding it expertly.
Brilliant flashes streaked over our heads, summoned by Logan’s spell. They spun in tight whirlpools, quickly taking the form of dusky orbs of light that hovered in the air, illuminating the auditorium in an eerie, acidic yellow glow.
Something darted through the seats in the darkened rear of the auditorium, a shadowy alcove underneath the balcony. I stepped back, dropping my hold on Logan’s shirt to draw my sword, holding it in the defensive stance I’d tried to perfect over the past month.
“Just stay behind me,” Logan said, one arm outstretched to the side as a barrier to protect me. Those words bounced around in my head—the very same words that Travis had spoken before Blaise killed him.
I took a deep breath, gripping the handle of my sword more tightly as I tried to steady my trembling hands. Logan isn’t Travis. He’s killed hundreds of demons.
A sudden cracking sound broke the silence, with sharp, rapid pops and snaps echoing through the empty auditorium. One of the seats came flying down the main aisle, shattering into splinters of wood and twisted metal joints.
A seat that until now had been bolted to the floor.
Another seat followed it, and I heard a deep, feral grunt from the back of the auditorium, as a hulking figure lumbered out of the shadows.
Even if you didn’t know he was a demon, you’d cross the street when you saw him coming. He looked like a cage fighter, close-cropped hair capping off a mass of solid muscle. A leather patch covered his left eye, and a long, puckered red scar pulled at the skin of his cheek. Where Aiden was lean and graceful, this demon was stocky, a mountain of muscle that tested the limits of the thin, yellowed T-shirt and holey jeans straining to cover him. His hands were clenched into fists as he strode purposefully down the aisle, his massive chest heaving as he turned to grab another seat. In one swift move, he slammed his hands down, smashing the seat to pieces before ripping the base from the ground and hurling it toward the stage. I let out a strangulated cry, and Logan’s arm reached back to me, his hand curling around my hip as he gently shoved me back behind him.
“Remember when I said only three demons have gotten away?” Logan whispered. “This is one of them.”
He gave my hip a reassuring squeeze before walking forward. “You still have quite a few anger issues there, Bor,” Logan called to the demon calmly, spinning his sword the way someone might casually swing an umbrella or a cane.
“How long ago did I take your eye? I was what, thirteen? I wasn’t even that good back then,” Logan said, laughing—as Bor let out another grunt, his body appearing to vibrate with hostility and anger.
“Rage demon,” Logan whispered in a clipped tone. “Do not step foot off this stage until I tell you to run. Go home. Don’t go backstage—stay visible.”
“What about you?”
I heard his faint yet frustrated sigh.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll meet you. Midnight, your roof.”
With that, Logan ran and leaped off the stage, landing in a crouching position a mere few feet in front of Bor.
“I can smell you from here, Bor.” Logan laughed harshly as he stood before the hulking demon. “What’s wrong—can’t find the soap with only one eye?”
Bor unleashed another loud, inhuman roar, his jaw seeming to unhinge with the force of his howl, and he effortlessly ripped out another chair, sending bolts scattering as he raised it over his head and rushed at Logan, bringing the heavy wood crashing down. A cry stuck in my throat as Logan ducked to the side mere seconds before the chair exploded in a burst of shattered wood and twisted metal—right where he’d been standing. My eyes finally found Logan, balanced on top of a nearby aisle seat, one foot on the armrest and the other on the back of the chair.
“Your aim sucks. Try to get me, cyclops,” he taunted, crooking his finger in Bor’s direction. The demon rushed toward Logan, who deftly ran across the row of armrests, luring the demon farther away from me.
“I’m right here,” Logan called in a singsong voice to Bor, whose bulky size was too great for the narrow aisles. The demon brought his massive fists down on the chairs, smashing them as he cleared a path to chase after Logan. A trail of splinters and debris followed Logan, who was in full über-confident demonslayer mode. He kept turning around and provoking Bor, making sure the rage demon was following him.
“C’mon, stinky. I’m right here,” Logan called, ducking as Bor flung a broken piece of wood at him.
My hands began to cramp as I clenched my sword, desperately praying that Logan didn’t stumble as he precariously balanced on the thin slivers of wood. One fall was all it would take for him to lose momentum, for the rage demon to catch up to him.
Bor lurched forward, his meaty arms swinging out to grab Logan, who launched himself off the last chair, coming to face Bor with his sword drawn and raised.
“Paige, now!” Logan shouted, and I jumped off the stage, running to the exit, sword in hand. I heard a series of grunts and cast one quick look back, seeing Logan’s sword splashed with dark blood, the front of Bor’s shirt slashed and stained brown. And then I slammed into something hard.