He cast a contemptuous glare at me, and I swore I saw uncertainty hiding just below the surface. “My soldiers do not possess a human’s free will to choose. It’s something your people stupidly take for granted as you live your meager lives. I can’t manufacture it, but I can steal it and bind this Tainted with it.”
I finally got it. Amalie had said the Tainted were beings of pure emotion and instinct, unable to make moral choices. They simply acted. Humans, on the other hand, had been making moral choices ever since Eve supposedly bit into that damned apple. Free will was Tovin’s apple, and owning Wyatt’s was his guarantee of control. So how—?
“You won’t be as easy to manipulate as one whose free will I own,” Tovin continued, turning back to his bubbling pool, “but the Tainted’s crossing cannot be stopped, and your body will have to do.”
My stomach knotted. Oh hell no. He was not putting a demon into me. I struggled in vain against my barrier, fear bordering on panic.
The boiling water began to swirl, until its entire surface was a maddening whirlpool. Energy snapped and spit in our underground dungeon. The candle flames flickered, but the air remained completely still. Tovin recited words in a language I didn’t know. He was doing it—bringing a Tainted across the Break. Turning a demon loose on me and the rest of the unsuspecting world.
Blackness rose up from the center of the whirling vortex, like a jet of ink through water. It hovered several feet above, a shapeless web of pitch no larger than a volleyball. Tovin’s mouth kept moving, speaking words unheard above the screaming in my head. He swept his hand out, indicating me. The black blob shuddered, and I swear it looked right at me. Then it floated forward.
No!
I reached for the threads of the Break, so faint behind the wall of magic holding me down. I caught it and pulled, fixated quickly on loss and loneliness, and then I was moving. Every fiber of my existence felt pulled part, vibrated, stretched to the point of shattering. I shrieked, hoping only for a destination far from here and the demon intent on possessing me.
My face hit dirt first, and I tumbled to the ground in a shuddering heap. Tovin snarled, an angry sound more befitting a wild dog than a revered—and slightly insane—elf mystic. I rolled onto my left side in time to see the black blob slam into Tovin’s midsection and disappear. He froze in place, his aged face a contortion of anger and confusion. And pain.
I sat up and blinked hard in the dim light, positive he had grown a few inches in the last five seconds. It didn’t seem possible, but it was happening.
To the tune of strangely melodic screaming, his entire body expanded to the bulk of a professional wrestler—height and weight and expanse of muscle. The short, white hair that had crowned his head fell out, revealing bald, oily skin. His complexion darkened to a slick violet, not quite dark enough to be purple. Fingernails grew and sharpened. Incisors dropped down over his lower lip. Anything once elvin about him was gone, save his eyes.
Something else leered at me from across the half-moon room. Something evil.
“What the hell are you?” I asked, standing with caution, fear choking the words.
“The thing you mistakenly call a demon, girl.” Its voice was impossibly deep and completely inhuman. “We are older than the Earth, part of Her long before your wretched kind crawled from Her womb.”
“The Tainted.”
His laughter was a thunderclap. It vibrated the floor and sent bits of the ceiling trickling down. “We have many names. We are Legion. We are the Horsemen. We are the Titans. We are the Maladies. We are myth and legend and story. We are Hell, girl, and we’re coming home.”
“Over my dead body.”
“Your dead body is what this elf once desired, but his plans to control us are as lifeless as he. This body suits me. I taste freedom for the first time in millennia, and I will not leave my family imprisoned on the other side of the Break—not when life on Earth is so much sweeter.”
A crazy noble idea coming from a … well, whatever he was. It was time for this demon, Old One, Titan, or just plain Crazy Ugly Thing to go back across the Break to Hell. For me, for Wyatt, for Alex, and for everyone else who’d died along the way.
“I have to admit, demon, that Tovin had a good plan.” My fingers flexed around the knife’s hilt. I didn’t have to reach far to feel the Break’s power and grasp it. “But he didn’t count on one thing.”
His bushy eyebrows arched. “And what is that, girl?”
“Me.”
The teleport destination was so close that the blur, ache, and swish seemed to happen instantaneously—from across the room to right in front of him in a blink. I plunged the knife into his chest—given his great height, it was nearly his abdomen—and twisted. He roared and the thunderous sound shook the room.
I was flying through the air and hit the opposite wall before I registered the blow. My head cracked against the rough dirt. I tumbled to the floor, bright stars of color bursting in my vision, and came to rest on my side, too stunned to move. I heard the knife clatter. Shambling footsteps. A shadow fell across me. Shit.
Meaty hands closed around my throat, hauled me up by my neck, and slammed me against the wall. My sore back protested. Oxygen rushed from my lungs. My feet kicked a foot above the floor, unable to find purchase. He squeezed. I raised my knee and hit nothing but rock-hard muscle. Slowly, painfully, he was choking me to death. Blood rushed to my head. Dizziness spread. My eyes seemed to bulge, threatening to pop out of their sockets.
His leering face was close to mine. His hot breath stank of rot and death. Lust gleamed in his eyes and pulled his pale lips into a taunting snarl. “I’ll put my wife into you, girl,” he growled. “I look forward to getting to know her again.”
Rage jolted through me. Drawing on the last of my energy, the last of the Break’s spark, I concentrated on the far side of the room, by one of the crates …
… and found myself lying there, gasping for air, sucking oxygen greedily down a bruised and battered throat to the tune of an elf-demon hybrid’s angry snarls. It was a small victory. He’d be on me again in moments. My head spun and ached. My body felt like liquid. I had nothing left with which to fight him.
I watched him come with black blood oozing down his chest, each footstep falling like an anvil. A thudding pattern interrupted by the unexpected—and wonderful—sound of an ammunition clip snapping into place. He stopped, and his oily head snapped toward the dugout room’s only entrance.
A gun roared. The Tainted took a frag round in the center of his forehead. Bone cracked and splintered, and meat shredded. A second shot followed the first, and the back of his head exploded, coating the floor with black and pink gore. I gaped. He continued to stand, a thin trickle of blood dancing down the bridge of his angled nose. Eyes wide, lips parted, stunned.
A third shot caught him in the throat, followed immediately by a fourth that destroyed his neck and severed his head. Body and head dropped to the ground and hit with a sound like spaghetti plopping to a plate—wet and soft and disgusting.
Thank God for the Triads; they’d finally found their way down.
As I gaped, all of the blackness in the dead thing’s blood and body seemed to melt together in a single puddle by its severed neck. As it left, Tovin’s body returned to normal—shrinking and regaining actual color, until all signs of the Tainted were gone.
The black puddle shuddered and swirled like a beached jellyfish, stunned, but far from finished. Right where I never imagined it would be. I fished out the pouch containing Amalie’s spell, loosened the drawstring, and spilled the contents over the squirming Tainted.