Chapter 102

Lucille cringed when the Demon Prince yet again snapped the prone body of a mottled tree branch under his feet, the echo of the noise bouncing off the white barks as they paused to peer at the darkness.

“You dimwit!” “Why don’t I just give you a blaring horn so you can toot my eulogy on our way out?” Lucille whispered harshly, spinning to face the smug-looking man who was raking his hands across his dark mane of hair as though posing for the paparazzi of morose-looking birch trees while Benedict covered his rougeish smile with the back of his hand.

She narrowed her eyes at the werewolf, who pretended to be running his hands through the smooth bark in concentration.

Demons and their vanity! Lucille thought blithely. She wondered briefly, not for the first time, if she should have saved some of her blessed water and used it on Damon instead.

Lucille shook herself. Damon was not the enemy; she’d heard him staggering behind her when he thought she’d been distracted. She could tell the fight had taken a toll on him; the gash in his midsection had stopped healing, and there was the telltale winding of black veins shooting up his arms like roots from the soul poisoning of a vampire’s bite.

“Reign your hee-haws, Gingerbread; I know a way out.” The werewolf sighed, straightening the linen-covered mass of his strumhound back as Lucille stopped short, unsure whether to be thankful or smack the beefcake of a man palm up the back of his head.

“Ugh, where the fuck are we?” “This is some alternate dimension type shit.” Damon gagged, swiping the milky goo from his cheeks with a gummy pop as Lucille cursed up a storm behind him.

“Not quite; we’re in the underbelly of the crawlers.” Benedict whispered, raising the heavy curtain of a willow tree branch that had been covering the wooden bridge that was swaying lightly in the fog.

“No way in Armagetton’s blackest ravine am I wading through that!” Lucille gasped, pushing the red frills of her hair out of her face as she peered into the gully over the mouth of the bridge, where the cliff they’d been standing on ended.

“You don’t look that bad to me.” Damon sniffed, poking the frayed rope rail that came away in little threads when he brought his fingers to his face, just as a twig snapped behind them and the trio whipped their necks in the direction.

Lucille’s breath came as she gulped reflexively; the hair standing on the back of her neck had frozen off and fallen in ashes to the leafy forest floor.

She knew they could see better than she could; whatever they had seen had Damon looking back sharply as the werewolf held on firmly to the wooden floor of the rope bridge for him to cross.

“Come on!” “We don’t have choices or time, Gingerbread!” Benedict yelled, grunting as he roped in more of the wooden beams that had already begun creaking.

“Here goes,” Lucille murmured, sheathing her sword, her good fingers crossed beside her as she planted a shaky step on the bridge, letting out a scream when it tilted dangerously to one side, the rough knot of the rope burning her palm as she grabbed on to it.

Open-sesame baby Saint grinned in the girl’s head.

Lucille thought her familiar was enjoying himself way more than was necessary for a pet that would expire on the spot if her foot accidentally slipped on the mist-coated boards.

Damon gripped her arm firmly on the other side, a wave of vertigo washing over Lucille as the leather of her shoes connected with the earth.

“What’s taking so long?” “We gotta get outta here!” Damon grumbled, the urgent note in his baritone setting Lucille’s teeth on edge. There was no sign of the werewolf behind her.

She knew it was all her fault; she’d been the one to summon her friends to the outskirts of death, and if the Werewolf Alpha lost his head to the Crawlers, Lucille was sure every werewolf in Armagetton would be on her scent like hellhounds on feces.

“Ben!” Lucille called, the eerie echo of her shout calling back to her through the white mist almost tauntingly.

“Dammit.” Damon puffed, the burnt orange of a fire bulb crackling in his palm before he pushed it forward through the fog to the other side of the rickety bridge, where they looked on in horror as a band of slender-bodied Crawlers circled the Werewolf Alpha, their dome-like front teeth catching the ragged ends of his kaftan as Benedict spun round, marking them off before the light died out.

“Hurry!” Lucille screamed, her chest heavy with the promise of sobs, as Damon struggled to light another flame; his hands had weakened from the blackened varicose venom veins that now puffed engorged out of his skin. They needed to get to the highway and hitch a ride back to the city if they were going to get to a healer In time. Lucille knew it was the only way they’d survive.

“Benedict, just fucking run! Dammit, you don’t have to fight every single faerie who challenges you!” Damon howled, heaving a guttural cough as more of his grey, flaky soul matter seeped out, ignoring the red-haired girl who was giving him the side eye. He never said he wasn’t a hypocrite.

“Hurry!” Lucille screamed as the Alpha pounded through the narrow bridge, the band of crawlers biting into his back and neck as he thundered a scream, snapping off the creatures and flinging them into the foggy abyss beneath.

Lucille boomeranged darts at the yellow-skinned death beasts she could sight, but two more popped up where the star-shaped blade sunk through another’s skull. She screamed again, slapping both palms to her chest as she watched the rugged man’s feet break through the wooden board as the rope snapped on their holsters and the bridge hovered dramatically in the air before whipping down, Benedict’s surprised roar falling with it alongside the screeches of the Crawlers as they fell into the ravine between the two cliffs.

“Help me!” Damon yelled; Lucille hadn’t seen him grip the rope ties; he appeared to be struggling with pulling it up. Lucille wrapped her hands around his sizeable back, although she suspected he didn’t need as much help as he pretended to because he pulled the wide-eyed werewolf promptly.

“Seven hells!” Benedict cursed as he patted himself down after grunting to his feet, eyeing the Demon Prince with grudging appreciation before marching off, leaving Lucille to narrow her eyes at the smug-looking demon as he soaked up the glory before gripping his sides and wincing.

“We need to get him to a healer!” Benedict hissed as he hefted the Demon Prince on his back, ignoring the fists Damon pounded on the back of his head. Lucille fleetingly thought it was all very romantic before nodding and following behind the two lovebirds, her sword unsheathed.

As they waded through the dried shrub of tall grass to the other side of the forest, the cawing of overhead crows oddly comforting Lucille’s frayed nerves.

Her bad arm had begun to hurt, the shakes making it hard to hold up the silver sword. Lucille imagined it was only a matter of time before the arm burst open, spraying black spores in a projectile around her.

“There!” Lucille panted as the bright headlights of a blue Volvo flying down the highway washed over their drawn faces.

Lucille wondered who else would have happened across them so quickly.

Somehow, she wasn’t entirely sure it was all by chance.

Her arm had not stopped tingling, not even after the shiny car rumbled to a stop next to them.