before, I bet Remi knew it then. We’d never outrun giant, ferocious dogs, despite our head start. We were going to die, my leg leaving a trail of blood, leading them straight to us.
“Grace, are you all right?” Remi placed his hand on my leg as if just realizing I’d been hurt. It felt like searing hot metal on my skin. His touch made me dizzy and our speed caused tears to dry on my skin almost as quickly as they’d fallen.
“Oh God,” was all I could manage. I rubbed my leg where Remi’s hand had been while struggling to hold on to him, to my sanity.
“Grace. Come on. Stay with me. I promise, everything’s gonna be OK.” Remi smiled and picked me up in his arms as if I weighed no more than Mr. Fluffy Rabbit. Then he ran even faster on feet that never touched the ground.
I looked over Remi’s shoulder long enough to see the creatures through half-closed eyes. They changed back and forth between large dogs and enormous beasts resembling brown bears, but with wings and tails. The giant, winged brown bears had three snake tails. On the end of each tail was, instead of rattles, the head of a cobra. Long shoots of orange-blue fire came out of the bears’ mouths with a deafening roar.
“Remi, am I?” I was nearly out of breath. “Did you … see … that? That did—didn’t. Did that just?” I placed my head against Remi’s chest, unable to stop the gush of tears. It was worse than any nightmare my mind could dream up. Still, through everything, Remi never faltered. I didn’t think it was possible at that moment to love anyone as much as I loved Remi.
“It’s OK. Yes. They’re real and demonic. Those in particular manifest the fears of whoever they are after. They’re literally trying to scare you to death. Don’t be afraid. You’ll make it worse.”
Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid.
When I opened my eyes, the bears were people, kids around my and Remi’s age. They moved as fast as we did, now trailing at about a car’s length—a small car. The two boys were clad in metal armor from chin to waist with leather here and there. They carried swords at their backs and waists and knives attached to their ankles. The taller boy had something in his hand, an axe, I think. If he was trying to scare me, it was working. The one in the middle was distinctly female. A hooded, blood-red cloak only partly concealed shoulder-length platinum blond ringlets. She seemed to be floating, legs unmoving. At her waist was an enormous sword sheathed in gold. She waved at me, exposing shiny metal cuffs on her tiny wrist and frighteningly long finger claws, on both hands, also in gold.
Looking beyond Remi, I could have sworn the girl was smirking. I blinked and became even dizzier. She was closer than the rest and seemed more determined as she pumped her arms and pushed against the air. Despite Remi’s reassurances, I was terrified; more so than those beasts had made me. There was something about the girl that was so hauntingly familiar that it scared the crap out of me.
“Stay with me, Grace,” Remi said before I passed out. The last thing I recall thinking about was when Remi became part of our family.
***
My mother used to tell the story of Remi’s arrival like this. It was the Christmas morning of my fourth year on God’s earth, and Dad seemed especially excited. I’d assumed it was the unnecessarily extravagant gift he’d gotten me, which I’d already found when snooping, as was a bad habit of mine, around in the garage. It was a new bicycle, complete with reflectors—not that I was ever allowed to ride my bike at night, so the reflectors were more of a fashion statement than a safety precaution. I was only allowed to ride as far down as Mr. Johnson’s, the wonderful man—they don’t make men of honor like that anymore—who lived two houses away. Mom always referred to Mr. Johnson as the mayor of the block. If anyone had a problem, he somehow managed to resolve it. Truth is, old Mr. Johnson never really actually resolved anything. He was pretty much like Solomon. He presented the squabblers with options that either scared them to death or made them feel like complete idiots.
Back to Mom and the bike, or Dad and Christmas. Mom would never have allowed