Slaying Monsters for the Feeble - Annette Marie Page 0,52
minutes of nonchalant ambling later, I entered the back alley and whispered, “Okay, Zylas.”
He materialized beside me, and together we studied the new view—a blank wall with a loading bay and a single, featureless steel door. Red light flared up Zylas’s arm, forming a pattern of runes, and he pressed two fingers to the thin gap between the door and frame. Crimson power blazed out of the gap, then he pushed on the steel.
The door swung open.
I squinted suspiciously. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“It is how the metal box in the summoner’s house was opened.”
Uncle Jack’s safe, broken open with demonic magic. Zylas learned too fast for comfort.
A dark hallway waited for us. The dusty smell of drywall hung in the air, and a layer of white grit covered the concrete floor, yet to be finished with carpet or tile. I followed Zylas, my heart thudding so loudly I wouldn’t have been surprised if it was making more noise than my shoes.
The corridor led us to an unfinished lobby, lit only by the streetlamps outside. The ceiling was full of missing tiles, and bundles of wire and unattached ductwork hung from the dark space above. Steel studs were piled beside a stack of drywall, buckets were scattered around, and extension cords snaked across the floor. An industrial fan pointed toward the closed and blockaded front doors.
I nudged my toe through the dust. The half-completed construction appeared abandoned.
Zylas angled toward the opposite end of the lobby, his steps silent. He paused at a door, then pushed it open. The soft clack of the latch echoed through the dark concrete stairwell on the other side as he started up the steps.
“Up?” I whispered, hesitating with one hand on the door. The basement seemed more bloodsucking-monster-friendly. “Are you sure?”
He glanced back, eyes glowing. “I smell fresh blood.”
Gulping, I eased the door closed. The instant it snicked shut, utter darkness plunged over the stairwell. There were no windows and no lights.
“Zylas?” I whispered faintly. “I can’t see anything.”
His softly glowing eyes reappeared as he turned. Judging by their location, he was already halfway up the first flight of stairs. His eyes drew closer as he returned, then warm hands touched my wrists. He drew my arms around his neck, then hooked his fingers under my knee and tugged. I pulled myself onto his back and locked my legs around his waist.
As he trotted up the stairs, I sighed glumly. “I really am useless, aren’t I?”
“Yes.”
I lightly smacked his right shoulder—the unarmored one. “Don’t agree with me. You should say something encouraging.”
He glided up the next flight. “Why?”
“To make me feel better.”
A pause. “Why?”
“Do you ever do anything that doesn’t benefit you somehow?”
“Like what?”
His gait leveled out as he turned away from the next flight. His shoulders shifted, then I heard a door open. The faintest light, leaking around the plywood blocking the windows, scarcely penetrated the darkness of what looked like a hallway.
Seeming to realize it wasn’t enough light for a human to navigate by, Zylas didn’t try to put me down. He continued onward with cautious steps.
I wiggled against his back, getting more comfortable, and he hooked his arms under my knees to better support my weight. “Okay, here’s a hypothetical situation.”
“I do not know that word.”
“Hypothetical? In this case, it means imagining an event as if it’s real, so you can decide how you would react. So, imagine you’re walking through the woods and you hear someone calling for help.”
He paused, inhaled through his nose, then turned down a corridor that led away from the boarded windows and their weak light. “This sounds zh’ūltis.”
“Just play along, okay?” I put my mouth closer to his ear so I could whisper more quietly. “You hear a call for help in the woods. What do you do?”
“I would see who is calling.”
Surprised, I allowed a spark of hope. “What if you found … a woman? She’s trapped under a fallen tree. What would you do next?”
He paused again and released one of my knees. The clack of a door. He leaned forward, sniffing at the air, then withdrew and walked on. Away from the windows, the darkness was eerily complete, and I doubted Zylas could’ve navigated it without his infrared vision.
“Who is the woman?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“The trapped female. Do I know her?”
“No, you don’t. She’s a stranger.”
“Is she a demon or hh’ainun?”
“Uh … a demon.”
“Then I would flee before she saw me.” He dropped into a crouch and I squeaked,