My head snapped to the right as a red light drew my attention. A middle-aged, bald man leaned on the wall just outside his open motel door as he sucked on a cigarette, which lit up again before he exhaled generous smoke plumes. The dot of red light flared at the end of his cigarette. His abnormally bony limbs poked through his faded boxer shorts and tattered t-shirt. His eyes were glued to the little girl in a way that made my insides bristle with warning. Somebody called from inside the room causing his head to turn but he chose to ignore whoever it was.
Faint smoke tendrils from the cigarette reached my sensitive nostrils with notes of tobacco and the heavy cling of intentional death. The world moved slowly for me now that I had retouched my inner powers and no detail went unnoticed. The chirp of the birds heralding dawn, the slamming of car doors, and the heavy smell of rotten eggs now hanging in the air.
“Oh gods,” I breathed, breaking out into a run.
The mother turned from the open trunk of the van to see me racing at her with wild eyes and my broadsword drawn. She let loose a piercing scream. It was so shrill I almost couldn’t hear the twin shriek that was not of this earth.
“Emma, Travis,” I bellowed, knowing my shouts would resonate through the paper-thin motel walls. “Get up, get to the vehicle,”
The four year old’s eyes had lost their heavy droop and now blinked up in awe at the cloud forming before her very eyes.
“Run,” I yelled at her, but her little legs didn’t move.
“Hank,” The mother cried out to her husband.
Concern for the child narrowed my focus to only her until the door opened behind her. Emma came to stand in the doorway of our room. Her hair was disheveled from sleep but her shoes were on and her pack was slung over her shoulder. An ounce of relief swept through me.
Smart girl.
The dual points of focus distracted me from the third. Something hit me from the side with tremendous force. I went sliding several feet through the sharp gravel of the parking lot. The hand holding my sword was trapped at my side on the ground now. The fetid pants of morning breath puffed onto my face. The little girl’s father had tackled me to the ground.
“Jeannie, call the police. Now,” He demanded, his bloodshot eyes fiercely fastened onto me.
Looking back at his daughter, a strangled cry escaped my throat. The cloud’s swirling had increased with fervor.
“Get off him,” Emma screamed.
I tried to cry out to Emma, “The girl.” But she was running toward me.
“Sophie?” I heard the little boy asked in a watery voice. His sister’s arms had stiffened at her sides, her eyes bugged from her head, and her mouth was open in a silent scream. The soul eater had locked onto her.
I pushed against her father, but he slammed me back down. I was significantly stronger than this man, but he had me at a disadvantage of angle.
“Stay down, you psychopath,” he said, spit spraying the side of my face.
“Your daughter. I have to save her,” I insisted, wiggling my arm out from under my body.
“Get off him,” Emma said. She grabbed the man’s hair, yanking him back. He yelped. It gave me just enough space to slide out from under him. He threw an arm out, smacking Emma back. Emma skittered back a few steps and fell back hard onto her rear with anoof.
Before I could fully get to my feet, I knew I wouldn’t reach the girl in time. The soul eater would digest her soul, masticating it into shreds of what the victim felt to be lifetimes of endless torment until it was wholly destroyed. The agony and helplessness I felt at not being able to reach her in time nearly split me in half.
She was going to die.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sophie was plucked from where she stood. Travis had torn out of the motel room when he’d seen the little girl entranced, grabbed her and hauled her away. He now raced in the opposite direction of her family to get her out of harm’s way.
I heard Travis mutter a litany of emphatic, “No, no, no, no’s,” as he ran with Sophie.
“Kid, get away from it,” I yelled to her brother. His head whipped up toward me, his green eyes wide under his limp bangs. Then he tore off, running back to his mother. She held a phone to her ear with a shaky hand. I finally allowed myself a sigh of relief when he’d gotten a good distance away.
This time, I sensed the man before he tackled me again. I sidestepped him, sending him careening head over heels into the gravel. I couldn’t use my magic if he broke my concentration by attacking me.
“Please, get in your vehicle and drive away with your family,” I begged.
Several people had emerged from their rooms to see what the fuss was about. Panic welled up past my chest and into my throat.
Hank stumbled as he tried to get up. The sharp rocks had torn the skin along the side of his face and blood now splotched the front of his plaid shirt, but it was all surface cuts. His burliness looked like it was built off fast food, but I remembered his weight had kept me down.
