Page 166 of Dead Beat

Dawes felt as if she were watching it all in slow motion. She knew he was a demon, but in that moment she was simply watching a body fall, the shape of a man, the end of something.

“Back up!” Turner barked, grabbing her sleeve.

Reiter hit the ground with a flat thud, the sound shocking, loud as a gunshot punctuated with the clank of the salt chains.

Whatever remained of the repulsion spells shattered and the familiars rushed forward, screaming and crying out, their dream of immortality lying in a heap on the pavement.

No blood, Dawes thought. He had landed on his back and lay face up, his eyes staring blankly at nothing, his limbs at impossible angles.

High above, the albatross gave its wailing cry, then arced downward and vanished into Tripp, its vast wings briefly lending him the shape of an angel.

She felt a slap of clarity inside her, as if Alex were there with them. Get your head straight. He’s not dead.

“We need to build a labyrinth around him,” Dawes said. “A perimeter of knots.”

Turner was striding toward the familiars with his badge out. “I’m going to need you to set down those weapons and back up.”

They all paused, suddenly unsure, looking at each other for guidance.

“People, please, I understand you were brought here with a goal. Emotions are running high. But I do not want anyone getting hurt.”

For a moment, Dawes thought it might work. These were people like her or at least the person she’d been, people who had never seen a body lying in the street, its shape brutalized and distorted, who had never encountered the police beyond a speeding ticket or a noise complaint.

The professor lowered his shotgun, his expression almost sheepish. The blonde with the hammer set it down and put her hands up.

Then Reiter began to move.

He pushed himself up, a sleeper waking, and Dawes saw that the back of his skull had been obliterated, leaving nothing but the dripping remnants of what had been his brain. The bones of his shoulders and back splayed like the petals of a flower, revealing organs mangled into an indistinguishable mess of tissue.

Dawes pressed her hand to her mouth. It shouldn’t be possible for a body that damaged to bend its knees, plant its mangled feet, stand. But the body was only a vessel, a facsimile of the body that had once housed a human soul. Could he recover? Did a demon need a mind to think?

It shuddered, jolting in a little hop, and Dawes realized it was trying to fly. It released a frustrated growl. Then the thing that had been Reiter turned to his servants.

“Smash the tower,” he ground out, his voice a ragged whistle. “Break the bells. Whoever does this receives my gift.”

“It’s a lie!” Turner shouted. “He can’t grant you immortality. He doesn’t care if he gets you killed!”

It didn’t matter. Whatever spell of authority Turner had been weaving unraveled and the familiars rushed forward. The professor raised his shotgun.

“No!” Dawes cried.

Turner had his gun out. “Stand down! Stand down now! I will shoot!”

Reiter released an enraged, garbled howl. The professor’s distraction was the moment Turner needed. He tackled him to the ground.

The salt sword. Again, that clarity, that sharp instinct she didn’t recognize. She had to trust Turner and Tripp to take care of themselves. She sprinted for the duffel and drew out the salt sword.

It was awkward in her hands, but she knew what to do. She rushed forward and swung.

The blade lodged in Reiter’s side, hissing as it ate into his flesh.

Reiter made a sound between a shriek and a wheeze. He whirled and Dawes lost her grip. The vampire lunged at her and she dodged away, but not fast enough. His broken fingers struck her arm, knocking her into a parked car. Her shoulder took the brunt of the impact and she toppled to her knees, shocked by his strength. Her loris had emerged, crouched on her shoulder, teeth bared. But what could its poison or bite do against this thing?

Reiter’s jaws snapped and she could see clear through his skull. He lunged again, then screamed and fell backward, scrabbling at the salt chains still looped around the remnants of his neck. Tripp had hold of the chains and was hauling Reiter over the ground, his brow furrowed, the flesh of his palms sizzling.

But the sword was still stuck in Reiter’s side and the vampire seized it. He pulled it out by the hilt and slashed at Tripp’s legs, cutting deep into the flesh.

Tripp shouted and went to one knee as his albatross emerged, wings beating the air.