A Book of Dust and Breath

Chapter Thirty Two

A wail of tortured lament ripped through the quiet.

Max lunged toward the sound and a cold, thickly scaled arm grabbed him from behind, yanking him backward against the chest of a demon in a sick parody of a lover's embrace. "You warned him not to run, reaper. Now let him taste his just reward." The creature's reptilian mouth moved close to Max's ear. His sulfur-tinged breath forced Max's gorge up.

"Taste this," he said, raising his left fist back over his shoulder with all his strength.

The demon's head snapped back and his hold loosened just enough for Max to break free, but before he could take more than a few steps, the thing slammed into his back, knocking him to the earth.

Above them, a peal of resounded across the wide-open sky, rolling with a low echo that shook the ground. As if the sound had torn the clouds, rain began to fall in thick silvery sheets.

Max struggled to flip over, to free himself from the hellish weight pinning him down.

"Run!" He shouted into the night, but his words were met only with another strangling cry.

"Too late, reaper." The demon's knee pressed into the small of his back. "We win this time, pathetic half-breed. And we'll win next time, too." The scaly hand wrapped in Max's hair and shoved his face into the dirt. "It's a brave new world, reaper, and your sanctimonious Host has no place in it."

Max couldn't draw breath. Rainwater ran in thick rivulets against his face. He pushed against the earth, struggling to lift himself, but the demon's strength easily outmatched his. Sparks flared behind his closed eyes. The thunder roared far away... on another planet... in another galaxy... or was that laughter?

A battering weight slammed into him, rolling him over and the demon was gone.

Max swiped at the mud on his face and scrambled to sit up in time to see Daniel take a backhanded blow across the face so powerful it threw him sideways into the corn. Even as he landed, his right hand was reaching across his body for the dagger strapped to his left side. The shining blade sliced through the falling rain and found its mark in the center of the demon's forehead.

In an explosion of black and yellow smoke, the beast was gone.

Max rose and staggered toward the angel lying on his back in the mud. His left wing had shattered when he'd fallen. The right side of his face bore no more than the suggestion of features. "Are you gone?"

"'Sfine" Daniel muttered through the left side of his mouth.

"Yeah. You look fine." Max reached out a hand and helped his friend to his feet.

"Youshu seezya odder guy," he replied, standing with a groan that melted into a whimper.

"I gotta get the soul."

Daniel shook his head. The soul was lost to the shadow crawlers. Max shouted a curse into the night and smacked at a cornstalk. "Dammit! I told him not to run!" He pushed his dripping-wet hair back from his face. "What the Hell are the damned things doing in the middle of a bloody cornfield anyway?"

The angel said nothing but gestured for Max to follow him. Together, the returned to the house. It was a wonderment the rickety old shack didn't collapse under the weight of the falling rain. The Harley gleamed in the weak light shining through the filthy window. Sighing, he slung a leg over it and looked back at Daniel. "It's because I was here, right? They came because it was my reap."

Blood and water dripped from Daniel's chin. Then he was gone, off to wherever he would find rest and restoration before his next fight.

He returned home shortly after four o'clock--an hour that had passed with all the aching misery of a century. In the bathroom, he peeled off his ruined clothes and stood in the hot shower replaying the scene on an endless loop. What if he'd reached for the soul a little sooner? There'd been no doubt, after all, the man was going to run. What if he'd continued the chase through the corn, rather than hesitating to listen? What if he'd fought harder or shouted sooner?