It didn’t take long for Sam to recognize the changes. And the longer they drove, passing through suburban neighborhoods and long stretches of once-open fields, the sicker he became.
The demons altered the New York countryside beyond comprehension. Many of those lush fields full of ash, nutmeg, and birch trees he recalled driving through on the way home from Connecticut were a blackened mess. Not only burned but somehow twisted, the trees turned into the wicked shapes of nightmares. And even from the road, Sam observed creatures amongst the trees, loping through the shadows, watching them with their piercing yellow eyes, as he and his mom zipped along the otherwise empty road.
Ezekiel stayed with Sam until they got to the car. He wanted to make sure Sam got safely away from the hospital before he left. Humans, he told Sam, weren’t to be trusted. Never kept to their word. And Ezekiel feared were he to turn his back, they’d whisk Sam off to some deep dark dungeon where they could study and dissect him. Especially the man in the suit. In fact, Colonel Grady was the reason Ezekiel stayed in the room the entire two years of Sam’s coma, lingering in the shadows in the corner, all but unseen by human eyes. He appeared occasionally to remind the hospital staff he protected Sam. But Ezekiel’s lingering was also why Purifex knew so much about Sam, such as the color of his scales and eye.
“Mom, who is Colonel Grady?”
Sam looked down at his shoes. He wiggled his demon toes and wondered how soon it would be before his claws popped through the sole or out the side. It surprised him the hospital even had a shoe that fit. Where he might have normally needed a size ten, his demon foot needed a thirteen.
“Who?”
She stared at him in the rearview mirror. Sam noted the bags under her eyes. He wondered if she’d been aware of Ezekiel’s presence in the room the entire time. Something told him she had.
“The man in the suit. The man with the United States pin.”
She harrumphed.
“I’m sorry you had to meet him,” she said, returning her attention to the road. “He’s done everything but throw me in jail to ensure you cooperated with them when you woke up.”
“But what does he want?”
“He said he represented the interests of all mankind, and he needed to take you somewhere safe.”
Janet slowed to a stop at a streetlight and glanced nervously around before turning right.
“What did he want to do with me?”
“I don’t know, Sam,” she said as she slammed her foot on the gas pedal. “I don’t know.”
Sam returned to gazing out the window as they passed through a small, otherwise unaffected town. It was the quaint little New England village which dotted much of the Northeast. Old wooden houses. One main street through the entire town. A sense of peace and tranquility.
But that image quickly faded as Sam continued his inspection.
Demons in the alleyways, demons sitting on streetlights, demons on the corner, milling about, pushing and shoving each other. A group of them tracked the car with envious eyes but finally scampered off in the opposite direction, disappearing in the side-view mirror.
That’s when he realized how quiet the town was. No people walking. No cars. Nothing. It appeared as if the inhabitants were all gone, but Sam felt the people there, hidden behind curtains and blinds, behind double- and triple-locked doors. His demon senses smelled and saw them, no matter how well they hid.
No, he thought. Anything but quaint.
Even if things didn’t seem like they’d changed on the surface, they had. Sam knew there was no use looking for the life he’d left behind two years ago. He wasn’t going to find it out the car window. He didn’t think he’d ever find it again.
Sam’s gaze dropped to the demon arm in his lap. He realized he was going to have to be careful with it. It was a trial getting into the car, his claws slipping on the door handle and gouging the metal. And when he sat down, the tips of them had touched the faux-leather seats, piercing the material as if it was made of the thinnest cloth.
The car slowed as his mom examined the fuel gauge.
“Mom?”
She glanced at the map in the passenger’s seat and then back at the dashboard.
“I have to stop for gas, Sam.” He clearly caught the edge in her voice. Her grip on the steering wheel tightened with a squeak.
“So?”
She turned to him. But instead of anger, fear reflected in her eyes, an almost pleading look of forgiveness.
Some deep instinct in Sam keyed off the change, and he thought of his arm again.
“Is there anyone else like me?”
She turned back to the road ahead and put on her indicator to pull into the gas station on the corner up ahead.
“No.”
She pulled the car next to one of the pumps and grabbed her purse, almost running to the attendant’s office to pay.
Sam locked the door.
A minute passed, and then another, and finally after five, Sam began to worry. He toyed with the idea of going inside, but the vibe he got from his mom was, stay in the car.
And then the attendant stepped out from the shop.
With a shotgun.
“Oh my god, oh my god!” Sam said, scrambling to the far side of the car.
The man who approached with the gun, his hands shaking, might have been about as old as Sam’s grandparents would have been if they were still alive—white, stringy hair, sticklike arms with flappy, wrinkled skin, brittle legs that carried him slowly but surely to the pumps he’d been walking to all his life.
Despite the man’s slow gait and apparent nervousness, his eyes were steely and determined, focused on the car.
“Get outta that car, monster!”
How did he know I was here? Sam thought, fumbling with the lock, gently popping it open. There’s no way he could have known.
“Ezekiel! Are you here somewhere? Can you help?”
But the only sound he heard was the clop, clop, clop of the man’s heavy work boots.
Trying to do so as quietly as possible, he opened the car door and slid out, lifting himself up slightly to see through the far window where the man leveled the shotgun at the car.
“What did I do to you?” Sam yelled, realizing he’d never be able to run away with his mom in the store. “And where’s my mom?”
“She’s safe, you stinking, disgusting, sinful demon. You being half demon only means you were evil inside. God will probably pardon all my sins for killing you.”
As he pulled the trigger, the blast shattering the window, a bottle bounced off the side of Sam’s head, forcing him to his knees.
On all fours, Sam turned his head, the blood dripping into his human eye, as three others advanced on him from the street.
“Please, someone help me,” Sam whimpered, crawling toward the front of the car, not realizing the old man was coming around the other side.
“He’s coming your way, Bill,” one of the men said as he threw a rock at Sam. It thudded against the driver’s door.
Please, please, someone help me, Sam thought when a heavy work boot caught him in the shoulder, flipping him over. The pump of the shotgun filled the still morning air, and Sam looked up at the barrel of the gun.
“Foul creature”
Hold up your demon arm, a voice whispered in Sam’s head.
Shaking, squinting against what was coming, Sam held up his arm as the man pulled the trigger.
“Jesus Christ,” the old man said, quickly pumping the gun again as the other men ran toward Sam.
See? No gun can penetrate demon hide. But your human parts are still vulnerable. Protect yourself!
With one quick motion, Sam grabbed the barrel of the shotgun and wrenched it from the old man’s hands as if he took a toy from a toddler.
The anger welled up in him, like it had when Purifex set the Grendel upon him. Carried by an instinct beyond his understanding, Sam vaulted to his feet and, using the shotgun like a club, smacked the first of the other men who had a baseball bat raised over his head. The man flew back through the air. His head slammed down with a sickening thud. But Sam didn’t care and he didn’t wait for the rest of them to react.
He crushed the gun in his claws, the metal giving like it was clay, and threw it at the next man’s face with such force that his head and neck twisted unnaturally as he whipped to the ground.
The last man stopped in his tracks, alternating glances between his two companions and then back at Sam.
That’s when Sam roared.
It was something deep and guttural, something so primal that instead of running, the third man cowered where he stood, putting his hands to his ears as he dropped his two-by-four club.
Sam turned to the old man who hadn’t moved.
“I’m not afraid of you,” he said, spitting once at Sam, catching him on the right cheek. “Do your worst, beast. I know God will protect me from your kind!”
They stood there for a moment, as time seemed to slow, as the inevitability of the situation barreled toward them.
Behind him, the two other men lay where they fell. One was weeping.
The anger which boiled within Sam wouldn’t be contained. It raged through the scales covering part of his chest and his arm, and, looking down, he saw the same glow, the same flames he’d seen flickering on Purifex.
The demon in him wanted the man’s blood.
And without thinking, Sam brought up his claws to strike the old man in the face, determined to knock his head clear across the street.
“Sam, don’t!” his mom yelled.
Sam watched her run out with another, younger, attendant behind her.
Janet ran around the front of the car, slowing as she passed the old man.
“Sam, it’s all right. He’s just scared, that’s all.”
The old man spat again.
“I’m not scared of this hell-spawned evil, not with Jesus Christ on my side!”
The younger man who accompanied his mom out of the office stopped about halfway to the car as he caught sight of Sam’s arm, poised to strike down his coworker. Sam stared at the man, his demon eye flaring red, and even from across the station lot, he saw the disgust registering on the other’s face. Although he dressed in old, faded blue coveralls, the cuffs and sleeves rolled to fit the smaller frame, Sam realized it might have been someone he attended school with a couple of years ago, someone he might have played with on the soccer field or been in band with.
“I should kill you both,” Sam said, turning back to the old man. Janet reached out to touch her son’s arm, and Sam looked at her, seeing fear, pity, and compassion in her eyes.
“Don’t, Sam. He’s just scared,” she whispered.
And the anger faded, the flames on his scales dying out.
“Please, sir,” his mom said to the old man, although she couldn’t bring herself to look him in the face. “Can you please just fill the tank with gas? I promise we’ll never say anything. We’ll never come back!”
The old man never took his eyes off Sam.
“Edgar, fill it up,” he barked at the kid who was still standing halfway between the office and the gas pumps. The boy clenched his fists, stalked over, and ripped the hose off the hook. He wrenched open the gas tank cover on their car and jammed the nozzle in, all the while glaring at Sam.
Sam, his mother, and the old man stood there for a moment longer, the silence interrupted only by the men weeping and the occasional ding of the pump as another gallon was dispensed.
“It’s not his fault,” Sam’s mom whispered, wringing her hands as she glanced at the two broken men and the third trying to compose himself.
Sam knew she was probably thinking the same thing he was. They all appeared so normal—worn-out jeans; one with a green-and-blue flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up; another with just a plain white T-shirt. Working men. The salt of the earth, his dad might have said.
I hope she’s not still feeling the need to protect me, he wondered as he looked down at his own hands, one human, one demon, thinking about what she’d said Ezekiel had told her months before Sam had woken up:
There is nothing stronger in life or in magic than the bond between mother and son.
She had said she could still see the fat little demon’s incredulous reaction at her confusion
What? he had asked, his wings fluttering, his arms held out in supplication. You think because we don’t look like you, because we look like monsters to you, we don’t have feelings?
“I don’t care if it’s his fault or not,” the old man said, turning to Sam’s mom and spitting on her dress. “He’s unholy and so are you for bearing him.”
With that, he turned on his heels.
“Edgar, pull that dang hose outta there. That’s enough gas.”
Sam’s anger rose again.
And with a sadistic smile, the young man at the pump, his shaggy brown hair hanging over his eyes, ripped the hose out and hung it back up, turning too on the heels of his sneakers and following the old man back into the office. Just before walking through the door, he spun around and flipped Sam off with both hands.
Sam’s mom touched his arm lightly, sensing what he was thinking.
“It’s not worth it, Sam. They will never understand. I will never convince them you are still a little boy, that—”
But Sam put up one claw in front of his lips to silence her.
“I’m not, Mom. I’m different now. Maybe it’s you who needs convincing.”
She choked back a sob but didn’t take her eyes off the ground.
“Let’s just go,” she said.
Without another word, Sam put his human hand on the door handle, but before he could open it, he saw them.
Six tall, gangly creatures came loping around the corner, sniffing the air. The best way Sam could describe them was a hairless werewolf. They stood about eight feet high hunched over. Their faces were distinctly doglike, and they all sported different sized pointy ears as well. And although Sam sensed immediately they were deadly, their seemingly thin and awkward limbs made them appear almost fragile.
“The demons I saw in the burned forests. Get in the car, Mom.”
“Sam,” his mother started to protest, when the leading demon caught sight of them. His yellow eyes flashed brightly and then squinted. He let out a couple of quick yips, and the pack covered the distance to the car in just a few seconds.
“Half-breed,” one hissed. “Smelled your foul scent from some ways off.”
“He’s Purifex’s charge,” another responded. “We should leave him—”
But he didn’t get to finish what he wanted to say, as the one in whirled around, snapping rapidly at him and then at a few of the others. Claws, spittle, and barks ensued before the one who spoke up whimpered submissively behind the rest.
The lead demon, returning is attention back to Sam, sniffed the air again.
“At least you left us some meat.” The demon jerked his head at the two men still lying on the pavement. “But the question I want answered is what half-breed tastes like.” The others fanned out quickly, surrounding the car. One jumped onto the roof, and Sam’s mother screamed as she tried to climb down to hide beneath the steering wheel.
“Come and get a taste.”
This time, the anger didn’t build up.
It ignited.
Faster than the pack leader could react, Sam seized him by the throat, the fire crackling across his scales. His red demon eye blazed, and he revealed the creatures for what they were—sickly, pathetic scavengers.
“Release me.”
But Sam squeezed harder.
He could feel his claws digging into the demon’s throat and remembered the Grendel’s conviction to die before betraying Purifex, before disobeying his master.
“Serve me!” Sam growled.
The demons laughed—a harsh, barking laughter that echoed in the still morning air.
And even the one that Sam held at arm’s length, the thick, viscous blood dripping down his mangy skin, cackled.
“You must know the spell of binding.” The demon tore at Sam’s arm, his attacks sliding off the black scales.
Frustrated, tired, angry, Sam threw the demon into the street, his body rolling and flipping until it came to a stop against a chain-link fence on the other side.
Without so much as a glance toward the others, Sam turned back to the car, opened the back door, and climbed in.
Silently, the pack turned to leave, the one on the roof of the car jumping off effortlessly, and headed back into the street. The leader, already on his feet, snapped at those who came near him, reasserting his dominance.
Janet fumbled with the car keys, her hand shaking so badly that she held it steady with the other. When she finally got the key in the ignition, she turned it so hard that it almost broke.
Sam looked across the street at the pack.
The spell of binding?
He remembered Purifex’s insistence.
The Ars Magicus.
Ursup.
“Let’s go, Mom.”
His mother jammed the car into drive and rocketed out of the gas station as Sam stared out the window at the demons, locking his gaze a moment with the leader, a shared animosity and understanding passing between them, before they loped off into the distance.
Sam spent the rest of the drive home doing two things: first, wondering how the man at the gas station knew they were coming; and second, rubbing his temple where the bottle hit him.
Sam spent the rest of the drive home wondering how the man at the gas station knew they were coming. He rubbed at his temple, massaging the spot where he bottle had hit him.
His mom wanted to examine the wound and pulled over a few miles from the gas station. She twisted around in her seat as Sam proffered the side of his head where the only evidence of the attack was a patch of dried blood. No matter how much hair his mom moved, gingerly touching the spot at first, then more aggressively looking for any sign of the injury, she couldn’t find even the tiniest cut. And Sam remarked that it didn’t hurt anymore either, realizing the only time he could remember it hurting was the initial impact. It was as if everything, mind and flesh, healed at once.
His mom’s expression was one of shock and perhaps a little fear.
She turned back, put the car into gear, and gunned it onto the road, heading for the highway.
“How do you think they knew we were coming?” Sam asked, slouching further down in his seat. Ever since they’d gotten closer to the city, he’d done his best to hide himself. He didn’t want another gas station incident.
“Colonel Grady, probably. He warned me. Said the world would be dangerous for you now. Said only his agency could protect you against everyone else who would want to kill you for what you are.”
“Unholy.”
His mom only nodded.
“Everything has changed, Sam. I know you’ve seen some of those changes—the burned-out buildings, the new buildings, the creatures hanging on streetlamps and walking down the sidewalk like they’ve always been here. You haven’t seen the half of it. But the one thing which hasn’t changed is being human. And it’s the only thing some people, like those men at the gas station, have left. You represent how they might lose that too.”
Sam watched two horses clop past the car. But not the normal horses that might trot down New York streets, the police officers on their backs ensuring that order was kept, peace maintained. No, these were blood-red and oozed a wicked crimson steam, their riders growling and laughing, whipping the occasional pedestrian with vicious-looking riding crops. And there were other strange vehicles too; some were flying, gossamer wings barely keeping them aloft; other creatures drove in strange motorized contraptions that rattled and chugged along the road with wheels out of place. Frankenstein cars, their occupants as bizarre as the vehicles in which they rode.
“Has there been any idea why the demons came?” Sam asked.
His mom shook her head.
“Shortly after the fire . . . shortly after you . . . .”
But she couldn’t continue, so they traveled in silence for a bit, Sam listening to the sound of the tires on the pavement. Car horns blared in the distance. And somewhere, Sam heard an explosion followed by peals of high-pitched laughter.
“About a month after,” his mom finally said, “the one they call The One Master appeared on TV. He was on every station. The worst part, Sam? He looked almost human. Almost normal. You had to look really hard to see that he had scales. He looked like just any other bald black man.” She paused for a moment. “Only blacker. Black as midnight.”
Sam remembered what Purifex had said about the One Master:
The only demon with black eyes.
“He said he was adding Earth to his kingdom, like he’d done with countless worlds before. Humans would continue to live as they did, but demons were free to roam as they wanted. Anybody caught interfering with a demon would be subjected to the worst imaginable punishment, if the demon didn’t kill them first. He said there would be no other disruptions. Governments would stay the same. Leaders would remain in power. Economies would continue, perhaps even improve with the infusion of goods the demons could bring from all corners of their kingdom.”
Sam saw his mom’s grip tighten on the steering wheel.
“But that’s not what happened. Everything is different. Lots of businesses are gone because the demons came and took everything. People are homeless because demons destroyed their apartment building or house. That head demon even set up a complaint system, although no one makes any complaints. The people who do simply disappear.”
Sam watched as they rolled past a Starbucks and turned left.
It looked as normal as could be—people lining up to get coffee, sitting in the chairs, chatting.
“And there’s worse things happening. Children are vanishing. Whole towns gone. And a lot of people, I guess who thought it was better to be on the winning side than the losing, started serving the demons. They call themselves demon envoys. Everyone else calls them pets.”
His mom pulled up in front of their apartment building and turned off the engine. Sam felt the difference even without looking out the window, as if there was a charge in the air, a feeling of anticipation, of something about to happen.
She let out a huge sigh and lifted her hands off the steering wheel. They trembled almost uncontrollably.
“You okay, Mom?”
“Yes. I guess I’m just a little shocked the car even worked the whole time. Everything electrical is screwy now. They only work some of the time. I’ve heard of planes falling out of the sky, people getting trapped in elevators, cars abandoned on the turnpike. And forget about your mobile phone.”
“Is anyone fighting back?”
But Sam already knew the answer.
“Yes. All around the world. Pockets of people fighting back. But you must not talk about that. If anyone overhears you—”
“I’m not afraid of a few demons, Mom.”
Sam raised his demon hand a little as if to punctuate his point.
“Sam, it’s not the demons I’m worried about anymore. You don’t know whom to trust now. And from what I’ve figured out, there’s a pecking order amongst the demons. Some are higher up than others. Like rich people. But the demons below them serve them. And those higher-up ones are the demons that you have to worry about because they have the most pets. I don’t know where you fit in.”
She grabbed her purse off the seat and looked around before getting out. Even when she stood outside the open driver’s door, she half expected the old man from the gas station to come hobbling around the corner with his shotgun. She stuck her head back in the car.
“Sam, stay in the car. I mean it. Let me go upstairs and get you a blanket. We can’t have people seeing you.”
“Yeah, I got it.”
She shut the door and he slunk back down again, thinking about everything his mom told him, wondering if it could possibly be true and knowing that it was.
“The Ars Magicus,” he whispered as he tapped his claws together like he remembered Purifex doing.
You need the binding spell, the dog demon had said, laughing at him.
“I need to get to The Ars.”