Page 47 of Broken Moon

The boy opened his mouth, butit was the demon who spoke. “My blade,” he said, and his voice sounded likehe’d forced the boy to swallow broken glass after he’d taken over his body. “Myblade is what I want.”

He didn’t realize I’d lost theblade in the woods of Shadowfield. And he believed he’d trick me into cominghere, then use the boy to kill me. He’d take the blade and…

“The blade is the key to your world,isn’t it?” I asked, finally understanding. He could never go home again, notwithout the blade. Had I known he was powerful enough to possess humans afterI’d “killed” him, I never would have taken his blade or his body. I’d have beenhappy to send the son of a bitch back to hell.

But now…

I had to get him out of thatlittle boy before it was too late for the kid. With any luck, he wouldn’tremember a thing that had happened since the demon had arrived.

He was smart, this demon. Heknew I wouldn’t want to hurt the boy. I couldn’t drive the demon blade—even ifI’d had it—into little Brian’s chest to expel the demon.

I needed room to fight him, soI turned abruptly and leaped down the stairs, taking them four at a time. Idragged the protection jar from its padded pocket as I ran, then reached for myminiature spirit snare with my free hand. When he discovered I was missing theblade, who knew what he might do. In a fit of rage, he’d likely make the kidkill himself. I had to work fast.

Not to try to kill him, though.I couldn’t do that.

I had totraphim.

The second I felt him at myback, reaching with little boy hands that would be extraordinarily strong, Iturned, slammed the spirit snare against his mouth, then did something that Ihad no idea I was going to do but knew absolutely that I had to.

I grabbed my blade, sliced itacross the back of my snare-holding hand, then smeared my fingers through theblood. My palm was wet with crimson blood in a millisecond, and I slammed thatbloody hand against the boy’s chest, right over his heart.

It wasn’t enough. As theboy—with the demon’s strength—flung me up against the wall, grunting andwheezing as he grabbed and ripped at my clothes and belts attempting to findthe special blade, I cut into his chest. If this worked, a small scar was muchbetter than the alternative.

My blood mixed with his,sinking into the wound.

Brian opened his mouth wide,threw his head back, and screamed. His body stiffened and then began jerking asthough he were in the middle of an intense seizure, and Patricia burst throughthe front door and rammed me, believing I was hurting the kid.

I lost my already tenuous holdon the trap I’d shoved over the boy’s mouth, but my blood continued to affectthe demon inside him. He was forced out—but instead of becoming ensnared in thetrap held over the boy’s mouth, the demon escaped. He was just…gone.

But I knew he’d go somewhere tolick his metaphysical wounds, and he would be back. He was fading, though, Icould feel his lessening strength. But he would not fade quickly enough to keephim from possessing and killing again.

Brian huddled on the floor,dazed, his eyes unfocused as his grandmother frantically wiped the blood fromhis chest. “You’ve stabbed him,” she cried. “You’ve killed him!”

She was hysterical,overwhelmed, and not inclined to listen to me. Finally, I forced her away fromthe bewildered kid and when she fought me, I backhanded her. That seemed to jarsome of the hysteria out of her brain and finally, she shut her mouth andfocused on me.

“You killed him,” shewhispered.

“Brian is okay,” I told her. “Idon’t think he’s going to remember what happened. I had to make a small woundon his chest to get my blood inside him to force the demon out. I would havetrapped the demon if you hadn’t attacked me. Now he’s gone, and I’ll hear abouthim attacking some other family in a few days, I’ve no doubt.”

She widened her eyes. “He’llcome back?”

“Not here,” I told her. “He’llhave no reason to come here.”

“Oh God, if he does, I—”

“Patricia, where are yourhusband and daughter? Did he kill them?” I didn’t believe for a second they’dgone calmly onto work, unaware of the killer inside the boy.

“Let me go to Brian,” she said,pushing ineffectually against my restraining hands. The boy had begun towhimper, and she was once again focused on him.

I shook her. “Where are they?”

“In the basement,” shemurmured, refusing to look at me. “I had to, you know. He would have killedthem.”

I didn’t ask her how she’dmanipulated a grown man and woman into her basement. I left her there with hergrandson and went to find them. I found the basement, finally. The back dooropened onto a covered porch, of sorts, and the basement door was in the floor.She’d hung the key to the padlock on the wall, thank goodness. I lifted thedoor and peered down into the darkness of what appeared to be more of a mustyold cellar than a basement. Mr. Simon was standing on the old stairs, staringup at me, his face pale, his eyes red. “What the fuck,” he said, “is going on?”

I moved back so he and hisdaughter could climb up. “I’ll let your wife explain,” I told him. “But youneed to believe her when she does.”

The daughter held his arm.“Brian?”