Page 183 of Bedeviled

I scream, jerking weakly against the arms holding me down as the demon drags in a gulp.

At my throat, skin sizzles, and now it’s the demon screaming. His teeth leave my neck. I can smell smoke and more sulfur.

Blood drips from the wound, just as it spills from my other injuries, my life rapidly slipping out of me.

…Emmmmpresssss…

The Hungering Ones hiss and whisper. My body shudders as I hear them.

…Missssstress of Old… We can help…

My fingers dig into the soil.

Yes, they can help, just as they helped once before.

You will not make deals with them, the sorcerer’s voice booms in my mind. I flinch at the sound of it.

Memnon, I sob down our bond. I know he must be near. I can’t get them off⁠—

Another demon bites my wrist. I scream, weaker this time. But then the creature hisses, and I can smell their burning flesh as they pull away.

Selene, your magic! Memnon’s voice carries the same commanding tone he used to use on his warriors.

My magic—of course. I might not be able to heal myself yet, but I can still use it.

When I call on it, it’s weak and sluggish, as though it’s spilling out with my blood. I draw on it anyway, shoving it down my arms and out my palms. It throws the demons back into the tall grass.

“Coven sisters,” comes a shout from above, “now!”

Witches on brooms dive down between the trees, directing their brooms toward the demons. In their hands are the water bottles we gathered together earlier.

It comes together right then, as they empty the bottles onto the demons.

In our spell circle we called on the Goddess and blessed the water. That’s why the demons were burning themselves on my blood—because I drank the holy water.

And now they’re getting showered with it.

Screams start up, along with the sound of sizzling flesh.

My coven sisters corral them out of the woods, herding them away from me with the blessed water.

I see the silhouette of one of the witches as she loops back to where I am. Her presence distracts me from the retreating sounds and smells of roasting demons.

The moonlight glints across her eyes as she comes to a stop ten feet above me.

“Me and the rest of the witches will handle the demons.” It’s Cordelia’s voice, the one who foresaw this entire evening. “They won’t be back, but this is the last you’ll see of us for the night,” she says. She hesitates, then adds gently, “Heal yourself, sister. You’re going to need your strength for what’s to come.”

With those final, ominous words, she takes off into the trees, heading toward the dying cries of demons.

I lie there several seconds longer, in abject agony, trying to be grateful my coven sisters ran off the demons rather than feeling sorry for myself that Cordelia didn’t actually heal me herself. I also don’t want to dwell on the possibility that she didn’t linger because doing so would’ve put her in danger.

Eventually, I grit my teeth and gather together enough strength to do as Cordelia asked.

My limbs feel leaden, and my right arm is entirely incapable of movement from my bullet wound. Weakly I lift my left hand and lightly press it to the flesh right beneath my breasts.

“Vakahi.”

Heal.