Page 70 of The Demon's Spell

“Please… if I don’t make it…” Monica’s voice shook.

“You will,” I promised, but my stomach clenched, because there was no way I could know that for certain.

I heard the sirens off in the distance. It gave me hope, but only so little. I wasn’t sure they would make it in time. Even if they could save Monica, there were so many others who wouldn’t make it.

A guy from school stumbled past me, blood oozing from a gash on his head. He would certainly need stitches. He wore a confused expression and blinked a few times, like he couldn’t see clearly. “Lydia! Lydia!” he screamed. I recognized him from my Miriamic Law class.

“Quentin!” I called. I rushed to my feet and caught him before he collapsed onto the ground. He was really heavy, though, and I had to guide him to lie in the snow.

“Wh—where’s Lydia?” he rasped.

I glanced around frantically, but I didn’t spot her. He tried to sit up, but I pushed at his chest. “Quentin, you’re hurt. You have to lie down.”

He furrowed his brow and winced, then reached up to touch the gash on his head. The second he saw the blood, his eyes rolled back into his skull, and he passed out.

Shit.

Color drained from his face, until his lips were paler than his skin. I scrambled for more gauze and tried to stop the bleeding.

“Stay with me, Quentin!” I demanded, though I didn’t think he could hear me.

Time seemed to speed up and slow down all at once. I couldn’t make sense of how much time had passed before the paramedics arrived. Sirens wailed, and red and blue lights shone off the trees as several ambulances pulled up. EMTs rushed onto the scene, administering first aid as quickly as possible.

“Miss, you have to move!” I was vaguely aware of someone guiding me away from Quentin and Monica. I didn’t know what to do but step back and let them take over. My blood-covered hands shook. There had to be something I could do.

I heard Lucas gasp from behind me, and I snapped back to attention. I whirled toward him to see him hunched over on his knees. He clutched his stomach with one hand and pressed the other palm to his forehead.

Fuck, people were still dying.

I rushed over to him and wrapped my arms around him. His whole body shook, and he was covered in a thick sheen of sweat. “I’m here,” I told him. Lucas seemed to appreciate my proximity, because he reached out and squeezed my hand.

“There are dozens,” he said in a strained whisper. He lifted his head. “Dozens of people are dead. How did this happen?”

I didn’t think he expected me to have an answer, but I wanted so desperately to reassure him. There was nothing I could say to make this tragedy better.

Still, I tried. “It was an accident,” I said, but I could taste the lie on my tongue.

Lucas knew it was a lie, too, and he clutched me tighter. “It was him, Nad. It had to be.”

My blood ran cold. We knew the demon fed off traumatic deaths. A mass tragedy like this could satiate him for months. Horror twisted in my belly, because I knew that Lucas was right.

He drew a deep breath, and I could tell that the dying thoughts had stopped—or slowed down, at least. “I don’t know how he did it, but we have to find out, so we can prevent him from doing this again.”

His eyes locked on something in the distance. I followed his gaze to see Sheriff Baker and several other officers climbing out of their squad cars. Sheriff Baker began barking orders.

A pair of EMTs passed by him, carrying the driver on a stretcher. As other officers rushed away to follow the sheriff’s orders, Baker stepped in front of them. “I have a few questions,” he told the paramedics. It wasn’t a request, but a demand.

“It’ll have to wait, Sheriff,” one of the paramedics said. “This man needs medical attention. He has internal bleeding—”

“It will only take a minute,” the sheriff said.

This man needed time to recover, for Alora’s sake! The driver looked to be in his early sixties, with a cauldron tattoo on the back of his hand. Blood matted his gray hair, and bruises covered his body. Though the EMTs had wrapped gauze around his head, the blood was starting to seep through.

Lucas nudged me. “Go.”

I didn’t have to be told twice. I snuck toward the edge of the road and slid behind one of the ambulances. Sheriff Baker couldn’t see me, but I could hear him clearly.

“Clyde Walsh, you’re the driver, correct?” Sheriff Baker asked.