Page 59 of Mending Mayhem
The new shirt and jeans ripped to shreds as I grew, my muscles building, protruding until all humanness ceased to exist. Teeth turned to tusks, my feet to hooves, yet the bracelet conformed to my size.
I stalked to the being, grabbing him by the throat and yanking him over the counter. “Release her,” I growled, “or I will kill you.”
“Can’t be killed,” he squeaked. “Demon!”
“Don’t hurt George.” Ember clutched my arm and tugged. “Put him down.”
I tightened my grip. George wheezed, the shroud he’d placed on himself and the store slipping away, revealing a horror to rival the Sixth Circle of Hell. At least a dozen emaciated bodies lined the wall, their arms shackled above their heads. Their eyes and cheeks had sunken in, their pallor an ashy green, their mouths open in silent screams.
“My sisters,” Ember said, her voice filled with fondness as she circled her arm around Ash’s biceps. “This is Ash. We’ll be joining you soon.”
“Ashhhhhh…” The moment he uttered her name, her eyes glazed.
“Very soon,” she said.
Shade and Miles approached from the parking lot, so I slammed George against the door, holding it closed while Chaos turned the lock.
“Release them,” I said again.
His face grew purple. He clawed at my talons and kicked, attempting to wiggle free.
“Put him down, brother.” Chaos placed a hand on my shoulder. “He can’t free them if he’s dead.”
I lowered him to the ground, releasing my hold.
“Can’t be killed.” He laughed and tiptoed toward the bodies. “Space for you here.” He gestured to an empty spot along the wall. “If you can’t pay, you have to stay.”
Our witches started toward him, but we put our arms around them. “What are you?” Chaos asked, though I had a feeling he knew the answer, as did I.
“He’s George,” the witches said in unison.
“I’m George.” The being tapped his nametag.
“That’s not your name,” Chaos said. “You’re a Formorian.”
Surprise widened his eyes, and he clutched his hands in front of his chest. “Formorians are extinct. Fae vanquished them all.” His nose twitched, his true form threatening to break through his disguise.
“I thought so too, but here you are.” Chaos crossed his arms. “What is your name, Formorian?”
“He’s just George.” Ember patted my arm.
“I’m just George. No Formorian here.”
“No.” I loosened my grip on Ember, though I still held her firmly. “He’s no Formorian. I’d call him an imp at best.”
“An imp!” His eyes turned yellow, his pupils narrowing into vertical slits as his nose elongated into a snout. “Formorians are better than imps. Better than any demon from Hell.”
“So you are a Formorian,” Chaos said.
George lifted his head, puffing out his chest. “I am a son of Balor. I…whoops.” He disappeared in a puff of smoke.
“I need to join my sisters.” Ember struggled against me.
“We must get them out of here.” I rushed for the exit and turned the lock, throwing the door open and charging at the threshold.
The bracelet tightened on my wrist, and the sensation of a thousand thorns raking across my skin slowed my escape. I pushed through, as if walking through a tarpit. Ember cried out in agony, clawing at my arms and writhing in my grip. A popping sound echoed around us as we passed through the magical ward, and the pain ceased as quickly as it had begun. Ember sighed with relief, her body going slack in my embrace.
We stood in the center of the Formorian’s store.