Page 5 of Rekindled Prophecy
“Where did Jenna go?” Starry, vacant hazel eyes stared back at her. The girl was blitzed!
With the gray tinge around her aura, Greylyn suspected she was quite literally drowning her sorrows. Placing the pads of her thumbs on the woman’s eyelids, she whispered a quick spell in Latin –Ostendo mihi Jenna. The last image of her friend played back in Greylyn’s mind – Jenna holding hands with Devon as he led her down a long, dim corridor towards the back bar area. The poor girl had even tripped in those insane high heels, but Devon caught her arm, dragging her outside.
“Thanks.” She released the girl, but something stopped her from running out the back. A vision blinded her to all else. The thumping of the music stilled. All else around her ceased to exist.
The same woman, except dressed in ivory chiffon, stared out a high window. Although slightly obscured by a drizzling mist, terror radiated from the woman’s wide eyes. A single tear slid down her pale, freckled cheek. Fear seized Greylyn’s own heart and squeezed to near bursting. Then …
The rowdy bar roared back into full focus amid the crowd singing along to “Chicken Fried” by the Zac Brown Band. Shaking off the vision, Greylyn placed a reassuring hand on the woman’s shoulders. “I believe I’ll be seeing you again sooner or later.” Glossy eyes stared blankly back.
Greylyn ran out the back ofThe Dueling Heartsto an unlit alleyway. Her vision immediately adjusted to the pitch-black night. In the right corner of the alley, Devon’s entourage loitered around a stretch limo, smoking cigarettes. She sensed Jenna nearby but could not see her or the soul stealer anywhere.
Okay, Grey. It is now or never to put those acting skills to work.
After working as an understudy for a minor character from an off-off Broadway production ofCatsfor three months to keep the producer from taking advantage of the revolving door of innocent children into the theater, she took a bit of pride in her new dramatic skill set.
Mussing her hair a bit, she noisily sauntered towards the group. “Excuse me,” she tried saying in her best drunken drawl, “could one of you handsome gents help me out?”
The men turned towards her, their eyes at first growing wide before narrowing at her approach. The way their gazes roved up and down her body, lingering too long on her chest, sent a wave of revulsion through her.
They advanced toward her like a hyena pack. Greylyn picked the weakest looking of the crew, a tall, lanky blond with pristine nails and hair frozen in place with product. Wavering over to him, she peered up into his slate-gray eyes as she placed her hand lightly on his chest. “Hi,” she cooed seductively, followed by a giggle.
With a wicked half-grin, the demon placed his hand over hers while using his other hand on her chin to lift her eyes to his face. He drawled, “Hello, there. Just how can we help you, pretty lady?” He kept one hand on her face while the other lightly brushed her hand, which remained on his chest, just above where his shirt opened to reveal baby-smooth skin.
She batted her richly mascaraed lashes at him and giggled again. “You know, I think I’m lost. One minute I was inside the bar looking for the ladies’ room, and then I was outside. Now I can’t even figure out how to get back in.”
He uttered a tsking sound as the others closed the circle even more tightly around her. With a sickeningly sweet, condescending tone, the demon stroked her cheek as he leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Poor little, lost lamb. Just what are we going to do with you?” At his last words, his irises changed to blood red orbs.
Greylyn firmly placed one hand against the demon’s chest, her other fist struck out with all her might. Skin and bone gave way underneath her small, thin hands. Not a death blow by any means since he was a demon, but enough to incapacitate him while she dealt with the rest. In his shock, the demon’s eyes quickly retreated to his regular human gray. Clutching his chest, he slumped to the ground as blood gurgled out of his mouth.
The others jumped into action as the injured demon lay on the asphalt, writhing in agony.
One down, three strapping demon cowboys to go.
They attacked simultaneously. Her squat-faced thug dance partner grabbed her arms from behind. She keeled over as the other two rained down punches on her face and into her abdomen. A sharp jab straight to her nose accompanied by a nauseating crunching of bone, Greylyn was blinded with pain.
Infuriated, she raised her face to glare at her attackers. “You’re going to regret that.” With one super-hard stomp of her cowgirl boots on the toes of the demon behind her, she heard a gush of air as he bent over in pain. She reared her head back as sharply as possible to collide with his face. He bellowed like a howler monkey before letting go. Staggering back, he cupped his hands over his face as blood gushed out of his broken nose.
“Who’s next?” She swiped the blood dribbling down her own face with the back of her hand.
The other two advanced with more caution. Backing up to get a running start, she maintained eye contact with the bigger, more aggressive-looking demon. Greylyn reached behind her back to grasp the hilt of her dagger. Its power flowed from her hands and up her arm in a warm wave. She unsheathed it and pulled it in front of her, gripping the weapon firmly by the intricate Celtic crest carved in the handle. Its blade shone with a cold, pale light of its own and was sharp enough to slice through a single strand of hair as it floated in the air while its jagged edges could saw through anything. Not many things could kill a demon, but that was exactly what the dagger was designed to do. And it did its job well.
Greylyn sprinted towards the two standing demons. One turned and ran with a shriek reminiscent of a cartoon character’s reaction to seeing a ghost. The other stared her down while waiting for her to strike. Just a step before reaching him she jerked to the right. He lunged for where he thought she would be. But with an abrupt pivot, she swung behind him. Her dagger thrust upward into his back, finding its mark, the place where a human heart would reside. The serrated edges sawed through the beating muscle then ripped upward. The demon bellowed in pain before falling lifeless to the ground, red, slimy blood gushing out of his wound and pooling underneath his corpse.
Panting for air to refresh her burning lungs, Greylyn peered around while wiping the blade on her jeans. Her dance partner had recovered. Rage peered out from under the blood-drenched hair partially covering his eyes. He stormed towards her, much like an NFL linebacker going for the quarterback sack. Blood cascaded down his face, his lips curled up in a menacing snarl.
“Hey, there sweetie,” she teased as he stopped within a few feet of her. “Wanna dance?” His growl was all the answer she needed. They circled each other, never breaking eye contact. He moved first, swatting at her head with his long, muscular arms. She leapt back, but the palm of his hand whacked the side of her cheek with a resounding slap. Greylyn raised a hand to her face. Her cheek stung fiercely, but she grinned back athim.
She had not realized just how much she missed the rush of adrenaline and the thrill of the fight until this moment. Her last few jobs had been benign, involving talking desperate people out of doing horrible things or just not jumping. Nothing that required violence. Until now.
He barreled towards her with a guttural snort, like a raging bull in the arena. She quickly sidestepped and hooked her foot around his ankle. The thug face-planted on the rocky asphalt next to the back tire of the limo.
With the dagger suspended above her head, Greylyn pounced on his back, jerking his head back by grabbing a handful of hair. The knife sliced through the bulging muscles at his neck, through his jugular vein. A final death thrash threw her off him just as his body slumped against the pavement.
Asphalt pebbles wedged painfully into her skin. Before she could take a breath, the back door of the limo creaked open. Devon emerged in all his tall faux-cowboy glory. Red lipstick smudged his stark white shirt and around his mouth. Obviously, he had been enjoying his quality alone time with Jenna.
Please, Lord, don’t let him have gotten his grubby mitts on her soul yet.
His eyes burned with barely controlled rage. He did not glance back as a clearly frightened Jenna ran, sobbing hysterically towards the bar. With relief, Greylyn noted that the girl’s aura was still intact, meaning so was her soul. Her emotional state, on the other hand, not so much.