As Desmond nears the main door, his head swivels from side to side on his long lizardy neck. The reason? Our klepto demon friend has been trying to find us for a while. He thinks Lincoln and I have given up the chase. Oops. As a result, Desmond’s adopted both a fake limp and a hacking cough. Both are an attempt to alert us to where he is and give us time to catch up. It’s not a great strategy, but the dude plays it up with gusto.
Desmond limps a few paces forward. “Here I go.” Cough, cough. “Into the hospital.” Cough, cough. “I wonder what the west wing is like? Maybe I’ll go there now.” He pauses by the front door and scans the area. All the blood drains from his scaly green face, giving him a decidedly pale appearance. He’s really taking this hard, which confirms my suspicions.
No question about it. Desmond was trying to lure us into the lair of a badass demon.
“Boy,” says Desmond in a full voice. “I sure hope the prince and great scala don’t come looking for me here.” He inspects a small sign by the door. “In Purgatory Hospital DH-27B. At the west wing.”
Desmond scans the area once more. Eventually, his thin shoulders slump in defeat as he limps into the hospital.
Once Desmond’s gone, I shake my head. “Poor guy. He did everything except shoot off a flare gun.”
“Probably would have if he’d brought one.” Lincoln rubs his square chin. “Purgatory Hospital DH-27B. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Nothing in particular. It’s a standard-issue building. Total cookie cutter.”
Purgatory used to be run by ghouls, a supernatural race obsessed with order and sameness. They’re also cheap bunch of bastards, so our hospitals not only look alike, but they also have all the same crap equipment.
“Anything dangerous?” asks Lincoln.
“This place wouldn’t have any special devices that could hurt us, if that’s what you’re wondering. Under the ghouls, hospitals only held the basics for patching up a broken arm, maybe stitching a wound or two. That’s about it.”
“Have you ever been inside one before?”
“Quasis mostly went to ghoul hospitals to get a form 87-J. It proves you’re sick so you can legitimately skip school.”
Lincoln gives me a sly look. “In other words, you’ve never been inside a place like this.”
“Yeah, you know me. Not a big fan of the rules. All I cared about was fighting in the Arena.” Hard to believe that just six months ago, my biggest worry was how to get out of high school and into more Arena battles.
Anticipation hangs heavily in the air. Lincoln pulls his baculum from his belt. These are two silver sticks that he can ignite with angelfire and transform into almost any kind of weapon. The fact that my guy is getting them ready now? It means he thinks the same thing that I do.
This is about to get ugly.
Sweet.
I tap my chin. “So, what do you think? Should we slip in through the roof?” Lincoln goes on demon patrols all the time, so he knows how to engage the enemy in the field. Approach isn’t as important when you’re fighting in the Arena. You walk out your respective entrance archways, and then—BOOM—the fighting starts.
“There’s good ground cover to reach the west wing,” answers Lincoln. “Let’s go that route. Desmond was kind enough to state it as his final destination.”
“And once we’re there?”
Lincoln pats his pocket. “I have a charm that should help.”
“Cool.” For the record, I’m not much of a magic girl, but I do admire the charms that thrax use on demon patrol. The House of Striga makes them. Each spell is camouflaged to look like some kind of junk you’d already have in your pocket.
“This way.” While staying low, Lincoln slips along a zigzag path of half-smashed walls and piles of rubble. I keep close behind. Soon, we reach the hospital’s western wall, which is a tall panel of cracked concrete lined with high windows. Lincoln kneels beneath the closest window frame. Our gazes meet. Energy zings through my limbs. Battle, here I come.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Hells yes.”
Lincoln reaches into his pocket and pulls out what looks like an old gum wrapper. That’s a revealment charm. Nice. I’ve seen those before—revealments enable you to see and hear through walls. Lincoln holds the small sheet of paper before his lips and whispers one word. “Ostendo.”
The wrapper disappears in puff of purple smoke, and the wall before us transforms. Cracks deepen until the concrete seems to crumble in on itself, revealing the room beyond the wall. I stifle the urge to applaud. That’s some cool stuff, right there.
The magic shows us an interior waiting room, and man, is it ever a mess. Overturned chairs and shredded magazines line the floor. The reception desk is a smashed-up wreck. Dust covers everything.
Desmond paces the floor, leaving a trail of three-toed footprints behind him. “They could still be following me, you know.”
At this point, I must say a word on the awesomeness of revealment charms. Right now, I can see and hear Desmond, but he can’t detect me. I mean, I could set off a firecracker, and he wouldn’t know. Cool, right?
A man and woman answer Desmond in unison. “Perhaps.”