Beneath me, the demon quaked, and I barely paid it any attention, just sliced its throat and shoved it back onto the street, darkness swirling within me even as dark thoughts about Deacon flooded my mind. Deacon, seeking the allegiance of the demons. Deacon, searching for the Oris Clef. I didn’t want to believe it, and yet I’d seen it, and if the images in the dead demon’s head were true, then I’d once again stuck my trust in where it didn’t belong. Dammit. You’d really think I would have learned by then. Not that I had a chance to think about that, because the rest of the demons were moving in, and I was kicking, fighting, stabbing, and thrusting. I was in a mental funk, my thoughts getting darker and darker with each kill. I was in such a funk that I barely noticed when Kiera came by, her color high, her breathing hard, and I saw that we were fresh out of demons; together we’d wasted them all, and right then that didn’t make me happy. I wanted more. More kills. More dark.
