A God to Fear (Thorn Saga Book 5) Page 9

  “I needed a distraction so I could bust you out!”

  “You’re not supposed to cause the distraction right next to the thing you want to distract from!”

  The Judge knotted his eyebrows and leaned his head sideways. A few of the guards mirrored his curious head movement. “Balls,” he said.

  The Judge’s grasp on Brandon’s mind slowly relaxed, and the human eased down to his knees. His body spasmed as the Judge left him entirely. He started gasping for air, likely because his lungs had been receiving scant orders to breathe from a foreign mind for the last half hour.

  “Well, at least we can hide you inside Brandon now,” the Judge said to Thorn. “No one will know!”

  “Except for the hundred other demons in this room!” Thorn said. He couldn’t believe he’d ever wanted the Judge on his side. What an idiot. Were Thorn not weak and wounded from having been tortured, the Judge would have more to fear from him than from the guards.

  Someone flew through the outward-facing wall at high speed. He stopped to orient himself, and Thorn saw that it was another demon. Some kind of runner?

  “Kill him!” the new demon shouted to Wex. “I’ve just come from Marcus. He orders you to kill Thorn!”

  Thorn felt Wex’s hands clench, viselike, around his head…

  But if Wex ripped his head off, Thorn didn’t feel it. He was too stunned by Amy, who suddenly peeked her head around the frame of the cell door. The mere sight of his most precious charge in this hostile place thrust him into an ocean of confusion. “Amy?”

  “Thorn, hi.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  She shuffled farther into the room, her face pallid, her eyes sunken yet alert. She held her hands against the front of her hospital gown and the wounds beneath. Thorn rose and ran to her, so taken by Amy’s presence that he barely noticed he’d escaped his captors. Brandon continued coughing on the ground nearby.

  “I’m Thilial, you nitwit,” Amy said, her voice straining to sound strong. “You’re in the physical world now. Run.”

  •

  Thilial arced up out of Amy’s body and down into the demon realm, brandishing Fear, her ancient sword. The demon guards, who had been desperately grabbing at the suddenly out-of-reach Thorn, now desperately retreated through the floor, walls, and ceiling. Thilial slew five of them before the room was empty, then turned her weapon on the Judge, who still hovered by the door. He curled up and shielded himself with his arms. When she didn’t strike him, he peered warily out from behind his fingers.

  “Thank you?” he said.

  Two demons zoomed through a wall. One struck Thilial in the gut. The other tried to grab her head, but she hewed him in half before he could touch her. Then she spun and speared the first demon.

  Thorn shouted something at her, but a third demon attacked, and Thilial didn’t hear him. Before Thilial could kill the demon, a dozen more of them were in the room with her, seemingly undeterred by her sword.

  “Hang on, sugar tits, I got you covered!” the Judge called as he leaped into the fray. Two demons immediately tackled him. Thilial tried to slice them off of the Judge without slicing him.

  “Not me, you fool!” Thilial shouted at the Judge. “Thorn and the humans! Get them and get out of here!”

  The Judge slammed a fist into a demon’s face, then nodded at Thilial. He flew down through the floor.

  Dozens more demons flooded into the room. They bit at her, clawed at her. She struggled to keep her sword in her hands, much less fight with it. “I’m trying to help you!” she yelled at the horde. “I’m trying to stop a war!”

  “The only war you’ll be stopping today,” said a voice from behind Thilial, “is your own.”

  The demon mob surrounding Thilial faded into muted sepia tones. Their hands went straight through her body, and she realized she’d been pulled back up into the angelic realm. She turned to find Gleannor looking down at her.

  •

  The fire went out of Amy’s eyes and she swayed precipitously, so Thorn gently placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her. “Amy? Are you okay?”

  “I—wha—” She blinked. “Where am I? How’d I get here?”

  Thorn cursed under his breath, then turned to the room behind him. Seconds ago the room had been filled with demons. Now it appeared empty, save for Brandon.

  “You dare draw Amy into this mess?” Thorn shouted to Thilial, who was likely still in the room, albeit invisible to him. “You dare endanger my charge?”

  He turned back to Amy. “How’s your injury? Is it bleeding?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  “We’re in a courthouse a few blocks away from your hospital. Don’t worry. I’ll get you back there.”

  Thorn heard a door fling open somewhere close. Several pairs of feet pounded down the hallway outside the cell.

  “Thilial, Judge!” Thorn called. “If you can hear me, make sure the humans escape. They’re the imperative, not me!” Hopefully Thilial will keep the Judge in line.

  Thorn coaxed Amy back into the cell with him, past Brandon. Color was just starting to return to the boy’s face. He looked up at Thorn with an expression of utter bafflement.

  “Who are you?” he said.

  “ON THE GROUND!” Security officers, guns raised, streamed into the room. Brandon yowled as he was pressed to the floor face-first, lying on top of the broken arm that the sling hung in front of his body. One officer kneeled on his back and clutched his good arm to restrain him. Behind them, several bailiffs entered, until a total of eleven humans surrounded Brandon.

  When they saw that he was calm and under control, their attention shifted to Thorn. “Who are you?” an officer said.

  Thorn kept a protective arm around Amy, whose eyes were wide and scared. He sensed demons in the spirit world scratching at his mind, intimidating him, but he tried to ignore their efforts. After glancing down at his own physical body, at the fine-tailored suit that costumed it and the black satin tie knotted perfectly around his neck, Thorn raised his gaze back up to the officers. He prepared to do what he did best.

  “I’m this boy’s attorney,” Thorn lied with feigned offense. “And I’m appalled that you would treat him in this fashion in a sanctioned court of law.”

  The officers exchanged incredulous glances with each other. “What are you doing in here?” asked the officer with a knee on Brandon’s back.

  Thorn imagined that the Judge must have caused quite a commotion on his way in—Thorn had heard part of it from this cell—so he said, “My client requires daily antipsychotic medication, which he has not been taking due to his severe anxiety disorder, which was exacerbated by the subpoena sent to him by this court. I talked personally with Judge Beasley on this matter, and I explained to her that my client’s mental stability could not be guaranteed at a court hearing. But she refused to rescind the subpoena. So when I arrived with my client, the officer downstairs saw his Outlaws jacket and unfairly singled him out for a body search, which triggered my client’s psychotic break. He ran up here to see this young woman, his little sister Amy, who is here on loan from Grady Memorial to testify in the same case. The guards outside overreacted, tried to stun him and shut him inside this cell, and my client was forced to defend himself. If you have any further questions, I suggest you take them up with Judge Beasley. Or would you like your names mentioned in our lawsuit as well?”

  Thorn kept his gaze stern, hoping they’d buy the ruse. For all the Judge’s shortcomings, he’d have been far better than Thorn at speaking legalese.

  But perhaps Thorn’s attempt was good enough. Upon hearing his explanation, some of the guards loosened their posture, and a few even holstered their guns. “We didn’t receive any word that an unstable witness was scheduled to testify today,” the first officer complained. “Both he and the girl are parties to a proceeding?”

  “Yes,” Thorn said blindly.

  “Which proceeding?”

  Thorn probed his memory for any info
rmation about the courthouse’s ongoing trials. “The Cohn trial,” Thorn guessed. The man was always involved in one lawsuit or another.

  The officer sighed. “I assume you’ll be requesting a continuance?”

  “Indeed I will.”

  “Well we’re still gonna have to talk to your client for a few minutes. Come with us.”

  Trying not to wince at the thought of a police interrogation, Thorn turned to Amy. “Are you okay to walk?”

  “I don’t know. It’s hard to tell.”

  “Do you want me to leave you here? The police will take you back to the hospital.”

  She eyed the grim-faced officers in their sweat-stained uniforms. “No, I’d rather stay with you, if that’s okay.”

  “It is. Let’s take it slow, though.”

  Thorn guided Amy over to Brandon, who cringed as an officer pulled him to his feet. Most of the officers dispersed, speaking reassurances to the loud voices on their radios as they departed. Two officers fell in beside Thorn as they followed the one escorting Brandon toward a back elevator.

  And naturally, now that Thorn had the situation almost under control, Heather stepped out of that elevator.

  “Brandon!” She ran to him, hugged him, taking care to avoid his left arm. “Why are these guards here?”

  Brandon opened his mouth but said nothing, apparently lost for words.

  Heather spotted Thorn. “You. What’s happening?”

  “Ma’am, what is your involvement with this man?” the officer holding Brandon asked.

  “I’m his wife. What’s going on?”

  The officer threw a brief, leery glance at Thorn before responding to Heather. “Does your husband have a history of psychotic episodes?”

  “No,” Heather said.

  “They both do,” Thorn said simultaneously.

  “They both do?” said the officer.

  “Officer Prescott!” a voice called from down the hallway before the officers could respond to Thorn’s lie. Thorn turned to find Judge Beasley, who’d been one of the Judge’s favorite charges due to her obscenely strict “tough on crime” stance, hurrying toward them in her customary black robe. “Officer Prescott, I see you have the man under control now. What exactly just happened in there?”

  Officer Prescott glanced skeptically at Thorn again, then back to Beasley. “This attorney talked with you about it before the trial, didn’t he?”

  Beasley examined Thorn. “I’m sorry, I can’t recall. You are…?”

  Prescott turned to Thorn as well. “Yeah. What’d you say your name was again?”

  Thorn dithered. “My name is… uh…”

  Thorn grabbed Prescott’s hands and squeezed them as hard as his human body could manage. He held on tight until the hands let go of Brandon. Then Thorn shoved Prescott into Beasley. They both yelped as they went down.

  Another officer grabbed Thorn from behind. Heather stepped in and socked him across the face. The last officer drew his firearm, but Thorn snatched it from him before he could aim. The officer ran, and Thorn fired two warning shots into a window. Employees in nearby offices screamed and took cover behind their desks.

  “We need backup at room 771,” said Prescott into his shoulder-mounted radio as he dragged a flustered Beasley behind a desk. “Shots fired, shots fired. Request backup outside room 771. Suspect is armed, wearing a suit and a black tie. Accomplice in an Outlaws biker jacket. A woman with them—”

  Thorn snapped off a shot in the direction of Prescott, but he aimed at the tall office plant next to him rather than at Prescott himself. Then he signaled for his human companions to follow him as he walked sideways toward the elevator.

  Amy was the last one in. Thorn repeatedly jammed his thumb down on the “door close” button. He held his breath and muttered what might have been a prayer. After a few tense moments, the door slid shut.

  All four of them exhaled simultaneously. Thorn switched the safety on the gun and slid it under his belt, keeping the weapon as a precaution, although he didn’t plan on hurting anyone. “They’ll be waiting for us downstairs,” he said.

  “What should we do?”

  Thorn thought through his options, of which there was precisely one. He was unwilling to sacrifice anyone in this elevator. That is, anyone but myself. “I’ll make a run for it,” he said. “They’ll focus on me. Wait five seconds, then try and sneak out.” Thilial was somewhere out there, apparently on Thorn’s team now. He hoped that even if his own life was lost, he could rely on her to rescue the humans. Then later, perhaps she would take up his cause and search for a way to end the Enemy’s deception. Or maybe that’s just my own wishful thinking in a moment of desperation.

  Thorn continued: “If the cops capture you, the demons will have you right where they want you, so don’t let that happen. You’ll have to find a covert way out of the city, preferably out of the state, before the demons find a way to kill you.”

  Heather nodded, but Brandon scowled. “Demons? What the hell is going on right now?” he said, and Thorn remembered that no one had explained anything to him yet.

  “I don’t want to die again,” Amy said meekly.

  Thorn grimaced at her poignant statement. Huddled in the corner of the elevator with her hands on her stomach, she looked like a lost puppy in a snowstorm. Hopefully after today she’d live a peaceful life, free from the crucibles of devils and gods.

  “Amy, I want you to go back to the hospital,” Thorn said. “No one is after you. You’ll be fine no matter what happens to the rest of us.” And I take much solace in that.

  Amy smiled. “Good luck. I’d hug you if it wouldn’t break open my stomach.”

  Thorn smiled back. The elevator continued to descend, from the fifth floor, to the fourth, to the third. Fortunately no passengers were waiting at any of these potential stops. No alarm sounded, but perhaps the building had still been locked down.

  “Was that biker chick hitting on you?” Heather asked Brandon.

  Brandon frowned and shook his head. “Yeah.”

  “Take off that goddamned jacket, hon.”

  “Yes!” Thorn said. “Quick. Give the jacket to me.”

  Brandon slid his right arm out of the jacket and held it out for Thorn with his good hand. Thorn’s stomach lurched as the elevator’s downward momentum ceased. He pulled the Outlaws jacket on over his suit just as the elevator clicked into place on the ground floor. Brandon and the two girls pressed themselves against the walls.

  The doors slid open.

  Thorn shot out of the elevator at a breakneck pace. A bullet hissed over his shoulder so close that he could hear it slice the air. He darted around a corner and wound through another of the endless identical hallways this building seemed to have. More security guards spotted him in seconds.

  “Hey, you! Stop right there!”

  Thorn kept running until he reached a lobby. It was about a hundred feet wide, with a metal detector at the far end and an information desk lining the side. Humans stood in line at both locations—the building hadn’t been locked down yet.

  Thorn bolted for the exit.

  The officers on his tail poured into the room after him. “Everyone on the floor! You running! Stop now or we will open fire!”

  Thorn tried to run faster, but he was unaccustomed to his own body performing the strange motions required for running. He’d fled less than halfway across the lobby when he heard the officers’ shoes squeak on the linoleum floor behind him—stopping to get a better shot, he knew. The humans waiting in line in front of him had all dropped to the ground. The security guards at the metal detector were crouched and fumbling for their weapons. Just five more seconds and I can make it out…

  A volley of gunshots burst from behind Thorn, whizzing through his body and buffeting the metal detector in front of him. Thorn’s legs lost contact with the ground, though he hadn’t stopped moving them. When he glanced down to check his bullet wounds, he found that he had none. The ground was speeding by beneath his feet, as
if gravity had suddenly fled from the room. He looked behind him and saw Brandon’s Outlaws jacket fluttering and his own gun clattering to the ground.

  Above these items, a horde of a thousand furious demons opened like the maw of a single giant organism, reaching out to swallow Thorn. A lattice of demons were in the process of locking limbs across the floor, preventing Thorn from escaping underground—an ancient demonic battle tactic that Thorn hadn’t seen used combatively in ages. As the demon swarm closed in, Thorn almost decided to retreat back toward Amy, so that she’d trigger his reentry into physical space. But for the sake of her safety, he turned back to the outer wall and zoomed upward. The demons were forming another lattice along the building’s walls, but Thorn was moving too quickly. He surged up through several more stories, dodged through his adversaries, and emerged into the sun.

  •

  The crazy guy in the suit who claimed to be Brandon’s lawyer booked it out of the elevator. Somebody shot at him, but he kept running. He’d told them to try and sneak out, but Brandon didn’t see how that was possible. Several security officers were knelt with guns trained on the elevator. From both sides of the door, two more officers spun around and aimed weapons at Brandon.

  “We give up,” Brandon said simply. “We surrender.” He looked at Heather to make sure she agreed with him. She sighed in disappointment and nodded.

  “Out into the hallway. All three of you.”

  Brandon stepped out and saw that some officers were still trying to clear pedestrians out of the area. They were focused especially on one group of twenty, all wearing relatively tacky or threadbare garments—obviously not the crowd who worked here. They were all huddled around someone at their center.

  Heather noticed them too. “Is that the guy who was knocking at the apartment?” she said.

  Brandon looked closer, and sure enough, the man in the pink bathrobe with the receding hairline who called himself the Judge—or was it Cohn?—stood at the center of the crowd. His hands were full of money, and he was passing it out freely.