Free The Iron Hunt by Marjorie M. Liu Page A

story in his eyes, in all of them. I
could not stand to see it. I could not. I pushed myself up, breathing hard, and
faced the demon. That demon with his smile. My knees quavered, but I had my
fists. I was breathing. That was something. Maybe.
    Oh,
God. Oh, fuck.
    Zee
grabbed my wrist. “No, Maxine.”
    I
resisted. He pulled hard, tugging me behind him, then barked an order. Raw and
Aaz tore spikes from their spines, wielding them like spears. I looked down the
street and saw people coming, laughing and talking. No one seemed to see us.
    “Oturu,”
Zee snarled. “Enough.”
    The
demon tilted his head, just so, and his body twisted, flowing like the skim of
a shark through water. He danced when he moved; on the city street, wrapped in
shadows: a kiss on the eyes, a devil’s ballet, and only his feet moved, only
his cloak had arms; and his hair, rising and flowing as though lost in a storm.
I heard thunder, and when his toes sliced spirals in the concrete, I listened
to the wind bury winter; and when I tasted his grace, his grace had no name;
only, night became something else in his presence, as though darkness had a
soul, here, swaying to heartbeats roaring.
    I
could not look away. The demon swayed to a stop before me, so close we could
have touched. Zee, Raw, and Aaz gathered near, spikes clutched in their fists.
    “Hunter,”
he said. “We have missed your face.”
    “I
don’t know you,” I whispered, every instinct in my body singing and raw.
    The
demon’s smile grew a deeper edge. “Blood holds no dominion, Hunter. You know us well .”
    I
knew nothing. Less than nothing. I thought of my mother. She would have been
kicking ass right now. She would have taken one look at this joker and ripped a
new hole in his face. Whether Zee helped or not.
    Tendrils
of hair drifted near. Mal snapped, hissing. I reached into my own hair, and Dek
curled around my wrist and fingers. The demon leaned close enough to kiss.
    I
slammed my fist into his face. My fist, wrapped tight in the body of another
demon. I did not need brass knuckles. Dek left spikes in the demon’s jaw and
took a chunk from his cheek, leaving a hole that gaped and smoked and burned.
The demon danced from me, hissing, cloak billowing sharp.
    “Stay
away from me,” I snarled. The demon turned just enough to show his profile, and
the nimble ends of his hair plucked Dek’s spikes from his face, dropping them
one by one into his cloak, which absorbed the bone fragments like some ravenous
abyss. His cheek began to knit closed. Raw trembled against my leg, but I did not
think it was with fear. His gaze, like Zee’s and Aaz’s, was hard and cold and
hungry.
    Men
walked past. One of them, a stocky fellow with a chunky belly and a bag of
takeout swinging in his fist, almost walked right over me. Oblivious. Laughing
with his buddies about some girl’s ass. I felt like a ghost.
    “Hunter,”
whispered the demon unsteadily. “You are still too new.”
    I
glanced at Zee, who stared at the demon with a familiarity that frightened me
almost as much as the creature himself. “What do you want?”
    His
eldritch hair coiled in the air. “You woke us. Your soul reached for us. Inside
the abyss, we felt your call.”
    “I
did no such thing.”
    “ They know.” The demon’s cloak billowed briefly toward the boys. “We can be here for
no other reason.”
    “You
came through the veil.”
    “We
are not of the veil,” said the demon. “But it opened. It is weakening.
Something came through. You have… need of us.”
    I
felt rain on my face, and the newspaper digging into my back. Jack Meddle, I
thought. My grandmother. I did not have time for this crap. “I don’t need anything from you. You’re a demon.”
    He
smiled faintly, but this time with a wry humor that was horrifying in its slip
of humanity. “As are you.”
    Zee
said a sharp word. The demon inclined his head and stepped back. The gesture
was oddly respectful.
    “Hunter,
born again,” he whispered.