Free Spider's Lullaby by James R. Tuck

apart, cutting off the Oni’s roar of pain and anger. The demon fell to one knee, making my third shot zing over its bulging shoulder, blowing back the shaggy mane of coarse hair that hung from its skull. It huddled around the hole in its chest as I stepped up to it.
    One baleful eye the size of a baseball rolled up at me as I pointed the Taurus at that massive skull. “Don’t ever threaten my people again.”
    My finger squeezed the trigger on the last bullet in the gun.
    The Oni jerked its head.
    The tremendous .44 caliber slug banged into the horn that curled around the left side of the demon’s head, cracking it in two. The black horn snapped off, falling to the ground at my feet as the bullet ricocheted off into the night.
    Shitdamn!
    The muscles in the demon’s shoulder tensed, contracting into knots, veins tracing under boiled red skin. I pushed off with my foot, throwing myself back as its arm lashed out, black blade of the katana slicing air. The keen edge cut through the Kevlar of my vest, hitting the ceramic plates underneath with a hissing scrape.
    It felt like being hit with a baseball bat.
    The cement floor came up at me in a rush. I slammed against it for the second time tonight. Neck tense, I held my head up so my skull wouldn’t bash into it. The impact jarred pain through my entire body. Every tendon and every nerve jerked tight, snapped to the breaking point. Ache crawled over me like a blanket.
    Opening my eyes, I saw the Oni stand to its feet. The wounds in its gut and chest still gaped, flexing in and out like suckling mouths. They shrank with each spasm, closing up. It took a big step toward me, murder shining in jaundiced eyes. The sword rose up over a shaggy head.
    A whirr revved behind me. Something chirped. I jerked my head to see Ronnie on the forklift. Her face was a mask of anger as she steered it toward the Oni. The egg sac swung to and fro from the forks as the two-ton piece of machinery zipped across the floor. The Oni squawked as it slammed into him and crashed to the floor. The forklift rolled over its leg, tilting up over the obstacle. Ronnie was tossed out of the seat, tumbling off the forklift. The heavy equipment shuddered to a stop, pinning the red demon to the floor.
    I got to my feet. Tiff came around the corner, running over to help Ronnie up. She had a tear in her coat sleeve and I could see bright blood running down her hand, but she was alive and whole. Relief loosened something tight in my chest.
    I turned to the demon pinned to the ground. It struggled, trying to push itself up. Taloned fingers click-clacked on the floor, slipping out from under it. Over and over it slipped and fell, pinned on its chest. Across its back the tattoo of the Kensai moved, pushing out like it was trapped behind a mirror, illustrated hands scrabbling at the underside of demonskin.
    Taking a step forward, my boot tapped the katana. I bent down. My fingers clenched the handle, woven cord rough against my palm. Tingling started in my fingertips as I stood again.
    The demon strained to look at me as I stood over it. Jaundiced demon eyes traced the blade in my hand.
    The demon’s mouth moved, thick, rubbery lips smearing with brackish spittle. It chewed words around the tusks that stuck out from its upper jawbone. “You should not kill me. I can give you things.” It swallowed. “I can give you desires. We can make a deal.”
    Demons and their deals. Even lesser, earth-bound demons like Oni. They always want to bargain, offering to give you the world. All it will take is your pesky little soul. And what they never tell you is that they don’t take your soul when you die. Oh no, they’ll take it in bite-sized chunks for the rest of your life. They rip it away, mutilating it by hurting the people you love, destroying the things you hold dear. They take every bit of goodness from you and torture it to death in front of your eyes.
    Been there. Done that.