Children of the Sea 02 - Sea Fever

Dylan,” he added.
     
    Like that would make him happy.
     
    The railing had rotted along with the floor. The steps were solid brick. That didn’t mean they were safe. The demons might have rigged things so that somebody got hurt. Nick could get hurt. Dylan still had that back-of-the-neck, deep-in-his-bones instinct that something was wrong.
    But he couldn’t see anything, and he couldn’t smell anything, and he for damn sure couldn’t leave the kid lying alone at the bottom of the stairs for the next hundred years or so while he figured it out.
     
    He inched down the steps. Easy, easy . . .
     
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    He frowned, again with that moth-wing brush on his neck. Maybe too easy?
     
    But then he got close enough to see the shudder of Nick’s breath and the faint pulse beating beneath his jaw. Dylan dropped to his knees, shoving his thoughts about demons aside to concentrate on the child.
     
    He used his knife to cut Nick’s bonds, sliding the point carefully under the latex ties. Latex. Bastards.
     
    He scowled. Who uses latex?
     
    The boy’s hands were cold. Dylan sat on the bottom step and pulled Nick onto his lap to chafe his swollen hands.
     
    The boy’s head rolled on his shoulder. “Dylan?” he asked sleepily.
     
    “Yeah. You all right?”
     
    Nick began to tremble, still in Dylan’s arms. “What are you doing here?”
     
    Dylan had to clear his throat before he could answer. “I came to see if you still had my marker.”
     
    Nick’s hand crept into his pocket. He pulled out the silver dollar, glowing faintly with a blue light. His hand shook. His lower lip trembled.
    “Do I have to give it back?”
     
    “No,” Dylan said hoarsely. “Why don’t you hold on to it for me for a while?”
     
    Nick nodded. And then he threw his arms around Dylan’s neck and hung on as if he’d never let go.
     
    Well, Dylan thought, wonder and relief blooming in his chest, that was easy. He held the boy tight.
     
    Nick was safe. Dylan had done it. He’d fulfilled his promise to Regina.
     
    And it was all so . . . easy.
     
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    As if the demons had determined they’d made a mistake and decided to let the boy go. Or as if they’d never really wanted him in the first place.
     
    Dylan frowned. In that case, why go to the trouble of taking him?
     
    He patted the boy’s bony back, his mind racing. Unlesshis kidnapping was just a diversion. Unless Nick wasn’t their true target at all.
     
    Unless . . . Dylan’s blood ran cold. Unless they’d wanted to remove him from the scene so they could go after Regina.
     
    And the baby.
     
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Nineteen
     
    “IF YOU DO NOT TAKE THE PILLS, ” THE DEMON said in Donna Tomah’s patient, instructive voice, “I’ll give you an injection.”
     
    Regina tightened her hand on the paper cup, dread curdling her stomach. “I thought you couldn’t hurt me.”
     
    The demon’s smile showed all its teeth, its resemblance to the doctor fading. “Your wards protect you from possession. And from death. A shot in the arm or the ass will not kill you.”
     
    Just her baby.
     
    Tension knotted Regina’s gut. She met the devil woman’s gaze. She was running out of time. How long had Dylan been gone? Two hours?
    Three? How long since Nick went missing? Four?
     
    “I’ve always hated needles,” she said, trying to buy time.
     
    “Then take the pills.” Impatience licked the edge of the devil’s voice like a flame on paper.
     
    She needed a distraction, Regina realized. She needed to get out of here. She took a deep breath. Clenching the cup of water, she threw it full in the demon’s face.
     
    Donna Tomah did not, as Regina half hoped, melt away like the Wicked Witch of the West. She didn’t flinch. She did not wipe her face.
    The lack of that simple human gesture stuck like a knife in Regina’s chest. Her pulse pounded in her ears.
     
    They stared at one another as the water streamed down Donna’s cheeks and dripped from her nose onto her white lab coat. Beneath the spreading blotch, she wore a pretty patterned shirt of blue flowers.
     
    The devil blinked once, a lizardlike flicker of eyelids. “I’ll prepare the injection.”
     
    The instant her back was turned, Regina bolted for the door.
     
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    Locked.
     
    Regina fumbled with the doorknob. Kicked the door. There was no bolt. No visible lock. But the knob slid uselessly under her hand. The door didn’t budge.
     
    She glanced over her shoulder as the devil woman turned,