Demon Blood

back, almost smashing into St. Croix but hitting the solid wall instead. Instantly she was on her feet, racing to catch his wrist, trying to force it back against the bars.
    Jesus, Mary, and Joseph—he was strong .
    Then Irena was there, born when a Caesar still ruled Rome, her strength many times greater than Rosalia’s. Together, they pinned his arm. Irena brought in a new chain and held Deacon while Rosalia secured it.
    She looked back at the screen. Bodies littered the catacomb floor, steeped in pools of blood. “How many?”
    “Twenty-three,” Alejandro said.
    Even as she watched, twenty-four . Twenty-five . Malkvial had the demons working in perfect order.
    And Taylor had said there were fifty-seven in total. Rosalia glanced over at her. “At fifty-three, go.”
    Four more nephilim fell in the few seconds it took Taylor to reply. “That doesn’t give me much time.”
    “She’s a mother,” Rosalia said. “She’ll come as fast as she can.”
    “And I’ll get the humans out.”
    “Yes,” Irena said. “But dump them in a sewer.”
    Rosalia glanced up at Deacon. The cords in his neck stood out sharply, veins popping out against the muscles in his forearms. The bars wouldn’t hold much longer, and he’d remain like this until the demon who’d broken the Rules was slain.
    She looked to the screen. It had been the demon who’d become a child—but it had already shape-shifted back to its original form. She didn’t even know which demon it was.
    “Forty-six.” Alejandro kept the count. “Forty-seven.”
    She glanced at Taylor. “Bring her into the corridor, so that none can escape.”
    “Fifty-two. Fifty—”
    Taylor vanished.
    “—three,” Alejandro finished.
    Rosalia held on to Deacon and prayed.

    Anaria stood in her mansion, sword in hand, looking desperately around with eyes that shone like halogen flashlights. Oh, Jesus. She’d probably watched each of her children disappear, one at a time—perhaps understanding what was happening and yet unable to do anything to stop it.
    She spotted Taylor, and before Taylor could get more than “Belial’s—” out, Anaria had sprinted to her side.
    “Take me.”
    Cold and dangerous. Taylor shivered, and then they leapt together.

    Fifty-seven.
    The last nephil fell. On the monitors, a breathless waiting seemed to take over the demons. All was silent, except for the sobbing and pitiful whimpers of the humans. Then Malkvial raised his sword, and a cheer overwhelmed the speakers.
    It abruptly died. As one, the demons turned toward the entrance of the ossuary. Not one looked at Taylor as she flashed in front of the humans, touched two, and was gone.
    Anaria didn’t show on any of the screens. The demons’ eyes were all turned to her, though, and their crimson skin seemed to pale.
    Not losing color, Rosalia realized. The shadows behind them darkened as a bright light filled the room. Brighter. A few demons narrowed their eyes and turned their heads away from the brilliant glow. Another stumbled back, as if trying to find a place to hide. His fear acted like an electric prod.
    All hell broke loose. Demons scrambled. Monitors darkened in splotches, blood splattering against the cameras. Demons screamed. The light that was Anaria whited out the screens for an instant, a radiant streak. Rosalia couldn’t track her.
    She strained to see past the light, past the blood and the running demons. She could tell only that there were far, far fewer of them. “Taylor?”
    Alejandro pointed to a different monitor. “Only two humans are left.”
    Almost done, then, and thank God. An instant later, she saw that no humans remained.
    Then no demons were alive, either. Emitting a bright light, Anaria stood, her sword bloodied, her white wings saturated with red.
    St. Croix’s mouth hung open, his face a picture of shock. “What happened? How—?”
    Only a few seconds had passed since Anaria’s arrival. The massacre must have been nothing but a blur to him.
    “Who is that?” He stared at Anaria.
    “The worst of them,” Irena said.
    Chains rattled behind her. Rosalia turned, and horror gripped her throat. Deacon hadn’t been freed. He threw his body forward, his lips peeled back from his fangs. Shouting in the demon language, he hurled himself against the chains.
    Rosalia whirled back around. “Have any escaped?”
    Frantically searching the screens, she spotted the monitor showing the main floor of the church. Sunlight flooded the interior through