Des approached the body carefully in case the creature decided to come back, his sword raised. He was still several yards away when he realized that it was the kindly older man who spoke so fondly of Aurelie. His stomach had been torn open, his entrails steaming in the night. Des swallowed down the burning sting of bile and tried to piece together what had happened.
Then he saw the shattered glass near the base of the building, and he remembered that Aurelie’s basement lab had one single, high window. He cursed again as the pieces began to fall into place.
The demon he and Daisy had seen must have escaped and killedthe guard. Now it would grow larger and more dangerous. He could only hope the iron bars were enough to keep it trapped on campus, where presumably there was no one else it could hurt. Aside from him, of course. He should get back to base and round up more guards. He took a step toward the gates and froze.
He could have sworn he’d heard a whimper.
There was no light coming from the shattered window, but he ran to it anyway, calling down. “Is someone there?”
“Des?” It was a plaintive voice, tinged with a mixture of fear and relief.
Something clenched in Des’s chest at his name being spoken like that. “Aurelie?”
“It’s me. I’m... I’m injured.”
Demons take him. “How badly?”
“I don’t know.” A long silence followed.
“Aurelie?”
“I think I need help.”
Of course she did. Andheneeded to track down the demon. “Is there anyone else on campus?” he asked.
“No. Just the guard and me.”
“Are the grounds completely encircled by iron?”
“Yes.”
Good. The demon wouldn’t get far, then. “Stay there. I’m coming.” Des ran past the guard’s body and entered the hall, retracing the steps he’d taken with Daisy and Aurelie. By the time he reached her laboratory, she was sitting outside in the hallway, the shoulder of her dress torn open to reveal several bloody gashes. “What happened?” he asked, crouching beside her, fighting to keep his voice calm.
She shook her head and closed her eyes, releasing a stream of tears. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
“The guard?” Des asked. “I’m afraid so.”
Aurelie put her hand over her face and sobbed silently. “It’s all my fault.”
Des’s own hands hovered worthlessly near Aurelie’s shoulder. The wound looked painful and angry, seeping blood onto the white shift beneath her dress. “We should clean you up,” he said, though he knew he was wasting time here. This was why they worked in twos, dammit.
“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “I tried to stop it when it went for the window, but it was so strong.”
“How did a demon get in here, Aurelie?” Des was still hoping there was some miracle explanation, that she hadn’t deliberately been conjuring demons.
“A seed,” she said nonsensically. “It came from Mephisto.”
“Who’s Mephisto? What seed?”
Aurelie attempted to push to her feet and immediately slid back down the wall. Was she hurt somewhere else? If she’d been a guard, she’d know to report immediately where she was injured, but Aurelie wasn’t a trained soldier. Her face was bloodless, her hands trembling. She was going into shock.
“I’m going to pick you up,” Des said, then proceeded to scoop Aurelie into his arms without waiting for a response. Her wound brushed his armor, and she made a small, feeble noise that he wanted to hate, but he found himself readjusting her anyway. He shouldered his way into her destroyed lab and laid her down on the sofa, then glanced around the room for something to clean and bind the wound with.
“There,” she said, pointing to a basin and ewer with her good arm. “There are washcloths in the cupboard.”
Des rummaged around, trying not to touch any of Aurelie’s equipment. For all he knew, there were combustible materials in here, like whatever had caused that explosion.
When he returned to her side with the washcloths and a pitcher of clean water, she had turned toward him slightly. He tried not to stare at where she’d untied the ribbon at her neck, pulling her clothing aside to reveal more of the wound, which ran from the base of her throat to the skin where her chest met her shoulder. Her throat had been mere inches from being torn out.