Page 6 of The Demon’s Due (Bedeviled #5)

I came to, face down on cracked asphalt, my ears ringing. The smell of burnt coffee that tinged the air was mixed with dust and smoke. My hands scraped against broken concrete as I shakily pushed myself up, looking at the world through a hazy film.

I was back in Vancouver, outside the ruined laundromat that housed the rift to the Brink. Where the building had stood was now a half-collapsed mess of brick and twisted metal, its old sign stuck up like a pirate’s flag on the skeleton of a ship against a dark sky.

The rubble buried the rift so completely that not a scrap of portal light escaped.

That blast in the fortress was strong enough to reverberate into our world? Were more aftershocks to come? Bile climbed up my throat.

Sirens wailed but they sounded like I was hearing them through a tunnel, same as the car alarms blaring.

The surrounding buildings bore fresh cracks running up their facades. People emerged onto the street, gathering in distressed little groups.

My head throbbed and every muscle ached. Something warm trickled down the side of my face. I touched it and my fingers came away crimson, mixed with freezing rainwater pelting down.

I was alive and home. Cold and bleeding didn’t matter and I couldn’t do anything about this destruction. I’d help however I could after I got back to the Lions Gallery—and Ezra.

A dark figure loomed over me, speaking and gesturing angrily from me to the laundromat, but his words were a white noise soup. His fangs were nice and clear, though, and he was helpfully attired in the black suits favored by many a vamp goon.

Cherry pulsed under my skin, driving me forward. She’d stayed in check when it mattered, but now that we were back on home turf, her wild desire to find our mate was almost tangible.

My legs shook as I stumbled to my feet, using a busted sign pole to stand. The world tilted sickeningly, and my limbs felt heavy and unwieldy.

The vamp grabbed me.

I punched him in the throat and hobbled to the sidewalk, where I blanked. I didn’t have my phone, and I couldn’t remember Sachie’s number or even my mom’s, but HQ—that one had been drilled into me.

The vamp grabbed me again. “Did you come out of the rift? What happened?”

I could hear him properly now, but his grip was too strong, and that one attack was all I’d had left in me. Plus, I wasn’t on sharing terms with this asshole.

“Operative Fleischer!”

I turned to see a vaguely familiar man jogging toward me.

“You’re a Maccabee? Aw, fuck.” The vampire reluctantly released me. “You’re not wearing your ring.”

I glanced down at my right hand. Had I lost the ring in the Brink? A pang twinged in my chest, but that didn’t matter either. Rings were replaceable. Ezra was not.

Vamp goon melted back into the shadows before the other operative reached me.

The man’s eyes widened as he got closer, taking in my battered appearance, but it was only for a second.

“Was Ezra Cardoso found?” My voice came out raw and cracked.

The operative didn’t react negatively to Ezra’s name, though he knew who he was and what had happened with the Authority. Everyone at the Vancouver chapter did. “Is he missing?”

“Call the director,” I insisted. “Please.”

“Let’s get you out of the rain first. You’re going to get hypothermia.”

“I don’t have time for that.” If he wouldn’t call Michael, he definitely wouldn’t drive me to the Lions Gallery. No problem, I’d get hold of a phone myself. That woman over there, she’d have a phone. I tried to sidestep the operative, but he caught my sleeve.

“You’re in no condition to?—”

A furious haze settled around me, like a barbed wire blanket. I tore his hand off me, snarling.

“You’re injured and your eyes are crossing,” he said in a low and steady voice. “There’s blood coming down your head, and by the way you’re walking, your ankle is badly sprained. Let me help you first. We’re on the same side.”

At the sight of my puffy ankle, the pain I’d held off through sheer adrenaline and grit broke through. I breathed shallowly, transferring my weight to my good leg with a winced hiss.

“Please come with me,” he said. “I’ll call Director Fleischer on the way.”

“Fine.” The word tasted like defeat, but I could barely walk. “Operative…?”

“Nelson.”

I narrowed my eyes at his ring. Why didn’t I have mine? Corrupted shedim magic, undercover disguise… Right. “Thank you.”

Operative Nelson guided me to the nondescript black SUV parked half on the curb, each step sending spikes of pain through my ankle. He kept a steadying hand near my elbow but was careful not to touch me after my earlier reaction.

The back seat was mercifully dim. I slumped against the leather, shaking as the adrenaline began to fade, even though he cranked the heat to sauna-like temperatures for me.

For the first time since this horror began, I allowed myself a moment to simply breathe.

No imminent threats. No life-or-death decisions.

Just the rhythmic sound of tires on pavement and the gradual loosening of muscles that had been battle-ready for what felt like years.

The relief was so intense it was almost painful—a momentary sanctuary that wouldn’t last, but one I desperately needed.

Cherry was a caged tiger prowling beneath my skin. Her agitation made the pain sharper, more immediate.

Ezra , she snarled.

We’ll find him , I promised. But we’re no good to anyone if we pass out in the street .

Operative Nelson spoke quietly into his Bluetooth headset as he drove, reporting my condition and requesting medical prep. His words filtered through my fog in fragments: trauma, possible concussion.

The SUV’s gentle swaying made my stomach roll. I pressed my forehead against the cool window, watching the city blur past through half-closed eyes.

Cherry’s anxiety bled into mine with each passing minute. Why isn’t anyone telling me what had happened to Ezra?

My thoughts scattered as we hit a pothole. A hot blaze shot through my ribs and ankle, drawing a sharp gasp.

“Director Fleischer is being notified that you’ve been located, but HQ is requesting more information. When’s the last time you saw Mr. Cardoso?”

Sunset was around 4PM here in Vancouver in January. Given the sky right now, it might be late afternoon, early evening, or dead of night. No. The people who came out of the nearby buildings weren’t in pajamas.

It couldn’t still be Tuesday though. The test and ritual had taken a while, and even if the time conversion wasn’t quite the same, it should be similar enough.

Damn it. Ezra wouldn’t be at the gallery anymore. Where should I start looking? “I saw him late afternoon yesterday.”

“Wednesday afternoon,” he reported back to the phone call.

“ Yesterday . Tuesday.”

“It’s 20:17 Thursday.”

A pained howl punched out of me.

Operative Nelson gave the corrected information to whomever he was speaking with. “Five minutes to HQ. Try to stay conscious.”

I nodded, immediately regretting the movement. The world was starting to blur at the edges. Cherry’s presence was the only thing keeping me upright, her supernatural stamina fighting my body’s desire to shut down.

Michael was waiting when we arrived, her face drawn and gray with exhaustion. She looked like she’d slept in her cream suit and—I narrowed my eyes. Was that a coffee stain on the lapel of her blouse? Had the apocalypse hit?

Was this because of the fortress blast damage here in Vancouver?

Before I could speak, she crushed me in a hug that made my ribs scream in protest.

“Mom,” I squeaked, but didn’t let go. “Ezra?—”

“He’s safe,” she cut me off, her voice rough. She released me from the hug but kept hold of my hands, her green eyes searching my face as if to make sure I was real. “Go let Chaim fix you.”

“I have to see Ezra first.”

“Your hair is matted with blood.” She gestured to her own head. “There are gashes all over you, you’re protecting your left ribs, and paler than those ugly sheets you had back in residence.”

“The Brink chewed me up and spat me out. Teeth marks were inevitable.”

Are you Daniel Suarez in this anecdote? Cherry said, amused.

No blow job memories in front of Mom!

My mother arched an eyebrow and fixed me with the look that had left teen me quaking. Adult me didn’t love it either. She snapped her fingers and suddenly another operative was there with a wheelchair for me. “The faster you get checked out, the faster you see him.”

I dropped into the wheelchair like a sack of wet concrete.

The treatment room struck a careful balance between medical necessity and soothing comfort.

Warm cream-colored walls and soft recessed lighting helped ease the clinical edge of the vital signs monitors and IV stands positioned near the adjustable bed.

The temperature stayed perfectly regulated, warm enough to relax tense muscles but cool enough to prevent overheating during healing sessions.

While one wall held the expected array of medical supplies and emergency equipment, the overall effect was calming: from a bushy potted philodendron to soft knit blankets stacked neatly on top of a cushioned bench, to the ergonomic chair where the healer could work in comfort.

Even the air held a subtle freshness, thanks to a top-of-the-line filtration system that kept the space pristine without the harsh bite of antiseptic.

It was a soothing space, which was good because being healed magically was like being stabbed with white-hot acupuncture needles. I blacked out three times. Each time I surfaced back to consciousness, the pain hit fresh and new.

When I finally came to properly, exhausted but no longer hurting, Sach, Silas, and Darsh were arguing in low voices by my bedside.

It was a bright, sunny Friday morning, but with no sign of Ezra, the world felt overcast and gloomy.

Sach’s pink hair looked dull and lank, Silas’s shirt reminded me of aluminum foil that had been balled up and flattened out, and Darsh wasn’t wearing a lick of eyeliner.

My skin prickled.