Call of the Siren(2)

One down.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted one of the guards reaching for a communication device holstered at his side, but before he could stop him from using it, several of the other men discharged their weapons. He blocked the rays, but could do nothing to stop the sound of the alarm warning everyone inside the building of his attack.

Damn.

But then, he’d expected nothing less.

“Get ready,” he snapped at his assistant. With a flick of his fingers, he shot lightning bolts toward two of the guards. They fell to the ground, their corpses twitching and smoking. Belpheg grinned and pointed his fingers at the remaining guards, but then his heart seized without warning. He lowered his hand to his chest with a gasp, cursing his weak, treacherous body.

“Belpheg?” His assistant shifted edgily beside him. “They’re about to shoot again.”

He must keep the end goal in mind. Once he was able to complete the circle, he would never again have to worry about his body giving out on him. But first, he needed to get inside. Now.

“Use it.”

His assistant nodded and pointed the orb in his hand toward the remaining guards. He squeezed, and a bright ray of light blanketed the space between them and the other men, freezing the guards in place.

The clenching of Belpheg’s heart subsided, and he straightened to admire his handiwork. He’d been slowly bleeding his energy into orbs for the past month. Unlike his body, the orbs wouldn’t unexpectedly give out. Unfortunately, their power was limited, and he’d only been able to create two of them in the time he’d had. They had ten minutes to get in and out.

“Hold them off.” Belpheg set the stopwatch strapped to his wrist.

He skirted around the paralyzing light and climbed the stone steps leading into the headquarters. The entrance had been barred with a force field that would have been deadly for anyone else. Once again, the Council had underestimated him. He slashed the air with his trembling hand, and the resultant energy tumbled the force field down. When he stepped inside the building, it was just in time to see another group of guards running toward him from the long corridor directly ahead.

“Freeze.” The lead guard stopped to point his weapon at Belpheg’s heart.

“No, you freeze.” Belpheg reached into his pocket and removed the second orb, squeezing to activate its power. Immediately, the ray of energy shot out toward the men, rendering them motionless.

According to his spy, the Council prison was located on the ground level, down the corridor to the left. Belpheg directed the orb’s beam toward the other side of the building, ensuring that no one would interrupt him, and lowered it to the ground. He glanced at his watch.

Less than eight minutes left.

He wasted no time in striding down the long corridor and came to a stop right before a thick, metal door at the end. Normally, the prison entrance was manned by several guards, but it seemed they’d abandoned their post to join the others who were now frozen in place at the front of the building.

Most excellent.

He slid the heavy bolt on the door. It opened to reveal another hallway, but this one was dark and dank—clearly setting the mood for the miserable souls locked inside. The thought that it might have once been him locked in here nearly made him shiver…but no, the Council had chosen to decimate his people rather than imprison them. That was much worse, wasn’t it?

Thick bars were set along either side of the corridor. Belpheg started forward.

A bone-thin hand crept through one set of bars. “Help me,” a weak voice said.

Belpheg peered inside the tiny cell, but it wasn’t the man he sought. Shrugging, he moved along. He passed five more cells before coming to one where a thin, wasted man sat on the only piece of furniture, a tiny cot. Less than a foot from his bed was a toilet with no lid.

He shuddered, about to move on, when he realized the man’s profile was familiar. He’d almost missed it from the hunched set of the man’s back and the fact that his gaze was directed toward the ground.

“Mammon.”

When the man’s gaze shot toward him, Belpheg realized with a start that he was right. By the gods, how Mammon had aged. Even though he’d been a grown man already when he’d saved Belpheg’s life, somehow Belpheg had never thought of him as being old. Avaritia demons aged slowly and gracefully. But the time in prison had clearly been hard on Mammon. He looked wrung-out and every bit the old man he was.

Mammon’s expression was wary, but then recognition lit his eyes. Mammon slowly stood and shuffled toward the bars. “Belpheg—is that you?”

“Yes.” Maybe he should simply leave the demon here. He didn’t look like he would be capable of handling the task Belpheg had in mind for him.