The bats descended in a swirling blanket, engulfing the beast. The vortex of flapping wings shifted across the terrace, throwing up a tornado of dust that consumed Finn, Tia Dalma, and Dillard.
Blinded, Finn shielded his eyes. He fought forward, swiping at the bats with his bare hands, knocking them aside.
They lifted.
Tia Dalma was hauling Dillard toward Chernabog and the stone table. “Coming, my lord.” She stretched out an arm to pull the open journal closer.
My lord. The words registered with Finn.
Finn dove and rolled, leaping to his feet in time to catch Tia Dalma’s back-stretched arm as she wrestled to lift Dillard onto the table.
An excited Chernabog snorted and stomped. The ground shook.
Finn yanked Tia Dalma’s arm and knife back a few inches, away from Dillard’s throat. The witch doctor released Dillard, leaving him laying half-on, half-off the sacrificial table. Finn redirected the knife, turning her wrist so the tip of the blade faced her, surprised by her formidable strength.
“You…should…have…taken…me,” he said. “I would have gone willingly.”
“For the King!” the witch doctor said, reversing the tip fully toward Finn.
Anger flashed through Finn, making him ten times as strong. He and Dillard had played at Knights of the Round Table using palm tree fronds as swords, battling for the virtue of princesses and the valor of the King. How dare she know that! How dare she quote that?
It gave him the final blast of strength, the pump of adrenaline he needed. He bent her wrist—snapped its bones—and plunged the knife into her chest.
Finn relished the shock in her eyes, the way he felt her resolve flag. There was something else in her eyes as he twisted the blade within her: betrayal? How could she possibly accuse him of such a thing?
The life went out of her eyes.
The bats swirled.
Dillard sagged on the end of the knife.
Dillard.
Not Tia Dalma.
Finn looked at the table. The witch doctor lay there, arms crossed over her chest, laughing coldly.
Dillard looked down at the knife, then into Finn’s eyes. Betrayal! Finn should have known! He pulled out the knife. Dillard collapsed and fell, eyes open. Tears ran down his cheeks. If he was crying, he was alive!
“The bloodshed of friendship is so much thicker,” Tia Dalma said, off the table now and catching Dillard before he hit the ground. She lifted Dillard’s hand, which hung limply in the air.
“Life is because of the gods; with their sacrifice they gave us life…. They produce our sustenance…which nourishes life.”
Chernabog leaned forward.
“Nooooo!”
Finn punched Tia Dalma in the face with all his strength. Her head snapped back and she collapsed, unconscious. Before he could think, Finn pivoted and broke Chernabog’s grip on Dillard, putting himself between the beast and his friend. He jumped straight up and landed, squatting on the stone table, facing Chernabog. He waved the knife.
The beast swung, but to Finn it registered as slow motion. Finn ducked the blow, but lost the knife. He rotated and kicked out, connecting with the beast’s chest. It was like kicking a wall.
Chernabog dropped his fist like a hammer. Finn lurched aside. The eight-inch-thick stone table cracked with the blow.
The beast’s jaw opened and snapped at Finn’s head, narrowly missing. Finn backed up and fell off balance. He tumbled into the dirt, the table between him and the beast.
Chernabog roared, pounded down angrily on the table, and split it in two.
The knife flew up, spinning tip-over-grip. The beast snatched it out of the air. It looked like a toy in his hand as he brought it to his maw and licked the blood hungrily from the blade.
Dropping the knife, Chernabog raised his head toward the ever-lightening sky. His flesh rippled as he seemed to grow, or swell, or increase in some indefinable way. A chrysalis in catharsis—a butterfly’s drying wings ready for flight.
The demon—no longer merely a beast—gazed down at Finn and cocked his head.
Finn reacted primordially. He grabbed for the fallen knife and plunged it into Chernabog’s thigh.
Chernabog roared in pain. The jungle canopy shook. Startled birds erupted upward.
Finn scooped up Dillard and ran for the tunnel entrance. He could see death flicker behind Dillard’s eyes with his every step.
“Don’t you leave me!” Finn told him, his own tears starting now.
Dillard’s eyes floated open. He stared up at Finn, who could not take his eyes off his friend.
“Don’t…you…dare,” Finn said.
“‘If you don’t take a chance,’” Dillard said, a weak grin sweeping his lips, “‘you don’t have a chance.’”
“You’re a Keeper. Always a Keeper!”