THIRTY-FOUR

Sam landed on the demon full-force, with the idea that sheer momentum might be enough. Obligingly, it let go of Sarah’s neck. Only to turn its attention to Sam. Instantly it was on him, and it was out for blood.

He had no plan and no means of self-defense.

The demon pinned Sam to the floor. The sulfurous stink was overwhelming. It grabbed one of the bloody rags that had served as its tourniquet, jerked Sam’s mouth open and tried to cram the rag inside.

Sam choked, his gag-reflex triggering over and over, and managed to get his mouth shut. Even so, he could smell the blood. But not just any blood. It was heavy, almost intoxicatingly potent and somehow rotten at the same time—demon blood. The re-enactor had continued seeping into his bandages long after the noose had turned him.

He tried to turn his head, to keep his mouth shut, but the demon had fastened its hand over his lower jaw and kept trying to pry it open.

In the background, a million miles away, something was happening. Ashgrove and Bendis were scuffling to get the attacker off of him. The demon shrugged them away, batting them off like insects.

Sam couldn’t see much. The room was fading fast around him, sinking away in gradations of gray.

“Leave him alone,” a voice said.

The demon jerked upright, his weight rising off Sam’s chest. As his vision cleared, he saw Castiel had yanked his assailant away from him and was holding the demon by the throat, both hands clenching while the demon made gargling sounds.

“Cass,” Sam choaked. “I thought—”

The door of the railroad shed blew off its hinges, flying inward, smashing the demon backward and flinging it across the room like some unwanted toy.

Castiel vanished.

In the middle of it all, Sam felt a random verse from Scripture race through his mind: And the stone the builder rejected will become the cornerstone. Where did these thoughts come from, he wondered dazedly, and why did they arrive in his mind when they did?

The door was followed by the rest of the wall, the wood and reinforced steel of the shed itself blasting inward on a geyser of flame as wide as a semi. That gout of fire sucked the oxygen out of the building. The ceiling pulled downward in a crumpling shriek of splintering oak and tortured steel. It was like being trapped inside an enormous tin can as it was being crushed.

The roof’s coming down, Sam thought, And it—

The noise stopped. The last row of crossbeams held steady.

Sam stared up at the steel plating, partially caved in five meters above their heads.

Forcing himself up, he spat the bloody rag from his mouth. He jabbed one finger down his throat, felt his stomach tighten and squeeze, and expelled a thick spew of bloody liquid, spitting it out onto the ground.

Did I get it out?

I think so. I hope so. I guess we’ll find out soon enough.

Through the smoke, he saw Tommy McClane walking through the fire. McClane’s face was a mad Expressionist painting of bruises and insults. One black eye flickered with an imprinted sigil that seemed to have been burned directly onto his optic membrane. He was flanked by more demons than Sam could count, all of them armed with sabers, muskets, and bayonets, and when the back wall of the railway shed began to crumple and collapse, Sam saw that they had encircled it on all sides.

“We’ve been waiting a long time for this,” McClane said. “I think you’re ready now.”

“What do you...?”

“Your true nature. I’m aware that it requires a certain amount of carnage and a heightened degree of desperation to bring it forth.” McClane’s one working eye rolled upward, weirdly detached from the other. He nodded over at the demon that had shoved its bandages into Sam’s mouth. “He was trying to do it himself, but he didn’t really know what he was doing. And besides, I had to see it with my own... well, eyes.”

“What?” Sam asked. “What are you talking about?”

“You. You’re his vessel. Say yes. Bring him forth.”

“Lucifer?”

McClane nodded.

“That’s what this is all about?”

“You will be the Light-bringer, Sam.” Suddenly McClane was standing directly in front of him, bare inches away. Within breathing distance. It had happened so fast, in a parody of motion, that Sam didn’t even see him move.

“Certainly you’re aware of the Gnostic gospel. If you bring forth what is inside you, what you bring forth will save you. If you don’t bring forth what’s inside of you, what you don’t bring forth will destroy you.” He smiled, almost gently now. “So I present you with the choice. Manifest your true self for me now, or be destroyed.”

“You make it sound so tempting.”

“Tempting or not,” McClane said, “it’s the best offer you’re going to get, and it’s not going to get that good again.”

Sam shook his head.

“Then I guess you’d better kill me.”

McClane just looked at him, a faint smile still riding the corners of his lips. He didn’t even appear to be upset. If anything, he seemed satisfied.

“First things first.” Gesturing at one of the cavalry demons to his left, he said, “Kill the girl.”

“Wait,” Sam started. “She’s not—”

The demon’s arm snapped forward, grabbing Sarah Rafferty by the hair and jerking her toward him, the edge of his bayonet resting against her throat. Sam could see the throb of her pulse just beneath her skin, reflected in the mirror-brightness of the blade.

“Care to try again?” McClane asked. “No?” Then, to the bayonet-wielding demon. “Go ahead. Take your time.”

The blade bit in to Sarah’s neck. Sam saw her mouth leap open in a startled dark oval of pain.

But the noise he heard this time wasn’t a scream.

It was his brother’s voice.