I pause. Dervish’s head has slumped. I tilt his head back, keeping my fingers clear of his mouth, expecting him to bite again. But this time it isn’t a joke. His eyes are closed. The last breath has slipped from his semi-parted lips. His heart has stopped beating.
“Guess the last laugh’s on you, old-timer,” I croak, letting his head rest on my shoulder and patting him clumsily.
Rising, I gently lay him back against the rock, then pad away and choose a spot in the shade. As I bend, I get the feeling that Dervish is sneaking up on me. I turn quickly, lips lifting into a smile, but he hasn’t moved. He never will again.
Sighing emptily, I clench my fingers tightly, then drive them into the dry, hard-packed soil, scooping out the first fistful of my dead uncle’s grave.
CLOCKING OFF
Creeping through a factory, in pursuit of a snake demon twenty-five feet long. I wouldn’t have thought a beast that size could hide easily, but I’ve been searching for several minutes without success. I should be out on the streets, battling the masses, but this demon killed a Disciple. She was an elderly, frail lady, but she could swing a spike-headed mace more effectively than anyone I’ve ever met. I never asked her name, but I liked her. I’m going to make her killer pay.
I slide around a corner, checking the pipes overhead. I feel edgy, which is odd. I haven’t felt anything but cold, detached hatred recently. I guess the tension of the moment has got to me. I’m sure the demon won’t prove to be a serious threat—I’m more than a match for any of the familiars who cross through windows—but it’s fun to pretend I’m in danger. I’d almost forgotten what fear was like.