The Witch Queen of Halloween

Five new nightmares loped down the hall. The sparse light reflected off their black exoskeletons and dripping fangs. With each hiss, viscous liquid drizzled from their two mouths.

Annelise gave a curtsy to the newcomers; then she and the other dolls disappeared.

Rök rushed to secure his sword, placing himself between Poppy and the new threat. He sucked in a breath as he raised his weapon. That redheaded doll had stabbed him through twice, barely missing his heart.

The five monsters readied, their massive heads bobbing left to right, their tails flicking. They were bigger than he’d thought they might be. Serves me right for rewatching on my phone. He glanced over his shoulder. “So when you said aliens, you meant aliens.”

Wide-eyed, Poppy said, “Uh-huh. I’ve seen them before but never quite like this.”

“For blood, they have⁠—”

“Oh, yeah.”

Would spatter ignite the carpet? At the very least, slashing them would dissolve his sword. With reluctance, he sheathed the weapon that had seen him through two Accessions, his confidence that he could keep Poppy safe taking a hit.

What if Lea had been right about her sister needing more than a demon? His protective instincts were primed as never before, both amping and terrifying at the same time: I’ll annihilate whatever threatens Poppy; what if I . . . can’t?

He reminded himself that he’d somehow stayed away from his mate for two years, so he figured he could do anything. “I’ll hold them off. Run.”

“You can’t teleport or travel through your smoke. You can’t use your sword. Don’t be an idiot.”

“I think the phrase you’re looking for is godsdamned demonic hero.” He eyed their foes for vulnerabilities. I can snap their necks. If I can reach them.

Poppy’s hand darted into her bag for another pouch. “I’ve got this.”

“Conserve your ammo. That’s your last battle magic, right?”

“You needed my help against the dolls, and you need it again now.”

“I was wearing them down!”

“By being stabbed?”

“Exactly.” His wounds hurt, but he would regenerate. “Just save your pouch.”

The aliens charged; a beam zoomed past him, bombarding them. She didn’t save her pouch.

Their bodies hurtled backward, injured. Smoke rose from the carpet, but it didn’t ignite. This time.

Over his shoulder, Rök said, “No spatter! We can’t risk a fire.”

“Then run with me!”

“I can handle them.” As they rebounded, he drew on his dark half, turning demonic. His body grew hazy, his muscles swelling. He bared his lengthening fangs, roaring a warning.

The aliens didn’t heed it, attacking as a unit. Tails stabbed at him like sword strikes as he evaded. Their strength and speed was more than supernatural. Magic-infused?

But he was a warrior at the peak of his powers. He dodged swiping claws to grab one’s unwieldy head. He twisted it till pressure gave way, its neck broken.

SNAP.

The body hadn’t even collapsed before he’d seized the next alien, dodging its secondary maw to grapple for its head. The demon in him craved mindless slaughter, but Rök had learned to control his primal self. He studied, reflected, and adjusted, all with a demon’s aggression.

SNAP.

Ah. He’d figured out their weakness, the pattern revealing itself. Strategy. All that remained was implementation.

Dodging. Grappling. Twisting.

Five aliens soon lay vanquished at his feet, with none of their blood spilled. He’d defended his mate, had the impulse to plant his boot atop a corpse and pound his chest with a bellow.

“You took them all out, Rök.” The way she gazed up at him as if in awe . . .

He would do anything for more of that look. “We can best these creatures. Now that they’re embodied, we can kill them all.” Had he made her feel a thread of hope about the future? Rök, though not a warlock, could help her prevail against a mystical curse.

Doubt clouded her expression. “There’s too many. Human nightmares are limitless.”

“Bite by bite, yeah? We’ll drop them one at a time.” As soon as he’d spoken, he sensed movement behind him.

What now? One alien’s spindly fingers clenched and unclenched. Another’s tail circled about like a cracked whip. They began to rise, no worse for the wear.

That was bloody unexpected. “New plan. We need to get them to the dungeon. I can send them to hell—” The skeletons from earlier materialized behind the aliens.

Which meant the visitors couldn’t be killed or even cast away. How to defeat an enemy that would forever rebound?

Poppy spoke his thoughts: “We can’t fight creatures that refuse to die. Now will you run with me?”

He glanced at their foes readying to attack, then back at her. Cursing in Demonish, he grabbed her arm, and they fled down the hall.

The aliens alone gave chase. Three dogged their heels while another pair launched themselves onto the ceiling to clamber along at full speed.

Rök and Poppy careened around a corner, turning into a narrower corridor. No doors or windows. Just the same worn carpet beneath their feet.

The aliens closed in, gaining speed.

“Faster, witch!” Rök shoved her in front of him, pushing her along. Snapping jaws and swiping claws just missed him. “Go, go, go!”

When they came to a fork in the hallway, he lifted her in his arms and sprinted as if there were a run on demon brew. After what felt like miles passed beneath his feet, he glanced over his shoulder. He’d managed some breathing room.

Was the best move to find the cursebreaker at all costs or locate the battery and escape this place, living to fight another day? His instincts urged him to remove Poppy from harm’s way.

The feel of her delicate body clasped against him heightened his resolve. He’d do whatever it took to protect her—even from herself. He ran harder, barreling down corridors, pulling farther away from their pursuers. He reached a second fork. Turned right. Another fork. Right. Then left. Then right.

The aliens’ clambering grew faint. They’d chosen the wrong direction!

At last, the end of the hall loomed with a door that looked as if it’d come from a medieval castle. Spikes jutted around the door lever, warning them away.

Poppy whispered, “The hell is this?”

In the distance, the aliens hissed. After a beat, their steps thundered in Rök and Poppy’s direction.

“No choice.” He pulled on the lever. Instead of opening, the door began to vibrate. Whirring gears and sliding bolts sounded, like a bank vault opening.

The aliens turned the corner.

“They’re coming!” Poppy’s hand dove into her satchel. “I’ll create a portal to another part of the castle.”

He yanked on the lever. “We’re not there yet. I’ll tell you when I need help.”

Bogeys fifteen feet away.

Ten . . .

The door opened. Rök tossed Poppy inside and slammed the heavy door behind them. The aliens shoved back, claws pinging the spikes. A secondary maw extended through the growing gap in the doorway. Snap snap!

“Push, demon!” Poppy leaned in beside him, using her own immortal strength to help. “I should’ve made a puddle out of them, huh?”

He grated, “Can’t risk a fire.”

Snap snap!

“You’d rather an alien bite off your head?”

Claws replaced the maw, those spindly fingers stretching. . . .

Rök gritted his fangs and shoved as hard as he could, utilizing all his demonic brawn. Just before the edge of the door sliced the alien and sent spatter everywhere, it retreated. Rök and Poppy slammed the door closed.

Outside, the hissing and strikes faded as those same gears whirred, bolts clanking—a sprung trap.

Between breaths, Poppy said, “That doesn’t sound good.”

He noticed what looked like a steam-punk combination lock on the door—and blood all over its surface. “It locks from the inside. Sitrep, witch.” They whirled around.

She muttered, “Well, hell.”