Curses Part III
“Halt, demon!” a man yells from behind.
Someone grasps the hood of my robe. It catches my neck, and I’m flung back, hands out, losing the staff. I touch the hard metal of a breastplate, and I channel my curse.
The corridor flares with light. My hair stands upright. The man slumps to the floor, smelling singed. I run.
Ahead is an open door in the wall. I don’t want to go, but this feeling that’s been pulling me along, her, tugs me. The other demon.
More shouts. I dive for the opening, fall for an instant, and catch myself on a rough rail along the wall. Steps go down.
It’s suddenly cold, chilling my skin after the blast. From the door, yells echo, steps resound. But they don’t follow me.
There is a platform at the bottom of the stairs lined in the soft light of candle flames burning low. A sweet, nauseating smell rushes up my nostrils so fast it’s like I’ve been hit between the eyes. My feet crumple under me, just for a second, and I tumble down the remaining stairs.