Armageddon's Children - Terry Brooks [63]
Then, all at once, she knew.
It would be waiting on the stairs above the doorway where it could vault the railing and fall upon her as she came through. If it was quick enough, it could break her neck before she even knew what had happened.
She could see it now in her mind, could see it clearly, could see the demon, faceless and formless, crouched and ready. Big.
But she would be bigger. Strong.
But she would be stronger.
She tightened her grip on the staff and faced the door. She had left it unlocked. The demon would know that, would have tested it to discover if the locks were back in place. Had they been resealed, it could have relied on the sound of their release as a warning of her approach. Unsealed, they would give no warning. So it would be listening for the sounds of her approach or, failing that, the shadow of the door opening into the room.
She would have to be very quick.
She summoned the magic, let it build, and then blew the door right off its hinges. As she did so, she went through the opening at a slant, angling back against the wall as she broke clear of the doorway, eyes and staff lifted to the stairs above her. The shadow was already dropping toward her, every bit as smooth and supple as she had feared. But it was a fraction of a second too slow.
Clawed fingers raked the air she had just passed through, just out of reach, clutching futilely. As the demon landed, the white fire of her staff exploded into it, throwing it across the room and into the lobby desk, smashing the desk into pieces.
She had gotten only a momentary glance at it, but enough to reveal that it was huge. “Helen!” she screamed. “Run!”
She moved quickly to place herself between the doorway and the demon, which was already struggling to free itself from the debris, arms and legs thrashing as if it had gone mad. She got another glimpse of it as it pulled itself clear—spiky blond hair, scaly patches on its face and neck, tree-trunk body. It was female, barely. She attacked, the staff’s fire striking it a second time, knocking it off its feet and sending it sprawling. But the fire seemed to have less effect on it this time, as if it had found a way to deal with the punishment.
Behind her, she heard the pounding of feet and the shrill of small voices raised in alarm. The children were escaping, racing for the freedom of the streets. She didn’t turn to look, her eyes on the demon. She advanced on it, looking to gain more impact from a third strike. But the demon was ready this time and came at her like a huge rodent, skittering across the floor with unbelievable speed, dodging her attempted strike, knocking her from her feet, and closing on her with an audible hiss. She felt as if a wall had collapsed on her, but she tightened her compact body into a knot and fought her way free. The demon tried to follow, but she jammed the staff into its throat and the white fire exploded out and thrust it away.
She was back on her feet quickly, the sound of screaming children washing over her, chaos everywhere. She forced herself to ignore the noise, to keep her eyes on the demon as it rolled into a corner before springing back to its feet.
It hissed at her and laughed, taunting her. It was as if the fire of her staff was having no effect at all, as if all she was doing was buying time. Perhaps she was, she realized; perhaps that was the best she could do.
The demon came at her again, flinging pieces of debris, sweeping them up and hurling them so quickly she had to use the fire to protect herself. Then it was on top of her, hammering into her with all of its considerable weight, tearing at her with clawed fingers and ripping at the staff. She sidestepped the charge, ducking under the long arms, using the training Johnny had given her to keep her feet as she moved to one side. Even