“Awww, darn it!” he breathed.
I turned and saw two things: the sun rising in the east and something silhouetted against it—actually about fifty somethings, coming straight for us, flying in tight formation, their four low-hanging turrets flashing orange balls of light as they came.
They were Apache attack helicopters, the air support Abigail Smith had called in during the opening skirmish.
I lunged forward, slamming my weight into Mike’s knees, knocking him backward, and he cried out when he smacked into the glass.
I threw myself on top of him and slammed my fist into his grinning, gum-smacking, wise-cracking mouth. Then I yanked the gun out of his hand and jammed the muzzle under his chin.
“Do it,” he whispered. Blood ran out of the side of his mouth and trickled down his jaw.
I didn’t pull the trigger, though. With my free hand I grabbed the ring and gave it a sharp yank, pulling it from his finger.
By then the Bedouins had reached us, shouting in confusion, some of them yelling at Mike and some at me, but it didn’t really matter because I had the ring now.
I pushed myself off Mike and didn’t bother trying to stand up. The ground was too slippery, plus I was losing a lot of blood and felt a little light-headed. I scooted back on my throbbing backside, putting some distance between us.
The Apaches swooped down into the swarming hornet’s nest of demons, guns blazing, and the sun cast spinning bars of red and gold through the roiling haze.
I watched the demons adopt a Kamikaze mode of attack, gathering themselves into fireballs and ramming into the copters. At first, the Apaches seemed to absorb the blows, only to expand like overfilled balloons and blow apart, minisuns going supernova against the indigo sky.
Then I slipped the ring onto my finger.
“Drop ’em!” I shouted at the Bedouins, even though I doubted the Seal of Solomon controlled anything but demon hordes. It worked, though. The Uzis fell out of their hands without a word of protest. Maybe I couldn’t control them, but they knew what I could control.
I slid back around to face the battle and raised my fist, pointing the ring toward the demon hordes. I screamed at the top of my lun
gs: “STOP! QUIT IT! CUT IT OUT! I’M THE BOSS NOW! LEAVE US ALONE!”
Nothing happened. The battle went on. Maybe I put it on the wrong hand.
I yanked the ring off, and at that moment Mike Arnold jumped me.
He drove his knee into my back, throwing me forward. The ring flew from my hand and skidded across the polished glass. Mike landed on top of me, smashing my face into the ground.
“Oh, Lord,” Mike breathed in my ear. I rolled him off me and scrambled after the ring.
I beat Mike to it, but only because he didn’t chase after it. He had seen something that I didn’t until it was too late.
The ring came to a stop at the feet of the seven-foot-tall demon king called Paimon, who picked it up just as I stretched out my hand to grab it.
Then I did an incredibly stupid thing: I looked right into its eyes.
PART THREE
The Hunt for the Hyena
—original message—
To: Aquarius
From: ChiCubsFan
Subject: Sub-Sub-Sec. Op Utopia
See attached briefing memo. That damned kid has practically cost us the game! LS in my possession. Am now making for Barcelona via rail.
Request immediate recall.