The Demon Road Trilogy: The Complete Collection: Demon Road; Desolation; American Monsters

“Here you go,” the barmaid said, setting their drinks down.

“Thank you,” said Milo, putting a note on the tray. “I wonder if you can help us find someone. Our travelling companion—”

“Friend,” Glen cut in.

“—is looking for someone. Abigail. If you can point her out to us, the tip’s all yours.”

The barmaid smiled. “Oh, no need, sir. Abigail’s already found you.”

Amber frowned. “She has?”

The barmaid walked away, and out of the crowd a little blonde girl in a pretty dress appeared.

“Hello.”

“Hi,” Amber said, forcing a confused smile on to her face. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Abigail,” said the girl, smiling back. “I’m the owner of the bar.”

Glen paled. “You’re Abigail?”

Milo frowned. “You’re the owner?”

“Yep.” She giggled. “Yeah, everyone has that look on their face when they find out. It’s a funny look.” She smiled again at Amber. “By the way, I love your horns.”

Shock surging in her chest, Amber’s hands went immediately to her head. No horns. Everything was normal.

Abigail looked at Milo, looked at him with eyes that saw more than what was there, and she smiled again. Amber wondered what she could see.

Lastly, Abigail looked at Glen. “You’ve got the Deathmark.”

“Uh,” said Glen.

“You’re here to kill me, are you?”

Glen swallowed thickly. “No?”

Abigail nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

“I’m sorry,” said Glen, “I didn’t know you were a … a kid. Now I feel bad. I feel, like, really bad. I was told you’d killed people. Aw man. Now what do I do?”

“I can help you, if you want,” said Abigail.

Glen brightened. “You can remove it?”

“Oh yes,” the little girl replied. “It’s quite easy.”

She tilted her head, and the people around them surged, slamming Glen’s head down on the table while they pressed a knife to Amber’s throat. She froze.

Someone else had a knife to Milo’s throat. “He really isn’t a friend of ours,” he said.

They gripped Glen’s arm, straightening it out on the table, and a big man walked up, holding a butcher’s cleaver.

“No!” Glen screamed. “No, no, please!”

“Don’t be so silly!” Abigail giggled. “He’s only going to cut your hand off. It’s not like you’re going to lose your entire arm!”

The cold blade pressed deeper into Amber’s throat, like its wielder knew how much she wanted to shift into demon form.

“Please don’t do this,” said Glen, trying to sound reasonable. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know you were Abigail. If I’d known you were a little girl, I would have said no.”

The big man tapped the cleaver on Glen’s wrist a few times to test his aim, and then raised the cleaver high above his head.

Glen abandoned all attempts at appearing reasonable and started screaming again. “Oh God please don’t do this please don’t cut my hand off I need it I didn’t know I didn’t know the old man didn’t tell me!”

Abigail held up a finger, and the man with the cleaver paused.

She leaned closer. “What old man?”

Glen gasped. “The … the old man who passed the Deathmark on to me. He just said this was intended for someone who deserved to die. Said you’d killed people. Lots of people.”

Abigail pursed her lips. “Did you ask his name?”

“No,” said Glen.

Abigail shrugged. “Pity.” She looked at the big man with the cleaver, was about to issue an order when Glen continued.

“But he had grey hair! And he was small! And Spanish! And he had a big grey beard!”

Abigail laughed. “Lautaro Soto asked you to kill me? That is so cute! He’s not Spanish, though, he’s Mexican. Or he was. He’s dead now, right?”

Glen nodded. “Died as soon as he passed the Deathmark to me.”

“He always was a sneaky one,” said Abigail. “Hey, guys, you can let him up now.”

Abigail’s people released their grip. The guy with the cleaver looked disappointed. The knife was taken from Amber’s throat and, like this happened every day, people around them went back to whatever they had been doing.

“Are you still going to chop my hand off?” Glen asked meekly.

Abigail laughed again. “No, you ninny! Everything has changed! This isn’t the work of my enemies – this is Lautaro, one of my oldest, dearest, most recently departed friends.”

“So … so you’ll let me go?”

“Absolutely. So long as you deliver that Deathmark to someone else instead.”

Glen’s eyes narrowed. “But … but I thought it’d only work on you.”

“Nope, it’ll work on anyone.”