THIS IS THE END, BEAUTIFUL FRIEND

Dervish refused to be admitted to a hospital. If demons attack him and Bec again, he doesn’t want to be in a public building, where innocents might catch the crossfire. So the team set in place by the Disciples swiftly established a temporary medical base in a derelict building in a rundown part of the city where he, Bec and the other survivor were taken.

Antoine Horwitzer’s soldiers are waiting for me when I arrive. They line the corridor, heavily armed, exchanging dark glances with several troops in different uniforms who are working for the Disciples. The air bristles with tension when I walk in. The commanding officer of the Lambs’ group steps forward and runs a cold eye over me.

“Where’s Horwitzer?” he growls.

“Dead,” I say bluntly.

“You killed him?” the officer snarls.

“No.” I whistle and the werewolves lurch into view. “They did.”

The officer’s face blanches. His men raise their weapons defensively. The other soldiers raise theirs too, even more alarmed than the Lambs.

“You have a choice,” I say calmly. “Fight and die, or lower your arms and walk away. Horwitzer’s reign is over. The Lambs are back under the thumb of Prae Athim. Surrender now and we’ll call it even.”

The officer licks his lips. “I’d want safe passage for my men,” he mutters. “And I’ll have to confirm it with—”

“No time for confirmations,” I bark. “Drop your weapons and run, or stand, fight and die.”

The officer studies the slavering werewolves and comes to the smart conclusion. He lowers his gun and gives the order for his men to follow suit. I growl at the beasts behind me and they part, affording the humans safe passage. Once they’ve filed out of the building, I bring my werewolves in, line them up in the corridor and ask to be escorted to Dervish’s room. The soldiers are uneasy—I can smell their fear—but they do as I request. One takes me, while the rest remain, eyeing the werewolves anxiously.

I find Dervish relaxing on a bed in a large room, clothed in a T-shirt and jeans, no shoes or socks, hooked up to a drip and monitors, staring reflectively at the ceiling. Bec’s in a chair nearby, head lowered, snoozing. She’s also hooked up to a drip. In a bed further over, another man, swathed in bandages, is sitting up and entertaining a gaggle of wide-eyed nurses. A couple of fingers on his left hand have been cut or bitten off, reminding me of Shark.

“—but I wasn’t afraid of a few stinking zombies,” the man—it must be Kirilli Kovacs—is saying dismissively. “I laid into them with magic and fried them where they stood. If there hadn’t been so many, I’d have waltzed through unscathed, but there were thousands. They overwhelmed me, and the others too. It looked as if we were doomed but I didn’t panic. I gathered Dervish and the girls and ploughed a way through.”

“You saved their lives,” a nurse gasps.

“Pretty much,” the man says with a falsely modest smile.

I clear my throat. Dervish looks over and beams at me. Bec’s head bobs up and she studies my twisted body with a frown. Kirilli Kovacs scowls at me for interrupting, casts a sheepish glance at Dervish, then lowers his voice and continues his story.

“Sorry I didn’t bring any chocolates,” I tell Dervish, walking over to the bed and taking my uncle’s hands. He squeezes tight. I squeeze back gently, not wanting to hurt him. He squints as he studies me.

“There’s something different about you,” he says.

“I’ve started styling my hair differently,” I laugh.

“Oh. I thought it was that you were a metre taller, a hell of a lot broader, look like a werewolf and are naked except for that bit of cloth around your waist. But you’re right—it’s the hair.”

“There’s something strange about yours too,” I murmur, staring at the six punk-like, purple-tipped, silver spikes that have appeared on his head since I last saw him. “The tips are a nice touch. Very anarchic.”

We grin at each other. Dervish looks like death and I guess I don’t look much better. We must make some pair.

“How’s the heart?” I ask, letting go and taking a step back.

“Fine,” he says.

“It’s not,” Bec disagrees. She stands, taking care not to dislodge the drip. “We heard about your transformation. Meera said you’d be bringing others with you.”

“They’re waiting outside. What about his heart?”

“I need a transplant,” Dervish says. “Care to volunteer?”

“He needs to return to the demon universe,” Bec says, ignoring Dervish’s quip. “The doctors have done what they can, but if he stays here…” She shakes her head.

“Can you open a window?” I ask.

“Not right now. I’m not operating at full strength.” I formulate a quick plan. “Juni knows you’re here. A window’s being opened somewhere in the city. Demons will pour through. The air will fill with magic. I want you to tap into it, open a window of your own and get him out of here.”

“Don’t I have any say in this?” Dervish asks.

“No.”

My uncle chuckles, then lays back and smiles. “I won’t go,” he says.

“Take him somewhere safe,” I tell Bec. “If I survive, I’ll come—”

“You didn’t hear me,” Dervish interrupts. “I won’t go.”

“Of course you’ll go,” I snap. “You can’t stay here. You’ll die.”

“So?”

“Don’t,” I snarl. “We haven’t time for this self-sacrifice crap. You’re hauling your rotten carcass out of here and that’s that.”

Dervish’s smile doesn’t dim. “I’ve been thinking about it since we were rescued. Do you know that Beranabus and Sharmila were killed?”

“Yeah,” I mutter.

“We’re not sure about Kernel,” Dervish continues. “He disappeared. There was a lot of blood and scraps of flesh, but they mightn’t have been his. Maybe he’s dead, maybe not.” Dervish shrugs, grimaces with pain, then relaxes again. “I want to choose my place and manner of death. Beranabus and Sharmila were lucky—they died quickly, on our own world. But they could just have easily suffered for centuries at the hands of the Demonata and been butchered in that other universe, far from home and all they loved.”

“Those are the risks we take,” I say stiffly.

“Not me,” Dervish replies. “I’m through. I served as best I could, and if this body had a bit more life in it, I’d carry on. But I’m not good for anything now. I’m tired. Ready for death. I’ll fight when the demons attack, but if we repel them, I want to find a peaceful spot and give up the ghost in my own, natural time.”

“Don’t be—” I start to yell.

“Grubbs,” he interrupts gently. “I think I’ve earned the right to choose how I die. Don’t you?”

I stare at him, close to breaking. Dervish is all I have left in the world. I think of him as a father. The thought of losing him…

“I reckon I’ll last a few months if fate looks on me kindly,” Dervish says. “But that’s as much as I dare hope for. My body’s had enough. Time’s up. The way I’ve pushed myself, the demons I’ve faced, the battles I’ve endured… I was lucky to last this long.”

“But I need you,” I half sob.

“No,” he smiles. “The thought that you might was the one thing that could have tempted me to return to the universe of magic and struggle on. But you don’t need anyone anymore. I saw it as soon as I looked at you. You’ve found your path, and it’s a path you have to travel alone. Beranabus was the same. Kernel. Bec too.”

He looks at Bec and winks. “Grubbs isn’t the only one I’ll be sorry to leave,” he says, and the pale-faced, weary girl smiles at him warmly.

I think of things I could say to make him change his mind, but the horrible truth is, he’s right. I can see death in his eyes. Every breath is an effort. He’s not meant to continue. The afterlife is calling. It will be a relief for him when he goes.

Sighing, I sit on the bed and glare at the dying man. “If you think I’m going to start crying, and say things like ‘I love you’—forget it!”