The full reveal of Linda is shockingly gruesome. I’ve never seen a Low-Level this busted up before. It’s almost like she was purposely killed in a way that would make her terrible to behold.

A pearly white eye glows like snow under the sun and blood pours from the missing half of her scalp to coat her pale sundress in a river of red. The exposed brain twitches in her shattered skull, sending another pump of fluid from veins that only think they still work. And while she hovers above the ground, bare feet dangling and dirty, an unseen wind blows her dark hair in snaking tendrils across a feral grimace.

Ace doesn’t hesitate as she takes quick aim and shoots the demon squarely in the chest. Serrano disappears with a shriek and puff of black smoke, blasted back to her own plane of existence. But salt and iron bullets are only a temporary fix. She won’t be gone for long.

"The hell was that?!" the dark-haired employee hollers, bounding to his feet.

"Our mutual buddy Serrano," I answer, extracting the Magnum from my shoulder holster and rotating out the cylinder to confirm it’s fully loaded.

"That’s Linda?!" His voice cracks in astonishment as he brushes his floppy hair up and back. "I thought I was losing my mind."

"See?" With a flick of my wrist, I snap the chamber back into place. "Psychosis is relative."

"Alright, I’ll take the east side," Dad interrupts, unslinging the AR-15 from his back. "Perrin, Ace, take the west. Stay sharp and watch each other’s backs."

Ace sticks her tongue out at Terry. "Told ya I was trying to protect you," she taunts, expelling the empty shells and reloading with a stable hand. I mentally pat myself on the back at her cucumber cool competence. After all, she learned it from watching me.

Cocking the hammer, I start down the westernmost aisle, Ace watching my six. There’s a bizarre scent in the air, a mixture of graveyard dirt and decay. Rotten eggs with whiffs of cloying sweetness.

With a bombastic, universe parting detonation, the demon reappears, hovering over the middle aisle. Ace rushes forward but I snag her by the collar of her (my) coat and pull her back beside me as all three of us train our guns on the entity, a deadly family unit dressed in black.

Reflex has my finger curling around the trigger, ready to unload, but her expression stops me. There’s an acute sadness emanating from Serrano, so powerful that it stays my hand. She peers at us, making no move to strike, tears streaming down the intact half of her colorless face. And suddenly, the energy in the room isn’t as sinister as it once was. And by the minute lowering of their weapons, I can tell Ace and Dad feel it too.

"What’s she doing?" Terry whispers, as if raised voices could spook a thing like that.

We shush him.

The demon tilts its head, dark crimson liquid still running down its chest, before it does the most shocking thing of all. It opens its mouth and a gravely, broken word pours out. The word itself stumps me; the voice too horrifically distracting to make it out. Low and distorted, it vibrates the very fabric of our world with its pitch. It’s a human voice though, or it used to be. I’m not entirely sure what it is now.

Ace lowers the barrel of the shotgun. "I didn’t know they could speak."

"They can’t," Dad and I simultaneously confirm.

I’m so over this case. Ever since we got into town, this night has been nothing but a series of complicated, frustrating scenarios. And now this? Low-Level Demons are confused, mindless things, born of violence and loss. They shouldn’t have enough sentience to speak.

"Why’s she so sad?" Terry asks, ignorant of our shock.

We shush him again. And, before I can talk myself out of it, I take a step forward. Ace grabs at my arm but I slip away, carefully approaching this thing that belongs in a B horror film. If I want answers, guess I gotta start asking some questions.

"What are you trying to tell us?" I urge, not really expecting a response. But hey, the rules went right out the window the minute this thing opened its mouth. So, new rules, new tactics.

Fresh tears stream down its face and despite the twisted, grotesque features and the shimmering, inhuman white eye, she seems forlorn, frustrated even. Grief pours from her, heartbreaking and stomach twisting and when it brushes my senses, my organs react dutifully.

But unlike the influence of the box, it’s easy to tell this grief isn’t mine. I know what mine feels like. It’s dark and thumping and punctures my belly with thick, curved spikes when it wants to perform. Serrano’s grief is cold and suffocating, death in a coffin, settling over the store like the rug you’d wrap a carcass in.

That graveyard mouth opens again and this time, I think I catch it. The drawn-out, single syllable forms something that sounds very much like the word, "Dead".

Peeping over my shoulder, I widen my eyes at Dad in the commonly understood "What the hell?" expression. He shrugs, just as thrown. But he’s also a professor at his core and this is the biggest thing to happen for his research in ages.

"Keep going," he encourages, nodding me forward.

Returning to the demonic threat, I holster my gun, and walk closer, palms out, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. My fight or flight response is blinking violently, warning me to turn back, but I ignore all my training, all my experiences and follow my father’s instructions.

Sensing my willingness to converse, the thing floats slowly down until it’s nearly eyelevel with me. In life, Linda Serrano was a beautiful girl, with big dark eyes and long curly black hair. She was my age when she died. Kind, beloved, cared for. This pale imitation doesn’t even begin to compare. I don’t know why that affects me, but it does. That could be me floating there, bleeding and desperate.

"Are you trying to say ’Dead’?" I ask delicately, grasping at straws. "Are you sad that you’re dead?"

Serrano lets out a warped sort of sob, and shakes her head, seemingly aggravated by her own inarticulation.

Behind me, Dad breathes in amazement, "She understands you."

"Ok, ok," I say, pumping my hands in a calming motion. "So, not ’dead’? What rhymes with dead? Um, bread? Fred? Led? Red?"

Something sparks in Linda’s face. And she nods at the last word. Red.

My insides liquify and red irises flash before me for the second time tonight. Evil, alien eyes in a familiar, possessed face. I glance back at my family to see if they clocked it.

Ace is slack jawed and oblivious, the shotgun dangling by her side while Dad has slung the AR-15 across his back and is furiously writing in one of the tiny moleskin notebooks he carries.

But then Ace pulls it together to ask, sorrow coating every consonant, "Why did you kill that man today?"

Linda’s white eye glows at the question. If she wasn’t a demon, I would say she looks ashamed.

"Were you trying to get our attention?" my sister presses, drawing level and mimicking my cautious stance. Slowly and deliberately placing her weapon on the floor, she raises her palms to show that she too means no harm.

That disembodied wind surrounding the demon picks up, blowing Linda’s dark tresses about her head like a gathering storm. The rolling despair deepens, pricking my tear ducts and I swallow against the gathering heat.

Next to me, Ace sniffles. "You didn’t mean to kill him, did you? You just wanted to scare him. You needed someone to listen."

Linda nods again.

"Well, we’re here now," Ace assures her, misty and congested. "And we’re gonna do our best to help you."

Love swells in my chest for this tiny ball of courage at my side. She’s precisely what I always hoped she’d be when facing the demonic. Deadly, sure. But also calm, curious, and empathetic. Low-Levels were once humans, after all. And everyone deserve dignity in death.

"She was murdered by that serial killer, right? Bill Stanfill?" Terry asks from behind me. I’d honestly forgotten about him.

"Mmm hmm," Dad verifies, his pen still scritch-scratching along.

The gutsy employee approaches and the demon’s eye locks onto him. "Hey Linda," he chokes and recognition glints in the milky fathoms. "I am so, so sorry you’re dead."

The pain in his delivery triggers something within me and I get a strong, bewildering need to comfort him. Which is quite the change of pace because a few minutes ago, I wanted to smash his pretty face in.

"Were you close?" I find myself asking.

He shakes his head and I peek to see tears trailing down his cheeks. "We only worked together a few months before, well..."

"Yeah..."

"I know it doesn’t make much difference, but Stanfill was really sorry for what he did," Terry continues with an endearing amount of compassion. "My friend interned for the firm that handled his case and he told me that Stanfill didn’t remember any of it. He claimed that someone else had taken over his body. That he had traded it or something. He was mentally ill, obviously, but—"

I seize his arm, trying to shut him up. To stop him from finishing that thought because then Ace will hear. She’ll put it together and realize I’ve been lying to her. Trying to spare her the confirmation that this case she’s chosen has gone off the rails. That we’re not just dealing with Low-Levels, a High-Level Demon is afoot.

But if her sharp inhale is any clue, I’m too late.

"Hey, Linda?" she tosses out. "Are you trying to tell us that Bill’s eyes were red when he killed you?"

My heart nearly bursts from my chest when Serrano nods one last time.

Ace snaps her head to me, accusations swimming in her eyes. I very nearly wince. I’m gonna have a lot of explaining to do if she correctly deduces that I knowingly kept this from her. And she’s stupid annoying when she’s self-righteous.

"Girls, back away slowly," Dad orders evenly so as not to ruffle Linda. Nice to have him paying attention again. "We need to wrap this up."

Regretfully, I take a step in his direction, pulling Ace with me. The best thing we can do now is put this poor soul out of her misery. And unfortunately, that involves blowing her away with her murder weapon, the revolver in my holster.

However, the second we move, Serrano’s face alters and ooh boy, she does not look happy. A vacuous silence overtakes the room and the demon slants its head.

"Do you think she understands?" Ace asks, barely moving her lips.

A growl ripples through the building. Then like a ball shot from a cannon, Linda streaks towards us, her mouth unhinging to expel a blood-chilling shriek. I dive in front of my sister just as the demon slams into us, dissolving into a billow of black smoke and hurling us into the air. I twist mid-flight so it’s my back that collides with the nearest pointy, treacherous shelf while Ace rams into my much comfier body.

Sharp pain leads to a dull, thumping bruise like lightning leads thunder and we fall to the ground, limbs akimbo. Various dry goods rain down and a ruptured bag of cornstarch explodes on impact, covering us in white powder. Ace sputters and coughs beneath me as it coats her dark hair like a drama nerd who’s been cast as senior citizen. I can’t help but grin at the ridiculous image.

"I think it’s safe to say she understands," I quip. Then I sneeze, offending my damaged back muscles and sending a puff of thickener into the atmosphere.

Dad rushes over and yanks us to our feet, scanning for signs of distress. I give him a thumbs up and blow at the chunks of hair escaping my braid. "We’re fine."

"Watch out!" Ace shouts and I turn to see the resurfaced demon gunning for the dumbest grocery store employee I’ve ever met, a pale hand stretching for his face. He doesn’t move, frozen in fear or shock or both until Dad aims the AR-15 and the rat-tat-tat of gunfire reverberates around the echoey space. Only then does he dive out of the way, glass windows shattering behind him as Serrano disappears again in a cloud of dark dust. The rifle won’t banish her for good, but since it was wielded by her murderer, it at least slows her.

"Is she gone?" Terry shouts from where he hunkers under a register.

"Stay down," I bark back.

The silence is more unnerving than the gunshots and I crouch slightly, revolver back in hand, ready to put Linda to bed. Even though she’s being about as difficult as I was during my Terrible Twos.

Ace rushes for her shotgun, sliding on her knees to scoop it from the ground and bring it to her shoulder, all in one fluid motion. She scans the aisles and I scratch my head, wondering where she learned to do that slide thing. I didn’t teach her that.

Armed with the murder weapon, I move to a better vantage point so I’m not caught off-guard again. By walking though, like a normal person. My steps bring me closer to Terry who rises as I approach, clearing his throat and casually brushing at his jacket like he hadn’t just been squatting in fear.

"Now would be the perfect time for you to run," I advise, slicing my eyes towards the shattered, unblocked front door. But when his mouth opens in what I hope is an affirmation, our breath rises in the air like two tiny rainclouds.

"Do you feel that?" he asks, clutching at his belly.

I reach out with my senses but it’s too hard to pull a single impression from the overarching feeling of danger. "Describe it."

But words are rendered unnecessary when, like a stuntman yanked out of frame, Terry soars away, his body suit casing around the demonic tug. My hand darts out and our fingers brush just before he disappears down the nearest gloomy aisle.

"I got him," I shout, chasing after his flailing limbs.

There’s a crash, then a groan and I turn the corner to see Terry lying face down on the floor, condiments strewn about him from the wobbling shelf he was thrown into. He lifts his head at the pounding of my boots and looks outrageously pleased to see me right before Serrano seizes him by the ankle.

Flying down the corridor between shelves, she tows the ill-fated employee as he scrabbles for purchase. Black loafers kick out at the incorporeal being and a string of expletives falls from his mouth when he’s tugged sharply into a poinsettia exhibition and out of sight.

I curse and pick up speed.

It looks like she’s headed for the infamous dairy section, hauling him through the open portion at the back of the store. Terry reaches for me and I review my surroundings, taking in the load-bearing pillar rapidly approaching, the tightness of the shelves, and the jagged, unforgiving panels at the bottom of the refrigerator that she’s no doubt about to slam this kid into. It won’t kill him, but it could break some bones. So, I skid to a halt, drop to one knee, take careful aim between the Low-Level’s flowing brunette locks and shoot her straight in the head.

The bullet slices between her ears and her volatile wail shudders the foundations. Her head falls backward and in a huge burst of black smoke, she evaporates. Banished back to her own plane.

Terry’s forward momentum has him sliding a few more inches, arms wrapped around his head in anticipation of pain, before his loafers tap lightly against the panels. Uncovering his scrunched face, he lets out a relieved whoop when he realizes the evil has been vanquished, head bobbing back and forth between my kneeling form and the wall he almost collided with.

And because I’m a cocky asshole, I twirl the revolver around my finger before holstering it. "You good?" I ask as I mosey towards him.

"Yeah. Holy shit." He uses a nearby display to climb shakily to his feet, awe and gratitude pouring from his eyes. I’d be lying if I said that hero worship wasn’t a perk of this job. "Thank you. That was..." He exhales noisily, at a loss for words. "Any idea why she kept going for me?"

"Familiarity breeds contempt?"

A shotgun blast rings out. Ace. But what is she shooting at? I already nailed Serrano. The bullet connected. She disappeared. Unless... Panic sends rolls of barbed wire through my belly and I leave Terry to fend for himself.

Sprinting round the corner, I’m horrified to see a demon once more terrorizing my family. Serrano is bouncing around like a fiendish jack-in-the-box, appearing and disappearing between the cash registers, over by the produce, above another aisle. Ace and Dad are doing their best, tracking her with their guns. But even my quick little sister with her impeccable aim is losing at this terrible, imitation whack-a-mole.

But I don’t get it. I shot her. I shot Serrano!

... Once. I shot her once.

What has the theme of this case been? Three victims. Three points. Three seals.

Three shots.

I take out the revolver just as a siren begins to wail outside. Great. Some no good do-gooder has called the cops over a few lousy gun shots.

"No Linda!" Terry shouts, rushing to my side. I follow his pointed arm only to see Serrano flying straight for Ace, her mouth elongating into a maw that’s wider and crueler than any mouth has the right to be, rows of pointy teeth primed to chomp down on my sister.

I don’t think, I just move.

Hitting Ace at a dead run, I shove the gun into her hands and knock her to the floor, wincing inwardly at how far she flies. Throwing my arms up, I manage to shout, "Three!" right as Serrano slams into me, catching me around the waist. At first, I assume she’s just sent me flying again but when her grip doesn’t disappear and the world falls away beneath my feet, I realize she’s taken me for a little joyride. We shoot back and up, straight into that loadbearing pillar, far above even the tallest aisle’s shelf.

My backside connects brutally with the concrete pole, breath careening from my lungs, and darkness dots the edges of my vision. Boots kick uselessly against nothing as she holds me under my armpits, keeping me airborne.

A white eye flashes inches from mine so I glare right back. "Take your stinking paws off me, you damn, dirty demon."

Serrano makes a gravelly noise in the ballpark of laughter and bares those sharp, pointy teeth, ropes of glistening saliva stretching between them. Then unexpectedly, she pounces, clamping down savagely on the muscle where my neck meets my shoulder.

I gasp as glacial, bitter pain, like subzero needle pricks, radiates from where her teeth have penetrated my soul, twisting and sucking to greedily drain the life out of me. I’ve heard of this, a Low’s vampiric urge to consume the life that used to be theirs, but I’ve never encountered it in the wild. The world fades, replaced by an immobilizing, all-consuming seventh level of frozen Hell, vision dots transitioning from black to white.

But no, this is not how my story ends. I’m not about to let her drain me dry. I am the master of my fate. I choose when to tumble off this mortal coil and today is not that day.

Feeling like an icy stalactite of a person, I clasp frigid hands above the demon’s back and pound them down as hard as I can, grunting with the effort. One blow does nothing and blow number two, zilch. But fourth time is apparently the charm because when I slam down with everything I still have, her teeth finally fall away with a wrenching, plungerlike sound.

Snarling, she rears back in surprise at my unprecedented level of resistance. I must be particularly tasty though because in the blink of an ivory eye, she’s back for seconds. Thrusting my forearm into her throat keeps those pointy teeth from reattaching and fortifying that arm by wrapping my other freezing hand around my wrist foils her attempts to bite my nose off. How’s this for resistance?

Summoning my last drops of strength, I brace myself, muscles straining, to hold her at bay, praying to whatever god will listen that Ace understood. That she’s close to banishing this bitch. For her, I can hold on a few more seconds. Just a few more seconds. A few more...

A bullet slices straight through Serrano’s head, followed by a second and third through her neck and body, smoke exploding from the wounds like black blood. The fight leaves her and her features slacken, shocked, the human emotion out of place on an otherwise demonic face.

"That’s right." My teeth are chattering so viciously that two words sentences are about all I can manage. "You’re dead."

The Low-Level Demon looks down at herself as her bullet wounds glow with a nauseating black light. When her eye meets mine once more, fear has overtaken malice. But I feel no pity. I don’t have any left.

So, with a sneer, I hiss, "Buh-bye."

A sound like the buzzing of a thousand agitated bees hums around us and that unholy glow engulfs her entirely. But not before something strangely close to gratitude shines deep within the core of that nebulous, ivory orb.

Then, she detonates, emitting a thunderous shockwave that demolishes the front windows and topples the surrounding shelves. And this time, she’s gone for good. Banished into the ether. Or maybe eradicated completely, dust in the wind. We’re not entirely sure what happens to them after we put them down.

Unfortunately for me, I’m still shoved against the top of a pillar when she disappears, and I have zero time to panic as I plummet, bracing for impact. But before I crash-land, I’m caught by a pair of unfamiliar arms and Terry falls backwards with my sudden weight, cushioning me with a loud, "Ooof!"

My name cracks through the air and the terror in the mangled syllables, spilling from Ace’s mouth, clobbers my heart. I want to go to her, comfort her, but now that my life is no longer in danger, I’m too cold to move. All I can do is lie where I fell and breathe through my complaining, freezing lungs. In and out. In and out.

Ace drops to my side, babbling unintelligibly, tear tracks carving lines through the lingering cornstarch.

"I’m ok," I croak out. "Still alive." Either she doesn’t hear or doesn’t care because she fusses with the neckline of my shirt, searching for blood but finding none due to the spiritual nature of the wound. Through sheer force of will, I use my popsicle arm to pull her close, halting her frantic examination as she falls across my chest. "You good?" I rasp, still frustratingly stuck in this two-word rut. "You hurt?"

"Shut up," she sniffs, her torso heaving. "I’m not the one who just fell fifteen feet from a demon’s mouth. Thank God Terry caught you."

"You’re heavier than I thought you would be," he grumbles from beneath me.

Dad gets to us just as red and blue lights splash across the walls and sirens pierce my already pounding head. His face has been stripped in fear but always the pragmatist, his only question is, "Can you stand?"

"Probably not," is my honest answer.

"Ok. Ace, stop crying," Dad snaps, pulling her to her feet. "You, big guy, can you carry her?"

In response, Terry wiggles out from under me, and sliding one arm around my back and the other under my knees, he easily scoops me up. It’s a different sort of weightlessness then when I dangled from Serrano’s teeth. I haven’t been held like this since puberty. It’s actually kinda nice.

"I got her," he grunts, readjusting. "Quick. We can leave through the back. Follow me."

Nestled against his chest, I allow myself to be ferried away. Not that I have much choice in the matter. We get to the "Employees Only" door and Terry has Ace fish the keys from his jacket pocket. While she struggles with the lock, he looks down, hazel eyes wide with concern. "How you doing?"

Our shared body heat has thawed me enough to reply with three entire words. "I’ve been better."

He grins and my God, the boy has dimples. "You’ve looked better too."

Then we’re running out the backdoor just as a cop car bounces into the parking lot. Luckily, the still whipping snow and blown-out windows are distracting enough that we slip away unnoticed. We parked down the street, as usual, so Terry does his best to keep from bouncing me too much as his long legs eat up the distance.

Ace and Dad leap into the front seats and we settle in the back before pealing out with a screech of tires on asphalt. The first few minutes are silent, tense. All I can think is that there’s no way we got away with this. That at any moment, the cops are going to give chase. We’re gonna get arrested, thrown in jail and there goes our future. More importantly, there goes Ace’s future. But when they there’s no sign of them and we drive forward unhindered, I release the breath that I very much knew I was holding.

So many thoughts and fears rush through my mind at my next inhale, vying for attention over the aches and pains of my body. But the inky blackness of oblivion is calling my name. It’s been dancing on the edges since Serrano bit me but now it’s drifted closer. Luring me towards it with a seductive, come-hither wave. The windshield wipers beat rhythmically back and forth, the truck is warm and safely familiar and all I want to do is give in.

My eyes are so heavy. My head so fuzzy. And before I know what’s happening, I fall into those inky depths and every negative thought, every throbbing muscle, evaporates just like Linda, banished to another plane of existence. All that remains is pure, unconscious bliss.