I arrived back in the cozy maroon-brown office, a place that I was starting to consider my home. But even before Fikhos appeared at my side, I could tell that I’d been the victim of a serious place-that-I-was-starting-to-consider-my-home invasion.
Sylnie’s body was strewn across the floor, her sexy maid outfit soaked with dark blood. One of her legs was severed just below the knee and her skull was actually split open from the top like she’d gotten an axe to the cranium. And those were just the most noticeable wounds. Overall, she looked like she’d gotten jammed in a dull wood chipper.
“Sylnie!” I gasped, rushing to her side. She was still breathing, at least, but she was nonresponsive. She’d healed after Niven ambushed us in this office, but that had been—comparatively—a mere scratch. I’d seen many demons recover from serious injuries, but she was of a lower order. Was extreme healing an inborn ability among all demonkind, or could she die because of her weaker pedigree?
“What happened here?” Fikhos said in awe. I hadn’t bothered to take in much of my surroundings once I’d seen Sylnie’s condition, but now that he mentioned it, the room looked like it had been the setting for an intense little battle. Walls were dented, furniture was overturned, books had been knocked from their shelves, and there was a lot of blood in places where it hadn’t been when I left.
Also, Jorge was seated in my usual spot, slouched forward, with his head literally nailed to my desk.
“Holy shit,” I whispered in horror, hurrying over to him.
“Shir!” Jorge said, his muffled voice registering relief. “Ish dat oo?”
I gripped the head of the nail (which was probably closer to a railroad spike than a nail, anyway) and prepared to remove it from the interim Devil’s skull. “Hang in there, Jorge,” I warned him. “This is probably gonna hurt like a motherfucker.” I yanked it as hard as I could, but he remained pinned.
“Urr wight,” he whimpered. “Dat weally oort.”
I tried pulling on it a few more times to no avail before I considered using my telekinesis. With an unforgettably repulsive crunching and squelching sound, I managed to psychically pop the spike out of his head and free him from his forced makeout session with my desktop.
“You okay?” I asked.
Blood was still pouring from his punctured forehead and his broken nose, but he gave me a weak nod. I turned my attention back to Sylnie and used my abilities to reattach her leg, crudely close the gash in her head, and seal a few of her other wounds. I hoped that if I jump-started her healing process maybe she’d be able to survive her injuries, low order or not.
As I concentrated on restoring her body to its original and much more attractive arrangement, Fikhos addressed his fellow director. “Mr. Campos, who did this?”