DEVILS INC.

Chapter Six

We learned about a principle called Ockham's Razor in class once. It's the idea that the simplest explanation is often the most likely. In the past twenty-four hours, I've been visited by an Omen, an Angel, and a dead guy.

So come on, genius . . . what is the simplest explanation for that? Hallucinogens in the cocktails last night? Some kind of fever?

No. All leave too many questions unanswered.

But what does that leave? That this is actually happening?

Shit.

When I reach the square, I rub my face and take another deep breath. I just need to head back to my room, call Josie, and talk this all through. It'll be fine.

The square is completely empty; no noise comes from the food hall behind me, and the ten long stone steps that lead down to it don't have their usual crowds of freshmen drinking cans of soda between lectures. As I reach the center, a cloud passes overhead. The hairs on my bare arms stand on end.

"Rachel . . ."

It's the dead guy—Richard Livingstone. He's followed me out of the classroom.

"Rachel," he says, staggering forward, his hand extended. "A pleasure—"

Before I can run, two more figures stagger out of the shadows. A hunched old woman in a torn floral dress, and a young blonde who would be attractive if she didn't look so . . . deceased.

"There she is!" says the old lady. "There she is!"

I spin to the third exit by the glass-walled student work zone only to find Crow blocking my path at the top of the steps, the cloudy sky behind him making for a moody backdrop. The corner of his lip curls up.

Shit.

The two women across the square clamber down the steps toward me while Richard clamps a bony hand on my shoulder.

With a cry, I bend forward and flip him onto the pavement.

"Bitch. I was only being friendly," he spits through bloody teeth as he jerks upright. "Don't turn your back on me."

He grabs at my ankles, but I sprint toward the library that dominates the square's fourth side, staggering to a halt as a stocky guy with a ginger beard limps out from behind it. He's wearing torn board shorts. A bone juts out from his leg.

Adrenaline takes over. I throw a fist into his face, feeling his nose crunch against my knuckles before he staggers back. Right into two men in suits.

What the hell is going on?

They push him back toward me, but I side-kick him in the chest, and he takes out one of the suits as he falls. That only leaves the other. I punch him in the neck when he surges forward, then knee him in the groin. He doubles over just as a hand clamps on my shoulder, and the heavy scent of floral perfume and blood floods my nostrils.

I send that little old lady flying. She lands on her back, a startled expression on her bloody face. She looks a bit like my grandma.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am," I say, raising my hands.

She jerks upright, popping a dislocated arm back into her shoulder. "You kids today! So violent. It's all those video games." She stumbles to her feet, her expression now murderous. "Someone ought to teach you a lesson."

When I lurch back, I hit something solid.

Heart leaping, I turn, putting my full force behind my fist, but Crow catches it. His palm is rough and warm, and I feel the strength in his arm.

Behind him, Richard Livingstone stumbles back to his feet.

Crow raises an eyebrow. We're both breathing fast, though his eyes hold amusement rather than the horror that must emanate from mine. I stare up at him, dumbfounded. Then he nods at something over my shoulder and releases my fist.

As Crow grabs Livingstone by the neck, I spin around and block the incoming swipe from the old lady. I wince as I kick her frail form into Beardy, sending both of them toppling down again.

I chance a glance over my shoulder to find the remainder writhing on the ground. Crow stands a couple of feet away, wiping his hands on his jeans before studying a bloody mark on his white T-shirt.

"That's going to leave a stain," he grumbles.

Before I can say anything, Livingstone grunts and pushes himself on all fours. Crow kicks him in the face with a heavy black combat boot, then pulls a set of car keys from his pocket.

"Come on, little Demon. Let's get you out of here," he says, stepping over the corpses. "Unless you'd rather stay?"

I glance at the groaning old lady, who sits up and straightens her wig.

"They won't stop coming after you, you know?" he adds in a singsong voice without looking back to see if I'm following him across the square.

One of the suits narrows his gaze on me. I watch him pop a bone back in his arm, then look to Crow again.

Crow is the lesser of evils.

Probably.

Reluctantly, I jog after him, skirting past the crumpled form of the blonde woman in the raggedy dress at the bottom of the opposing steps. Crow stops at the top, something unreadable in his expression.

"What are you doing?" I say.

He brings two fingers to his mouth. Then he whistles.

The sky behind him darkens as the air fills with the sound of flapping wings. I duck, hands over my head, crying out as cold air and black feathers brush my forearms.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING, YOU BAST—?" I start to yell.

Then they're gone. Descending onto the weird zombie guys instead.

"What. The. Hell?"

Crow's grin widens. "Can't kill the dead. But you can keep them busy."

Didn't Gabriel say something about Crow and his birds last night?

Heart in my throat, we walk away from the crow-versus-zombie carnage happening below and head to the campus parking lot. I flex my fingers, knuckles bruised from the fight.

"Couldn't you have just done that crow attack thing from the start?" I ask.

"Aye. But where's the fun in that?"

"Fun!"

He shrugs. "I was curious to see how you'd fare," he says. "Something similar happened when they recruited this jock five years ago. Huge guy. They wanted him for security." Crow chuckles. "He threw his iced latte at one of the souls, tripped over his shoelaces, and then just lay there on the floor waiting for someone to rescue him."

There's too much buzzing panic coursing through my system for me to find the right response. All I mange is: "Dick."

His laughter increases.

When we reach the parking lot, he points to a black Mini Cooper in the shadow of a tall tree. It seems a little quaint for him, but I make no comment.

"Get in then," he says, a smile still dancing around his full lips as he opens the driver's door and climbs inside.

Before I can change my mind, I get in the car, close the door, and fold my arms across my chest. Crow twists the key in the ignition.

"Good choice," he says as he reverses.

"Where are we going?"

His eyes glint. "Devils Inc.," he replies.