The Struggles of Marrying a Demon {Completed}

Soiled Strategies

What shocked Mabel even more than the black ooze that engulfed her was how blissfully blank her mind went.

It was as though everything just . . . shut off.

An odd calm washed over her, but her fingers tingled, urging her body to do something.

What? She questioned herself, her inner tone sluggish. What more can I do? Surely I've done everything by now.

Her lungs tingled, too, followed by her toes, and her stomach clenched.

Breathe, Mabel.

Breathe!

It was like someone had zapped her with lightning. Her thoughts slammed into her, and her body moved by itself, acting on some survival instinct she'd long since forgotten. Pushing off the floor, she shot to the surface, breaking through the blood and coughing and gagging at the strange metallic taste that flooded her senses. There was no light left in the room, but reaching a hand up confirmed that the ceiling was only a foot above her now, approaching with her death, hand-in-hand.

"I'm not going to die," she told the room furiously. "Not in here, damn it. Not like this." With a hardened resolution, she tilted to her back, kicking her legs to swim around the room with one hand on the ceiling.

She couldn't stop a cry of joy when the brick changed to a different metal under her fingers. A metal that wasn't solid, but made up of six different rungs.

A vent.

"Thank God." Tracing it with her hand, Mabel guessed it was about two feet long, a foot wide, and covered with rust. She slipped the books through the slats first, pushing them as best she could until she was confident that they wouldn't fall back through.

Fumbling with the belt looped through her jeans, she cursed under her breath when she pulled it off and almost lost her grip on it. It was cheap and made of faux, woven leather, but she hoped it would get the job done.

Mabel threaded the belt between one of the rungs, using her fingers to feel out the middle one and ensure the belt was secure. Wrapping her hands around the two ends of the fashion accessory, she swung her body side to side, back and forth, up and down. The old metal groaned but didn't give.

"C'mon, c'mon," she muttered urgently, her movements becoming faster as the blood began to grow closer to the ceiling, "c'mon!"

The metal screeched, the belt snapped, and Mabel sank under once more.

She came up immediately, her fingers scrambling against the ceiling as she searched for the vent once more, praying that it had given way. The rungs were gone, and the brick around its previous location was jagged and uneven.

Kicking her legs for momentum, she heaved herself up and through the opening with her arms, her chest heaving when she finally pulled herself out. She collapsed back against the floor beside the spell books, giving herself a minute to catch her breath and soak in the simple fact that she was alive, thank God.

"Okay," she urged herself, pushing off floor and snatching up the books as she stumbled to her feet. "Keep moving, Mabel. Can't stop yet."

***

Mabel had thought it was odd that she hadn't seen or heard a single warlock milling about when she exited the castle; however, it wasn't quite so odd when she found Flint dozing peacefully in the front lawn, his belly larger and a scattering of robes encircling his prone figure.

"You shouldn't eat so much; you'll have to go on a diet soon." She teased, in especially good humor after surviving another terrible, life-threatening incident.