“Hey, you wanted my protection, and I fuckin’ gave it to you. Did anyone bother you all those three months? I fuckin’ did you a favour, kid. I protected you, just like you asked me to, all those years ago.”

“Right. And that whole time, you were lying to me. Stealing souls behind my back. And like a sucker I helped you do it. Well, it’s over, Akki. You’re going to leave us alone from now on.”

Stealing what? Am I hearing things right?

“What? You’re leavin’ me? For what — HER?”

Zaniel lets out a breath. “Yes,” he says steadily. “But mostly for myself. Let’s face it; you were never going to let me live a normal life. In the end you would have taken my eyes, too, when my looks faded and I’d outlasted my usefulness. I was just a fool not to see it coming.”

“Guess you’re not as stupid as you look, kid. But you’ve forgotten one thing. Momotaro needs three creatures to help him win against the demons. And he doesn’t defeat them. He just makes them promise to behave. Well, hate to break it to ya, but I have no plans to behave! Once I’m finished with your new friend, her eyeballs will be the least of her problems.”

What the hell are they talking about? Who is Zaniel even talking to? Something on the floor skitters across my hand. It feels like a giant cockroach. No. I’m not sticking around to find out any of this. I’m out of here.

A high-pitched screech, like the sound of metal being torn, pierces the air. I clap my hands over my ears and try not to cry out. It almost sounds like a wild boar, bleating, but it’s way too loud and too close. There’s the sound of scuffling, and tables being knocked over. I hear Zaniel shout, as if struggling against something. “No, no!” he begs, and then there is a moment of silence before the air whistles and something heavy crashes into the table next to mine. Someone groans in pain. I peek out from the tablecloth and see Zaniel lying on a broken table. It’s like something threw him across the room.

“Zaniel … get up!” I forget about everything he said before and scramble out from under the table to his side. His coat falls from my shoulders, and I drop the bag he gave me to touch his waist, to gently shake him. He cries out in pain. He must have broken a few ribs. “Shit …” Why do I have to keep getting him out of this godforsaken place?

“Cybelle …” he moans. “Run …”

His warning comes too late. Someone grabs the neck of my coat and pulls, hard, dragging me away from him. I choke out a scream, grabbing the cuff of my coat and kicking out my legs in panic.

“YOU. DON’T. TOUCH. HIM.”