Hellhound (A Deadtown Novel) (19 page)

I watched the miles click by on the odometer. Five more miles, and I’d try again. We’d gone four-point-three when Mab cleared her throat and sat up straight.

“What are you doing next Saturday evening?”

“Saturday? As in a week from today? There’s a full moon between now and then.”

I didn’t have to explain what I meant. Unless our plan to fool the Night Hag worked—and my doubts about that were the size of Mount Washington—I’d be hellhound chow by then. Not to mention the strong possibility there’d be another zombie attack, especially once Pryce figured out we were killing the Morfran.

“Yes, I know. Gwen has a horror of anything beyond what she considers normal. It was difficult to explain what we face over the next few days. Still, I did tell her we’d try our best to make it.”

“Make it to what?”

“Dinner. A ‘cookout,’ I believe she called it. She’s invited you, myself, and Mr. Kane. At five o’clock, so the children can join us. Anne and Evan, too. We mustn’t disappoint her if we can help it.”

And with those words, Mab told me all I needed to know. Gwen was trying. She would no longer be the iron-hard wedge splitting the family apart. She would let Mab interact with Maria—under her own watchful eye, no doubt, but as Mab said it was a first step. Gwen was creating a family event, with a wider, more inclusive definition of “family” than she’d ever allowed before. I felt a warm glow that she’d made Kane a part of it.

“We’ll be there.” If we managed to survive the week ahead.

BACK AT MY APARTMENT BUILDING, CLYDE WAS ON DUTY in the lobby. As soon as he saw Mab, he came out from behind his desk to fold her into a hug. Mab stiffened—she’s not a hugger—but she lightly placed her hands on his back. Then again, I wouldn’t have pegged Clyde as a hugger, either. After three or four seconds, he released her and stepped back.

“Welcome, welcome!” he exclaimed. “I heard a rumor you were back in town. How are things in Wales?” As a young man, Clyde had climbed several mountains in Europe; Mount Snowdon remained his favorite.

The two exchanged small talk for a few minutes, as I stood by and tried not to yawn. I’d managed a few hours of sleep after the rally, but going out to Needham had been hard work in some ways, and this was my usual time for sleeping. Still, before going up to my apartment, I had to compliment Clyde on his speech last night. “You have a real way with words,” I told him. “I think everyone around me would have been moved to tears if . . . well, you know.”

“If my kind were capable of crying. Thank you for saying so.”

“I wish I’d been there to hear it,” said Mab. “I’m afraid I succumbed to jet lag.”

“I . . .” As he paused, Clyde turned bright red. Who knew zombies could blush? “I do have a copy, should you care to read it.”

“I’d love to.” Mab squeezed Clyde’s arm as he sputteringly promised to print out his speech and have it ready for her at the desk. “I’m looking forward to it,” Mab assured him as we headed for the elevators.

Upstairs, Mab said she wanted to spend some time looking over
The Book of Utter Darkness
.

“Is that a good idea?” I asked. “You should take a nap. We’re going to be up all night exorcizing the Morfran.”
The Book of Utter Darkness
wasn’t exactly the kind of book you take to bed to help you nod off.

“Yes, I shall. But later. Now, I feel the book may be in the mood to reveal something to me.”

“Well, be careful. Wake me up if you need me.”

Mab crossed her arms and frowned. “I’m not a toddler terrified of bad dreams.” Her expression softened a tad. “Good night. Or perhaps I should say good afternoon. At any rate, sweet dreams.”

I started down the hallway, then turned around. “Are you sure you don’t want my bedroom? I could have fresh sheets on the bed in two minutes.”

“For heaven’s sake, Victory, go to bed.”

I did. As I snuggled into my soft pillows, pulling the comforter around me, I was glad Mab was willing to sleep on the couch. That was my last thought before the gentle tide of sleep washed over me.

SWEET DREAMS,
MAB HAD SAID. BUT SHE’D BE BLUSHING crimson if she knew what I was dreaming now. Kane. And me. Alone, lying together in the empty darkness. Our bodies were clothed, I noticed with a pang of disappointment, but twined together. We were kissing, and everything was in the kiss.

His lips, so warm, pressed mine. His mouth went to my jaw, kissing and nibbling its way up to my ear and then along my neck. I leaned back my head, eyes closed, and shivered with the deliciousness of it. We were so close. It was like there was nothing else in the universe—only this closeness, this tingling warmth, his scent of musk and midnight forest.

I kissed his cheek, moving back to meet his mouth. The tip of his tongue flicked out, traced the shape of my lips. I inhaled deeply.

Something was wrong.

The scent I knew so well had changed. Beneath the pine and fresh air lurked an undertone of something unpleasant. Something heavy and rotten. Sulfur.

I pushed hard with both hands and scrambled backward. The face that now looked at me, the face I’d been kissing a moment ago, wasn’t Kane’s.

“Hello, cousin. Ready to join our side?” Pryce spoke the same words he’d sneered at me in Logan. His face twisted with ugly laughter.

I didn’t answer. I shook off my disgust, conjured a dagger, and struck, aiming for his evil heart.

Halfway through the strike, I faltered. Pain flared in my demon mark. My arm lost its strength and dropped to my side. My fingers released the dagger, which disintegrated before it hit the ground.

Pryce’s laughing face distorted, growing larger, changing its shape and color. The laughter deepened; other voices joined in. Difethwr puckered its warty blue lips, making mock kissing noises. Demon voices roared.

The Hellion grew to massive size. I tried to conjure another weapon to fight left-handed, but nothing materialized. So I ran. All I wanted was to get away, to find a path out of this nightmare. The Destroyer’s fingers, big as logs, closed around my waist. I screamed and thrashed as it lifted me to its face. Its cavernous mouth gaped, fringed with razor-sharp teeth twice my height. Fires burned deep in its gullet, and its stinking breath emerged in a cloud of sulfurous smoke. The Destroyer dangled me there like a morsel.

This is a dream. It’s not real. Wake up!

A nasty blast of hot air blew over me as the Destroyer laughed again. “Here is thine awakening.” Its mouth snapped shut and it lifted me higher, holding me at eye level. “Look, shapeshifter,” the Hellion’s many voices commanded.
Look, look, look, look.
The word came at me from all sides, from inside my own head.
Look, look.
I had no choice. I gazed into eyes the size of movie screens.

Hellflames burned there, but that wasn’t all. A scene took shape. I recognized Boston Common, a terrified human woman running toward me for help. It was the same vision the book had given me.
No—not that.
I closed my eyes and turned my head away, but the scene continued to play itself out in my mind. Again I ran her through. Again I laughed at the horror in her eyes as she fell. Again I looked for others to kill.

“No,” I whispered. I filled my mind with
no
, pushing the images away.
No, no, no.

“It is thy destiny,” the Hellion said.

No, no, no.
I built a wall in my mind, each
no
a brick to keep the Destroyer out.
No, no, no, no, no.

The Destroyer muttered something, but I couldn’t hear it. I focused on
no
.
No, no, no. No . . . there is . . . no, no . . . another . . . no . . . another way. No, no, no.

Confused, I paused in my litany of denial. As I did, words came through loud and clear:
There is another way.

Who said that? My eyes flew open. Difethwr’s own eyes held their flames, but the image of Boston was gone. Something had replaced that scene of horrible destruction—fear? Was it possible?

Could the Destroyer be afraid?

Difethwr roared and flung me away. I soared through empty air. My arms and legs thrashed as I fell and fell and fell . . . until I awoke with a start in my own bed.

My bedside clock read seven thirty-two. I had to check for the little red dot that indicated whether it was
A.M.
or
P.M
. Evening, good. I’d slept long enough to make it through the night that lay ahead. I flopped onto my back and waited for my pounding heartbeat to return to normal.

Ugh.
Images from my dream swirled through my head. How could a dream that began so wonderfully turn so wrong? The only good thing was that I’d kept my clothes on. I rubbed my mouth, erasing Pryce’s kiss. My body felt coated with foul-smelling slime. I threw aside the covers, grabbed my robe from the back of the door, and headed for the bathroom.

Voices drifted down the hall from the living room.

“Victory?” Mab called. “Is that you?”

“Shower,” I yelled back. Whatever Mab wanted could wait. This might take a while.

Hot water spraying over me, I scrubbed and scrubbed until my skin was red. I wished I had sandpaper to remove the feeling of Pryce’s kiss, of Difethwr’s slime-dripping grasp. I wanted the memory of my own helplessness before the Destroyer to swirl down the drain. I wanted to bleach out the picture of myself on Boston Common, cutting down an innocent woman. It was going to take more than soap and a loofah to do that job.

As I toweled myself dry, I recalled that other voice, the one that had cut through my denial.
There is another way.

Who had spoken? It wasn’t Pryce, and it wasn’t the Destroyer. The voice had seemed to come from inside my own mind, squeezing its words between the
no
’s I was mentally chanting. Yet Difethwr had heard it, too. The Hellion had seemed afraid, or at least disturbed. No,
afraid
. Fear had crept into its expression before it tossed me aside like an unwanted plaything.

Probably the voice had bubbled up from my own subconscious. Things like that always happen in dreams. Yet even though it spoke inside my mind, the voice wasn’t my own.

Another way.
Who’d said those words, and what could they mean?

I DRESSED IN JEANS AND A T-SHIRT, AND FINGER-COMBED MY hair into some approximation of a style. Feeling less icky, I entered the living room to find Tina playing with one of my swords. She’d pushed aside the coffee table and stood in the middle of the room, practicing lunges with all the grace and balance of a one-eyed alley cat with four broken legs.

“Tina!” I snapped. “Put that away before you hurt yourself.”

She staggered sideways in mid-lunge and swung around to face me, knocking over a lamp in the process.

“Oops.”

“What do you think you’re doing? I told you never to touch my weapons.”

Tina licked her lips nervously. “Your aunt said it would be okay.” She bent over to pick up the lamp, nicking an end table with the sword point.

“Do you seriously expect me to believe that?”

“But I did, child.” Mab sat in a side chair. I’d been so focused on Tina I hadn’t seen her there.

Wait. Had aliens stolen my aunt and replaced her with a copy? The Mab who’d trained me, tougher than any drill sergeant, would never let someone with Tina’s inexperience touch a sword, let alone fool around with it. I’d studied books for five long years before she’d let me practice with a wooden sword. And yet here she was, calmly watching as Tina played a bull while my living room played the china shop. A bull with a long, sharp sword.

None of these thoughts found their way out of my mouth, which simply gaped in astonishment.

“Isn’t it awesome?” Tina gushed. She’d figured out that it was a good idea to set the sword aside while she righted the lamp and also a picture frame she’d knocked over. “Mab’s teaching me to become a swordsman . . . er, swordsgirl? Whatever. I’m learning how to fight.” She snatched up the heavy long sword and swished it around like a rapier. I grabbed it from her before she carved a figure eight in the sofa cushions.

Wordlessly, I turned to Mab.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said. I doubted it. First proclaiming me Lady of the Cerddorion, and then encouraging Tina to play with swords? I couldn’t begin to get my mind around those concepts. “But these are remarkable times,” Mab went on. “We need to recruit all the support we can, and this young lady is willing.”

“Right.” Tina reached for the sword, and I stepped back to keep it out of her reach. “I’ve been willing for, like,
ever
.”

My voice returned as I faced Mab. “She became my apprentice less than a year ago, then quit after a couple of months. She’s never been serious.”

“I have so!” Tina’s tone was indignant. “I read that whole book! You know I did, ’cause you helped me go over some of it.” She was referring to
Russom’s Demoniacal Taxonomy
, a basic demonology textbook. But you don’t jump from one read-through of
Russom’s
to swordplay; you just don’t. Mab certainly never let me do that.

Keeping my body between Tina and the sword, I spoke to Mab. “You honestly believe she’s ready to start working with weapons?”

“Honestly? No. But unfortunately we are not talking about a proper apprenticeship. We are preparing for war.”

War.
The word tolled an ugly note, like a cracked bell. It subdued even Tina, who quit trying to reach around me and stood quietly with her head down. Some wisps of blonde hair, escaped from her ponytail, hung in front of her face. She looked young and vulnerable, and suddenly the last thing in the world that I wanted was to drag her into this.

“It’s not her war.”

Mab’s eyes swam with sadness. “If we can’t stop it, child, this war will destroy everyone in its path.”

WE COMPROMISED. TINA COULD CONTINUE TO PRACTICE, but only if she used a short sword of my choosing, one less likely to slice up the living room. I could hear Mab coaching her—“Widen your stance. There, that’s better! Now, again”—as I went into the kitchen to brew coffee.
The Book of Utter Darkness
lay open on the table, where Mab must have left it. That was odd. Mab was the very definition of neat and tidy, not someone to leave things lying around. Maybe she wanted to show me something in the book. In my shock over seeing Tina waving around a long sword, I’d forgotten to ask Mab if the book had revealed anything while I slept.

I half turned toward the book, letting my gaze skitter across the open pages. Words formed in my mind:
There is another way.
The book slammed itself shut.

I jumped back. That was a new trick.

I pulled on Juliet’s pink rubber gloves and tried to reopen the book. It wouldn’t budge. I yanked the gloves off, tossed them aside, and tried again. No visions leapt at me when I touched the cover. But I still couldn’t open the damn thing. It was like a solid block of wood.

There is another way.
The words shimmered in my mind, then faded. The book remained stubbornly closed.

Coffee. That’s what I needed. Sometimes, the best way to deal with a crazy world is to brew a good, strong pot.

I scooped some beans into the grinder and pressed the button. The machine’s jarring
whirr
was the perfect soundtrack for my mood. As much as I tried to keep it out of my mind, I kept seeing Pryce’s face, his heavy-lidded eyes fringed by black lashes, in the moment before I pushed him away. When I forced that image from my mind, it was replaced by Tina lunging and waving around my sword. I’d rather picture the grinder blades pulverizing coffee beans into dust.

Still, I needed my coffee. I turned off the grinder, but its harsh sound continued.
What the—?
I pushed the button several times, then yanked out the plug. The blades weren’t turning, but the grating sound didn’t stop.

Then I spotted the black butterfly perched on my coffeemaker. The grinding noise turned into speech. “Whoa, that was some dream,” Butterfly said. “You’ve got enough weird stuff going on in that head of yours for an army of psychoanalysts to write a whole library of books.”

“Did you find out where Pryce goes in the Ordinary?”

“I’ve been occupied with much more . . . interesting things.” I swatted the demon off the coffeemaker and measured the water and grounds. Maybe if I ignored the thing, it’d go away.

Didn’t happen.

“I wonder what the ol’ werewolf boyfriend would think? Have you considered that?”

Exactly what I’d been trying my damnedest
not
to think about. I started the coffeemaker and searched the cupboard for my favorite mug.

“I’ll tell you what he’d think of it,” Butterfly continued. The demon didn’t seem to realize I was ignoring it. “First of all, his poor, delicate werewolf-y feelings would be all hurt. I mean, another male trespassing on his territory, playing kissy-kissy with his female. And she liked it.”

“I did not!” So much for ignoring the demon. There were no words for the repugnance I felt at its suggestion.

“Did so. You liked it a lot until you realized who it was.”

“Exactly. I like kissing Kane. I
don’t
like . . .” My words trailed off as I shuddered.

“Uh-huh. Well, here’s the million-dollar question, sweetheart. When did your smooching partner switch from the wolf to the demi-demon? ’Cause I think I detected a few seconds there when you enjoyed playing kissy-face with you-know-who.”

“You’re wrong!” I slammed down the mug with such force I cracked it. Butterfly’s suggestion spread nausea through my entire body. I desperately needed to gain control of this conversation—now.

“You know, my apprentice is practicing fencing moves on the other side of that door. Maybe I should invite her in here for a little target practice.”

“You mean that teenage zombie?” Butterfly’s laugh was a cross between a bray and a snort. “Go ahead. Want me to call her for you? She’d never get within an inch of me. But she’d destroy your entire kitchen trying, and your mortification when she found out you’ve got your very own Eidolon would be . . .” Butterfly sighed happily. “Delicious.”

Okay, so maybe siccing Tina on Butterfly wasn’t the answer. But I had other weapons. Positive thoughts and happy images usually force an Eidolon to back off. So I reached for a thought that felt good. It was spring. Everyone loves springtime in New England, right? I pictured the warm May sun in a clear blue sky, birds chirping, lilacs blossoming—the image didn’t hold. The pleasant landscape coalesced into Pryce’s damn face, his lips glistening from our kiss.

“Yum,” Butterfly said. The only other sounds were the heavy, wet noises of a demon chewing and swallowing.

All right, if I couldn’t banish Pryce’s face, I’d use it. I merged the picture of that face with the Eidolon’s munching sounds. Pryce’s eyes remained half open, suffused with the pleasure not of kissing, but of eating. As he tipped his head back, he raised his hand. In his fingers was a fat, squirming maggot. One with the face of a demon. Just to be sure the image was clear, I mentally tattooed the word Butterfly along the demon’s side. Pryce opened his mouth wide and bit the demon in half. His eyes closed with pleasure as he chewed.

Butterfly screamed. “Stop! That’s terrible! Knock it off!”

“No fun being somebody else’s snack, is it?”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“It’s different because . . . because . . . It just
is
.”

I kind of liked this mental image of Pryce munching a maggot. It made me feel better in all sorts of ways. I kept it as clear as I could manage as I poured myself some coffee.

“Ow!
Ow!
All right, I’ll starve. I only materialized to ask you something, anyway.”

I sipped my coffee. I didn’t need to hear any more questions about how Kane would react to that dumb dream. In my mind, Pryce licked his lips and moved the remains of the maggot closer.

“No!” Butterfly spoke quickly. “Listen, Uffern is in an uproar. Here’s all I want to know: What in the name of all that’s unholy did you do to the Destroyer?”

In a blink, I let the image of Pryce eating Butterfly disappear. “What do you mean?”

“Not an hour ago, the big, bad Hellion went squealing through the demon plane like a pig running away from the butcher and hauling Pryce with it. The two of them had this earthshaking argument. And if you think that’s a figure of speech, you’re wrong. Towers crumbled.”

An hour ago. Just about the time I’d been jolted out of my dream.

“The thing is, I could’ve sworn I heard your name mentioned. Since you conjured me, that puts me at risk. So I ask again: What did you do?”

There is another way.
Those words really had frightened the Destroyer. Problem was, I had no idea where they came from or what they meant.

“I don’t know,” I told Butterfly truthfully. “What did Pryce and Difethwr argue about?”

“You think I hung around to listen? I’m just a little demon, and so far they’ve overlooked me. But I’m
your
Eidolon. You conjured me, and that puts your mark on me. If either of those two bad boys catches wind of that, they’ll torture me until I tell them everything I know. Since I don’t know anything, they’d keep going just for fun—and that’d be way too much pain.”

“Poor you.” But I wasn’t thinking about Butterfly’s dilemma, I was thinking about why that voice in my head scared Difethwr.

“What voice?” Damn Eidolon was eavesdropping on my thoughts again.

“Don’t ask me. Just a voice in a dream.”

Butterfly fluttered around my head, like it was trying to peer into my mind to see my thoughts more clearly. I let it. I didn’t know what had scared the Destroyer, so there was nothing to hide. Anyway, maybe Difethwr’s reaction had nothing to do with the voice. Weird things happen in dreams. Maybe the Hellion had been startled by the sudden appearance of some image from my subconscious. God knows I’ve got enough scary stuff lurking in there.

“
That’s
for damn sure,” Butterfly commented. “Listen, I’m going to lie low for a while. Pryce is in a bad mood; the Destroyer is in a worse one. The last thing I need is for them to find common ground in tormenting me. So, with your permission . . .” Butterfly hovered near the ceiling. I knew what was coming, and crossed my arms over my torso. “Or without.” The demon dive-bombed straight into my gut.

Oof.

Butterfly settled down and was quiet. No gnawing or stirring up feelings of guilt. The thing was probably listening to my thoughts, ready to run back to the demon plane with a report. On the other hand, Butterfly was probably right that Pryce and the Destroyer would get a kick out of torturing a personal demon, just because. Right now, it was probably best for both of us if the demon remained where it was.

“But you’d better
stay
quiet,” I said out loud. “It might be worth sacrificing my kitchen to see Tina make her first demon kill.” I never liked those cabinets, anyway.

IN THE LIVING ROOM, TINA HAD RETURNED THE FURNITURE to its usual arrangement and now sat on the sofa talking with Mab. A quick look around reassured me that the room had survived Tina’s practice session more or less unscathed.

“Tina was telling me,” Mab said, “what she’s been studying at school.”

Several possibilities leapt to mind: Passing Notes 101, Advanced Gossip, Workshop in Napping. But then I remembered what a good job Tina had done with her speech. I looked at her, eyebrows raised.

“Civil disobedience,” Tina said brightly. “At first I thought it was gonna be something dumb, like, you know, being polite.” She sat up extra-straight, chin high, and placed her hand on her chest. “‘Pardon me very much, but I do not believe that I wish to do as you say.’” She leaned back, grinning. “That’s not it at all, though. It’s really interesting, like Thoreau and Gandhi and stuff. People who’ve made the government pay attention by breaking stupid laws, but doing it in a nonviolent, nonthreatening way. So everyone sees how dumb the law is, and the government ends up looking like a big bully.”

I nodded. “Kane would approve.”

“He does. He even came in to talk to us.”

I hadn’t known that. But Kane and I had spent most of the last several weeks keeping our distance.

“Tina recited her speech for me,” Mab said. “I was duly impressed. Between that and the copy of the speech your doorman so kindly sent up, I feel I’ve caught the rally’s highlights.”

Tina squirmed with pleasure. I knew how she felt. Hearing the words “duly impressed” from Mab was like winning the lottery. Yet, something was odd about Tina—something more than the fact that she was showing an interest in school. Then I realized what it was. She wasn’t scarfing down every last bit of food from my kitchen.

“Do you want something to eat?” I asked.

“No, thanks.”

“We’ve got ice cream. The chocolate almond kind you like.”

The black tip of Tina’s tongue darted out as she licked her lips. Then she shook her head.

“Tina is practicing a sort of civil disobedience,” Mab explained.

“Hunger strike.” Tina allowed herself a longing glimpse toward the kitchen, then squared her shoulders. “It’s part of the protest.”

“But . . .” I began. Zombies don’t have to eat to survive. They just love to stuff their faces. It’s one of their few pleasures. “When someone goes on a hunger strike, it’s to show that they’re willing to die over an issue. The person begins to starve, and public sympathy grows. It doesn’t work that way with zombies, so what’s the point?”

“Think about it. Deadtown doesn’t produce any food, but we consume
tons
. We zombies are a gold mine for norm-owned food corporations. If we refuse to eat, they lose money. Gets their attention.”

She had a point. Still, seeing Tina without a small mountain of food at hand was like seeing the ocean without any water—impossible, by definition.

“Yeah, I was hungry at first. But I’m so mad at the way they’re treating us I’ve pretty much lost my appetite. Well, most of it, anyway. Other zombies say the same thing. Getting mad really wrecks your appetite.”

Funny. Butterfly had said something like that, too, although Eidolons eat emotions instead of experiencing them.

Juliet appeared at the mouth of the hallway, yawning and stretching. Her short, slinky dress was a shade of red so dark it was almost black. With it she wore a pair of black, strappy sandals whose stiletto heels must have added four or five inches to her height. “Good evening,” she said to the room in general.

“Wow,” Tina said. “You look amazing.”

Juliet smiled widely enough to show the tips of her fangs, accepting the compliment as her due.

“Off hunting?” I asked.

“I have a job.”

“You’re joking.” Juliet hadn’t worked a day in at least six centuries.

“You have a job. Why can’t I? As a matter of fact, I happen to be working with the same hunky—and very juicy-looking—human detective that you are.”

My face must have revealed my utter incomprehension, because her smile widened into a leer. “I’m a police consultant, too. And tonight I’m going out with Detective Daniel Looks-Hot-In-Tight-Jeans Costello.”

“Daniel?”

Tina put both hands to her mouth and squealed with delight, like a preteen at a slumber party.

“Hang on,” I said. “What are you talking about?”

“That zombie you interrogated at the airport—Bonita Something-or-other. She indicated that Pryce is working with the Old Ones, yes? And since I’m the only vampire ever to escape the Old Ones’ clutches, Daniel wants me to help locate their cell.”

The Old Ones prey on vampires in much the same way vampires prey on humans. It was true that Juliet had been in their thrall and broken away. The Old Ones communicate telepathically, and during her time with them Juliet had learned to listen in on their conversations. She probably knew more about the Old Ones than anyone.

“We’re going to drive around town, starting with locations they’ve used in the past, so I can listen for any telepathic chatter. It’s going to be a very long night.” She licked her lips as she adjusted the plunging neckline of her dress. “And Daniel and I will be in very close quarters.”