The Ice Wolves (10 page)

“I have built a monument to my own suffering, and the suffering of all who have lived here.”

“What's the deal there, Abraham? Why are you suffering?” Hellboy asked.

“For the same reason that any suffer after death. For my transgressions in life.”

“What did you do wrong?”

Abraham didn't answer. The dark shifted as he stepped forward, and his flesh glowed as pale as the moon.

“I hope you're not here to hurt us, Abraham,” Hellboy said, casting a glance at Brad and Lisa, safe in the doorway to the library.

“I observe, and I warn. This is my house. It will always be my house.” His voice rose, and became filled with a bitterness that matched his sadness.

“You brought a lot of very special, very powerful things here.” Hellboy gestured to the scattered artifacts. “I'm interested in one in particular.”

“The Kiss of Winter.”

“Yeah. How'd you guess?”

“Everyone who is drawn to this house desires the Kiss of Winter. Once one knows of its existence, nothing else matters.”

“So it really is that powerful? You want to tell us where it is?”

“Why would I reveal its location? It is too dangerous. The house was designed to keep it hidden, and to . . . ” His voice trailed off, and for a moment there was only an uneasy silence.

Hellboy had been right: the marks of the Black Sun on the doors had been warnings. “But it is here. We just have to find it.”

“Solve the puzzle of the house, and all will be revealed. But you will never solve the puzzle.”

Hellboy considered this for a moment. “A puzzle? So there's a reason for the upside-down house.”

“It hides, it protects. That is one of its functions.”

“It has another?”

Again Abraham remained silent.

“Why do the wolves want the Kiss of Winter?”

“They seek to unite it with its sister, the Heart of Winter. I searched for many years for the Heart, but found no sign.”

Hellboy recalled what the ghost of Daniel Pleasance had told him and Kate about the wolves finding the Heart in Prague. “What does this all have to do with the Time of the Black Sun? And what is that?”

Abraham hesitated. Concern alighted in his pale face. “The prophecy of the Time of the Black Sun has another name. It is also known as the Rise of the Wolves.”

“That doesn't sound good.”

“The Time of the Black Sun is the end of all human life. I will warn you now, as I have tried to warn others. The Black Sun must never be allowed to rise. The Kiss of Winter should never have been brought back into the light. I will regret the part I played in that until Judgment Day.”

“Okay, warning noted. But what's the Kiss of Winter got to do with all this?”

“Together, the Kiss and the Heart cross boundaries in a way that neither could truly achieve on their own. Past and present. Life and death. With them, there is no longer a clear defining line.”

“I need to know more—” Hellboy began.

“But I cannot tell you. Not here, not now.”

“Then when?”

“Seek in the past for the roots of the present. Outside this place, where the boundaries are already decaying. There you may find what you need, if you only have eyes to see.”

Outside this place
. With a pack of prowling wolves and an Arctic storm. Hellboy didn't like the idea of venturing out into that mess. But before he could press Abraham further, he dimly heard a resonant groan far off in the house, like a long-closed door finally being opened.

Abraham grew uneasy. “Know this: if you cannot find the solution to this place, the house will claim you, as it has claimed all who have lived here. As it has claimed me,” he said hastily.

“We'll be out of here long before then.”

“It is already too late. You have been tainted. Whomsoever crosses the threshold of this place is cursed to spend the rest of their eternal existence within these walls. Even if they leave . . . even if they travel to the farthest corner of the world . . . at death they will be dragged back here.”

“What's he saying?” Brad asked. “That there's no hope? Just because we came here?”

“Your only hope is to find the Kiss of Winter,” Abraham stressed. “But you never will. The Kiss cannot fall into the hands of those who would seek to use it for evil. The Black Sun must never rise!”

From deep in the depths of the house, faint sounds began to reach Hellboy's ears: what could have been a soft tread on a step, climbing steadily upwards, or simply the settling of ancient timbers, a juddering groan that may have been another door opening, and behind it all a constant, deep rhythm, like a drum or a heartbeat.

“What's going on?” Hellboy asked.

“You have already been given a gift. Use it. You will see the truth,” Abraham said.

“A gift?” Hellboy thought for a long moment until his hand went tentatively to the opera glasses he had reclaimed from the nursery. “Wait here,” he said to Brad and Lisa.

Hellboy ventured back out to the hall. All was still and silent, but there was a pervasive atmosphere of apprehension that had not been there before. Peering down the stairs, Hellboy saw only darkness. He examined the opera glasses for a moment. “Use the gift, the man said,” he muttered.

With an uncertain shrug, he placed the opera glasses to his eyes and instantly flinched. Deep in the shadows, faint shapes moved relentlessly toward him, glowing faintly like bodies seen through heat-sensitive night vision goggles. He removed the opera glasses, and once again there was only the dark.

Racing back into the sitting room, he yelled, “Move!”

Abraham was already less substantial than he had been, and was fading back into the dark in the corner of the room. He seemed oblivious to Hellboy. “Poor Sarah,” he said to himself, wringing his hands. “Poor, poor Sarah.”

Hellboy urged them through to the gleaming glass cases and stuffed animals of the drawing room, and then into the kitchen. At the foot of the stairs up to the cellar, Brad cocked his head and listened. “It's quiet. What's wrong?”

Planting the opera glasses on his eyes again, Hellboy glanced back. The glowing shapes were already moving into the kitchen, becoming more human in shape as they neared. One near the front was huge and low, with arms outstretched.

“Just run,” Hellboy said. He drove Brad and Lisa up the stone steps and into the clutter of the cellar. As they weaved their way through the twisting maze, Hellboy used the opera glasses only once. The ghosts were only feet behind.

“What's there?” Lisa gasped. “Something we can't see?”

“I'll tell you about it over a coffee,” Hellboy replied gruffly.

Pounding up the final flight of steps, they burst into the dark kitchen. Hellboy slammed the door with the Black Sun etched on it, and clanked the padlock shut. Stepping back, he watched intently with the opera glasses for long moments. Briefly, the door bowed as if a tremendous weight pressed against it. Glimmers of light flickered through the gap beneath. Whispers hummed on the edge of their hearing, the words incomprehensible but the tone filled with rage. Yet the door held, and after a while the light receded.

Crashing onto a chair, Hellboy allowed himself to relax.

“What now?” Brad asked.

“Now,” Hellboy replied, “we keep watch till dawn.”

 
CHAPTER 10

—

Dawn came up cold and hard behind a bank of dark clouds still filled with snow; not the fresh, crisp morning of a New England Christmas, but a brutal blast of the frozen North, of raw fingers, and hunger, and an ache that reached deep into the bones. After a while, the brittle silver light gave way to glimmers of gold here and there as an occasional shaft of sunlight gleamed off the snow-swathed rooftops and blanketed street. Even then, there was only the prospect of worse to come.

“Any sign?” A bleary-eyed Lisa brought Hellboy a mug of steaming coffee and a plate of eggs as he sat in vigil at the window beside the front door.

He thought how drained of life she looked; she was finding it hard to shake off the previous night's ordeal. “All quiet.” Blowing on the mug, he took a warming sip. “I hate the damn cold.”

“I can see how that would be. You like it hot, right?”

He eyed her askance before seeing the hint of pale humor in her eyes. “How you doin'? You went through a lot last night.”

For a moment, she reflected, her eyes downcast. “I remember the spider biting me, then just flashes for a while. Whispering voices . . . hands on me . . . ” She gave a shudder. “Then nothing until a feeling of being dragged along in the dark and the dust. They were saying things to me. I can't remember exactly what, just this feeling of . . . dread. That everything was over.” She tried to force a smile. “You know what I mean?”

He nodded. “You gonna be okay?”

“I'm tough. I'll get over it.” She didn't look convinced, but added, “I've been through some bad things in my life. It gives you a thick skin. I said last night about
real evil
, how it was different from Iraq. But . . . when I was younger . . . I came up against something evil then, and it was all human.”

Hellboy could see she didn't want to talk about it further, so he said, “I've been trying to figure out what old Abraham told me, about the Time of the Black Sun and the Rise of the Wolves. Two names, same thing. It sounded to me like those werewolves out there need to get hold of the Kiss of Winter—whatever it is—to partner it up with something called the Heart of Winter, which they've already got.”

“And if they do that, the Rise of the Wolves happens?”

“That's what it seemed like Old Abraham was saying.”

“So we don't let them get the Kiss,” Lisa said defiantly.

“Easier said than done,” Hellboy grumbled. “Only we have to find the Kiss to . . . ” He paused, shook his head. “Doesn't matter. We have to find it, that's all.”
To stop ourselves getting trapped in here, like Old Abraham and all the other ghosts
, he thought. No need to tell her that.

“So how do we do that?” she asked.

“Abraham said I had to look for answers out there.” He nodded to the door.

Lisa looked at him incredulously.

“Yeah, I know. So how's Brad doing?”

“Sleeping. He tried to talk to William . . . something about his mother . . . but they only ended up arguing, and William disappeared again.” She looked out at the frozen street. “I'm not sure if I trust him.”

“William? Hard to tell. He keeps everything buried down deep. He's got his own agenda, that's for sure.”

“Why would he want the Kiss of Winter if not for some kind of power grab?” Lisa asked. “You saw those artifacts down there—they're all dangerous. And it sounds like the Kiss is worst of all.”

“But William left all those alone. He's only interested in the Kiss of Winter.”

“Maybe summoning giant spiders and controlling people with a mask aren't enough. Maybe he's got his eye on the big prize.”

“What does Brad think?” Hellboy wondered.

“It's hard to get anything good out of Brad about his dad. He's always talked about someone cold and distant, someone who set out to build power out there in the world. You know, turning that tiny engineering company into a multimillion-dollar business through sweat and willpower. He's a tough guy. Anybody who throws all his cash into a place like this . . . ” She shuddered. “Has got to be after something big.”

Hellboy tucked into his eggs. “I'm starved. Running from ghosts gives you an appetite.”

“Haven't you got a big gun or something that just blows them away?”

“Who do you think I am? Bill Murray?” he said between mouthfuls. “Ghosts are the hardest things to destroy. Takes some specialist equipment and a good dose of ritual. Often you're just better distracting them, or finding out why they're haunting and giving them a helping hand to move on.”

Finishing his food and coffee, he stood up and stretched. “Reckon I better get going before the next snowfall.”

“You're not really going out there?”

“Don't see how I've got a choice.”

“Yes, but outside where? Canada?”

“The Kiss of Winter and the Heart are strongest when they're brought together, Abraham said. The wolves have the Heart out there; the Kiss is in here. The two of them combined must be causing all this weirdness circling around us . . . the weather, and the time shifting an' all . . . so I'm guessing whatever I'm going to find is gonna be somewhere within reach of this house.”

Lisa fetched his coat. “What about the wolves?”

“No tracks in the snow, so they haven't been around for a while. I've been watching the roofs since first light. Nothing. I'm betting they're playing it smart, lying low when the sun comes up. They've got nothing to gain being hunted by cops and the National Guard. While I'm out there, I'll see if I can get in touch with my old gang, the Bureau, along with the cops and everybody else I can get hold of.”

“You're still taking a risk.”

“Yeah. That's what I do. Lock and bolt the door behind me, just in case. And be prepared to open it in a hurry if you hear me holler.”

Hellboy stepped out into the bitter cold, the deep snow crunching under his boots. It was impossible to see where the sidewalk ended and the road began. Some of the front doors around the square were buried beneath drifts. Putting his head down into the biting wind, he struggled toward Mount Vernon Street past the still-burning gas lamps. Everywhere was still. Without the rumble of cars, trains, planes, no sign of people on the street anywhere, it felt like the entire population had fled the city. Across Boston nothing moved, apart from the summer birds swooping in the gray sky, baffled as they searched for food. It looked like the power was now out citywide.

Occasionally, he glimpsed movement inside the houses and businesses that he passed, and once saw the frightened face of an old man pressed against the glass. Every house was a prison, residents afraid to venture out, afraid to stay indoors.

As he fought his way toward Charles Street, not sure what he was looking for, the snow started again, and soon he was being buffeted every which way by a blizzard. In the haze of white, he lost sight of the buildings all around and soon found his bearings were off.

When the wind dropped a little, none of the landmarks around him looked familiar. Glancing about, he tried to place his location and saw a dark shape loom out of the blizzard. It was a woman in a black dress from the antebellum period, a bonnet tied tightly, her head down against the stinging snow. She rushed past without seeing him and disappeared into the blizzard again.

“Where am I?” he muttered to himself. “Okay, when am I?” He sighed. “So much for callin' the Bureau and the cops.”

The gusting snow shifted slightly to reveal a girl of around ten sheltering in the doorway of a milliner's nearby, her brown curls frosted with white. She wore a blue dress and a white bonnet, scant protection against the cold. Her face, unaccountably pale, looked vaguely familiar.

“Hey, you shouldn't be out here. You'll catch your death.” Hellboy lurched through the gale to the girl.

The girl flashed him an open, honest smile. “I am waiting, Mister.”

“Who for?”

“Why, you.”

“Me?”

“Yes.” She held out a white, fragile hand for him to take.

“You mean, you were waiting for anyone who could get you out of this snowstorm.” He peered into her face. “You're not scared of me?”

“What? A fine, upstanding man in his Sunday-best suit and hat?” There was an odd quality in her face when she spoke that concerned him, but maybe that
was
how he was perceived in this era.

“We can go now.” She urged him to move, and they struggled through the deep drifts for a few paces before Hellboy swept her up into his arms and held her close to him. She was as cold as ice. “Thank you,” she said.

“Let's get you in front of a fire. Which way?”

She directed him down the street. It was difficult to see further than a few feet on every side, but occasionally Hellboy caught glimpses of the buildings they were passing, and he had the impression they had left behind the grand houses of the south slope.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Why, to Black Beacon Hill.”

Hellboy noticed the fine material of her dress. “That's not where you're from.”

“No. But it is where I am going.”

The force of the wind and the sharpness of the driven snow made it easier not to talk, and so Hellboy forced his way on with his head down, protecting the girl from the elements as much as he could. After a little while, she directed him off the main road and up a side street where the houses were so close together they kept the worst of the storm away.

The south slope had been carefully designed with wide avenues and large plots for the residences, but here it appeared the houses had been thrown up with little thought for any of the niceties of town planning. They jumbled against one another with ragged pitches and sagging roofs, many with tiles that were missing, broken, or hanging, and windows so tiny the interiors appeared filled with gloom. The street between the two rows wound its way like a natural feature, and on either side alleys and run-throughs plunged into a rat run of shadowy interconnecting passages barely wide enough for one person. Overflowing rain barrels, broken crates, and refuse created obstacles to any speedy progress, and often made it difficult to see what lay ahead.

The girl directed Hellboy into the depths of the dark maze, where wood smoke from fires and the smell of cooking food hung in the air. Occasional blasts of icy wind swirled past them, but the claustrophobic nature of the jumble of routes turned what would have been unsettling and gloomy at any other time into a cozy protection against the weather.

In some houses, the door lay open invitingly for any neighbors who wanted to drop in. Hellboy caught sight of groups of black servants from the big houses laughing and joking and eating around stoves. Others were filled with steam and the aroma of soap as the women worked hard with the washing they had taken in. Every now and then they would pass pale, thin men in too-large overcoats, long hair framing faces that contained the bloom of both intelligence and hard liquor, their fingers stained with ink or paint. To a person, they nodded politely to Hellboy as he passed.
So maybe they do see me like a regular guy from this time
, he thought. He could only guess it was some weird byproduct of the time-warping effect that made him fit the picture they expected.

Finally, the girl guided Hellboy up a cobbled walkway to a dark, secluded inn. Beneath a creaking wooden sign, the Admiral Perry was less than inviting, its windows small and dark, its door so low Hellboy had to stoop to get in. But once across the threshold, it was surprisingly inviting. On one side of the room, a fire blazed in a large grate, fed with logs from a fragrant pile at one side. Sawdust was scattered over the stone flags amid heavy wooden tables scarred with years of knife cuts and spilled beer. The ceiling was low and beamed, and beyond the bar a warren of tiny rooms sprawled so it was impossible to tell at a glance who was present. Hellboy guessed that was one of the attractions for the men who huddled in small groups, smoking and whispering as they haggled, casting quick glances toward the door at every new arrival. Many of the drinkers were sailors from ships moored on the Charles River at the foot of Beacon Hill and some appeared to be showing around samples of various items, cloth and food, that they had perhaps stolen or smuggled.

“You sure this is where you want to be?” Hellboy asked. “Doesn't look like a place for little girls.”

“Yes. My father is here, conducting business. I need to see him.”

She jumped down and weaved a familiar path among the tables and drinkers into the back rooms. Concerned for her safety, Hellboy followed until he could be sure she had met her father.

The furthest room from the entrance was windowless and sunken a couple of feet below street level. It was gloomy, with only a small fire and a gas lamp for light. Two men were hunched around a table with glasses of beer before them. One was a sailor with a drooping moustache white with froth above his lip, his eyes hooded, still wearing his hat pulled low. The other, Hellboy recognized with surprise, was Abraham Grant, his eyes not quite as sad as in his portrait, but clearly hunted. Anxiously, he tugged at his shirtsleeve as he spoke in hushed tones.