The Iron Hunt (34 page)

“Whose
side are you on?”

“Mine.
Ours. We are the Wardens, Maxine. We are the hammer and the heart, and there is
no room for absolutes in this game. Just the right thing. And you know what
that is, deep in your gut. You know.”

“I
don’t know anything.”

Jean
Kiss grabbed my arm, and the contact was electrifying, chilling. “Don’t you
dare feel sorry for yourself. What we do is a privilege. It is an honor.”

“And
if we’re not enough?” My cheeks were hot. “The veil is falling.”

My
grandmother’s grip did not loosen. “So it’ll fall. Doesn’t matter. So the world
will get eaten up. Doesn’t matter, either. What
does
matter is that you
fight. You live. You keep breathing. You survive, and you get yourself a baby,
and you make sure she does the same. You teach her how to fight.
You
fight. You dig deep inside that heart of yours and push the cutters back. You
take care of what you can, when you can, but you
don’t
give up. Respect
yourself. Do
not
belittle what you are.”

Her
eyes blazed. Her touch was eerie. I was not entirely certain whether I should
be inspired or ashamed, but I felt neither of those things when she suddenly
enfolded me in her arms, and pressed her mouth to my ear. Her strength was
immense, warm; she smelled like horses and grass and smoke.

“I
know what you are,” she whispered, chilling me. “Same thing as Jolene, but
stronger. I can feel it. Veil gets weak, so do parts of us. Walls around our
hearts that were never supposed to come down. But they’re coming. Fast, now.
Faster, in your time, I bet. So you remember something, Maxine Kiss. You stay
true. Because
this
”—Jean Kiss laid her hand above my heart—“this is what
will break the world, or save it.”

She
pressed her lips to my cheek, then pushed me back, just enough to stare into my
eyes. I saw pain there, sadness deep as bone; and a determination that made me
love her more than I ever imagined I could, this woman who had always been dead
to me, until now.

My
grandmother grabbed my wrist, her fingers slipping over the iron ring. She
closed her eyes, lips moving. I stared, breathless, trying to pull away—then
staggered, dizzy.

“What
are you doing?” I mumbled. “Stop.”

“I’m
sending you home,” she whispered. “Give my best to Jack. Tell him I miss his
tea.”

“No.
I’m not ready.”

“You’re
my granddaughter,” Jean Kiss said, her voice sounding more distant. “You’ll
always be ready.”

And
suddenly she was gone, and there was rain on my face, rain that tasted
suspiciously salty, and the sky was golden with clouds. I was not alone. Zee
and the others covered my body, staring into my eyes. Patting my cheeks.
Oturu’s hair was still wrapped around my wrist.

“Hunter,”
he murmured.

I
closed my eyes, still trying to hold on to my grand-mother’s face, her voice,
the scent of her cigarettes. My mother, so effortlessly young, without the hard
glint in her eyes that I remembered from my youth.

The
seed ring lay on my stomach. It was hot, almost burning. Zee whispered,
“Maxine. We remember.”

Tears
welled. “It was real.”

“You
traveled into time,” said Oturu. “The ring you wear, the iron ring, is
Labyrinth-born, hewn and crafted from ore mined in the heart of the maze. It is
a key, Hunter. A key to any door, in any time or place. A key that reflects the
desires of its bearer.”

I
placed my hand on top of the seed ring. “So when I looked at the memories…”

“It
brought you to them, in body and soul.” Oturu’s chin dipped against his chest.
“You must take care, Hunter. The ring is bound to you now. You cannot remove it
until death.”

I
stared, then tried to tug the thick band off my hand. It would not budge, not
in the slightest. I felt a moment of panic, took a breath, and fought to stay
calm. “How do you know so much about it?”

“Because
it was
hers
. A gift, from the Labyrinth. Meant
only
for her. That
it bound itself to you…” Oturu did not finish, nor did he need to. I held up my
hand, gazing at the iron band, engraved with fine lines that curled like roses.
I remembered the body in the Wasteland river, the sensation of the chain mail,
the bones. I had stolen from a grave. I had stolen from family.

Zee
and the others pushed close.

“You
knew before,” I said to them. “You knew I would travel back in time. You met
me.”

Raw
and Aaz stared at their feet. Zee chewed the tips of his claws. “More secrets.
Things we couldn’t say.”

“Fate
is fragile,” Oturu murmured. “As I said, Hunter. You must take care.
She
had trouble controlling its power. You will, as well.”

He
rose. I got a good look at his toes, which resembled steak knives the length of
my forearm. He took the seed ring with him, and tucked it deep within the
abyss.

“Hunter,”
he whispered. “Trouble is coming.”

TEN
minutes before dawn. Ten minutes to stay alive. I careened down the stairs into
the apartment—but halfway there, a strong arm reached out of thin air and
grabbed me.

Tracker.
He melted close, pinning me to the wall, and pressed his mouth against my ear.
Dek purred. Zee and the others hugged my legs. Tracker smelled like the desert
at sunset, hot and full of shadows.

“We
have a situation downstairs,” he murmured. “Grant took Mary away, but the boy
woke up. Wasn’t too happy to see strangers. He tried to leave. Opened up the
door, and there was a zombie waiting for him. Russian. Old man.”

“Edik,”
I breathed, as Mal’s tail tightened around my neck. “Son of a bitch.”

“He’s
got a gun. He’s sitting with the boy. And Jack. I’m worried I won’t be fast
enough for the demon’s trigger finger. ”

Raw
snarled. I tried to push myself past Tracker. He refused to budge. I peered
into his eyes. His breath was warm on my face. I shoved him again, but he was
immovable.

“What?”
I asked him—but all I received was a contemplative stare that felt,
unnervingly, like an attempt to memorize my face. As though a good-bye was
coming soon. As though he might not see me again.

“I’m
sorry,” Tracker said, finally.

“Sorry?”
I echoed.

He
sighed. “For pushing you in front of the bus.”

I
blinked, startled. “Oh, that.”

“Yes,
that,” Tracker rumbled, and leaned away. “You distract; I’ll extract.”

He
winked out of sight, and the vacuum created by his disappearance washed cool
air over my face. I felt it, too, in my heart. Just a little ache. A
disturbing, little ache.

Raw
grabbed my hand, tugging.

Zee
said, “The boy.”

Yes.
Byron. Jack. I looked down, studying secrets in their ageless eyes. “You’ve
never shown interest in any child. Why him?”

Zee
hesitated. “No time.”

Never
time. Such a fine excuse. I gave him a hard look and continued down the
stairs—more careful now—though I made no secret of my approach. When I entered
the living room, I tried to act appropriately surprised.

Which
was not all that difficult.

I saw
Byron first. He sat on the edge of the couch. He looked as if a horse had
kicked his face, which was bandaged and swollen. His arms were folded over his
ribs. His eyes widened when he saw me, but only for a moment— replaced instead
by a dull, resigned fear that hit my heart with a panicked flutter.

Jack
sat nearby on the piano stool, fidgeting. He was quite pale. I met his gaze
briefly, and he gave me a faint nod that was old and canny like a wolf.

Grandfather.
Mine. Those words meant so much to me. Music in my mind.

Grandfather.

Edik
Bashmakov sat between them. He held a gun to Byron’s head. His hand was steady,
his finger tight on the trigger. I did not know how long they had been sitting
like that, but I figured Edik would tire soon. Zombies were only as strong as
their hosts, and Edik was an old man who looked like pushing pencils was the
most exercise he ever got.

“Edik,”
I rasped. “Don’t be an idiot. Get away from the boy.”

The
zombie dipped his chin, his glasses sliding down his nose. “I apologize,
Hunter. But I am acting on my Queen’s behalf, and this is what she has
ordered.”

I
raised my brow. “She ordered you to hold a gun to a boy’s head? She ordered you
to act like bait? This is a suicide mission, Edik. Coming here? Before dawn,
while the boys are still awake? What were you thinking?”

The
old zombie said nothing, but the strain of his silence was palpable and
infinitely unhappy. He did not want to be here. He did not want to hold a gun
to Byron’s head. The agitation of his aura was immense, sparking so hot and
bright I could have seen the zombie from a mile away. I glanced at Jack, but he
was focused on the boy. Staring as if he were trying, through sheer force of
will, to pour strength into the teen.

Byron
looked like he needed it. He hardly seemed to breathe. Watching me. Holding me
with those old eyes. I stepped sideways, turning just so to hide the right side
of my body, and reached into my hair. Mal curled into my hand. Edik could not
have seen the little demon, but his eyes darkened.

“One
chance,” I whispered to the old zombie, noting the position of Byron’s head in
relation to the lamps in the room. “Go now, or die.”

“Better
now than later,” Edik replied unevenly. “After the veil falls, there will be no
quick death for any of us.”

“Ah,”
I breathed. “You coward.”

“Not
by choice,” he replied, and I saw Jack close his eyes. Even Byron had a furrow
in his brow. Not too frightened to listen. Not too afraid to be confused.

“Done,
Edik,” I said, and squeezed Mal’s tail. He chirped once, vanished between my
fingers—

—and
reappeared, partially embedded in the shadows of Byron’s hair. The little demon
emerged with his mouth over the gun muzzle. Edik flinched and pulled the
trigger.

The
blast roared through the room, but Mal swallowed the bullet, protecting Byron.
The teen shouted, eyes closed, throwing himself off the couch and clapping his
hands over his ears. Mal was left suspended in the air, hanging from the end of
the gun as Edik pulled the trigger a second time. Mal jerked once, then bit
down hard. He swallowed half the gun. Fell to the floor, chewing loudly.

Byron
began to turn to look, but Tracker appeared just behind him and yanked the boy
away. As soon as they were gone, Zee and the others melted from the shadows.
Edik flinched. Jack stood from his stool, but I ignored him as I moved close to
the old zombie, holding his hollow gaze. “Why the boy? Why the focus on him?
He’s been a target from the start. Pushed, picked on.”

The
old zombie said nothing. Raw ripped a spike from his back and rammed it into
the floor, again and again—like a war drum or a heartbeat. Zee sidled forward,
spitting acid at the zombie’s feet. I would have done the same if I could have.
I thought of my grandmother, my mother— Jack—and felt a shadow gather in my
heart, heaviness like ten thousand hands pushing against my back.

Jack
said, “Leave it be, dear girl.”

“No,”
I told him. “And if
you
know the truth—”

I
heard low, quiet laughter behind me. I knew that lush voice. I hardly needed to
turn, but I did—and watched Blood Mama enter the apartment through the front
door, which was already standing open. She wore a simple red suit and red
heels, and her thin slash of a mouth was crimson. She posed for a moment, aura
crackling like a hurricane in a beer bottle, and caressed Jack with a long look
that chilled me to the bone.

“Old
Wolf,” she said slowly. “Been a long time.”

“Blood
Mama,” he said, quietly. “Queen of the rats and rabble.”

“And
yet, you do not deny that I survive, ever so prettily, upon this prison world
you lashed me to. You Avatar. Pretender.” Blood Mama’s lips peeled back from
her teeth in a grotesque smile. “Hunter, because you ask, the boy is Old Wolf’s
Achilles’ heel, the only way to give Ahsen
exactly
what she wants.”

Jack
lurched forward. “You leave him alone.”

“
You
should have left him alone. Dear old bastard.” Blood Mama gave me a piercing
look. “The boy is not what he seems, Hunter. He is the key to killing Jack
Meddle’s soul. Kill the boy, and you kill the Immortal.”

Her
words skimmed over me. I shut them out. The temperature in the room dipped,
throwing a wash of frigid air over my skin. Oturu’s mark tingled, and a moment
later I heard the scrape of knives against wood. I looked back and caught the
edge of a black cloak floating down the stairs from the roof.

“Why
did you arrange this?” I said to Blood Mama, hurried, desperate. “Why now? Why
here?”

“Part
of the game,” Jack muttered. “The ugly game.”