The Mortal Bone (22 page)

“Extreme,” I echoed. “What happens if you’re
not
extreme?”

“You could lose pieces of yourself. Maybe. Remember, I’m no expert. This is only . . . instinct.”

I trusted his instincts. If he said breaking the bond would be dangerous, then I believed him. But I didn’t think I could live like this. Not forever. Not now, with a baby inside me.

Those words. Those words I’d heard so often. Now it was
my
turn to be guided by
them
, but I didn’t like what I was feeling. I didn’t like all that anger flooding me, anger that was so close to hate it made my skin crawl. I was afraid the anger would become part of me, permanently. If I lived with the boys for ten thousand years, maybe it would. Perhaps that was what had happened to them, once upon a time. Maybe, in another life.

“I feel what they feel,” I said. “It’s all so close to me, I don’t know what’s real.”

Grant held me tighter. “You know.”

I shook my head. “The boys are angry and spoiling for a fight, like it’s some grudge they’ve been holding. I wish I knew . . . I wish I knew if they felt that way while imprisoned on me . . . or if this just started with their freedom. Maybe those demon lords.”

I hated the idea that all these years they might have been resentful of me, my mother, all us women . . . full of anger they could never express, for being imprisoned on bodies they could never escape.

Grant studied my eyes. “It must be strange to feel anything at all.”

“What’s strange is that their emotions are so familiar. So . . . human.” I reached behind me for that teddy bear, and flopped it between us. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. Zee and the others have always expressed themselves through emotion.
Feeling
their feelings, though . . .” I had to stop, and fussed with the stuffing leaking from the bear’s eye. “Makes me wonder if all demons share that . . . emotional vocabulary.”

If they do,
I thought,
then what really separates any of us?

Grant seemed to read my mind—or maybe my own emotions were just that transparent. “Speaking the same language, emotional or otherwise, doesn’t mean anything, Maxine. The boys shouldn’t have done this to you.”

“Gah,” I said, squeezing the teddy bear’s head. “I hate thinking about it.”

“Okay.” Grant gently loosened my fingers from the bear. “Let’s think about how we’re going to be parents.”

Heat spread through me. I thought about my mother . . . and on the heels of that, my earliest memory of wondering who my father might be. Sitting in the station wagon at a gas station, watching some man carrying his son on his shoulders and thinking that was weird—because I didn’t know any better. Asking my mother. Hearing the word
dad
for the first time.

“Most girls in my family never know their fathers,” I said to Grant, feeling vaguely uneasy, and afraid.

He pulled me even closer. “That’s not going to happen here.”

I took his hand and placed it on my stomach. “No. It won’t.”

He briefly closed his eyes. “We need a plan.”

“Yes,” I said, then, softer: “Maybe I deserve this. I never realized what it was for the boys, being imprisoned. I probably still don’t get it. But if it’s anything like this . . . I don’t know how they stood it for all those years.”

Grant gave me a hard, incredulous look. “You know what, Maxine? I don’t care. I really don’t. I want them back on your body, imprisoned. Short of that, I want to break the bond they’ve got sunk into you and make sure they can never force you again to do anything against your will.”

“What if this is necessary? What if this is what it takes to control that army?”

“From what you told me, nothing’s going to control them. They’re not going to listen to Zee and the others.”

“Not unless they terrify them. Or just kill them.”

“If
we
killed them?” Grant asked bluntly. “What if? We could do it. I could. The Messenger.”

“It’s not just the demon lords. You take them out, you might kill an entire race.”

“That’s what they’re going to do to us.” Grant’s gaze softened, troubled. “Don’t think I’m saying this lightly, because I’m not. But I’m talking about survival.”

So had Zee. So had Lord Ha’an. All anyone wanted to do was simply live another day, with food and peace, and safety. The problem was competing needs. The problem was uncertainty and a lack of trust, and solutions.

“I could have killed the Mahati,” I said. “But they’re just . . . people, Grant. Different, but not that different. I don’t know what the others are like, but . . . genocide?”

“I’ll do what it takes.”

I pushed him away. “Zee said the same thing.”

“Then we agree on something,” he muttered, reaching for me again. “Maxine, don’t. Come back.”

I let him pull me close but didn’t relax.

“I’ve always liked the name Lucy,” he said.

“Shut up,” I muttered.

“How about Agatha?”

“Be serious.”

“Helga?”

I poked his chest. “Focus.”

“I can multitask,” he replied, capturing my finger. “Okay, none of those names. And I’m not ruling out killing those demons. I won’t, Maxine. Neither should you.”

“I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“I had a revelation today,” he murmured. “And then another one, half an hour ago. My priorities have changed. I’m feeling particularly ruthless at the moment.”

I rested my hand on my stomach. “Do you think all this is hurting . . . her?”

He was silent a moment. “I don’t know.”

“I wish my mother were here.”

“I wish
my
mother were here.”

Both of us snorted and looked at each other. Grant kissed my nose.

“I’m happy,” he said. “I’m terrified, and beside myself. And I love you.”

I gave him a crooked smile. “Are we going to be okay?”

“You bet.” But something strained passed through his gaze, and he chewed the inside of his cheek. “There’s something you need to see.”

“I hate it when you say things like that.”

“I hate saying it,” he replied, and rolled sideways to pick up the laptop computer that was on the other nightstand. He flipped it open and set it on the bed between us. Minutes later, I was reading the news—specifically, articles relating to mysterious mass killings, all over the world. A small apartment building in Paris was the site of a horrific massacre, in which all residents had been found dead—dismembered, partially eaten. A cruise ship in the Mediterranean had radioed for help when nearly ten people had disappeared, with no evidence except for some bloody spots on the deck—and one severed head.

A nursing home in Montreal was missing five residents. Cadaver dogs had found bits and pieces of them in a nearby park.

“It’s a big world,” I said, quietly. “This is probably just the tip of the iceberg.”

“So you
do
think it’s those demon lords who are responsible.”

“What I think is that they’ve been loose for two days, and they’re starving—and ruthless. So yes, I’m sure they had a hand in it.”

“It feels as though they’re being discreet.”

I thought about the earthquake in Memphis, wondering if that was still a coincidence. “They’re arrogant but not stupid. I’m sure this is a scouting mission for them, a chance to iron out their future with Zee and the boys. Get a feel for what’s changed in ten thousand years. Hell, from what I saw, they’re probably fighting over what continent each of them will control.”

“Are they vulnerable to guns?”

“Don’t know. I think there’s a difference in strength between the demon lords and those they rule.”

“So? What next?”

A deep ache struck my heart, full of sadness. “First thing we do is break this bond with the boys. Their intentions may have been good—”

Grant grunted.

“—but I won’t be controlled. Not now. Not ever.”

Because you are a Queen,
whispered the darkness, from deep within.

Because I am my mother’s daughter,
I told it.

My mother’s daughter.

My
daughter.

It hit me, then. Finally, it hit me. Nothing I had ever felt before, in my life, compared to the determination and resolve that struck me, in that moment. Nothing. All my conflict slipped away, replaced by a straight road, a single path. It was a moment of pure, raw clarity.

Grant was right. Priorities had changed.

I was going to be a mother. I was going to have a baby.

And if I had to, I would kill the entire fucking demon race to keep her safe.

CHAPTER 20

I
didn’t like slipping into the void, knowing I was pregnant, but there didn’t seem to be much alternative. We needed to speak with the Messenger about breaking this bond the boys had sunk into me, and there was only one way to reach her.

Before we left, though, I changed out of my blood-spattered clothes—and went to find Rex. Some volunteers pointed us to the warehouse basement, which was the first place I would have looked anyway. Secrets always seemed to end up underground.

The door was locked, but Grant had keys. Like most basements, it was usually dark, but when we looked down the stairs, a golden light was splashed across the concrete floor. I walked slowly, not wanting to rush Grant as he limped after me—closing and locking the basement door behind him.

The basement was large, filled with huge mechanical equipment from the warehouse’s previous life as a furniture manufacturer. At the far end, well away from the stairs, a sagging couch had been set out—surrounded by Tiffany-style lamps and several plywood crates covered in sheets of glittery wrapping paper, like makeshift tablecloths.

Byron sat on one end of the couch, elbows on his knees. He had taken out his earring and was holding it between his fingers with a distant, thoughtful look in his eyes. Mary sprawled beside him, one leg propped on the back of the couch, a sword resting on her stomach. The blade had clean edges and an overdecorated hilt that resembled something out of a fantasy role-player’s handbook. When I got close, I saw—sure enough—the word EXCALIBUR stamped on the shining flat surface.

“Grant’s woman,” said Mary—and then frowned, and sat up quick.

“Hey,” I said, feeling nervous about the way she looked at me. “What are you both doing down here?”

“Mary had a bad feeling. So did Rex,” replied Byron, tossing his earring on the crate in front of him. “They won’t let me leave their sight.”

“Good,” Grant rumbled, as Mary studied my face and whispered, “Something wicked, something in the shadows comes.”

Rex walked from a side room and stopped dead in his tracks. His aura shuddered.

“Fuck,” he muttered, staring at me. “They bonded you.”

I raised my brow, alarmed at how much he might say in front of Byron. “No swearing in front of children, please.”

Byron’s mouth softened into the faintest of smiles though that did nothing to erase the concern and confusion in his eyes. Rex crossed the room, watching me.

“You
let
them,” he said, incredulous, as if just
seeing
the bond was enough to know exactly how everything had gone down.

Grant sighed, leaning on his cane, shoulder brushing mine. Quiet, warm strength. I soaked it in, listening to our bond—and the bond with the boys, which was still tumultuous, and disturbing. I felt violence from them—and had to steel myself to not be infected with those same emotions. If our roles were reversed, and
I
had been forced to live on
them
and share
their
hearts for ten thousand years, I could not predict how that influence might change me.

I gestured for Rex to come close. Grant and I led him to the stairs.

“The demon lords are loose,” I said, trying to pitch my voice low enough that Byron wouldn’t hear. “I just watched Draean vomit his guts out.”

“Should I be impressed?”

“I need to know more, what their weaknesses are, the way they think.”

“No,” he snapped, “what you need to do is begin saying your prayers, assuming you believe at all in a compassionate God.”

I reached for him. Grant beat me to it, grabbing Rex’s collar and twisting that material around his fist. His eyes were pure ice, and his voice quiet as death when he said, “No jokes. Answer the questions.”

I had a moment’s déjà vu. It reminded me of when I was young with my mother, watching her on those rare, brief occasions when she confronted the demonically possessed in my presence. Specifically, I remembered a backwoods bar, dark, full of possessed men and women. A snowy day. A broken-down car. A trap for us. A test.

The demon stared as though my husband held a bazooka in his hand. “Let go first.”

Grant’s hand loosened, slowly, without apology. Rex tugged on his collar, giving him an uncertain look.

“I can’t tell you much,” he said, his aura turning gray as it hugged his skin with tiny nervous flutters. “By the time I was born, stories about the demon lords had been reduced to little more than old tales.”

“They are not old tales to me,” said a low, feminine voice.

Cool air moved across my neck. Rex stiffened, and so did Grant. For a split second, I forgot that the boys weren’t with me, and almost told one of them to go investigate that voice. A strange sense of loss hit me, and vulnerability—all made worse by the intense, daggered emotions flowing through the bond.

I glimpsed movement in the deep shadows behind the old machinery—a massive irregular shape that was deeper and darker than any night. Red eyes glinted like tiny strokes of lightning.

“Blood Mama,” I said.

“Hunter. Meet me outside in the parking lot.”