Mab tapped her chin thoughtfully. “The living may not enter the Darklands without permission from one of its Keepers. And they do not grant permission lightly—that’s why they guard the borders. From what you describe, Pryce clearly wanted to disappear into the Darklands, go there physically as well as spiritually, but his request was denied. So he resorted to more desperate measures; the virus was his back-up plan, so to speak.” Her tapping finger paused. “I suppose he stole it from the Old Ones.”
Mab knew all about the Old Ones and the zombie virus; she’d helped me disrupt their attempt to create a new-and-improved virus to give themselves eternal life. She also knew that their leader, Colwyn, had been captured and Juliet was helping to question him. “Juliet said Colwyn was angry because Pryce had stolen something from them. I’m sure it was the virus.”
“Indeed. He expects to make a shadow demon, bind it to himself, and return to his human body, all before that body reanimates. He plans to come back fully restored as a demi-demon, with all of his previous abilities and strengths. He’s very sure of himself,” she murmured. “Pryce has always been arrogant.”
“If he fails,” I added, “his spirit gets kicked out of the Darklands after three days. He’ll wake up as a zombie, but he won’t have been cremated or buried or anything.” It was against state law to dispose of the body of a suspected plague victim until permanent death was confirmed.
“When Pryce received his father’s life force, he also received Myrddin’s store of magical knowledge. That makes him a powerful wizard. If he fails in this attempt, he’ll have other plans.”
“How long do you think we have?” I asked. “Does Pryce have to stay in the Darklands the full three days—or could he be up and running around right now?” It didn’t matter how secure McFarren thought Pryce’s body was. If he regained his shadow demon, he could enter Uffern, the demon plane, again. He could pop out of custody, travel through Uffern, and pop into my living room. And the most dangerous weapon I had here was a can opener.
He’d slaughter me within ten seconds. The thought sent a cold wind through my dreamscape.
Mab rubbed her arms, as though she felt it, too. “Don’t fret, child. It’s as difficult to leave the Darklands as it is to enter. In ancient days, after Arthur stole the cauldron of transformation, Lord Arawn tightened the borders.”
“Lord Arawn—he’s the ruler of the Darklands?”
“He is. When you and I last spoke, we mentioned Preiddeu Annwn, ‘The Spoils of Annwn.’ Do you recall the poem’s refrain?”
“‘Except for seven, none returned.’” Saying the words, I shivered. Must have been that wind.
“Yes. Three shiploads of Arthur’s finest warriors, and only seven men made it back. Seven, child. Few return from the Darklands. And none returns unchanged.”
I nodded. Pryce had gone in as a human, and there was no coming back as one. He’d return as either a demi-demon or a zombie.
“Pryce was clever to use the zombie virus to guarantee his return,” Mab continued, “but I don’t think we’ll see him before those three days are up. Besides, there are many things that can go wrong between now and then.”
I perked up at that. “Like what?”
“The cauldrons, all three of them, draw their power from the special magic of the Darklands. It’s not the same as the magic of this world, and that may confuse Pryce. Also, before the cauldron can transform anything, it must be returned to its place at the center of the Darklands, where the magic is strongest. The Keeper you saw will notify Lord Arawn of the cauldron’s return, and haste will be made to transport it. It’s unlikely, but some accident could prevent or delay its return.
“Besides, Lord Arawn is no fool. He won’t simply return the cauldron to service, not after it’s been out of his domain for so long. I’m sure he’ll purify it in some way first.”
“And the purification will reveal the demons.”
Mab pursed her lips, then nodded. “Demons are excluded from the Darklands. Annwn is not a realm of tormented and damned souls. Demons have their own, separate region—what they call Uffern, and we call the demon plane. Pryce has bound the demons to the cauldron and cloaked their presence inside it. If those demons are discovered, however, they’ll be killed or driven from the realm.”
“Then the cauldron would be useless to Pryce, right? No demons, nothing to transform.”
“Yes. Pryce is aware of that, I’m sure. I’d wager that he intends to be at the purification ceremony and will make his move then. But that brings up another problem for him. To get to the cauldron, Pryce must find his way through the Darklands to their center. Traveling through that realm may not be easy for him.”
I feigned surprise. “Don’t tell me his GPS won’t pick up a signal in the realm of the dead.”
Mab cocked her head. “GPS?”
“Never mind.” Never attempt a technology joke—not even a lame one—around my aunt.
Mab stared at me for two or three seconds, then dismissed my comment as irrelevant. “When you killed Cysgod,” she said, getting back to the matter at hand, “Pryce lost his animating force. Myrddin restored him by stealing others’ life forces and pouring those into Pryce. In this world, the spirits of those Myrddin killed are bound to Pryce. In the Darklands, though, they might escape.”
“They can do that?”
“Myrddin bound those murdered souls to Pryce’s physical body. Now that body is technically dead and Pryce’s spirit is in the Darklands. Annwn is a place of spirits, or shades, as they’re called there. For most, it’s a temporary way station. Many spirits simply pass through on their way to other realms. Some go into the cauldron of rebirth and return to this world in new bodies. A few—a very few—make the Darklands their permanent home. At any rate, the bonds that hold those other life forces to Pryce are weaker there. They will try to peel themselves away from him, so they can move on to wherever they’re meant to be. As they leave him, he’ll grow progressively weaker until he’s able—if he’s able—to get his shadow demon back.”
That sounded promising. The faster Pryce weakened, the less likely it was that he’d reach the cauldron. “Is there anything we can do to help those spirits leave him? Light a candle or something?”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll have Jenkins drive me to the village church in the morning. Lighting a candle for each of Myrddin’s victims will send them energy and guide them on their way.”
Okay, that was something. But it didn’t seem like much. “What else can we do?”
Mab folded her hands in her lap. For a long time, she sat motionless, looking into the fire. She didn’t turn her head when she spoke. “I’m afraid, child, that I haven’t the foggiest.”
“But…” Mab always knew what to do. Always. I realized my mouth was hanging open, so I closed it. “So, what? We sit around and hope that Pryce’s plan blows up in his face?” Although Mab had listed many things that could go wrong for Pryce, I didn’t like the idea of counting on his failure.
She turned to look at me then. “I’m afraid I see no alternative.” Mab’s voice was calm, but there was something strange about her face. It took a moment to realize what it was. Fear colored my aunt’s eyes. I’d never seen it there before. She believed Pryce would succeed—and the thought scared her.
My aunt was never, ever scared.
“Can’t we go after him? Is there a way into the Darklands from here?” I made a sweeping gesture to encompass my dreamscape. I thought about the red-lit door I’d seen at the Devil’s Coffin and began reconstructing it in my mind: a rectangle of misty red light. No, not quite like that. I deepened the shade of red a little and—
“Victory, stop it!” The sharpness in Mab’s voice made the image wink out, like she’d yanked the plug on a TV. I blinked and focused on her. “That won’t work,” she said. “Any portal you create here will lead into another part of your dreamscape. It won’t get you into Annwn.”
“So how do we get there?”
“We don’t. Even if we could cross the border, it would be too dangerous.” She clasped her bloodstone pendant. “Victory, I’ve lived in this body for more than three hundred years, well past my allotted time. If I were to enter the Darklands, I could not take my bloodstone with me. It would be like leaving my strength behind. What’s more, Lord Arawn would never allow me to leave. Not without passing through the cauldron of rebirth.”
“All right, I’ll go.” It would be harder without Mab, but I’d faced Pryce before.
“How, child? There’s no virus for our kind that will guarantee your return. No.” She dropped the bloodstone and shook her head. “I told you, a raid on the Darklands is too dangerous. Remember the poem’s refrain, ‘namyn seith, ny dyrreith.’”
Namyn seith, ny dyrreith. I wasn’t what you’d call fluent in medieval Welsh, but I knew those words: Except for seven, none returned.
Well, there were seven who did return. “I’m willing to take the chance.”
“I’m not willing to lose you, child.” Her voice was firm, but the tone was soft. “Put the idea out of your mind. You’re needed here.” I was going to ask for what, but she stood and started pacing again. “Our best strategy is to prepare ourselves to battle Pryce if he recovers his shadow demon. What will his first move be? Let us both think about that, and we’ll discuss it tomorrow. For now, we’ll say good night. Keep this pistol”—she tossed me the gun she’d used to kill my dream-demon—“in case more Drudes appear in your dreamscape tonight. We’ll deal with the Eidolon once you’re out of quarantine.” A faint smile touched her lips. “Butterfly. I like that. It will help keep the demon at bay until we can fight it properly.”