Hellforged

“I said I’d stop him,” I said, “and he got me with a sucker punch. I fought back. I thought I had him, too. One second he was moaning on the ground at my feet, the next he was gone. Somehow he got behind me. Once he did, he beat the crap out of me.”

“He went into the demon plane. His human form regenerates there.”

“So he can pop into the demon plane, and then pop out again at another location?”

“If the sites are close together, yes. Otherwise, he must pass deeper through Hell, but he can travel anywhere on Earth that way.” She paused for a moment, her eyes distant, then gave a single, brisk nod. “Get washed and dressed. We must press forward with your training.”

I stood. I wasn’t eager for another session with The Book of Utter Darkness. The Book of Utter Evil was more like it. But it was necessary—I could see that. Pryce had to be stopped. Aside from the whole world domination thing, he’d just made it personal.

“Vicky.” Mab put her hand on my arm. “If Pryce attacked you, it’s because he fears you.”

“Maybe,” I said and kissed the top of my aunt’s head. Or maybe demi-demons just had peculiar ways of courting a girl. But if Pryce didn’t fear me now, he would—and soon.

IN MY LUXURIOUS BATHROOM, THE FIRST THING I DID WAS vomit long and violently into the toilet. When I’d puked up all the cud a sheep’s stomach could produce, I rinsed with mouthwash. Not yet minty-fresh enough, I brushed my teeth and flossed out some stray blades of grass, then went back to the mouthwash bottle for another round. Then I took a long, steamy shower, letting those jets of water soothe away my aches.

Being a shapeshifter wasn’t always a nonstop glamor-fest.

I put on some jeans but had trouble choosing a sweater. No wool—anything but wool. I found a ribbed red cotton turtleneck and pulled it on. If I shifted today, I’d better not choose a turtle. I wouldn’t have anything left to wear.

My stomach was feeling better, so I headed downstairs and grabbed some coffee and a fresh-baked muffin from the kitchen. Rose’s eyes widened when she saw my battered face. “It looks worse than it is,” I told her. She gave me another muffin.

Soon, I was in the library, stretched out on the sofa studying The Book of Utter Darkness as Mab sat in her chair by the fireplace. The illustration I’d seen yesterday had changed. Before, Avagddu had looked angry, howling with hunger and rage. Now, the infant was laughing. Instead of a single crow flying out of Avagddu’s mouth, there were hundreds. The sky was dark with crows. The Morfran emerges.

When I tried to read the story again, the meaning wouldn’t take shape in my mind. Here and there, I caught a single word or phrase—Avagddu, Great Crow, hunger—but the story itself remained obscure, nothing but incomprehensible combinations of letters.

I turned pages until I reached the end of the story of Avagddu and Taliesin. Or where I thought the end was. Without being able to read the words on the pages, I couldn’t be sure. So I began again.

It took forever. I’d stare at a page until I started to go cross-eyed, waiting to see whether understanding would flood my mind. The process wasn’t helping my headache. I tried to be patient, to be calm, to keep myself centered. But I’m not a patient person on my best day, and the frustration of trying and trying and trying to understand a book I couldn’t read drove me crazy.

I turned a page, snapping it and nearly tearing the parchment. Take it easy, Victory. Then I realized that Victory wasn’t self-talk—the book was sending the word into my thoughts. I stared at a group of letters, and the impression of Victory grew stronger. Keeping still, as though moving would dissolve the meaning, I waited. More words appeared in my mind.

When the dead walk, then shall Victory bind itself to the legions of Hell.

Pryce’s first two signs: zombies in Boston, and the strengthening of my bond with Difethwr. I’d done that for my own reasons, not to fulfill some stupid prophecy. And I didn’t appreciate being referred to as an it. Or did the sentence even refer to me? Maybe the book was predicting some kind of triumph for the Hellions. Mab said the book would try to trick me; I shouldn’t jump to conclusions about its meaning.

I moved my eyes to the next line: A new order shall rise when the Morfran emerges anew. Then shall Uffern breach its boundaries and the Brenin step forward.

That was what Difethwr had said to me in Tyler’s dream. It was happening now. The Morfran was out there, killing zombies. Uffern—the demon plane, Hell, whatever you wanted to call it—expanded into any dreamscape I entered. And Pryce, styling himself as King of the Demons, had stepped forward in a big way. I had the bruises to prove it.

The next line exploded in my mind like fireworks. Then shall the prophecy be fulfilled: From a goddess two lines diverged, but they shall be reunited in Victory.

I threw the book across the room.

“Victory!” Mab jumped from her chair. I couldn’t help it. I wanted those words out of my mind. And I didn’t want that damn book anywhere near me.

Mab picked up the book and inspected it for damage. I expected a scolding, but she sat beside me on the sofa. She placed one hand on my leg and the other on the book in her lap.

“What did it tell you, child?”

Instead of answering, I stood and walked to the French doors. My heart beat like a moth slamming itself over and over against a lighted window. I reached up to smooth my hair and realized I was shaking. I didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to be part of some goddamn prophecy from Hell. Rain dripped from the eaves and splashed onto the flagstones.

Mab came up behind me. I didn’t hear her, but I saw her reflection in the glass. Transparent, silent, like a ghost. She reached for my shoulder. I flinched, and she dropped her hand.

“I know this is difficult, child. But as I said when we began, it’s necessary.”

I nodded. The rain went drip-splash, drip-splash. That book had killed my father. It would be the end of me, too. I could feel it.

“Come. At least show me which section you were reading.”

I let her take my hand and guide me over to her desk. She sat me down in the chair and opened the book in front of me.

I lifted a hand to turn the page but froze halfway there.

Mab leaned over from where she stood behind me. “I’ll turn the pages. Tell me when we reach the part that upset you.”

Okay. I could do that.

Slowly, she paged through the book. She passed the picture of Avagddu, passed the dozen or so pages beyond it I hadn’t been able to understand. Then, as before, the word Victory appeared in my mind. “Stop!” I grabbed her wrist.

The page contained an illustration that wasn’t there before. Or maybe it was a different page—it was impossible to know. The picture showed a rocky hill with a small, square opening, like a darkened doorway: some sort of cave, or maybe a mine or a dolmen. Beside the cave, bigger than the hill itself, stood Difethwr, pointing. A cloud of bats flew out of the cave and in the direction of Difethwr’s pointing claw. I looked closer. Those weren’t bats. They were crows. The Morfran emerges anew.

Mab put on her reading glasses and peered over my shoulder to examine the page. After a few minutes, she took a magnifying glass from her desk drawer and leaned in closer. More minutes passed before she shook her head.

“That part of the book has always been closed to me,” she said. “I thought perhaps I could read it today, since the book granted you understanding. But I cannot. The new illustration gives me an idea, but it may be misleading.” She closed the book and put her hand on my arm. “So I’m afraid I must ask you again, child. What did it tell you?”

“It was a prophecy. Parts of it have already come true.” I told her about the dead walking and Victory binding itself to a Hellion. She nodded. “The next part was what the Destroyer said to me in my client’s dream. About a new order and the Morfran emerging and a king stepping forward. Pryce thinks he’s that king, doesn’t he? He talked about a new world order, too.”

“Did the book say ‘king’ or ‘Brenin’?”

“Isn’t brenin Welsh for king?”

“Yes, but it’s also a title. The Brenin is a sort of emperor of the demon realm.”

“That’s what the book said. Brenin.”

“Is that what upset you? That the book echoed the Destroyer’s words? Don’t let that frighten you. All Hellions know this book by heart.”

“No, there was something else.” I didn’t want to say Pryce’s prophecy out loud, but maybe Mab could help me understand it differently. I took a deep breath and said the words: “ ‘ From a goddess two lines diverged, but they shall be reunited in Victory. ’ ”

The expression on Mab’s face showed she was as disgusted by the idea as I was.

But she shook her head. “I’m sorry, child. I didn’t catch that. Could you say it again?”

I repeated the words, just as Pryce had said them, just as the book had shoved them into my head.

Mab shook her head. “I can’t understand you. It’s as though you’re speaking in tongues.”

I stared at her. “Can you understand what I’m saying now?”

“Yes, perfectly well.”

“Okay, let me try again. ‘From a goddess two lines diverged, but they shall be reunited in Victory.’ ”

“You repeated the prophecy exactly each time? Word for word?”

“Yes.” By now I’d said it so many times that the hated words were etched into my mind in fiery letters. They really were starting to feel like destiny.

Mab inspected the book through the magnifying glass again, then sighed and rubbed her eyes. “The prophecy is cloaked. I can’t read the book. When you spoke, the words sounded different each time, not in any language I recognize. Just random sounds.” She thought for a moment. “Try paraphrasing. Say it in your own words.”

“Pryce thinks it’s my destiny to reunite the Cerddorion and the Meibion Avagddu by having his baby.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">