Hellforged

When the tea was ready, I carried the mug up the back stairs to the third floor. I changed into the warm flannel nightgown and climbed into bed, pulling the covers over my lap and sitting back against the pillows, the mug warm in my hands. I drank it all, then scooted down and closed my eyes. As I lay in my narrow bed, feeling warm and safe, I wondered drowsily about the creature—or creatures—I’d battled at the Cross and Crow. Wondered where, exactly, “the world between the worlds” was. Then the gray haze of sleep enclosed me, and I stopped wondering about anything at all.

A PHONE WAS RINGING. BUT THAT COULDN’T BE RIGHT; MAB didn’t have a phone. Plus I was still asleep, and I’d swigged a whole mug of extra-strong tea to make sure I didn’t dream. Therefore, I reasoned in my sleep, a phone couldn’t be ringing.

Still, the phone rang.

I let my attention probe toward the sound. A black-and-olive cloud appeared and thickened into a dense fog. A dream-phone call. But I didn’t know anyone with those colors. I waited, peering through the bruise-colored mist to see who was contacting me. A figure stepped forward. Pryce.

“Don’t call me cousin,” I said, before he could speak. “In fact, don’t call me at all.”

I concentrated to bring the fog back. To hang up on him, I only had to summon enough mist to obscure his features. Not as satisfying as slamming a door in his face, but it would do.

“Wait.” He extended his hands and pressed downward, lowering the fog I’d stirred up. “I didn’t call you. You called me.”

I scowled, and lightning flashed a couple of times as thunder rumbled. “That’s a lie.”

“You asked a question, and I know the answer.” He bowed. “I hastened to be of service.”

“Well, how about you hasten to get out of here?”

“Don’t you want to know about tonight’s test? I’m happy to explain all. Difethwr will not trouble you tonight. You have my word.”

I wouldn’t trade a gum wrapper for Pryce’s word, but it would be helpful to know what I’d fought so I’d be prepared if I ever had to face it again. “All right. Explain.”

Pryce snapped his fingers and a chair appeared. A ridiculous-looking chair—all golden curlicues and plush red cushioning, like a throne. Pryce the Demon King. Hah. He sat down, crossed his legs, and clasped his knee. “The ‘world between the worlds’ is Limbo.”

“You mean Purgatory?”

“Yes and no. Mostly no. That’s one way the norms have attempted to explain Limbo but, as with most things, they got it wrong.” He sneered. “Limbo is a border region between Uffern and the Ordinary. It is of both but belongs to neither. And so it is the home of things that belong to neither realm.”

“Like ghosts.”

He rolled his eyes and laughed. “Please, cousin, let’s not be superstitious. There’s no such thing as ghosts. But there are forms. Bits and pieces of Uffern or the Ordinary that, for whatever reason, can no longer dwell in their original realm. These things seep into Limbo. Generally, they merely exist there. But they can be put to use.”

“So that’s what you did tonight.” Whatever was left of Lil—or maybe just the idea of her that Mr. Cadogan had fostered all these years—had been used to attack me.

“Strictly speaking, it was Cysgod who did the work. Cysgod caused Limbo to rise around you. Cysgod manipulated the form you perceived as a ghost. When you got lucky with your water gun, Cysgod stepped in to continue the test.”

“Why didn’t it die when I stabbed it with the bayonet?”

“Nothing dies in Limbo. Not even you would have died tonight; you’d simply have remained trapped in the world between the worlds.” He laughed again, with a nasty edge. “Probably that idiotic barman, Cadogan, would have added you to his collection of ghosts. But you did cause Cysgod to withdraw to Uffern to regain strength. When that happened, Limbo dropped away, and you returned to the Ordinary.”

“How did you know I’d be at the Cross and Crow tonight?”

“Difethwr, of course. Thanks to your bond, the Hellion is constantly aware of your location. If I care to know where you are, Difethwr informs me.”

So that’s why Pryce was always showing up—the Destroyer told him where to find me. Wherever I went, Pryce could pop out of the demon plane, right into my face. Wonderful.

He sat back, settling in, and snapped his fingers again. Instantly he held a huge, golden, gem-studded goblet. Tacky. He tipped the goblet and drank deeply, then smacked his lips. “And so, cousin, you survived test number two.” He held up two fingers, then waggled his hand in a so-so gesture. “If I were grading you, I’d give you a D-minus. You bumbled through, but frankly you showed no finesse whatsoever.”

“I’m not interested in proving myself to you.” I plucked the goblet from his hand and threw it on the ground. “So we can skip the third test, whatever it is. You can say I failed it, if that makes you happy.”

“If you fail the next test, you die. That’s how it works.” He shrugged. “I understand your reluctance to proceed. You’ve barely squeaked by so far. Mab rescued you the first time, and tonight you survived through dumb luck. You’re worried that someone of your inferiority won’t make a suitable consort for me. I have concerns about that myself. The more I see of you, the more I doubt the prophecy refers to you.”

Arrogant bastard. Again, I started to summon the mist that would end the call, but then I had an idea. I’d have to put up with him for a few minutes more, but it might be worth it.

“And here I thought you were hot for me.” As I spoke, I set up a mental shield, partitioning off part of my mind. I imagined the shield as a one-way mirror, the kind you could look through without being seen. Behind the shield, I focused on Mab, calling up her colors.

“Don’t flatter yourself, cousin. You’re not remotely my type. You’re scrawny, rude, mouthy, and you wear your hair absurdly short. I prefer my females more … feminine.”

The crack about my hair was a low blow. Whatever I’d tried to do with it—grow it out, put in a few highlights—it always reverted to the same style after a shift. I reached a hand toward it, then stopped myself. Focus on Mab.

In the shielded part of my mind, Mab’s colors swirled and billowed up, blue and silver. The call was going through. I muted the colors a few degrees, hoping Mab would understand it as a warning to stay quiet.

“If you don’t like me, why not find yourself a nice, ‘feminine’ demi-demon and settle down?”

“I’m as bound by the prophecy as you are. If you pass the third test, all will be settled. I believe, however, that you’ll fail. You’ve been lucky so far, but luck won’t carry you to a destiny that’s not truly yours.”

Mab’s shape appeared as a shadow in the mist. I watched her from a tiny corner of my consciousness. She held a finger to her lips and nodded.

I turned my full attention to Pryce.

“So what’s the third test?”

He wagged his finger at me like I was a naughty child. “If the book sees fit to withhold that information, I won’t give it away. It’s much more fun as a surprise.”

“Why? I thought—” I had to tread carefully. If I tried to say the prophecy and it came out garbled, Pryce would know something was up. “You know, the other prophecy. The one you claimed to receive before my birth.”

He heaved a dramatic sigh. “Don’t add stupidity to the list of your shortcomings. I told you before, prophecies can be tricky. One must guard against letting them lead one down the wrong path. All the signs and omens appear to be in order, but then boom!” He clapped his hands, and a fireball exploded from them. “Everything blows up in your face.”

“So what if this particular prophecy doesn’t point to me? What will you do?”

He waved his hand, dismissing the issue. “I’ll look elsewhere for a mate.”

I risked a glance at Mab to see if she’d heard. The set of her mouth told me she had. But looking at her had been a mistake.

“What are you—?” Pryce clapped his hands again, and this time the explosion shattered the shield. Mab stepped forward. Pryce leapt from his chair, his features twisted in fury, but immediately he smoothed out his expression. “A conference call, is it? Hello, Mab. I’d say you’re looking well, but frankly you look terrible.”

“You won’t win, Pryce,” Mab said. “Understand that now, before you escalate things. You have two choices: You can go back to wherever you’ve been and live. Or you can pursue your ambitions and die.”

“Thanks for the advice, Auntie. But neither of your suggestions fits with my plan. Truth be told, you don’t fit with my plan. I take it you haven’t yet read about yourself in the book?”

“The book lies. And there are other prophecies than those you choose to heed.”

Pryce laughed his nasty laugh. “I know what’s coming. I feel my power growing. All the Cerddorion heroes of old fighting together couldn’t stop me. A miserable old hag like you certainly can’t do it alone.”

“Don’t insult her.” From nowhere, the Sword of Saint Michael appeared in my hand, its blade in full flame. I stepped between Mab and Pryce, extending the sword to within an inch of his face. “She’s not alone. I stand with her.”

Pryce’s face rippled. The skin boiled, then split, revealing his demon form, the same hideous monster I’d fought in the pub. “We shall see about that, shan’t we?” he growled. He moved away from the sword, and his human appearance returned, his face knitting itself back together.

“You’ve said what you came to say.” I advanced with the sword, hoping he’d stand his ground so I could see what happened when I pressed the sword against his neck. I wanted to see his human form split like a banana peel. I wanted to drive the flaming blade deep into his disgusting demon body. Even if it wasn’t real, it’d be so, so satisfying. 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">