Hellhound

Hurt it. Crush it. Destroy it.

My demon mark blazed with hellfire. I used its flame like a blowtorch to blast the hinges off Mab’s trunk.

“Victory, don’t!” Mab shouted. Her voice sounded like her own again.

I ignored her and ripped off the lid, then tossed it aside. I seized the hilt of a steel-bladed sword. Steel—perfect. The hag was a spirit, not a demon, and the touch of steel would make her feel unbearable agony.

And feel it she would. Over and over, before I destroyed her.

I laughed.

I hefted the sword, looking forward to feeling her flesh give way as I drove the blade into her body.

But the hag, still atop her huge steed, was too high. All right. First the horse, and then the rider. I aimed for the beast’s massive chest.

“No, child!”

I charged.

Something black flew at my face, blinding me. I stumbled, losing my bearings. A sharp pain stung my cheek. Another sliced into my sword arm. The sword was snatched from my hand.

I stopped, confused. My vision cleared. My aunt stood between me and the Night Hag, brandishing the sword.

At me?

Rage reddened my vision. All right. If she wanted to fight, we’d see who won. My aunt or not, I’d had enough of the bossy old lady and her Mab-always-knows-best attitude. She needed to get the hell out of my way.

My demon mark spurted a geyser of flame. A flick of my arm, and I’d burn her to ashes. But no. What I really wanted was to beat her at swordplay. I reached into the trunk for a weapon. Another sharp pain bit my arm.

“Jeez, what is wrong with you?” The question buzzed close to my ear. “Have some respect for your elders, why don’t you?”

So that was the black shape that had flown into my eyes.

“Get out of my way, Butterfly,” I snarled. “Or you’re next.”

“Okay, sure. Go ahead. Kill your conscience. Then this”—the black butterfly flew through the jet of flame and landed on my demon mark—“will take over completely.” The insect started tap-dancing on the mark, all six legs jumping furiously. It tickled—but it also soothed and cooled. The red haze of anger cleared a little. The flame sputtered and shrank.

And there I stood, reaching for a weapon to do battle with my aunt, one of the people I loved most in the world.

Head hanging, I let my arm fall to my side. Butterfly’s question was a good one: What was wrong with me?

The answer, of course, was in the faint red mark where Butterfly was stamping out the last sparks. The Eidolon looked up at me and winked. “Listen to me, kid. I may be a pain in the ass, but I’ll keep us both out of trouble.” Its sharp black wings lifted it into the air, and then it dive-bombed me and disappeared somewhere in my gut.

Oof. That never felt pleasant.

But it was miles better than what I’d be feeling if I’d attacked Mab.

I raised my eyes to hers. There was forgiveness there, but also a wariness that made me want to curl up in a ball and weep. My aunt didn’t trust me.

The Night Hag cackled.

Behind me, Kane groaned. He lay on his side, panting, his ashen skin slick with sweat. I leaned over him. His eyes flickered open. “I didn’t kneel,” he whispered. “I couldn’t stand, but I didn’t kneel.”

I reached out a hand—my non–demon marked hand—and smoothed back his beautiful silver hair.

“You are mine, hound, whether you will it or no,” the Night Hag said. She was old again, pinched and wrinkled, her voice shrill. “And your precious Victory doesn’t care. She has the means to release you, and yet she refuses.” She cackled evilly. “She would rather see you suffer. And oh, you will. I will make you suffer beyond anything you’ve endured. Your will is strong; it will be my pleasure to break it.”

Kane swiveled his gaze to me, a question in his eyes.

“Has she not told you? Weeks ago, I offered her a bargain. Your freedom in exchange for the falcon. My falcon. Clearly, she has made her choice, hound. And she has not chosen you.”

“Leave us, Mallt-y-Nos.” Mab’s voice had again faded to a whisper. She’d fitted the lid back on the trunk and she sat on it now, her shoulders slumped. The steel sword lay on the floor beside her. “You have no business here.”

“Oh, but I have. There is a soul here for me to collect.” She gestured with her chin toward the spot where the male zombie had fallen before the Morfran blasted him apart. Wisps of a bluish mist rose and swirled together. They grew to form a column and began to take on the shape of a man.

“But before I go, I’ll say this: I saw the leather glove in that trunk. The gauntlet. I know its purpose, to call the falcon. If you give it to me, I will honor our bargain. But if you do not—” Her youthful features were anything but innocent. “If you do not, I will obtain it some other way. And then I will have both my falcon and my hound.”

She whistled, and the pack of hellhounds sprang to their feet. The horse let out a terrifying whinny as she reared it back. The blue mist of the dead zombie’s soul, now a transparent form the size and shape of his destroyed body, froze. The Night Hag blew her hunting horn. Her hounds barked frantically and charged the zombie’s shade. He screamed—a thin, muffled sound that came from somewhere beyond ordinary hearing—and ran, the hounds at his heels. Mallt-y-Nos dug sharp spurs into the sides of her steed and took off in pursuit. Her hunting horn blared furiously.

Within moments, they were gone, the sounds of the chase faded into silence.

And I was alone with the hurt, accusing stares of my aunt and the man I loved.

15

I DIDN’T GET A CHANCE TO EXPLAIN. BEFORE THE ECHOES of galloping hooves had receded, Boston police burst onto the scene. They streamed in from all directions, shouting and pointing guns. The missing security guards reappeared and convinced them that Kane, Mab, and I weren’t the attackers. Even so, we were separated and taken to different areas of the hall to answer questions.

“Call Detective Daniel Costello,” I insisted for what felt like the hundredth time. “I’m consulting for him on a related case.”

“How about you take us through what happened again? Start with the time you arrived.” The cop who was questioning me had a gray mustache, and his breath smelled like pizza, heavy on the anchovies.

I didn’t see anyone use a phone, but within twenty minutes Daniel strode into the terminal. He looked like he’d been off duty; he wore a jacket thrown over a T-shirt and jeans. His rumpled curls and the dark circles under his eyes made me wonder if he’d been asleep. Still, his attitude was completely take-charge.

“I’ll take the rest of Ms. Vaughn’s statement later,” he said to Anchovy Breath. “Right now, I need her assistance in questioning the previously deceased suspect.” The cop looked surprised I’d been telling the truth.

“My aunt,” I said to Daniel, gesturing to where Mab sat in a plastic chair, flanked by cops. “I need to talk to her.”

“That’s your aunt?”

“I was here to meet her flight.”

“We need to question the PDH. I’ll make sure your aunt knows where you are.”

“But Daniel . . .” How could I explain that I needed to apologize for nearly attacking her? “She’s injured. That zombie almost choked the life out of her.”

“There’s a doctor attending her. I’ll make sure you’re notified of any problem.”

“But—”

“Vicky, this may be our only chance to talk to a PDH who survived a Morfran possession. For all I know, the suspect could explode at any moment. We have zero time to waste.”

“She’s not going to explode. The Morfran that possessed her was expelled and killed.” All of it, I marveled, remembering the moment when the cawing stopped. “I’ll explain how that happened, but right now I need to check on my aunt.”

Daniel’s mouth hung open as I turned and marched over to Mab. Seeing the expression on my face, the cops who surrounded her moved a few yards off. A fortyish woman with chin-length dark hair sat beside Mab. The stethoscope around her neck gave her away as a doctor, but she stood and identified herself, anyway. “Your aunt will be fine,” she said. “There’s no permanent damage, although those bruises will be tender for a while.” I thanked her, and she left us.

I didn’t see which way she went. All my attention was focused on Mab.

She wouldn’t look at me. She sat very still, her head bent, looking at her hands, which lay folded in her lap. I sat beside her and reached out to place a hand on hers, then drew it back. With a quick motion she captured my hand and then gave it a quick onetwothree pat. She held it between hers. The coolness of her fingers made me think of summer mornings in Wales. Finally, she raised her bloodshot eyes to mine.

“Mab,” I said, “I’m sorry.”

“Hush, child.” Her voice was a whisper. “It’s not your fault.”

“But I—” What I had done, or had been ready to do, was so terrible I couldn’t get the words out.

“It wasn’t you. It was the Destroyer in you.” She patted my hand again and tried to smile, but all I could see were her exhausted face, her bruises, her red eyes. “No harm done. The Destroyer has gained much strength, but you can still defeat it.”

Could I? I didn’t say the words, but my face must have been one big question mark.

“That’s why I’m here, child. To help you. Yes, the struggle is yours, but you will not face it alone. Now, go and do your job. That young detective looks rather impatient. Come back when you’re finished. If I’m not here, wait for me. I need to heal these injuries.”

The Cerddorion heal faster than humans, but I knew that wasn’t what she meant. “You’re going to shift? Is that safe?” If Mab changed her shape, she’d return to her human form good as new. But a shift could last for hours. And now, in a strange city, after a long flight and a traumatic attack? It felt too risky. 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">