Hellhound

“But what did she say?”

“I understand your curiosity. Even so, some things are private, child.”

She fell silent, fingering the bloodstone. I bit my lip to hold back the questions that swirled through my mind. Some things were private, fair enough, but this feud had affected more than just the two of them. I thought of Maria’s determined face as she marched into the house. It was great that Mab and Gwen had declared a truce—or at least, that’s what Mab’s words suggested—but what did that mean for Maria? What did it mean for the rest of the family? I wanted to ask Mab the myriad questions that Maria was no doubt firing at her mom right now, but Mab seemed so tired, lost in her own thoughts.

I watched the miles click by on the odometer. Five more miles, and I’d try again. We’d gone four-point-three when Mab cleared her throat and sat up straight.

“What are you doing next Saturday evening?”

“Saturday? As in a week from today? There’s a full moon between now and then.”

I didn’t have to explain what I meant. Unless our plan to fool the Night Hag worked—and my doubts about that were the size of Mount Washington—I’d be hellhound chow by then. Not to mention the strong possibility there’d be another zombie attack, especially once Pryce figured out we were killing the Morfran.

“Yes, I know. Gwen has a horror of anything beyond what she considers normal. It was difficult to explain what we face over the next few days. Still, I did tell her we’d try our best to make it.”

“Make it to what?”

“Dinner. A ‘cookout,’ I believe she called it. She’s invited you, myself, and Mr. Kane. At five o’clock, so the children can join us. Anne and Evan, too. We mustn’t disappoint her if we can help it.”

And with those words, Mab told me all I needed to know. Gwen was trying. She would no longer be the iron-hard wedge splitting the family apart. She would let Mab interact with Maria—under her own watchful eye, no doubt, but as Mab said it was a first step. Gwen was creating a family event, with a wider, more inclusive definition of “family” than she’d ever allowed before. I felt a warm glow that she’d made Kane a part of it.

“We’ll be there.” If we managed to survive the week ahead.

BACK AT MY APARTMENT BUILDING, CLYDE WAS ON DUTY in the lobby. As soon as he saw Mab, he came out from behind his desk to fold her into a hug. Mab stiffened—she’s not a hugger—but she lightly placed her hands on his back. Then again, I wouldn’t have pegged Clyde as a hugger, either. After three or four seconds, he released her and stepped back.

“Welcome, welcome!” he exclaimed. “I heard a rumor you were back in town. How are things in Wales?” As a young man, Clyde had climbed several mountains in Europe; Mount Snowdon remained his favorite.

The two exchanged small talk for a few minutes, as I stood by and tried not to yawn. I’d managed a few hours of sleep after the rally, but going out to Needham had been hard work in some ways, and this was my usual time for sleeping. Still, before going up to my apartment, I had to compliment Clyde on his speech last night. “You have a real way with words,” I told him. “I think everyone around me would have been moved to tears if . . . well, you know.”

“If my kind were capable of crying. Thank you for saying so.”

“I wish I’d been there to hear it,” said Mab. “I’m afraid I succumbed to jet lag.”

“I . . .” As he paused, Clyde turned bright red. Who knew zombies could blush? “I do have a copy, should you care to read it.”

“I’d love to.” Mab squeezed Clyde’s arm as he sputteringly promised to print out his speech and have it ready for her at the desk. “I’m looking forward to it,” Mab assured him as we headed for the elevators.

Upstairs, Mab said she wanted to spend some time looking over The Book of Utter Darkness.

“Is that a good idea?” I asked. “You should take a nap. We’re going to be up all night exorcizing the Morfran.” The Book of Utter Darkness wasn’t exactly the kind of book you take to bed to help you nod off.

“Yes, I shall. But later. Now, I feel the book may be in the mood to reveal something to me.”

“Well, be careful. Wake me up if you need me.”

Mab crossed her arms and frowned. “I’m not a toddler terrified of bad dreams.” Her expression softened a tad. “Good night. Or perhaps I should say good afternoon. At any rate, sweet dreams.”

I started down the hallway, then turned around. “Are you sure you don’t want my bedroom? I could have fresh sheets on the bed in two minutes.”

“For heaven’s sake, Victory, go to bed.”

I did. As I snuggled into my soft pillows, pulling the comforter around me, I was glad Mab was willing to sleep on the couch. That was my last thought before the gentle tide of sleep washed over me.

SWEET DREAMS, MAB HAD SAID. BUT SHE’D BE BLUSHING crimson if she knew what I was dreaming now. Kane. And me. Alone, lying together in the empty darkness. Our bodies were clothed, I noticed with a pang of disappointment, but twined together. We were kissing, and everything was in the kiss.

His lips, so warm, pressed mine. His mouth went to my jaw, kissing and nibbling its way up to my ear and then along my neck. I leaned back my head, eyes closed, and shivered with the deliciousness of it. We were so close. It was like there was nothing else in the universe—only this closeness, this tingling warmth, his scent of musk and midnight forest.

I kissed his cheek, moving back to meet his mouth. The tip of his tongue flicked out, traced the shape of my lips. I inhaled deeply.

Something was wrong.

The scent I knew so well had changed. Beneath the pine and fresh air lurked an undertone of something unpleasant. Something heavy and rotten. Sulfur.

I pushed hard with both hands and scrambled backward. The face that now looked at me, the face I’d been kissing a moment ago, wasn’t Kane’s.

“Hello, cousin. Ready to join our side?” Pryce spoke the same words he’d sneered at me in Logan. His face twisted with ugly laughter.

I didn’t answer. I shook off my disgust, conjured a dagger, and struck, aiming for his evil heart.

Halfway through the strike, I faltered. Pain flared in my demon mark. My arm lost its strength and dropped to my side. My fingers released the dagger, which disintegrated before it hit the ground.

Pryce’s laughing face distorted, growing larger, changing its shape and color. The laughter deepened; other voices joined in. Difethwr puckered its warty blue lips, making mock kissing noises. Demon voices roared.

The Hellion grew to massive size. I tried to conjure another weapon to fight left-handed, but nothing materialized. So I ran. All I wanted was to get away, to find a path out of this nightmare. The Destroyer’s fingers, big as logs, closed around my waist. I screamed and thrashed as it lifted me to its face. Its cavernous mouth gaped, fringed with razor-sharp teeth twice my height. Fires burned deep in its gullet, and its stinking breath emerged in a cloud of sulfurous smoke. The Destroyer dangled me there like a morsel.

This is a dream. It’s not real. Wake up!

A nasty blast of hot air blew over me as the Destroyer laughed again. “Here is thine awakening.” Its mouth snapped shut and it lifted me higher, holding me at eye level. “Look, shapeshifter,” the Hellion’s many voices commanded. Look, look, look, look. The word came at me from all sides, from inside my own head. Look, look. I had no choice. I gazed into eyes the size of movie screens.

Hellflames burned there, but that wasn’t all. A scene took shape. I recognized Boston Common, a terrified human woman running toward me for help. It was the same vision the book had given me. No—not that. I closed my eyes and turned my head away, but the scene continued to play itself out in my mind. Again I ran her through. Again I laughed at the horror in her eyes as she fell. Again I looked for others to kill.

“No,” I whispered. I filled my mind with no, pushing the images away. No, no, no.

“It is thy destiny,” the Hellion said.

No, no, no. I built a wall in my mind, each no a brick to keep the Destroyer out. No, no, no, no, no.

The Destroyer muttered something, but I couldn’t hear it. I focused on no. No, no, no. No . . . there is . . . no, no . . . another . . . no . . . another way. No, no, no.

Confused, I paused in my litany of denial. As I did, words came through loud and clear: There is another way.

Who said that? My eyes flew open. Difethwr’s own eyes held their flames, but the image of Boston was gone. Something had replaced that scene of horrible destruction—fear? Was it possible?

Could the Destroyer be afraid?

Difethwr roared and flung me away. I soared through empty air. My arms and legs thrashed as I fell and fell and fell . . . until I awoke with a start in my own bed.

My bedside clock read seven thirty-two. I had to check for the little red dot that indicated whether it was A.M. or P.M. Evening, good. I’d slept long enough to make it through the night that lay ahead. I flopped onto my back and waited for my pounding heartbeat to return to normal.

Ugh. Images from my dream swirled through my head. How could a dream that began so wonderfully turn so wrong? The only good thing was that I’d kept my clothes on. I rubbed my mouth, erasing Pryce’s kiss. My body felt coated with foul-smelling slime. I threw aside the covers, grabbed my robe from the back of the door, and headed for the bathroom.

Voices drifted down the hall from the living room.

“Victory?” Mab called. “Is that you?”

“Shower,” I yelled back. Whatever Mab wanted could wait. This might take a while.

Hot water spraying over me, I scrubbed and scrubbed until my skin was red. I wished I had sandpaper to remove the feeling of Pryce’s kiss, of Difethwr’s slime-dripping grasp. I wanted the memory of my own helplessness before the Destroyer to swirl down the drain. I wanted to bleach out the picture of myself on Boston Common, cutting down an innocent woman. It was going to take more than soap and a loofah to do that job. 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">