“On your knees, hound!”
With a gasp, he bent at the waist, as though taking a terrible blow. His knees began to buckle.
“Stop it!” I shouted. I stepped in front of him, hoping to shield him with my protection charm. “Leave him alone!”
The hag made a sweeping motion with her hand, as though batting away a mosquito. There was a loud crack, and the charm blew to pieces.
Behind me, Kane groaned. The sound held bottomless depths of pain.
The Night Hag’s aging face grinned a terrible grin.
Anger flared, and my demon mark glowed crimson.
“Mallt-y-Nos, you abuse your power.” The words came from Mab, but the growing haze of anger around me distorted her voice. It sounded deeper, her Welsh accent stronger, and it echoed through the hall. “Desist, or face the consequences.”
I almost laughed. No matter how impressive Mab’s voice, what made her think the Night Hag would listen to her? There was only one way to deal with this damned spirit.
A tongue of flame leapt up from my demon mark.
I had no intention of waiting around for the Night Hag to agree to play nice. I was going to kill her for what she was doing to Kane. It was so simple. Destroy this horrible creature, and she’d never bother us again. That was the answer. That was always the answer. If something gets in your way—kill it.
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. Vau
ghn’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.
Mab gave my hand one last pat, dismissing my concern. “Don’t fret. Over the centuries, I’ve gained control that most of our kind never have a chance to develop. I’ll be here, and in my usual form, within the half hour.”
I kissed my aunt’s cheek and told her to be careful. She waved her hand and told me not to make a fuss. Across the terminal, Daniel gestured impatiently for me to come over.
He could wait one more minute.
I scanned the terminal, looking for Kane. I knew “sorry” wouldn’t be enough. Maybe nothing would ever be enough to erase that shocked betrayal I’d seen in his eyes. There was no time now to explain, to try to fix things with him. Still, I needed to tell him how much I wanted to try.
But I couldn’t. Kane was gone. I turned in a circle, surveying the hall. He was nowhere to be seen.
My heart a cold, heavy lump in my chest, I trudged over to where Daniel awaited me.
THE POLICE HAD REMOVED THE FEMALE ZOMBIE TO A cinder-block room deep in the bowels of the airport. After taking an elevator to a subbasement, Daniel and I went through a locked metal door and down several more flights of stairs. We emerged into a long, narrow hallway. Body-armored cops holding automatic weapons were stationed every ten yards. At the end of the hallway was a single door. It looked like the door to a bank vault, but behind it was no treasure. Behind it waited the zombie who’d nearly choked the life out of Mab.
It wasn’t the zombie’s fault, I reminded myself as a guard opened the door. It was the Morfran. Still, when I stood in the doorway and saw her sitting at the far end of a long table, her fingers drumming nervously on its wooden surface, all I could think of was those hands, locked around Mab’s neck—squeezing harder, tighter—as my aunt’s eyes bulged. My demon mark itched and grew hot; my fingers curled into fists. How dare she attack one of my own? I’d make her feel what Mab had felt. I’d—
Wait. Stop. Not her fault. The image of zombie hands choking Mab was replaced by one of my own arm, reaching for a sword to wield against my aunt. My nails bit into my palms. This zombie had been driven by a demonic force that pushed her from the inside. Of all people, I knew how that felt. The Morfran took over her will, just as the Destroyer was always pushing to take over mine. Now that the Morfran had been expelled from her, she was our best chance to understand what was happening.
“Vicky?” Daniel already seated, looked at me curiously. A folder was open in front of him. “They need to close the door.”
“Sorry.” I blew out a lungful of air and took a chair beside Daniel’s. The door shut with a thud and the shlick! of bolts shooting home. One guard, armed with an automatic rifle, stayed inside. Daniel shrugged off his jacket, twisting around to hang it on the back of his chair. The grip of his gun protruded from his shoulder holster.
Undoubtedly, every single gun I’d seen was loaded with zombie droppers. If this zombie tried to attack, she’d never make it to this side of the table.
Not that she looked like she wanted to. She sat like . . . well, okay, like a zombie, stiff and awkward. She stopped drumming, slapping one hand over the other, and stared at a spot halfway along the table. Deep gouges from the falcon’s talons furrowed her cheeks.
“Good evening,” Daniel said. She didn’t reply. He waited a few seconds, then cleared his throat and continued. Not even an eyelid twitched as she heard that she was being questioned in connection with tonight’s attack and that the conversation was being recorded on video. He didn’t read her rights, of course. Zombies don’t have any.
“Please state your name,” Daniel said.
Nothing.
Daniel glanced at me with raised eyebrows, and I shook my head. I didn’t know her.
Daniel repeated his request, louder this time.
The zombie lurched forward and put her face in her hands. Zombies can’t cry, but she gasped and her shoulders heaved as though she were sobbing. We waited. Suddenly she dropped her hands and pounded both fists on the table. The wood cracked.
“I didn’t want to attack that lady.” Desperation pushed her high-pitched voice to shrillness. “I tried not to, but I couldn’t stop myself. Those birds . . .”
“We’ll get to that,” Daniel said. “First, I need you to tell me your name.”
Her hands returned to her face, and she stayed silent for a long time. “Bonita.” The muffled whisper barely made it through her fingers.
He wrote it down. “Bonita what?”
She shook her head, shoulders heaving again. “Wait,” Daniel said. He leafed through the papers in his folder, then ran a finger down one of them. His finger stopped, and he looked up. “Bonita Scruggs?”
She nodded, letting her hands fall to the table, where they lay like stunned animals. “You gonna kill me?”
/>
It was a valid question. The law offered no protections to zombies who got violent. But Daniel didn’t answer her. “Bonita, you failed to return to Designated Area One after Police Commissioner Hampson issued a Code Red.” He tapped the list of names he’d consulted. “Where were you during that time?”
“Nowhere.”
“Listen,” Daniel said, meeting her surly tone with gentleness, “I’d like to be able to report that you cooperated with this investigation.”
“Why should I? You’ll never believe me. Might as well go ahead and kill me right now.”
He sighed. If he weren’t packing a serious weapon, he’d look exactly like an exasperated high school teacher trying to collect missing homework.
Maybe I should try. “Bonita, we know what happened wasn’t your fault. You were possessed.”
Her head snapped toward me. “You know about the birds?”
“Crows, right? Filling your head with unbearable cawing.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I woulda done anything to make it stop.”
“That’s why you need to talk to us,” Daniel said, leaning forward. “You’re a valuable witness because you survived that possession, and you can help us prevent it from happening to other PDHs.”
“You don’t have to say that.” Daniel blinked, confused at Bonita’s words. “PDH. I’m a zombie, and I know it.” Her voice turned hard. “I also know what happens to zombies who do what I did tonight, whether they did it on purpose or not.” She narrowed her bloodred eyes. “Right?”
“No one will kill you, Bonita,” I said. “I won’t let them. I promise.”
Daniel scowled at me. I had no authority to make a promise like that. But so what? I meant what I said. I’d enlist Kane to help and then—
Oh.
My heart turned to lead and sank to my shoes. Kane had left the airport without saying good-bye. I doubted he’d be taking my calls.
Bonita, at least, seemed encouraged. She straightened in her chair and took a deep breath. “So you wanna know where I was?” A humorless laugh escaped her lips. “It’s like I told you—nowhere. Or if it was somewhere, it wasn’t like any place I’ve ever been.”
Hellhound (A Deadtown Novel) Page 13