Hellhound (A Deadtown Novel)

by Nancy Holzner

  He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. I watched the muscles ripple in his back as he stretched. Too bad Mab hadn’t slept in for an extra hour. Kane stood and walked across the room to the closet. Mmm . . . it was really too bad. I sighed as he put on the bathrobe he kept at my place. I pulled on my T-shirt and sweatpants.

  “Actually,” he said, “I was planning to go in late. I think you, Mab, and I should discuss what to do about the Night Hag.”

  “Really?”

  “We’re almost out of time. The sooner we brainstorm how to handle the situation, the better.” When I didn’t reply, he sat beside me and took my hand. “What is it?”

  “Last night, at the airport. When I . . .” I caught myself rubbing my demon mark and stopped. “She fell asleep so quickly last night. We haven’t talked about it.”

  “How about this: I’ll take my shower and get dressed, and then I’ll wait in here. You take all the time you need. If you can’t get matters resolved, then you and I will go out somewhere and talk over this Night Hag thing. But I think you will. Your aunt is the most reasonable, practical-minded woman I’ve ever met. More than that, though, she loves you. She wants to understand.”

  Kane kissed my cheek and headed for the bathroom. As I walked down the hall to face my aunt, I could only hope he was right.

  I FOUND MAB IN THE KITCHEN, RUMMAGING IN THE CUPBOARD beside the stove.

  “Where do you keep your kettle?” she demanded before I’d said a word. “I’m parched for a cup of tea.”

  “I’ll heat you some water in the microwave,” I said, taking down a mug.

  “That beastly contraption? I’m quite certain Rose would go on strike if I attempted to install one of those in my kitchen.”

  We stood in silence as the microwave whirred. I watched the mug spin around on the turntable, unable to pull my gaze away. The couple of minutes it took to heat the water passed more like a couple of centuries. Only after I’d taken out the mug, dropped in a tea bag, and handed Mab her drink could I manage to meet her eyes.

  There was no anger there. No disappointment. What I saw looked more like compassion.

  Mab held the mug in both hands, as if warming them. “As I told you, child, what happened last night wasn’t your fault. So we need not discuss it.”

  “But . . . at least let me tell you I’m sorry.” If I left those words unspoken, I couldn’t live with myself.

  “Certainly. I accept your apology.” She dunked the tea bag in the hot water several times. “But if you feel you must apologize, I’d prefer you do it for keeping your father’s return a secret.”

  Right. There was that, too. “I promised Dad I wouldn’t tell anyone. Not until he had a chance to talk to Mom.”

  “And you assumed I’d go running off to your mother with the news like some garden-variety village gossip. Honestly, Victory.”

  “I promised.” Lousy as that excuse had turned out to be, it was the only one I had.

  “And I’m pleased you’re someone who keeps her promises. But surely you could have asked Evan if he’d make an exception for me. After all, he hasn’t kept the secret himself.”

  It was the same argument Kane had made. And it was just as right the second time. I’d made a bad assumption. Mab was family, and I figured that Dad wanted to tell her in his own time, just as he would with Mom and Gwen and the rest of the family.

  “This is no time to be keeping secrets from me, child. We are on the brink of war, and I must be able to count on you.”

  So we were back to that, the whole Lady of the Cerddorion thing. Last night’s events proved I wasn’t the Lady, and maybe now was the time to make my aunt understand that.

  “Mab,” I asked, “why did you come to Boston?”

  “To help you assume your role.”

  Here we go again. “What role?”

  Instead of answering, Mab dunked her tea bag a few more times. Then she walked over to the trash can and dropped it in. She got the milk out of the fridge and poured a few drops into her tea. She took a sip, and then added another drop.

  “You,” she said, looking at me over the rim of her mug, “are the Lady of the Cerddorion.”

  As I started to object, she cut me off by holding up one hand.

  “I know what you’re going to say.” Mab pulled out a chair from the kitchen table. “Traditionally, that title belongs to Ceridwen, mother of our race.”

  “Actually—”

  “Hush, child, and listen. The time has come for her to pass the title on. Sit down, you look pale. Shall I make you a cup of tea?”

  “No, thanks.” But an acute awareness of my coffee deficit suddenly hit me. I went through the motions of making a pot, my head spinning. Ceridwen, the goddess who’d created both shapeshifters and demi-demons, was sometimes called Lady of the Cerddorion. But that had nothing to do with me. If some long-lost goddess was passing on her title, it was going to Mab. I had to make her understand that.

  I pulled the biggest mug I could find out of the cupboard and filled it before the coffee had finished brewing. Then I joined Mab, who sat at the table waiting for me.

  “All right,” I said. “I’m sitting down. But you’re wrong, Mab.”

  She shot me one of her “don’t be cheeky” looks, then cleared her throat. I had the feeling her next words were long rehearsed. “In the beginning, there was Ceridwen, mother to our race. She had two sons—”

  “Avagddu and Taliesin.” A classic story of the bad son and the good son, like Cain and Abel. Night and day, darkness and light. Even their names reflected the archetype: Avagddu means “utter darkness,” while Taliesin was named for the shining beauty of his face. Avagddu was greedy and destructive; Taliesin was talented and wise from the day he was born.

  Mab nodded. “The Morfran was formed by cries of hunger and rage that issued from Avagddu. He also created demons and became the progenitor of all demi-demons. Taliesin, the wizard and bard, was the first of our kind.”

  “I know all this, Mab.” How could I not? The Book of Utter Darkness had burned the story into my brain.

  “Let me explain in my own way, child,” Mab said sharply. But her tone softened as she continued. “Ceridwen gave part of her own nature to each child: Avagddu was created from the shadows within her spirit, and Taliesin from the light. Because of this, as her sons grew and thrived, she weakened. Her last act of magic before she faded away was to lay a burden upon the females of her line. Daughters of Avagddu would be barren. Daughters of Taliesin would lose their powers if they gave birth.”

  “So she cursed us. Both lines.”

  “I don’t believe Ceridwen saw it as such. Looking at Avagddu’s line, the Meibion Avagddu, she understood the lust for power that’s fundamental to the race. After all, it came from the darkest places of her own soul. So she curbed that line by limiting its ability to propagate—or she tried to. By that time, her magic was weak and imperfect, and some female demi-demons have reproduced, although always with great difficulty.”

  “Her magic seems to have stuck it to our side pretty well.” Every Cerddorion mother I’d ever known—my grandmothers, Mom, Gwen, countless second and third cousins—had lost her ability to shapeshift with motherhood. Gwen had never wanted anything besides her house in the suburbs and her family, but Mom had been an active demon fighter before she met Dad. She’d never talked about it much, but the decision couldn’t have been easy for her. Shapeshifting powers or family—it was the impossible choice all Cerddorion females faced.

  “Yes, well, some do see her action as ‘sticking it,” as you put it, to her Cerddorion descendants, but I do not believe that is what Ceridwen intended. Her own children drained her, to the extent that she faded away. She did not want her daughters to suffer the same fate.”

  “That’s a hell of a decision to make for someone else.” For generations of someone elses. My race was small in number, but over the centuries so many Cerddorion women—tens of thousands of them, probably more—had been forced t
o choose.

  “That’s what a goddess does, child. She shapes the world, and we mortals must live with the results. Ceridwen’s actions may have been shortsighted. They may even have been cruel. But she was trying to protect her children. She was trying to keep that which she had created in balance.”

  “Okay, so Ceridwen put limitations on both her lines.” I already knew the effects of her actions; I didn’t care much about the whys. “What does that have to do with me?” Other than the fact that I would never have children. That knowledge had never bothered me much—I’d made up my mind to be a shapeshifter and fight demons around the time Dad took the training wheels off my first bicycle. Still, it was an issue whose impact I’d felt lurking around the fringes of my relationship with Kane. He was a lone wolf now, but some day he’d want a pack of his own. To a werewolf, that meant starting a family. Sooner or later, one of us would have to sacrifice—either Kane would have to fight his instinct to start a pack or I’d have to give up shapeshifting.

  But then, maybe I’d get lucky. Maybe I wouldn’t survive the next full moon.

  Mab rapped the table. “If you pay attention, I’ll tell you what it has to do with you.”

  “Sorry.” Just trying to find an upside to being shredded by the Night Hag’s pack of hellhounds.

  “After Ceridwen faded from the world, some believe she ceased to exist. Others believe she retired to another plane, one beyond our experience and understanding, to rest. To regather her strength.”

  “She’s been gone for, what? Millennia. I’d say that, dead or retired, she’s not coming back.”

  “But she is, child. Already she stirs.” Excitement lit up Mab’s face. She pulled on the silver chain she wore around her neck, bringing out the pendant that hung inside her shirt. “A spark of her dwells here. In my bloodstone.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Last night, after I was attacked, do you remember the state I was in?”

  I nodded. I’d never lose that image of Mab collapsed, her face purple, angry red marks around her throat.

  “I hadn’t the strength to climb to my knees. I could barely utter a whisper. Yet when the Night Hag threatened you, I stood up—”

  “And gave her what-for. Yes, I remember.” Mab’s voice had echoed through the terminal. Then, after the Night Hag was gone, Mab weakened again. It had taken a shift to restore her.

  “For those few minutes, Ceridwen supported me. She lent me her strength so I could face our enemy.”

  A goddess, gone from the earth for centuries, now living in a rock and popping out when needed, like a genie in a bottle? For a moment, I wondered if near-strangulation had damaged Mab’s brain. Yet I’d witnessed that surge of strength myself. “How do you know it’s Ceridwen?”

  “I know, child. It’s as simple as that.” She rubbed the bloodstone between her fingers. “Do you remember, during my previous visit here, that this stone was nearly drained of its power?”

  “That’s why you buried it when you got back to Wales.”

  “Yes. I left it deep in good Welsh soil for a fortnight. Over the years, I’ve done that many times to recharge its power. But this time when I dug it up, the bloodstone had changed.” She leaned toward me, holding the stone flat on her palm. “Do you see? The color is richer now, its power stronger. It’s even larger than it was before.”

  I inspected the stone. It was gray with green and red flecks, just as I remembered. But the colors sparkled, giving the stone depth, and it did seem bigger. I touched the polished surface. A vibration, slight but definite, emanated from the stone.

  Mab closed her fingers around my hand. The stone’s vibration buzzed through me. “Do you feel that, child? My bloodstone has been charged with the spark of Ceridwen. I don’t know what form she will take, but I’m quite sure she is returning to our world.”

  “All right, if you believe that, I’ll take your word for it.” I pulled my hand away, and Mab returned the bloodstone to its place inside her shirt. My practical aunt had never been one for silly fantasies, but it was hard for me to make this leap with her. Her bloodstone was powerful in itself—I’d witnessed its life-restoring powers. Why bring some long-vanished goddess into it? Besides, it only confirmed my thoughts. “If Ceridwen has hitched a ride back from Dimension X or wherever via your bloodstone, then she’s chosen you. That makes you Lady of the Cerddorion.”

  Pryce was trying to kill her, yes. Still, I was comforted by the thought that Mab was the Lady. For too long, I’d been on the front lines battling Pryce and his allies. If Ceridwen had chosen Mab for this role, I’d follow her anywhere. I’d throw every ounce of my strength into supporting her. I’d protect her with my life. Mab coming out of her retirement and leading the Cerddorion in battle against the demons: That felt like our best chance of winning.

  But my aunt was shaking her head. “No, child. I’m not the one. That was never my fate. My job has been to hold back the darkness and prepare the way.”

  “But your bloodstone—”

  “I’ve worn this bloodstone for centuries, child. Never in all that time has it held any spark of the divine. Not until it was touched by your blood.” It was true that some of my blood had splattered the stone in a fight. But I still thought Mab was jumping to conclusions. And I was about to tell her so, when she slid from her chair and kneeled before me. “I’ve long suspected it, Victory. The prophecies, your father’s dream-vision the night before you were born, they all pointed to it. But now I’m certain.” She bowed her head. “Welcome, Lady.”

  20

  “MAB, DON’T!” THE LAST THING I WANTED WAS MY AUNT on her knees in front of me. “Get up, please.”

  “You cannot know how long I’ve waited for the Lady to return,” she murmured. But she returned to her chair.

  “I’m sorry to say it, but you’re jumping the gun. I’m not the Lady of the Cerddorion. I can’t be.”

  “And what makes you think that?”

  “This, for starters.” I pulled up my sleeve to expose my demon mark. “And that vision I told you about—the one where I fought on the wrong side. I can’t be the second coming of some goddess. There are things inside me . . . like last night—” I stopped, not sure how to express my fear that next time, the Destroyer would gain control. “I’m too flawed.”

  “Ceridwen was never perfect, child. Her story makes that clear. Don’t forget that both lines—demon and Cerddorion—came from her. After centuries of struggle, they’re reunited in you. It’s this”—she tapped my demon mark with her finger—“that makes Ceridwen’s return possible.”

  “You’re wrong. Even Pryce believes you’re the Lady.” I told her how I’d pieced together this theory.

  “Pryce’s arrogance has always been his undoing, child. We need not pay the slightest attention to what he thinks.”

  “Except for the part where he’s trying to kill you.” And besides that, I remained unconvinced. If anyone should lead the Cerddorion in the coming war, it was Mab.

  She tutted, then patted my arm. “Never mind that, child. I’ll refrain from calling you ‘Lady’ if it troubles you. Just know that I am here to protect and serve you.”

  I didn’t like it. For my whole life, I’d always looked up to Mab. She was so many things to me: teacher, mentor, taskmaster, drill sergeant, role model. What she wasn’t was some kind of attendant who called me “Lady.” If she honestly believed I was Ceridwen, take two, she was going to be disappointed. Big time.

  “Let’s not discuss it now.” The briskness in Mab’s voice made her sound more like herself. “Haven’t we kept your young man waiting long enough?”

  A blush crept into my cheeks. “You knew Kane was here?”

  “I heard the shower running and, later, a door close. As it’s past dawn, I assumed it wasn’t your vampire roommate.”

  “He wants to have a conference about how to deal with Mallt-y-Nos.”

  “Very sensible. Why don’t you fetch him, and we’ll do just that?”

 
“All right. But no more ‘Lady of the Cerddorion’ stuff, okay?”

  “As you wish.”

  That sounded way too much like some underling acquiescing to royalty, but I let it go. Mab would realize her mistake soon enough. This whole legend about the goddess returning sounded like nothing more than wishful thinking to me. Just as the war between demons and the Cerddorion reaches crisis mode, Mama Ceridwen returns to sort things out. Not bloody likely. I was surprised Mab could believe such a thing.

  But Pryce believed it, so I’d have to be vigilant. I would not let him attack Mab again.

  Down the hall, I tapped on the bedroom door and opened it. Kane, sitting on the edge of the bed, looked up from his phone. He was dressed in the suit he’d worn yesterday, his shirt a little rumpled from lying on the floor all night. A sexy look on him.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “Basically, yes. A little weird. Mab’s not angry at me, but she thinks I’m the reincarnation of an ancient Welsh goddess.” Kane’s eyebrows went up at that. “I’ll hash that out with her later. Now, we need to figure out what to do about the Night Hag.”

  “A goddess, huh?” Kane stood and slipped his phone into his inner suit pocket. “Goddess of what?” He grinned and pulled me to him, his lips close to my ear. “After last night,” he whispered, “I’m guessing goddess of sex.”

  I ignored the shiver that went through me. “Don’t tease. This idea of hers is making things awkward between Mab and me. So please don’t bring it up.”

  “I won’t say a word.”

  In the kitchen, Mab had made herself another mug of tea. She was back to her usual self, acknowledging us with a brisk nod and suggesting we get down to business at once. I poured coffee for Kane and refilled my own mug, and we sat around the table.

  That’s when I noticed the glove lying on the tabletop. Crafted from thick leather, it was big enough for the hand of a large man—even Axel might be able to squeeze his paw into it. The glove was brown and looked soft from years of use and polishing. Its long cuff was decorated with undulating patterns embroidered in gold and silver thread—swirls and runes and symbols I didn’t recognize.