Hellhound (A Deadtown Novel)

by Nancy Holzner

  “You met my boyfriend for the first time, and you acted like . . . like . . . I don’t even know what.”

  “Like a concerned father.” Dad’s voice was softer than his expression. “Two things, Vic. First, the whole thing was a complete surprise. I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

  Was it really true I’d never mentioned Kane to my dad? I had a sinking feeling it was, but that only stoked the anger building inside me.

  “Second,” Dad continued, “the guy’s a werewolf. There’s no worse match for one of our kind—you know that, Vic.”

  I’d known it, but hearing him say the words made my simmering anger boil over into rage. I stood there unable to speak, my fists clenched. My demon mark felt like a hot coal inside my skin.

  Dad went on. “I’m sure you like him, but you need to nip this thing in the bud before he gets serious. You know what werewolves are like. Once they start sniffing around, before you know it they’re pressuring you to start a pack. It’s not that I’m prejudiced or anything. It’s their nature. Instinct is strong in werewolves. Sooner or later, it always wins out. And then where will you be? Stuck at home with a wolf cub while the demons run rampant.”

  The words gave voice to my own doubts, yet hearing them infuriated me. The kitchen dimmed as white-hot anger zeroed in on the falcon. I tensed, ready to lunge at the stupid bird. I’d wring its neck and toss its broken body aside like a limp rag. I’d—

  “Victory.” Mab’s voice cut through the haze of anger. “Remember yourself.”

  I closed my eyes. The vision persisted—I could feel the bird’s neck crack under my fingers, see the lifeless heap of feathers. No. Stop. Not Dad. I inhaled slowly, counting to five, feeling the air expand my lungs. I held it there, counting to five again. In my mind, my hands were still tight around the falcon’s neck, but the edges of the vision blurred. I exhaled to another five counts, making an effort to empty my lungs. As I inhaled again, the vision dissolved.

  In my mind’s eye, my hands were empty. My father perched, unharmed, on the back of a chair. I kept my eyes closed, holding those images in place.

  A few more rounds of focusing on my breathing drained away the anger. The demon mark’s heat diminished to the level of a bad sunburn. I opened my eyes.

  Where was Dad? The chair where he’d been perching was empty. Then I saw him on top of the fridge. He’d flown out of my reach. Yesterday I’d nearly gone after Mab with a sword. Today I’d been ready to wring my father’s neck.

  “You need to work on anger management, Vic.”

  “You’re not the first to say so. But that doesn’t make what you said okay.”

  The falcon ducked his head. “I’m only trying to protect you.”

  “I don’t need protection. Not like that.” Deep breath, Vicky. “My love life is my own business. Kane and I will work things out for ourselves.”

  “You really love him?”

  “Yeah. I do.” The effort of pushing away the anger collapsed my knees, and I sat down at the table.

  “You can’t argue with that, Evan.” Mab came over with her mug of tea. “I understand your concern with Vicky’s future. However, you’d do well to remember your own past. You may not be a werewolf, but I seem to recall that you once persuaded a skilled Cerddorion demon fighter to give up her career for you.”

  That ruffled Dad’s feathers. “I didn’t persuade Anne. It was her decision. Anyway, that was different. Vicky has a role to play.”

  “Only if she accepts it. And that’s not a decision you—or I—can make for her.” Mab glanced at me sidelong, and I wondered whether she was thinking about the Lady of the Cerddorion again. Because if it really was my choice, I could tell her right now: I didn’t want the job. Nope. Mab was the Lady, not me. Not in a million years.

  “All right,” Dad said. He left his refrigerator perch and glided to a chair. “You’re right, Vic. I was wrong. I’ll apologize to the werewolf the next time I see him.”

  “The werewolf has a name, Dad. It’s Kane.” I reached out and scratched the falcon’s head. He cooed and leaned into my hand, closing his rainbow-colored eyes. “I think you’ll like him once you get to know him.”

  The falcon straightened, clucking. “We’ll see. I mean, I’ll give it a shot. If he’s important to you, I’ll give him a chance. In the meantime, do you have any of those little cheeseburgers Juliet makes for me?”

  I microwaved a package of sliders and put some bread in the toaster for Mab. I hadn’t had time to pick up her favorite marmalade, but she graciously made do with strawberry jam.

  By the time I brought everything over to the table, Dad and Mab had reached an agreement: As soon as the sun went down, the three of us would be at the Granary Burying Ground, the place where I’d imprisoned the Morfran Pryce had brought to Boston. Mab would release the Morfran from the old slate headstones, and Dad would kill it. I’d stand by to capture any Morfran that tried to escape. It was a good plan, and the sooner we could put it into action, the better.

  Dad attacked the mini-cheeseburgers fiercely, devouring each in two bites. When he was finished, he stretched his wings and cleared his throat.

  “I have an announcement,” he said. “I’m going to take the plunge.”

  “You mean you’re finally going to tell Mom?”

  “Yes. Today. I don’t want to put it off any longer.”

  “That’s great, Dad. She’ll be thrilled.”

  “You think so? I’ve been worried the whole situation will upset her.”

  “She’s missed you for a long time.” I knew how that felt. When Dad died, I thought I’d never get over my grief and guilt. When I found him again in the Darklands, it was clear things had changed, but I still had the essence of my father back. That’s what counted.

  “Ten years. But that’s just it. By now, she’s accepted that I’m dead. Gone. She’s adjusted to the idea. We always told each other that if anything happened to one of us, we’d want the other to move on.” His voice suddenly sounded small. “What if she has?”

  “She’s not dating anyone, if that’s what you mean. She told me so.”

  “But don’t you see? My return could mess up her life. I’m back, yes, but in this body.” He opened and closed his wings. “It’s painfully obvious that things can never be like they were between us. What if she doesn’t want to be married to a bird? Or worse, what if she squelches her own life because she feels an obligation to this freak hybrid that holds some part of her long-lost husband? Or what if—”

  “Come, come, Evan.” Mab’s no-nonsense tone cut Dad off mid-rant. “Stop torturing yourself. Best let her decide.”

  “Mab’s right, Dad.”

  “I know. And now I realize that maybe I don’t have all the time in the world. The Night Hag wants this body, and even if I escape her, it looks like the falcon will be on the front lines when Pryce leads the demons out of Hell. It’d be a real shame if I never got the chance to speak to Anne.”

  “It’s the reason you escaped the Darklands,” I said. “Sometimes you have to take risks.” That was something I was learning, myself.

  Dad didn’t speak for a moment, staring into the distance. Then he blinked and puffed out his chest. “You’re right,” he said. “Let’s do it. Today, before I lose my nerve again.”

  “We’ll be rooting for you, Dad.”

  “You’ll be doing more than that, Vic. At least, I hope you will. I need your help.”

  “What do you want us to do?”

  “Set things up for me. Ring your mother, and tell her Mab is in town. Arrange a meeting in the park. Tell Anne to come alone.”

  It could work. Mom would love to see Mab, and she’d understand the need to get away from Gwen’s house to do it. Gwen harbored bad feelings toward Mab, thanks to a twenty-year-old misunderstanding. Recently, Gwen had realized that past events were more complicated than she’d thought. She’d softened toward Mab, but only a little—not enough to invite her over. Now, when Dad revealed himself to Mom at th
e park, Mab and I would be there to offer them support. I had a feeling they’d need it.

  “I would enjoy seeing your mother again, Victory.”

  “Okay.” I turned to Dad. “What time do you want me to set up the meeting?”

  “How soon can you drive out there?”

  Wow, Dad really had made up his mind. “It depends. Let me see what the restriction code is.” If they’d raised the code back to red or orange after the zombie attack at Logan, I’d have trouble getting Mab out of Deadtown.

  Dad paced back and forth on the table, pecking at cheeseburger crumbs, as I called the hotline to check.

  “We’re good,” I told him. “It’s still yellow. Let me call Mom and see what she says.”

  My luck held. Gwen had taken Justin, her youngest, to a swim class at the Y. Mom said she’d love to see Mab and could meet us at the park at ten.

  “Okay, Dad,” I said after I hung up. “You’ve got a date with destiny in two hours.”

  “Two hours?” It was hard to tell with a white falcon, but I could swear he paled a couple of shades. “Gotta go. I have to practice my speech.”

  “Evan, it’s Anne,” Mab said. “Your wife. The mother of your girls. A speech is not required.”

  The falcon bobbed his head in a distracted nod and took off, flying straight through the ceiling. He was off to meet his date with destiny.

  22

  I HALF DREADED THE DRIVE OUT TO NEEDHAM, BECAUSE I expected Mab to start up with her Lady of the Cerddorion talk again. But as soon as we got through the checkpoints, her eyes closed and her head lolled back against the seat. An occasional snore erupted from her sleeping face. Once or twice, she snorted so loudly she woke herself up, putting her hand on her chest and exclaiming, “Goodness!” before plunging immediately back into sleep.

  As I drove, I thought about Dad’s remarks about werewolves. About Kane. He was wrong to jump to conclusions before he’d gotten to know Kane, but some niggling doubt deep in my gut reminded me that not long ago I’d been thinking the same thing. Face it, Vicky. It’s exactly why you’ve always held back.

  It was true. The first time Kane invited me to join him at his werewolf retreat, I balked because I thought he wanted to change me. I’m a shapeshifter, not a werewolf, I’d insisted, worried he’d expect me to spend each full moon as a wolf. Worried he wanted more from me than I could give—like a family. Later, I was even ready to let him go, to end our relationship so he could pair off with a more suitable mate, only to find he wanted me.

  He wanted me.

  Even now, I could hardly believe it. Kane was the most eligible lone wolf in Boston. He could have his pick of sexy, smart, successful females of his own kind. Yet he wanted a shapeshifter with a stubborn personality and serious commitment issues.

  I knew why the demon mark had tapped so easily into my anger at Dad: His words touched a fear I didn’t want to admit. However much Kane and I loved each other—and I could no longer doubt that we did love each other—we’d never get our happily ever after. We couldn’t. We were too different.

  Beside me, Mab gave a decidedly unladylike snort and said, “Goodness!” This time, though, she sat up straight in her seat. She stretched both arms out in front of her, wriggling a bit as if working some kinks out of her shoulders. “Where are we?” she asked, leaning forward to peer through the windshield.

  “Getting close. The park’s a couple of miles more.”

  Mab watched the buildings go by as we drove down streets lined with single-family houses: colonials and Cape Cods. “So this is where Gwen has made her home. She’s done well for herself.”

  “It’s a good place for kids to grow up. And it’s close enough to Boston that Nick’s commute isn’t bad. Gwen’s on friendly terms with everyone in her neighborhood. She belongs to a book club and is on various committees. It’s the life she always wanted.”

  “But not a life for you, eh?” I could feel Mab studying my profile as I kept my eyes on the road. “Child, no one is asking you to choose one life or the other. Don’t give too much weight to your father’s concerns. I’ll admit, when I first met Mr. Kane I shared them to some degree. Although I can’t claim to know him well, I’ve seen enough to believe your young man would never ask you to sacrifice what’s important to you.”

  I couldn’t help it; the thoughts I’d been having during the drive surfaced. “What if he can’t help it, Mab? Instinct is a powerful thing.”

  “So is love. Perhaps what he loves in you is precisely the thing you’re afraid of losing. He will fight hard to protect that, Victory. He won’t ask you to give it up.”

  Wow. I was talking to Aunt Mab, battle-hardened demon fighter, about my relationship—and what she was saying made sense. “Have you started moonlighting as an advice columnist or something? ‘Ask Aunt Mab’—you’d have a readership of millions.”

  Mab laughed in a voiceless rush of air as she waved away my suggestion. “Given my own history, I hardly think anyone would be the slightest bit interested.”

  I was about to ask her what she meant, when she exclaimed, “Look, there’s Anne!” Mom, sitting on a bench, stood when she saw the Jag. She looked good, her shoulder-length white hair and trim figure making her seem younger than her sixty years. Mab was opening the door before I’d finished parking.

  They trotted to each other and embraced. By the time I got out of the car and walked over, they sat on the bench together, each gripping the other’s hands as if afraid she’d float away.

  Mom stood as I approached, and we hugged. It always amazed me how my mother’s scent, vanilla and Jean Naté cologne, brought back my entire childhood in a rush. Instead of in this park, we could be standing in the kitchen of our old triple-decker in Somerville, schoolbooks open on the table and dinner simmering on the stove, waiting for Dad to get home. We both stepped back, and the image faded.

  “Vicky, thank you for driving Mab all the way out here.” Mom sat down and again took both of Mab’s hands in hers. “I wish I could invite you back to the house, but . . .”

  “I know,” Mab said. “It’s all right. Gwen and I are not precisely friends, but we have declared something of a truce. Perhaps she’ll come around in time; perhaps she won’t. Some things are beyond my control.” Her shoulders rose and fell in a slight shrug. “I do regret, though, that I’ve been unable to meet the children. Maria seems a remarkable young girl.”

  “Gwen is very protective of them,” Mom said. “Maria especially.”

  A flicker of sadness crossed Mab’s face at the suggestion Maria needed protection from her. “I do understand. I must say, Anne, you’re looking very well.”

  Mom smoothed her sleek white hair, even though it didn’t need smoothing. “I’m getting old, Mab. But what can you do? It beats the alternative.” She smiled. “You, on the other hand, seem to be getting younger. What’s your secret?”

  I wondered whether Mom knew Mab’s true age—and if so, whether she’d want her own life to stretch over three centuries and more. Mab was strong and energetic, the most sensible person I knew. Lately, though, I’d caught glimpses of a deep emotion, sorrow perhaps, buried beneath Mab’s brusque demeanor. Like in the car, when she’d alluded to her history. She never explained, and she never let it show for more than a moment, but something was there.

  I wondered what it was.

  I scanned the sky, watching for Dad to appear. The jitters in my stomach told me I was almost as nervous as he must be. I wanted this to go well for him. It had to—Mom would be as happy to have him back as I was. Wouldn’t she? It had been such a joy to hear his voice and listen to his words, exasperating as they were sometimes. Yet that was part of it, too. Dad here, in real time, not locked away in memories that faded with each passing day. Yes, hearing that voice coming from a falcon’s beak took a little getting used to, but . . .

  And there was the problem, in that little word but. What if Mom couldn’t handle it? Like Gwen, she’d chosen a normal life, one of mundane daily chores, family
vacations, dinners around the kitchen table. In Florida, she lived in a retirement community where she played tennis, entered bridge tournaments, and attended classical concerts. Having your dead husband return in the body of a huge white bird was not part of that life.

  I looked around again. No sign of the falcon. Come on, Dad. Don’t lose your nerve.

  Mom was asking Mab about Jenkins and his wife, Rose, who helped Mab run Maenllyd, her manor house in north Wales. As Mab launched into an anecdote about the garden, I excused myself and started walking the perimeter of the park. Maybe Dad was hiding somewhere, watching. If I spotted him, I could give him a pep talk.

  I saw mothers pushing strollers. I saw kids zipping down slides, swinging from monkey bars, and kicking high into the air on the swings. I saw an empty potato chip bag blowing across the grass—I picked that up and dropped it in a trash can. But I didn’t see the white falcon.

  Had something happened to him? The Night Hag couldn’t attack in daylight, and Mab was keeping the gauntlet with her. I headed back toward the bench where my aunt and my mother sat together. I was almost ready to use the gauntlet to make Dad arrive and reveal himself.

  “Vicky,” Mom called as I approached. “Do you remember that Christmas at Maenllyd when you and Gwen snuck downstairs to spy on Father Christmas and caught Dad putting presents under the tree?”

  I smiled. “He thought he was busted, but he managed to convince us he’d heard someone in the parlor and was checking to make sure Father Christmas had delivered the presents to the right address. He made it so real, I was sure I saw boot prints on the hearth.”

  “Your father always was quite the storyteller.” Her smile was sad. “I do miss him. Not a day goes by when I don’t.”

  A shadow soared over us, and something fell from the sky. Mom started as it landed in her lap. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “What on earth . . . ?” She looked up, searching overhead. So did I. But there was nothing there.

  When I looked back at Mom, she was crying. She clutched a flower, pressing it to her chest. Mab, one arm around her, awkwardly patted her shoulder.