Hellhound (A Deadtown Novel)

by Nancy Holzner

  And what if Tina got caught in the middle? What if she got hit by an exploding zombie dropper or hauled off to that top-secret holding facility? What if Pryce had already infected her with the Morfran and it was ticking away inside her, waiting for nightfall to turn her into a killer and then destroy her?

  Without knowing where to find the Old Ones, there was nothing I could do. And I hated feeling helpless. I wanted to charge in somewhere, lop off some Old One heads, and skewer Pryce like shish kebab. I wanted to slash Difethwr with my flaming sword until the Hellion was a steaming mass of melted goo. Most of all, I wanted to open Tina’s cell door and lead her to safety. But without the location, I couldn’t do a thing. I looked at my weapons cabinet and thought about the tools of my trade. I could be loaded with pistols, bristling with blades, and it wouldn’t do a bit of good. All weaponed up and no place to go.

  Mab said we might as well try to sleep, so we could recharge for whatever was coming next. I knew she was right, but how could I sleep haunted by the image of Tina, crouched in a pitch-dark cell, waiting for me to rescue her? “Vicky, help,” she’d cried out, fear clouding her eyes.

  And I was going to bed.

  While Mab was in the bathroom washing up, I called Kane.

  “I’m at the office,” he said when he answered.

  “Still?” An all-nighter was extreme, even for Kane.

  “I couldn’t afford to miss another day of work, so I’ve been here trying to clear my desk before the full moon.” He yawned.

  I managed to get out about three words of my reply before he sensed something was wrong and insisted I fill him in. I told him everything—how we’d killed a significant amount of Morfran, how the Night Hag had captured Dad and almost made off with him, how Tina had rescued him only to be abducted herself. “We don’t know where Pryce is holding her.” My voice broke.

  “Vicky.” Kane’s voice was soothing. “It’s okay. I understand how much you hate not being able to act right now. I feel that way all the time, like when a judge issues a biased decision or a just cause gets choked by red tape. Our methods are different, but we both feel that impulse to help very strongly.”

  I was afraid anything I said would turn into a sob, so I didn’t answer.

  “Right now, the best thing you can do for Tina is get some rest. When the time comes to move forward, you need to be strong and clearheaded, not trembling with fatigue.”

  “You’re right,” I managed to squeak out. Mab had said the same thing.

  “I need to take my own advice. I’ve been awake for more than twenty-four hours, and now’s not the time to exhaust myself.” In his pause, I knew we were both thinking about the strength he’d need to withstand the Night Hag. “I knew she rode through town last night, Vicky. The Mistress of Hounds. Ever since the moon started waxing, I feel her pull. It tugs at me more strongly each night. Last night, while I was trying to work, it nearly knocked me out of my chair, and I mean that literally. I felt that . . . that burning in my veins, and my body ached to change.” Horror thickened his voice. “It couldn’t, of course. Not until the first night of the full moon. But the pull felt so intense. I shouldn’t have gotten sidetracked into organizing that rally. It was a good show of unity, but my focus should have been on resting, getting strong, and building up my resistance. I can’t control the shape she forces on me, but whatever remains of me inside will fight her with everything I’ve got.”

  “I wish you were here,” I whispered.

  “So do I.” Even over the phone, his longing was palpable. I shivered.

  “And Vicky,” he said. “Have faith in yourself. Tina does. Your aunt does. And I do.”

  I brushed at my suddenly damp eyes. “I have faith in you, too.”

  Given the impossible challenges we both faced, the words meant a lot. Everything, maybe.

  MAB FELL ASLEEP AS SOON AS I TUCKED HER IN ON THE SOFA. I expected to spend several hours tossing and turning, but I must have been even more tired than I’d thought.

  Sleep wrapped around me like a warm blanket. I let it hold me in the darkness. Tension drained from my limbs. Aches were soothed away. Worries that had sawed at my mind grew blunt and faded. Slowly, strength returned, filling me like a rising tide.

  I didn’t think any of these thoughts. But somehow I knew them as my mind drifted in the warm darkness.

  Eventually, the texture of that darkness changed, its uniform blankness ruffled by puffs and billows. It looked like a rising mist in shades of inky black and charcoal. Slowly, the mist spread and thickened, and I realized why. Someone was calling me on the dream phone. But who? Not Mab, her colors, silver and blue, always appeared quickly. Maria? She was still mastering this form of communication. I watched the mist for traces of Maria’s colors, candy-heart pink and sky blue, bleeding in, but the billows remained black and gray.

  Black and gray? I didn’t know anyone with those colors.

  I turned my mind away from the signal that someone wanted to talk to me. The black-and-gray mist persisted. It expanded to fill my dreamscape.

  Finally, I grew impatient. I didn’t need to be solving puzzles in my sleep. “Who is it?” I demanded in a voice I hoped would scare the intruder away.

  The mist whirled into a spiral. It looked like one of those satellite views of a hurricane. Coughing sputtered. The mist drew back. Then, the hurricane’s eye spat out a small, dark shape.

  Butterfly lay gasping at my feet.

  “Holy crap,” the demon wheezed. “You’ve got this dreamscape of yours locked up like Fort Freakin’ Knox.”

  “There’s a reason for that.”

  “Well, how else am I supposed to report to you? I can’t materialize in daylight, and it’s hours until dark. I figured getting into your dreamscape—you know, like a Drude—would be the easiest way.” Drudes are the demons that manifest in dreams, causing nightmares. “Hah!” Butterfly continued. “Look at how bruised I got trying!” The demon shook a wing at me. I didn’t see anything that looked like a bruise.

  “I’m trying to get some rest,” I snapped. “Did you say you have something to report to me?”

  Butterfly ignored my words, fluttering around my dreamscape as though checking the place out. “So then I got smart. Instead of beating my poor wings against the barriers, I’d get you to invite me in. Brilliant, huh? I knew all about that Cerddorion dream-phone thing from rummaging around in your brain—”

  “Yes, fine, brilliant idea. Write it up as a book, and you’ll have the best-selling title in Uffern. But unless you actually do have something to report, get the hell out of my dreamscape. I mean it.”

  “Best seller, huh? Too bad we don’t use money there. You try to barter an idea like that, some bigger demon steals it. Probably bites your head off in the process.” Butterfly quit flitting around and landed at my feet. “Hey, how come your eyes are bugging out like that? You should try to relax when you sleep. That’s what it’s for, you know.”

  This was too much. I conjured a bronze sword. “Oh, right,” Butterfly said, flying out of reach. “My report. Well, it was like this. I got tired of hanging out in your gut and not being able to feed. It’s like, you know, going to an open-bar party when you’re on the wagon. So I split and went back to my own realm. And there I was, twiddling my thumbs. Figuratively speaking, of course, since I don’t have any.” Butterfly held up its two front legs to illustrate the point.

  I gritted my teeth. Even in my dreamscape, my demon mark itched as I tightened my grip on the sword. This demon better have something to report that was worth the vast reserves of my patience it was squandering.

  “To while away the time and distract myself from the fact you were starving me to death, I considered whether I should try to stop you from killing the Morfran in that cemetery. After all, it’s the essence of all demons, including yours truly. From one way of looking at things, it was like you and your aunt and your father were all destroying little pieces of my soul. Except it wasn’t. All that Morfran has nothing to
do with me. I mean, I already am. Whatever Pryce wants that trapped Morfran for, it sure ain’t for my benefit.”

  “You couldn’t have stopped me if you’d tried.”

  “Heh.” Butterfly’s wings quivered with amusement. “You can believe that if you want to, I guess. Anyway, all of a sudden I heard this screaming. Now, screams are usually sweet ambrosia to any demon. But this . . .” The insect flew a quick loop-the-loop to show its agitation. “I wanted to cover my poor ears with my hands. And I would have, too, if I had, you know, ears. And hands.”

  “You heard Tina.”

  “Yeah, your zombie friend. I never heard such a racket. Enough to deafen all the demons of Hell.”

  Why hadn’t I heard Tina screaming? I thought back. At first, I’d checked the demon plane frequently, watching for signs of trouble. But later the work was going so smoothly that I slacked off. After the Night Hag’s departure, I’d been in a hurry, wanting to kill as much Morfran as possible before dawn. I’d kept my ears tuned to the human plane, listening for the Night Hag’s return—and that was when Pryce snatched Tina and dragged her through Uffern.

  I waited for Butterfly to gloat over my carelessness, but for once the demon didn’t take the bait. “I’m not a Drude,” it said in response to my thoughts. “I can’t feed inside your dreamscape. I’ll save that one for later, though. Thanks.”

  “Go on with your story.”

  “Pryce had a tough time with the zombie—the way she howled and struggled and hit at him, he could barely keep a grip on her. He had to call Difethwr to help. They were both so distracted, I figured this might be my one and only chance to follow them without being noticed. So I went for it.”

  The absurd rush of gratitude I felt was swamped by the urgency to hear more. “You know where Pryce took Tina? Tell me, now!”

  “Cool your heels, lady. You want to hear it, you let me tell it in my own time. We’re in your dreamscape. This whole conversation is taking maybe fifteen, twenty seconds of outside-world time.”

  I wanted to remind the Eidolon that “fifteen, twenty seconds” would be plenty of time for it to die a long, slow, painful death inside my dreams. Instead, I reminded myself that, for reasons I didn’t understand, this demon appeared to be helping me.

  “So, Pryce and Difethwr dragged the zombie through Uffern, and the whole way she’s raising holy hell—so to speak. Heh heh. They stopped in front of this door and looked around. I hid in the shadows so they wouldn’t see me.” Not hard—Uffern was all flames and flickering shadows. “Pryce kicked open the door and dragged the zombie through.”

  “By himself?”

  “Difethwr stayed on our side. The demons’ side. I waited for it to cross the threshold, so I could scoot through before the door closed. But that didn’t happen. Difethwr stayed put, but the door was closing. I had to creep along the floor, like this.” Butterfly demonstrated, wings flat, its multiple legs taking stealthy steps. “When I was sure the Destroyer wasn’t looking, I ran across the threshold. Immediately, I knew I was in your world. I was on a concrete floor in some hallway. No windows. I think it was underground. The place was filthy, with lots of junk lying around.

  “Anyway, by the time I caught up with Pryce, he and some guy in a robe were shoving the zombie through a door. Once they locked her in, the screaming stopped and I could hear again. Soundproofing, I guess. I crawled as close as I dared. The guy in the robe was pulling up his hood; it had fallen back in the struggle. Whoa, man. Talk about ugly. He had the Crypt Keeper’s complexion and fangs like freakin’ walrus tusks. He was complaining, and it took a minute for me to follow what he was saying, what with those ridiculous fangs and all. Something about how he wasn’t sure that even the cauldron was worth all this trouble. Pryce said, ‘Once you’ve been transformed, you’ll thank me.’”

  Of course. That was what Pryce was offering the Old Ones for their cooperation. The one thing Colwyn and his crew had always wanted: eternal life. Not as the decrepit, hideous creatures they’d become, but transformed into strong, powerful beings—into gods. After Pryce conquered the Darklands, he’d give its prize, the cauldron of transformation, to the Old Ones.

  “Then,” Butterfly continued, “Pryce asked Mr. Fangs how long before the virus would be ready. I didn’t catch the exact answer, but I got the impression it would be soon. I did hear fangboy say that some was being readied for shipment.”

  “Shipment? Did he say where it was going?”

  “‘The first locations.’ That was all I got.”

  The Old Ones, creators of the original plague virus, were making more and shipping it somewhere—multiple somewheres. And Pryce was threatening Tina to prevent us from destroying more Morfran. He planned to create more zombies and turn them into an unstoppable Morfran-driven army.

  “Butterfly, this is bad. This is really, really bad. You need to tell me where Pryce took Tina.”

  The demon’s voice turned crafty. “What’s it worth to you?”

  Don’t kill the thing yet, Vicky. It’s got more information. “What do you mean?” I said, trying to sound all innocent. “You said you’d help me in hopes of saving your own sweet ass. Remember?”

  “That was my starting position, sure. But I risked my ‘sweet ass’ to get some information, and I hit pay dirt. Emphasis on pay. You heard enough to know my info is good. You can save your little zombie friend and prevent Mr. Fangs from distributing plague virus to locations unknown. So I ask again: What’s it worth to you, oh great demon slayer? How much do you want to save the world?”

  Never, ever had I wanted to kill any demon more than I wanted to kill Butterfly at that moment. But I couldn’t. Not yet. “What do you want?”

  “You know, ever since you first conjured me, it’s been nothing but, ‘Get the hell away from me, Butterfly,’ or ‘I’m going to stab you with this bronze dagger, Butterfly,’ or ‘How about I humiliate you to death, Butterfly?’ You only ever summon me when you want something. The rest of the time, you’d rather see me dead.”

  “What do you expect? You’re a parasite.”

  Butterfly sniffed. “That doesn’t mean that I don’t have feelings. So here’s what I want. I’ll tell you where Pryce took your zombie friend—give you the actual address—if . . .”

  I leaned forward, waiting.

  “If you promise to be nice to me.”

  Okay, this had to be one of those moments when a dream went from feeling like everyday reality to Salvador Dali–land. “You want me to be nice to you?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. A personality like yours, it’s asking too much, isn’t it?” Butterfly’s voice went all pouty. “I knew you couldn’t do it.”

  With an effort, I made the dagger I’d conjured vanish. “Define ‘nice.’”

  “What?” Butterfly’s eyes fixed on my empty hand.

  “When you say that you want me to be nice to you, what exactly do you mean?”

  “Well, you won’t threaten to kill me, for starters. That sort of talk puts a real crimp on a relationship.”

  “No threats. What else?”

  “No actually trying to kill me either, of course. And no name-calling or humiliation.”

  “So basically you want me to grin and bear it while you torment me and get fatter on my emotions.”

  “A demon’s gotta eat.” Butterfly flew close, hovering inches in front of my face. “But no, actually, that’s not what I mean. I thought maybe we could . . . you know, talk.” Its beady eyes actually looked sincere, even hopeful.

  “Let me make sure I understand. You want to me to sit down and have a friendly chat with you.”

  “Yeah.” A forked tongue darted from its mouth. “And maybe just a little snack.”

  It went against everything I’d ever learned about demons. As soon as any demon got a toehold into your psyche, you killed it, the faster the better. And yet I’d been living with this one for weeks. It had stopped me from attacking Mab, and it had risked its life to find out where Pryce had taken Tina. Butterfl
y drove me crazy, but this demon also had information I needed.

  “You promise you have the actual street address, here in the Ordinary, of where the Old Ones are holding Tina?”

  “Yeah. When Pryce left, it was still dark in your world. Instead of following him back into the demon plane, I went outside. I know the address, all right.”

  I bit my lip, feeling I was about to make a terrible mistake. But Tina needed me. I had to find her. “All right. I’ll be nice to you. For one hour.”

  “That’s all I’m asking.” For a moment, Butterfly looked almost weepy. But the sentimental expression hardened to a sneer. “Your head would explode if you tried for any longer than that.”

  Whatever. “You want to shake on it?”

  Butterfly lifted its front leg. “No hands, remember? I’ll accept a blood oath.” I didn’t like the sound of that, but before I objected Butterfly shot like a rocket through the air and landed on my shoulder. “So,” it said, “you agree to be nice to me for one hour in exchange for the address of the Old Ones’ base?”

  “Yes, but—” Before I could get another word out, the demon chomped a chunk out of my neck. “Ow!” My hand reflexively swatted at the spot.

  “No swatting, either. When you’re being nice to me, I mean.”

  “Fine, fine. Give me the address.”

  “Pay attention. You don’t want to forget it when you wake up.” Butterfly buzzed the address in my ear, repeating the number and street over and over. When I felt like it was burned into my brain, I brushed the demon away. Gently, even. “Get ready,” I said, spreading my arms wide. I brought my hands together in a loud clap. An explosion boomed, shattering my dreamscape and hurling Butterfly and myself each into our own realms.

  31

  I JUMPED OUT OF BED AND YANKED AT THE BLACKOUT shade. Bright sunlight dazzled me. Still day. I had time.

  Ignoring the white spots that swam through my vision, I wrote down the address Butterfly had given me. It was in East Boston, not far from the airport. I clutched the paper in my hand as I rushed out to the living room to call Daniel.