The Mortal Bone

by Liu, Marjorie M.

  “Close,” I echoed. “You made your host put her sister in a cage.”

  “Not at first.” The possessed woman’s voice was quiet, sullen. “But the pain of betrayal and despair was exquisite.”

  I stared at those protruding ribs, the gaunt hips, and the thin towel that was her only protection from the concrete floor. It was impossible to tell what age she was, but I thought . . . young.

  I gritted my teeth. “You said you were told, in a dream, to bring me that skull.”

  The demon groaned, softly. “I didn’t know my host possessed it, until that dream. Down here in the basement, at the bottom of a toolbox. I couldn’t believe it.”

  “Tell me about the voice in the dream. Male or female?”

  “No voice. Just images. Impressions.”

  “You were terrified.”

  “I brought you one of the thirteen keys used to bind the Reaper Kings.” A choked laugh escaped her. “I could feel that echo of power. Made me want to jump out of my skin.”

  “Do you know where the other keys are?”

  “No. But what would you do? Use them?” Finally, her head moved, and I saw eyes glitter beneath those long strands of hair. “You’re nothing now. Just food, like the rest of us. I wouldn’t help you even if I could.”

  I felt vulnerable. Naked in her gaze. I was naked, without the boys. I wondered if she knew that just by looking at me, or if I was still keeping up the mask.

  “So why are you here?” I asked. “Dying in a cage?”

  “Where else is there?” whispered the demon. “This is home.”

  I couldn’t think of anything to say to that. I turned and walked away. Behind me, that thin, reedy voice called out.

  “It was an act of mercy, forcing Delanne to kill herself.”

  “You told me.”

  “Not just that,” whispered the demon. “A quick death is better than what’s coming.”

  CHAPTER 13

  I used the phone in the kitchen and called 911. Explained what I’d found, and hung up. It was a risk—the demon might jump to one of the first responders—but I couldn’t let her host stay in that cage and die. Nor could I exorcise the demon without the boys to make it permanent.

  I could smell the blood now, maybe because I knew it was there. Made me queasy, and claustrophobic. I didn’t leave, though. I stared at my right hand, almost entirely covered in silver metal—bonded as close as my own skin. I could see the knobs of my knuckles beneath, and the indents of my fingernails. No prints. No lines in my palm. Just a flawless surface that would only keep spreading—unless I stopped using the armor’s power. Once, maybe, I could have. Not anymore. I was going to lose more than just my hand one day.

  Not so long ago, I would have dreaded the idea. Now I hoped I lived long enough to see it.

  I ran my fingertips over the armor, thinking about the crystal skull. Not from earth, Grant had told me. Radiating a similar energy marker as the seed ring, this armor—and, probably, the rose. All made from parts of the Labyrinth: stone, metal, gemstone. All capable of incredible power.

  Power that rested in potential.

  Potential that could only be manifested through focus.

  The Aetar had plenty of focus. Had they commissioned these skulls as a means of giving themselves the power necessary to imprison the Reaper Kings? If so, who was the maker? Who had made the armor, the seed ring . . . the rose? Just one person? More than one?

  My father, I thought, feeling numb on the inside, and unsure of myself. Is that possible?

  I closed my hand into a fist. If I entered the Labyrinth . . .

  You might never see this world again.

  I wanted to think that I was tougher than that, cannier . . . but right now, I didn’t trust that I was. I couldn’t take the risk. I had to play it safe.

  I slipped into the void and returned home to Seattle.

  As the demon had said . . . where else was there to go?

  I didn’t know what time it was until I walked down into the homeless shelter and found the volunteers cooking lunch.

  Donna Summers blared over the stereo system, and a clash of pans and loud voices filled the lasagna-scented air. Guys with deliveries from local grocery stores wheeled trolleys around us, and in the kitchen, I glimpsed an army of long-haired men and short-haired women wearing Birkenstocks and fuzzy socks, and white aprons covered in bright-colored pins and logos from local sponsors. Clocks shaped like cats covered the butter yellow walls, along with a half-painted mural that was new to me: a city scene filled with superheroes battling a Godzilla that had tiny angel wings growing from its scaly back. I liked it.

  I saw Byron in the mix though he didn’t notice me. He had a book and was sitting in the corner out of the way.

  The Coop, as it was called, took up an entire block—a collection of warehouses renovated and linked, forming a homeless shelter and community center that provided temporary housing, meals, and other services. Donations funded some of the Coop’s activities, but Grant, whose father had left him a fortune, paid most of the bills.

  I had my own money. One of my ancestors had started thinking ahead and acted to secure the finances of her de-scendents with caches of gold and other treasures, including priceless works of art. I owned homes and land all over the world—places in Italy and France, maybe an actual castle in Wales. I’d never visited any of them, but my name was on the paperwork. Every now and then, I received updates from my mother’s lawyers.

  I’d thought about visiting those places with Grant and the boys.

  I rubbed my arms. My sweater had long sleeves, but I felt as naked as I had with that demon parasite in the basement. It was daylight hours, and the boys should have been sleeping on my skin—beneath my hair, between my toes—covering every inch of me with their beating hearts and heavy tattoos. I should have been able to pull back my sleeve and see a wink of a dark scale, a glimmer of a red eye.

  I got hit with a wave of loneliness so profound I wanted to run. I was human. Mortal. Vulnerable. Feeling sorry for myself.

  A strong, warm hand touched my shoulder. I flinched, before realizing it was Grant. I hadn’t even heard his cane.

  “Hey,” he said, looking at me with such compassion, and concern.

  Suddenly, there was nothing more important than wrapping my arms around his waist in a long, hard hug. Kitchen noises dimmed. So did voices. I knew people were watching us—probably because they’d never seen us engage in this much public affection.

  I didn’t care. And, given the way Grant held me, neither did he.

  “It’s okay,” he murmured against my hair. “I’m here.”

  Doreen, one of the volunteers, walked in—car keys swinging in her hand, wiping rain from her face and hair. She was a tall blonde with an athletic build and a typical Seattleite personality: earthy, and a little pretentious.

  When Doreen saw Grant, she gave him a huge, beaming smile—which faltered considerably when she saw me. I wasn’t surprised, but after the day I’d had, I didn’t feel like dealing with the usual undercurrents of disapproval.

  I had never gotten used to the crowds at the Coop—and, to be fair, some of the people here weren’t used to me. To them, I was a strange, quiet woman, rough around the edges: a fighter, who kept the peace with her fists. Grant was a handsome, elegant, filthy rich, former priest. Some thought I was with him for his money. Some thought he was with me because I was good in bed.

  Not that I was going to argue with that. Nor was there any way to explain that Grant and I were more alike than any of them would ever be able to comprehend.

  “You’re back,” said Doreen, throwing herself against him in an overly friendly hug. “We missed you. I can’t imagine why you were gone so long. I’m surprised we lasted a week.”

  “Uh-huh.” Grant took a careful step back and slid his arm around my waist. “Maybe you haven’t heard. Maxine and I were on our honeymoon.”

  Doreen stared. I held up my left hand, with its golden ring.

/>   “Yes, it’s true,” I said. “We’re married. And we want lots of kids.”

  I might as well have had a demon perched on my head for the way she looked at me. I almost started to laugh.

  Grant cleared his throat. “Doreen, I’ve got to check on some things in the office. I’ll come by the kitchen later.”

  “Er,” she said, but we were already walking away—and Mary was suddenly right behind us, nearly knocking Doreen into the wall with her shoulder.

  “Burn your lust,” Mary muttered, giving the other woman a dirty look. “Only warriors bond to bringers of the light.”

  It was Grant’s turn to bite back a smile. I shook my head at him.

  We were stopped several more times in the hall by volunteers and some of the homeless who regularly haunted the Coop. I stood off to the side as Mary fidgeted, letting Grant do his thing—with his voice, with just the right word.

  I saw two possessed men at the end of the hall, posting flyers on the wall. Big guys, dressed in jeans and flannel, with pitch-black auras that flickered close to the crowns of their scruffy heads. I recognized their hosts but didn’t know their names.

  More than a few haunted the shelter of their own free will, treating Grant like some kind of messiah figure who could transform them—into creatures who did not need to feed on pain to survive. Which he had been doing for years before our first encounter.

  As far as I could tell, those demonic parasites Grant altered were different: cut off from their bond to Blood Mama, capable of surviving without the particular energy that streamed from violence and abuse.

  Although they still enjoyed those bad vibes. Like a warm chocolate dessert.

  Both of the possessed men stopped working when they saw me. I was used to that.

  What surprised me was that they did not lower their gazes. Instead, the demons smiled at me: creepy, soft smiles, filled with promise and smugness.

  I didn’t look away from them. I did not blink. I poured every hard, violent moment of my life into my gaze and held it there. Doing less would be the same as signing my death warrant.

  If it hadn’t already been signed.

  It didn’t matter that Blood Mama had promised obedience and submission to Zee and the boys. She had a prior bargain with my ancestors—to kill us women when we lost our protection. Which I had, without even a daughter to show for it.

  I was fair game. Zee had to know that. All the boys did. Unless they really thought Blood Mama would behave.

  Unless some risks outweighed my possible murder.

  The men continued trying to stare me down. I flexed my right hand. Grant was a short distance behind me, still waylaid. I didn’t check to see if he’d noticed them—his so-called reformed demons—looking at me.

  Mary brushed my shoulder, also watching them.

  “When the cat’s away, mice will prey,” she murmured, and glanced at Grant, as he finally joined us, frowning at the possessed men—who finally dropped their gazes and shuffled backward, away from us.

  Grant followed, leaning hard on his cane. “Stop.”

  One word, spoken in a calm voice—but I felt the tingle of his power touch my skin, far deeper than it ever had before. It did not affect me because he hadn’t intended it to, but he could have made me stand forever in one spot with that same word. It didn’t make me uneasy, but it made me wonder if I would have gotten so close to him in the first place had I been vulnerable to his gift.

  Would I have let myself trust him? Would I have always been second-guessing whether or not my feelings were real or products of manipulation?

  Yes, I thought. I trusted no one, back then.

  In some ways, I’d been more alone than I was now. I just hadn’t realized it.

  I stayed close to Grant’s side, my right hand loose, ready. Not that I needed to worry. The demons weren’t going anywhere. Even their auras, which should have been churning, had gone perfectly still. Frozen.

  We reached them. Instead of stopping, Grant limped past, and said, “Follow me.”

  Like puppets, they did: down the hall, into his office, where the desk was piled with packages and paperwork, all the detritus of a month’s vacation. A picture of us on the beach was the only decoration. The rest of the room was austere, and nearly empty.

  Mary hummed to herself, leaning against the wall. I locked the door and stood in front of it, watching the possessed men sweat.

  “You’re different,” Grant said to them, in a voice that was a little too quiet. “You’ve reengaged your bond to Blood Mama. You’re feeding on pain again.”

  The demons said nothing.

  Grant leaned in. “Also, I didn’t like the way you looked at my wife.”

  Someone knocked on the door. I would have ignored it, except a pounding thump followed that knock, and a muffled voice said, “Open up, it’s Rex.”

  I opened the door. Rex, sweating, gave me a hard, uncertain stare—and then peered around me at the demons, and Grant.

  “One of us stole a baby,” he said. “There’s going to be blood.”

  CHAPTER 14

  THE baby’s name was Andrew, and he was six months old. His mother was a short woman with a soft face and curly hair, but less than five minutes after I met her, I couldn’t remember what she looked like because all I could recall was her profound, terrible grief.

  She was hysterical when we found her, slumped on the floor of the shelter’s day care, clutching a soft blue blanket to her face. Sobs dragged away each breath, making her choke.

  Andrew had been left at the shelter’s day care for two hours while his mother went to a job interview. The twenty-something girl in charge of looking after him had walked away for five minutes to go to the bathroom—a fact corroborated by the elderly former schoolteacher in charge of the day care, who had taken responsibility for the baby.

  And then turned her back for just a moment to clean up some vomit.

  Andrew was gone when she turned around.

  Infants were kept away from the older children, who had reported seeing a man—but little else. Fortunately, there were security cameras everywhere. Rex already had the kidnapping isolated.

  I recognized that face. We all did. A possessed man named Horace, who had been at the shelter off and on for a year. His host was a slender white man who always dressed in worn khakis and a navy Windbreaker. I couldn’t see his demonic aura in the security tape, but I watched him pick up Andrew, and walk out.

  “I fixed Horace,” Grant said, sounding sick.

  “Free will.” Rex glanced at me. “With the Reaper Kings loose, all the rules have changed. No one will want to be without a clan, and those who were loyal to Grant will have to prove themselves to Blood Mama.”

  “Those demons in Grant’s office . . . will they know where Horace went?”

  “You think he’d share?”

  I hated that we were talking about that baby like he was a meat loaf. I heard Andrew’s mother sobbing all the way down the hall, and the low quiet tones of the police trying to speak with her. “What do you think, Rex?”

  He blew out his breath. “Someplace isolated and close.”

  We were in the warehouse district. Lots of places to choose from. I grabbed Grant’s arm and squeezed. “I’ll find him.”

  “Maxine,” he said, then lowered his voice. “You don’t have the boys.”

  “Who says I need them?” My voice only wavered a little. I reached into his back pocket and, before he could stop me, lifted out his cell phone.

  I retreated. “No one can protect me forever, Grant. I either learn to live, or I don’t live at all.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “Grant,” I said, with gentle strain because my heart was pounding, and I knew he could see I was afraid. “I will never be safe.”

  He reached for me with too much desperation. I clenched my right hand into a fist, thought very hard about baby Andrew—and slipped into the void.

  I seemed to remain in that place longer than usual,
adrift and lost. The boys had always been with me before, but now I was completely alone.

  I focused on the baby. Nothing but him. My thoughts flashed on the image of Horace holding Andrew—

  —and I fell back into the world, teetering on the edge of a broken sidewalk. Rain hit my face, and so did the wind. Cold day. I wondered where in the night the boys were hiding, and what they were doing. Hopefully, nothing.

  I stood facing downtown Seattle. There was a chain-link fence at my back. I spun in a slow circle and found open lots, along with several buildings across the street. Too many choices. If the boys had been here, they would have guided me in the right direction by tugging on my skin.

  I recognized the area, though. I drove through it sometimes. The Coop was only five or six blocks away. I tried to imagine what would look attractive to a demon carrying a baby.

  Close and isolated.

  The buildings on my right appeared well maintained, with two good strong doors that were in plain sight of the intersection. The lot was clean, without the usual broken glass. No graffiti on the exterior.

  Different story across the street. Rough-and-tumble, with broken windows and boarded-up garage doors that had a few planks loose. Grass grew in the lot, and fuck, suck, and ass had been spray painted in unique, colorful combinations. It was clearly abandoned.

  I crossed the street, watching all those windows, trying to catch any sign of movement. I wanted to pretend I was brave, but my heart pounded. Punches would hurt, and I’d never been much of a fighter. Not like my mother and grandmother.

  Seconds after I stepped onto the abandoned building’s lot, I heard a baby start to cry.

  I froze, that sound cutting through me like a cold knife. It was coming from inside the building, drifting through broken windows. I started running, trying to keep my footsteps silent, light, as I searched for a way in. I pulled out the cell phone, and dialed Rex. He answered on the first ring.

  I gave him the cross street, and told him what the building looked like. Grant’s terse voice rose in the background, but I hung up before he could take the phone from Rex. I powered off the cell and stuck it back in my pocket.