Hellforged d-2

by Nancy Holzner

  Several news vans clustered near the Tremont Street barrier. One of them belonged to Channel 10 On-the-Scene News. Lynne Hong sat in the front passenger seat, her face in profile. Funny. She usually covered hard news and didn’t bother with fluff pieces like rock concerts.

  A pudgy teenage zombie, wearing an oversized Monster Paul T-shirt and ripped jeans, talked to another reporter. As I got closer, I heard Jenna say, “Nope, sorry. Tina can’t give you an exclusive. What can I say? MTV called first.” She popped her gum with finality. She must’ve got the job as Tina’s manager.

  When I asked Jenna where the dressing rooms were, she told me to go behind the stage and through the gate into the cemetery. Then she went back to booking Tina’s nonexclusive interview. I walked in the direction she’d pointed and saw a couple of trailers inside the cemetery, right up against the fence. At the main gate, a massive concrete structure that looked vaguely Egyptian, two hulking zombies stood sentry, watching the crowd through narrowed eyes. Muscular and broad-chested, they both reminded me of Sykes. I hoped Tina had given them my name—if she hadn’t, it was going to be tough ducking past these two.

  But there was no need to worry. The taller zombie consulted a clipboard and put out his hand for ID. I showed him my driver’s license, and he waved me through. “Next-to-last dressing room,” he said. “Name’s on the door.”

  I hadn’t gone more than two steps when a hand grabbed my arm in a bone-crushing grip and yanked me backward to face a scowling zombie. “What the hell is that?” he asked, gesturing at the Sword of Saint Michael.

  “A toothpick. What does it look like?”

  “You can’t take a sword in there.”

  “Why not?”

  “Gee, I wonder.” With a flick of his wrist he flung me back to the wrong side of the gate. He moved in front of me and folded his arms, daring me to try to get past him.

  The light was almost gone. If the sun hadn’t dropped below the horizon yet, it would within minutes. I needed to get to Tina. It’d cost me one of my knives, but I had to knock this bozo and his buddy out of my way. I hung my head, pretending to give up. One guard wore running shoes; the other had on steel-toed work boots. I could throw one knife to nail a running-shoed foot and stab the other guard in his overdeveloped bicep, then run like crazy—

  “It’s okay,” said a voice behind me. “The freak’s with me.”

  I looked back to see Norden, my old Goon Squad pal. He wore a dark blue parka and his usual sneer.

  The zombie glowered at Norden, then me. “Why didn’t you say so?” He stepped aside.

  Never in three million lifetimes would I ever imagine I’d be happy to be “with” Elmer Norden, but as we trotted past the guards, that was exactly how I felt. I started to thank him, but he cut me off.

  “You’re late. And you were supposed to report to the command center on Bromfield Street, not waltz back here.”

  “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m in charge of security for this event. You’re on my staff list. Some nutcase phoned in a demon threat, and somebody seems to think you’re pretty good at fighting demons.” He shook his head. “In the old days, we got bomb threats,” he muttered, sounding nostalgic.

  Oh. I guess that nutcase would be me. So that sleepy-voiced cop had woken up and reported a possible demon attack. That explained why Lynne Hong was here. Someone must have tipped her off about the “threat,” and she’d come in hopes of getting some zombie carnage on video. Not if I could help it.

  “I didn’t ask to be hired. I’m here to protect Tina. If you’ve got a problem with that, let’s just say I quit.”

  “I don’t care what the hell you do as long as you keep outta my way.” He stopped and gestured toward the dressing rooms. “You said Tina? That’s her dressing room there.”

  “Great, thank—”

  “You two should get along great. She’s almost as big a pain in the ass as you.” A sneer contorted his face.

  I turned away, ignoring him. Then I thought about how this norm had lost his partner only a week ago—it was the first time I’d seen him since Sykes’s death. With one foot on the wooden stairs to Tina’s trailer, I stopped and looked back. Norden gazed across the darkening cemetery. “Hey, Norden,” I said, “I’m sorry about Sykes.”

  He eyeballed me like he thought maybe I’d insulted him but wasn’t sure how. Then he shrugged. “At least I’m off the goddamn Goon Squad. Hampson tried to give me shit, so I quit to go private. Just my luck my first job is providing security for a bunch of freaks and monsters.” He grimaced and walked away.

  So much for sharing a moment of tenderness with Norden.

  I went up the stairs. Tacked to the door was a piece of paper with TINA TERROR printed in bold black letters. Tina’s last name was Zawadzki, so I could see why she’d want a stage name. But “Tina Terror”? That was as bad as Monster Paul. Below the name was a lopsided star, hand-drawn in yellow highlighter. It looked like something a preschooler’s mom would hang on the fridge; suddenly, Tina seemed very young and very vulnerable. I raised my hand to knock.

  “Hey,” said Norden behind me. “Do you see someone over there?”

  It was hard to see through the gloom. “Where?”

  “By the obelisk. Damn useless guards can’t even keep the tourists out. Hey!” he yelled, starting forward. “Cemetery’s closed.”

  I squinted in the direction he was going. A silhouetted figure stood beside the obelisk. All around him, perched on the gravestones and monuments, hunched a dozen large birds, black shapes against the shadows. A crow cawed.

  Pryce was here. And he’d brought the Morfran with him.

  I jumped down the stairs and sprinted toward my “cousin,” drawing my sword as I ran.

  Norden, threading his way through the graves, yelled at Pryce again. Pryce extended an arm, and I dropped. Norden ducked behind a tree. But Pryce wasn’t concerned with us. His gesture was a signal. The crows rose into the air, cawing and shrieking.

  Pryce disappeared.

  I scrambled to my feet and resheathed my sword. I yanked up the leg of my jeans and tugged at the snap that held Hellforged in place. When it popped open, I allowed myself one deep breath to get centered. Then I grasped the athame with my left hand and pulled it out.

  Crows shot over my head like fat black arrows and disappeared through the wall of Tina’s trailer.

  The dressing room door burst open, and Tina ran out screaming, wearing a pink bathrobe and waving her arms wildly as the cloud of crows dived at her. She tripped on the stairs and tumbled to the ground.

  Norden ran toward her, gun drawn.

  “Norden, don’t!” I yelled. “They’re a spirit—you can’t shoot them.”

  He skidded to a stop. “Then how in hell—?”

  “Here.” I was already starting to make big, slow circles with my left hand. I reached into my inner jacket pocket and pulled out the slate. “Lean this against the trunk of that tree.”

  Norden gaped like a fish getting ready to swallow a fly, as he watched me make superslow circles with my invisible lasso and took in the flowers and HOME SWEET HOME inscription on the slate.

  Tina’s screams shattered the night.

  “Take it, Norden! I know what I’m doing!”

  I prayed that was true.

  He grabbed the slate and ran toward the tree.

  I closed my eyes and put everything I had into the ritual, drawing in the Morfran energy. I didn’t just circle, I willed the hunger to come to me. With all my strength, I pulled the Morfran in. So Difethwr was my shadow now? Good. The Hellion could help me call the Morfran. I felt a drag as the Morfran flowed into Hellforged’s orbit. Part of me was aware that Tina had stopped screaming, that Norden knelt beside her. But I kept the double focus I’d practiced with Mab: my calm, powerful center and the athame in my hand.

  As the Morfran followed Hellforged’s circles, the crow bodies dissolved into energy. I made smaller circles, feeling the Morfran s
wirl with me. Smaller and smaller. The energy moved closer to the athame’s point. Smaller. A chill crept into my fingers. Then a jolt of ice.

  As fast as I could, I passed Hellforged to my right hand. I pointed the athame at the slate and shouted, “Parhau! Ireos! Mantrigo!” The Morfran streaked into the slate and knocked it over. It jumped once, twice, then lay still on the ground.

  Home sweet home.

  Hellforged remained calm. I resheathed it and ran to where the slate lay. Wisps of smoke rose from its surface, but it was freezing cold to the touch. Colder than the night air or the ground it rested on. I stuck the slate in my pocket and hurried to check on Tina. She sat on the ground, clutching Norden and pressing her face into his shirt. Her shoulders heaved. If zombies could cry, she’d be sobbing. He patted her back, tentatively, as if afraid she’d break.

  I squatted down beside them. “Tina? Are you okay?”

  She pulled back from Norden. Smudges of mascara raccoon-ringed her eyes. “What was that?”

  “That,” I said, helping her to her feet, “was why I wanted to cancel this concert.”

  “Oh.” She brushed herself off and took a shaky step toward her trailer. “Then I’m glad you got rid of it before the show started. It would’ve, like, totally wrecked our dance moves for ‘Grave Robber.’ ”

  I wanted to tell her to stop, to get the hell out of here, to run as far away as she could. Pryce wasn’t finished yet. The zombies hadn’t even started dancing, and the few crows I’d slammed into the Home Sweet Home plaque weren’t even a drop in the bucket compared to that sky-choking flock I’d witnessed at the slate mine.

  But nothing short of a phase-three Morfran attack would keep Tina off that stage. I knew that. The best I could do was try to protect her and Deadtown’s other zombies—and stop Pryce for good.

  Tina climbed the steps to her dressing room, and I followed her. As she went inside, I told her I’d be there in a minute. Then I went to talk to Norden.

  “The guy you saw standing by the obelisk, his name’s Pryce Maddox. He’ll probably attack again tonight.” I described him while Norden took notes.

  “And you know this guy how?”

  “He calls himself my cousin, but—”

  “Oh, Jesus. How come I’m not surprised?”

  He gave me one of his trademark sneers, but I regarded him levelly. No matter how much I’d love to knock this norm on his ass right now, I needed his cooperation tonight. So he could take his own damn bait and shove it, because I wasn’t touching it. After a minute, he dropped his gaze and pretended to read something on his notepad.

  “How’d he disappear like that?” Norden asked, his voice businesslike.

  “Pryce is a demi-demon. He can pop in and out of the demon plane at will.”

  “Can I shoot him? I mean, will it do anything?”

  “Yes, but use bronze bullets, preferably the kind treated with holy water or sacramental wine. Regular bullets can slow him down, but mostly they’ll annoy him.” From the look on Norden’s face, it was clear he wasn’t packing bronze bullets of any kind. “I’ll handle Pryce,” I said. “Is there a way we can stay in contact tonight?”

  He looked like my question gave him indigestion, but he said, “I’ll get you a two-way radio.”

  “Good. If you see Pryce, tell me.” I patted the Sword of Saint Michael, and Norden nodded.

  He started toward the cemetery gate, then stopped. The sneer was gone, replaced by a haunted look. “Those crows—or whatever the hell they were. That’s what killed Sykes?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What the hell is it?”

  “It’s called the Morfran. It’s an ancient spirit of hunger that feeds on death.”

  “Jesus.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, Vaughn, I’ll give you this: You are pretty good at fighting demons.” I half-nodded and went toward Tina’s trailer. Before I’d made it to the door, he added, “For a freak.”

  37

  KANE ARRIVED AS NORDEN WAS LEAVING. HE’D SEEN THE crows circling and realized what was happening. “Is that it?” he asked. “Did you recapture the Morfran Pryce released?”

  “That was barely a preview.” In Wales, Kane had been deep in the mine when the Morfran filled the sky. He hadn’t seen how much Pryce had released. “Pryce is saving the main event for the concert.”

  Quickly I brought him up to speed on everything from the time we’d been separated in Reykjavik to Pryce’s disappearance from the cemetery. I didn’t mention the Old Ones—we could sort that part out later. “Pryce was by that obelisk?” Kane asked.

  I nodded.

  “I’ll see if I can pick up his scent.”

  “He exited into the demon plane.” But it was a good idea. Pryce’s human form, with its human senses, couldn’t enjoy being in the demon plane any more than I did. He could be hiding somewhere in the Ordinary, waiting for the concert to start. “If you find him, don’t approach him. Come and get me.” I gave him one of my knives, just in case.

  Kane nodded and went toward the obelisk. I hurried up the wooden steps to check on Tina.

  Tina’s dressing room was tiny, about the size of a walk-in closet. She sat in front of a light bulb-ringed mirror at a dressing table piled high with cosmetics. A framed photo of a smiling norm family stood half-hidden behind a tissue box.

  Tina peered into the mirror and spread a layer of cold cream over her face. She wiped the cream off, removing the smudged mascara and other makeup. She inspected her reflection, turning right, then left. She was lucky; the Morfran hadn’t left a mark on her face. Her fluffy pink bathrobe showed several rips and slashes, but she was in amazingly good shape for a zombie who’d been attacked by the Morfran.

  Tina fluffed her hair with her fingers, held it straight out on both sides of her head, and sighed. She gathered her hair in a loose bun and fastened it with an elastic band. “What a mess. I’ll fix my makeup first.” She moved around some bottles and jars on her table. “Can you get my foundation? It’s in my purse on the back of the door.”

  I fished out a bottle—the shade was Ghoulish Green—and tossed it to her. She smeared some on her face and blended it with a sponge.

  “Can you believe I’ve got to do my own hair and makeup?” She pouted into the mirror. “Paul says we have to keep costs down for this concert ’cause it’s free. But when we do the national tour, I’ll get my own stylist.”

  “Tina—”

  “No.” She slammed Ghoulish Green down on the table, making the other bottles—and me—jump. “I don’t want to hear it, Vicky. You’re not going to talk me out of going onstage tonight.” She swiveled in her chair to face me. “Whatever attacked me killed those other zombies. I get that, okay? But I don’t want to know what it was. I don’t want to hear it could attack again. So if you’re going to lecture me with shit like that, get out.” She glared at me, her expression an odd mixture of pleading and defiance, like she expected me to walk away and was all set to show how little it mattered to her. Even though it did matter. A lot.

  Her costume was flung over the back of a folding chair beside her dressing table. I picked up the dry cleaner’s bag, shook it out, and hung the costume with her purse on the back of the door. I sat on the chair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Her cheeks puffed out as she exhaled. She reached for the makeup bottle. “Ghoulish Green is such a stupid name. Like anybody who buys makeup wants to be reminded she’s a zombie.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “This from Tina Terror?”

  She bounced in her chair. “Cool stage name, huh? It goes, like, perfect with Monster Paul. All three backup singers have them, but the other two, Ashley and Jennifer, couldn’t find another word that worked with their real names, so they’re Hannah Horror and Polly Panic. But Tina Terror is the best.”

  “Um, sure.” Hated Ghoulish Green, loved Tina Terror. No one ever accused Tina of being consistent.

  Someone knocked. I stood, sliding a bronze knife from its sheath. “I’ll get it.”


  “Okay.” Tina blinked, inspecting the thick black lines around her eyes, then started shoveling on sparkly silver eye shadow.

  “Who is it?” I asked through the door.

  “What, you want a knock-knock joke? Open the goddamn door.”

  Norden. I put the knife away and pushed the door open. He was holding out the walkie-talkie I expected. What I didn’t expect was to see Daniel standing beside him.

  “Hi,” he said, smiling warmly. “Norden said you were here. Welcome back.”

  Half a dozen thoughts clamored for my attention. Loudest were You should’ve called him and You’ve gotta tell him you’re back with Kane.

  “Uh,” I said, stepping outside. I closed the door behind me, then took Norden’s walkie-talkie and clipped it to my sword belt, feeling Daniel’s blue-eyed gaze. The weight of it made me fiddle with the walkie-talkie some more. “I, um, didn’t know you liked monster rock.” Once, we’d gone to hear Irish music in a pub in Southie.

  He laughed. The sound was warm and easy, and he smiled when I looked at him. “I’m moonlighting for Norden. Word is there might be a demon attack, and I’ve learned enough about demons from you that I thought I could help.” His smile broadened. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

  “We’re not dealing with an ordinary demon.” I’d worry about sorting out my personal life later. If I survived tonight. I briefed them on the Morfran, on Pryce, on his shadow demon Cysgod. “Pryce believes letting the Morfran gorge on the zombies will strengthen the demons. He’s trying to erase the boundary between the demon plane and the human world.”

  “Oh, is that all?” Norden snorted. “And to think I gave up a perfectly good night of sitting home alone, getting plastered, for this.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Daniel asked.

  “Keep an eye out for Pryce. If you see him, contact me immediately.” I patted the walkie-talkie on my belt. “If the Morfran attacks, make sure I have room to do the ritual.”

  Behind me, the door opened, and Tina called, “Vicky! Come help me with my costume.”