Hellhound (A Deadtown Novel) (13 page)

KANE STOOD BY HIS CAR, TALKING ON HIS CELL PHONE. HE ended the conversation as I walked over. He watched me but didn’t shift his posture or open his arms to me. I stopped several feet in front of him, suddenly tongue-tied. I’d said we needed to talk, but now in the searchlight of his stare I didn’t know what to do or say.

“You should have told me,” he said.

Five words, each of them a distinct knife in my gut. Not because Kane was aiming to hurt, but because he was right.

“I promised Dad.”

“You think I couldn’t keep his secret? Me?” His mouth snapped shut and he clenched his jaw. “Juliet knew. You trusted her, but you didn’t trust me.”

“That was different. She microwaves things for him.” Kane looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe I was. “What I mean is, I
didn’t
tell Juliet. She was home one night when Dad came to see me and—”

“And he was obviously okay with her knowing. And
still
you didn’t tell me. You didn’t even bother to ask your dad if he’d mind.” His expression clouded. “Or did you ask? Is he afraid I’ll try to talk you into handing him over to the Night Hag to gain my freedom? Because . . .” Kane’s voice trailed off. His eyebrows knit together as he thought. Then understanding widened his eyes. “He doesn’t know about that, does he? No one does.”

I looked at my shoes, unable to meet his gaze.

“Christ, Vicky, you’ve got yourself wrapped up so tightly in secrets it’s a wonder you can breathe.”

“The choice the Night Hag gave me. It’s . . . it’s impossible. I don’t know what to do.”

I expected him to yell; he had every right to be angry with me. But when he spoke, his voice was gentle. “Don’t you see? That’s exactly when you need to turn to others for help. We’ve had this conversation so many times before. You don’t have to face everything alone.”

I looked into his eyes then. They were alight with sincerity. And now he did open his arms, and I flew into them. Finally I could breathe again, and I drank in his scent. He hugged me tight and pressed his lips against my hair. Then gently, firmly, he straightened and held me at arm’s length.

“Vicky, I understand that you don’t want to hand over your father to the Night Hag. I wouldn’t ask you to. I know it means a lot to you to have him back.”

“It does. But there’s more. The white falcon is mentioned in the prophecies—I did tell you that. And you saw what he can do.”

“You mean kill the Morfran.”

“Kane, there’s never been a way to do that before. We could imprison the Morfran in slate, but we couldn’t destroy it. With Dad’s help, we can obliterate so much of the Morfran that Pryce will never be able to make his demons strong enough to attack. We can stop the war before it begins.”

“Which can’t happen if the Night Hag has the falcon in her control.” He paused, thinking. “Mab told me, though, that no one knew until tonight that the falcon could kill the Morfran. Right?”

“That’s right.” The sharpness of his question brought on a twinge of guilt. He didn’t trust me to tell him the whole truth, with good reason.

“When did the Night Hag approach you with this bargain?”

“I was still in quarantine.”

“Vicky, that was three weeks ago! We could have used those weeks to figure out a plan. You, me, your father, Mab. We should be putting our heads together to beat the Night Hag, not let her win through your—” He bit his lip. “Through
our
inaction.”

Something stung my eyes and suddenly Kane looked all blurred and wavery. “I can’t protect you,” I said. “I can’t protect either one of you.”

“Don’t protect me; let me stand beside you.” His thumb brushed a tear from my cheek. “I love you. And you told me you feel the same way. But if there’s no trust, there’s no love. There can’t be.” His voice was low, almost hoarse. “I need you to trust me, Vicky.”

“I do.” How could I explain it
was
love that made me want to shield him from the darkness that had swallowed me whole?

“No more secrets, then.” He lifted my chin with his forefinger. “Promise?”

I nodded.

“We still have a couple of days before the full moon. Let’s put those heads together and see what we can come up with.”

I didn’t hold out much hope, but it was a plan—and better than anything I’d been able to formulate as the problem had spun round and round on the Merry-Go-Round of Impossibility in my mind. At least we’d be trying to do something.

Kane kissed me—a long, deep, lingering kiss that held all the promise, all the feelings I’d feared my silence had killed. I moved closer, savoring the way our bodies fit together. His arms tightened around me.

Too soon, the moment was over. He stepped away, putting his hand on my cheek, his thumb lightly caressing my skin. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “I don’t want to. The unity rally could go to hell for all I care, but—”

“That’s not true. And even if it were, I wouldn’t want it to be.” Kane’s passion for social justice, his tireless efforts to bring people together for a greater cause—I loved these things about him. “Go ahead. I’ll be there in time for your speech.”

“You don’t have to. You’ve got your aunt to look after.”

I stood on tiptoe and raised my mouth to his. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I murmured against his lips.

BACK IN MY APARTMENT, MAB WAS ASLEEP ON THE SOFA. I was glad. She’d had quite a day, thanks to jet lag, a zombie attack, a confrontation with the Night Hag, and a quick shift into a pigeon and back. Not to mention having her niece draw a sword on her.

I’d put things right with her. Kane’s words—
you don’t have to face everything alone
—made me believe that I could. But for now, I’d let her sleep.

I got a spare blanket from the closet. Mab lay on her back, one hand clutching her bloodstone pendant, her head turned slightly to the side. She looked peaceful. It was good to see the worry erased from her face, I thought as I gently spread the blanket over her. How could I have come so close to betraying her?

As I straightened, I heard a buzzing at my ear.

“So what are you gonna do next, oh fearsome aunt slayer—try to smother her with a pillow?”

Butterfly. Wonderful.

But wait. On second thought, maybe I did want to talk to this demon. I pointed down the hall.
I’m not chatting with an Eidolon in front of my aunt, even if she is sleeping. I’ll talk to you in the bedroom.

“Seriously?” The black insect hovered in front of my nose, its demon face perplexed. “What are you trying to pull?”

I’m going into my bedroom and taking all my delicious guilt with me. You can follow me or go back to the demon plane.
I bent and kissed Mab’s cheek, then turned out the lights and left the living room.

I shut the bedroom door behind me. A minute later came a
taptaptap
, like a moth bumping into a window screen. I opened the door. No Butterfly. Or so I thought until the demon ran past my foot. Then it shot into the air, zipped across the room, and alighted on my dresser.

“Since when do you knock?” I asked, closing the door. I kept my voice low so as not to disturb Mab. But I found it easier to shield my thoughts from the demon when I spoke to it out loud.

“I thought maybe you were setting up some kind of trap. So I made my entrance in a way you wouldn’t expect it. Clever, huh?”

Whatever. “Listen, Butterfly, I need to talk to you. So if we could call a truce”—I couldn’t believe I was saying that—“for just a few minutes.”

“Talk? Great, let’s talk. I got a whole list of conversation starters. How ’bout we discuss how you let Pryce and the Destroyer snatch poor Bonita out from under your nose? Or how you put your loved ones in danger because you couldn’t bring yourself to tell them about the whole Night Hag thing? Or how you were all set to do battle with your beloved aunt until I stopped you? Or, speaking of battle, what about those visions you keep having of murdering innocent people? Yeah, I think we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

“Do you know what the word
truce
means?”

“Hunger shrinks my vocabulary.”

“Not as much as a bronze blade would.” As best I could, I shielded the fact that I was bluffing. Although I hated to admit it, I needed this annoying demon right now.

A pause. “You’ve still got that dagger in your nightstand, haven’t you?”

“You know I never sleep without a weapon in reach.”

Butterfly launched itself from the dresser. It landed on my shoulder and belched. “So talk.”

I fanned the putrid air away. “I need a favor.”

The demon rocketed upward and ricocheted around the room, bouncing off the ceiling and hitting the walls like a butterfly-shaped pinball. I ducked as it whizzed past my cheek. Eventually, it landed on my headboard, its sawtooth wings trembling.

“Pardon me. I don’t think I heard you right. I could’ve sworn you asked me for
another
favor. That’s two in two days. Doesn’t that mean you owe me your firstborn or something?” The demon frowned. “Except you wanna stay a shapeshifter, so that means you won’t have a firstborn. So I guess you owe me . . . let’s see . . .”

“Quit clowning around. This is important.”

“Let me get this straight. You insult me. You threaten me. You torment me. You starve me to the very brink of death.” Butterfly flopped onto its back on my pillow and feebly waved its legs in the air. “And I’m pretty sure that you haven’t yet gotten over that whole trying-to-kill-the-Eidolon obsession.”

I should have killed you when I first conjured you.
I tried to stuff that thought behind my mental shield before Butterfly picked up on it. Not exactly persuasive. Still, I
should
have killed the thing then. I’d been ready to. The only reason I hadn’t was the demon had surprised me in a moment of weakness by unexpectedly using the magic word.

Hmm. The memory gave me an idea.

“P . . . puh . . .” The word refused to leave my mouth.

Butterfly rolled over and stood on all six legs again. “Did you say something?”

I licked my lips and tried again. “Please.”

The demon staggered back like I’d dealt it a blow. I took advantage of its stunned silence and rushed on.

“You said you want to stop Pryce. Here’s your big chance. We know he’s allied with the Old Ones and they’re providing him with a base somewhere in the city. I need you to find out where that base is and what he’s giving the Old Ones in return for their cooperation.”

“Oh, is that all? How ’bout I bring you his head on a platter while I’m at it?”

“That would be nice. But the location and the deal would be enough.”

“And how do you propose I get this information? Just saunter up to him and ask?”

“You’ve brought me information from the demon plane before.”

“Yeah, but that’s just passing on rumors. Demons gossip a lot, sure. But if someone as nasty as your Pryce-Destroyer combo wants to keep a secret, ain’t nobody gonna ask about it.” The demon shook its head. “Besides, you say the base is in Boston. That’s your turf. If I snuck into the Ordinary trying to do some fly-on-the-wall routine and Pryce noticed me, he’d squash me flat.”

“But you’re our best chance to find this place. If you could follow him out of the demon plane, you know, unobtrusively—”

“Unobtrusively my demon ass. If I materialize anywhere around the guy in this plane, his Hellion buddy will know in a second. And if they catch me spying, I’m one dead Eidolon.” Butterfly’s wings quivered in indignation. “Not that you’d mind. But information flows two ways, you know. If they even suspected I was spying for you, they’d torture me until I spilled everything I know about the contents of your messed-up head.”

“I’m willing to risk that.”

“Oh,
you’re
willing to risk
my
life. Now, there’s courage.”

“Okay, forget it. I’ll figure out another way to find them.” I should have known better than to ask a demon for help. Especially not my very own Eidolon. “Get out of here now. I’ve got things to do.”

“But—” the demon began.

The mark on my arm itched.

Butterfly snapped its mouth shut. “All right, all right. Don’t get angry. I hate it when you’re angry. It’s like a big salt shaker full of yuck ruining your otherwise yummy emotions.” The demon sighed. “Anger’s only edible when it cools off and turns into regret. Fresh anger—too hot. Anyway, I can see I’m not going to get a meal here tonight, so I’ll be off.” Its wings fluttered, and its body faded. “If I happen to hear anything about you-know-who—in passing—I may be in touch. But don’t count on it.”

“Believe me, I won’t.”

Butterfly winked out. Stupid Eidolon. At the airport, when it said, “Stick with me, kid,” I’d almost believed the thing was on my side. Silly me. It was a demon, and I was a demon fighter. Tonight, it had reminded me what I could expect from it: a big fat load of nothing.

HALF AN HOUR LATER, I WAS TAPING A HASTILY SCRIBBLED note on the front door to alert Juliet that Mab was asleep on the sofa. Another note, including the number for my newly acquired cell phone, awaited my aunt on the coffee table in case she woke up. I locked up and headed for Kane’s rally.

My street was deserted. I hoped that meant everyone was at the rally. I checked my watch; it had started ten minutes ago. Hurrying through the cool night air, I set off toward the Old South Meeting House. The former church now served as Deadtown’s town hall. The Council of Three held public meetings here, and its steps had been the starting point for several protest marches. Nice symbolism—this same building had launched the Boston Tea Party in 1773.

Smells of smoke and wet ashes hung in the air as my boots clicked along the sidewalk. I passed an abandoned food cart, then another. The third, badly dented, lay on its side, its contents disgorged and trampled beyond recognition. Apparently Deadtown’s zombies hadn’t recovered their collective appetite.

Several yards ahead, a silhouette detached itself from a dark wall and planted itself in the center of the sidewalk. I stopped. Two more figures stepped from a doorway. My hand slipped inside my jacket, fingers closing around my pistol grip. I’d almost left the gun home—it didn’t seem like the best accessory for a unity rally—but I was glad to have it now. My demon mark twitched and warmed.

Around the corner came a Goon squad patrol. Four big zombies, dressed in body armor and carrying evil-looking automatic rifles. The group on the sidewalk turned and strolled past the Goons, like that had been their intention all along. I left my pistol in its holster and zipped my jacket. I nodded to the Goons as I continued on my way, hoping Kane was building some unity at his rally. On Deadtown’s streets, all I’d seen so far tonight was trouble.

THE RALLY HAD DRAWN A GOOD CROWD. AS I JOINED THE fringes, a zombie stepped aside and smiled, waving me closer. The mood here was upbeat, not like on the dark, deserted street. A woman’s amplified voice carried through the night, and I craned toward the platform that had been erected over the steps of the Old South Meeting House. Several chairs had been set up at the side of the stage, and I picked out Kane sitting there. At the microphone stood the current speaker, dressed in a pearl gray suit and black pumps. “It took nearly three years for us to get a school . . .” she was saying, and I realized with a jolt I was looking at Tina.

No Barbie pink. No giant hoop earrings. No sparkly rhinestones. She looked like the zombie version of a young businesswoman making a presentation to the Chamber of Commerce.

I closed my dropped jaw and tuned back in. Tina was contrasting her experience as a high school student before and after the plague—first as a norm girl in Revere, then as a zombie in Deadtown.

“My old school was all about cliques. You belonged to one group, and you didn’t make friends outside of it. There were the popular kids—that was my clique, as I’m sure most of you would guess.” She beamed at the audience. “There were the jocks, the gamers, the drama club kids, the stoners, the overachievers . . . You know what I’m talking about. You probably had similar cliques when you were in school. And everything was all about which group you belonged to. To some of us, that was more important than classes.”

She raised her hand and pointed at herself, nodding, causing a ripple of laughter among listeners.

“Then came the plague. And for those of us caught in it, suddenly there was just one group: the outcasts. Or the losers, or the freaks, or whatever you call people that the rest of the world wishes would go away. Like I said earlier, we waited almost three years even to have a school in Deadtown. When we got one, cliques didn’t seem so important anymore. Hey, we were all outcasts together, so why make life hard for each other? In my school now, I’m friends with kids I never would have spoken to back in Revere. Most of my classmates are zombies, but there are some werewolves, too. Sounds like a really bad horror movie, right?
Deadtown High: Zombies vs. Werewolves
. But you know what? We get along.

“And you know why? Because now we want to learn stuff. Not just from our classes, but from each other. My friend Brendan knows everything about computers, and he’s also teaching me martial arts.” She did a karate move that brought more laughs and scattered applause. “My best friend, Jenna, she’s an awesome negotiator who never met an argument she couldn’t resolve. My other friend Sharon, who’s a werewolf, is into finance and makes these amazing predictions about the stock market. People come to me for fashion tips, which you’d expect”—she twirled to show off her outfit—“but also to learn how to get rid of their personal demons. Because kids have their own demons to wrestle with. And I learned about demons from the best demon slayer in the business, who, by the way, happens to be a shapeshifter.”

My doubts about Tina as demon-slaying expert were squashed by the lump in my throat.

“So, in conclusion, my point is this. Most things about being previously deceased well and truly suck. But for me, there’s been one good thing, and that’s the ability to look past stupid, meaningless differences and come together to support and learn from each other. And if us kids can do that at the DA-1 school, we can all do it.” She looked around, as if expecting applause, but the audience was silent, every face watching her. “So . . . um . . . go, unity!” As she pumped a fist in the air, the applause came, along with cheers and more pumping fists. Tina grinned and clasped her hands above her head, like a prizefighter. Then she skipped to the edge of the stage. Kane, standing, shook her hand, before she went down the steps. Kane went to the microphone to introduce the next speaker.

I skirted the edge of the crowd and caught up with Tina a couple of minutes later. When she saw me, she threw her arms around me in a hug that nearly broke my ribs.

“Nice job,” I said, once I could breathe again. “The audience loved it.”

“Yeah, they did, didn’t they? I practiced, like, a gazillion times. Kane said not to say ‘like’ and ‘you know’ and ‘stuff’ and, you know, other stuff. That was hard. But I think I did okay.”

“You did great.”

“Thanks.” Tina grinned, still riding high on the applause. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go. I’m getting interviewed. It’s just PNN, so it’s not like anyone will watch, but hey, TV is TV.”

“You never know who might see it.” The Paranormal News Network’s largest audience was in Deadtown, but it was available nationwide. “Have fun.”

“I will.” But she didn’t move away. She bit her lip and looked almost shy. “Um, Kane told me your aunt is visiting.”

“That’s right. We picked her up at the airport tonight.”

“Did she . . .” Tina glanced around. “Did she come to my speech?”

“She’s asleep in my apartment.”

“Oh. I guess she must have been tired after flying across the ocean and all.”

“She did have a very long day. We’ll watch for your interview on PNN tomorrow.”

“Awesome. They’ll probably show part of my speech, too.” The shy look returned. “Um, do you think it would be okay if I came over to see her? You know, to say hello and whatever.”

“I’m sure Mab would love to see you. Just call first.”

“Really?” She bounced on her toes, looking more like the Tina I knew. “Cool. Okay, I’ll call tomorrow. Talk to you then.” Another hug, and she disappeared into the meeting house while once again I checked for cracked ribs.

SEVERAL MORE SPEAKERS, ROUSING BURSTS OF MUSIC FROM an all-paranormal brass band between them, took the stage. All of Deadtown’s main paranormal groups were represented: zombies, werewolves, and even vampires, who weren’t normally into things like unity and togetherness. Most moving was Clyde, who’d traded his doorman’s uniform for a cleric’s robe. “I know that many of you lost your faith after the plague,” he said. “Certainly, I’ve struggled with my own. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, I’d like to offer a simple prayer. Even if you don’t believe, I hope you’ll listen to the spirit that moves these words.” By the time he’d finished his quiet, dignified appeal to heal breaches and bring people together, I was wiping tears from my cheeks. The female zombie beside me put an arm around my shoulder. If zombies could cry, there wouldn’t have been a dry eye in the audience.

Then it was Kane’s turn. He praised the speakers and thanked the audience for coming. He described some of the work he’d been doing to secure paranormal rights through lobbying and the courts. “I’m not going to talk about winning this fight,” he said. “Fighting, warfare, battles—those are the wrong metaphors. If we try to fight, we will lose. We will lose in more ways than one. First, we possess neither the weapons nor the numbers to win an actual war. The forces that oppose us would smash our homes, our businesses, take away what little freedom we now have. Even worse, to my way of thinking, is that we would lose our ability to define ourselves. ‘Look at them,’ the powers-that-be would say. ‘They’re monsters. All they understand is violence. We
have
to destroy them—they give us no choice.’”

A couple of shouts came from the back of the crowd. A fight? Hecklers? From where I stood I couldn’t see what was going on. Kane stared in that direction for a moment, then continued.

“What we face is not a fight,” he said, “but it
is
a struggle. Think of the difference. Any thug can pick a fight.”

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” What at first sounded like an echo of Kane’s word turned into a chant. “Fight! Fight! Fight!” The voices came from multiple directions. I heard scuffling behind me and turned around to see a big zombie take a swing at a werewolf who wore a
SECURITY
T-shirt.

Kane raised his voice. “Struggle demands sacrifice. It demands discipline. It demands looking beyond the immediate situation to our long-term goal.”

The security werewolf snarled and launched himself at the zombie. All around, scuffles broke out. Groups of zombies threw themselves at those standing at the edges of the crowd. It looked like a coordinated effort to interrupt Kane’s speech.

The security werewolf and the zombie he was fighting crashed to the ground beside me. A bronze dagger was already in my hand. I didn’t remember unsheathing it, but my burning demon mark urged me to use it.
Now.
Cut up the damn zombie’s face. He wanted a fight? He’d picked the right rally.

Unity, my ass. I’d teach this assclown a lesson.

“STOP!”
A thunderous roar exploded from the platform. It shook the ground and echoed off the buildings. Everyone froze. A thousand pairs of eyes turned to the platform.

Kane stood tall, his face a mask of barely constrained fury. His silver hair shining under the stage lights, he looked like an avenging angel. This was not a werewolf to be messed with. This was strength and power given form.

Kane took advantage of the crowd’s silence. “This is exactly what they expect of us,” he said in a low, deadly voice. “I thought we were coming together tonight for unity. Apparently not. So tell me, if you don’t want unity, what
do
you want?”

He waited. Silence reigned for three, maybe four seconds. Then a voice yelled, “Kill all the bloodbags!”

Kane’s gaze zeroed in on the heckler. “Really? That’s what you want? Because if that’s your goal, you can’t complain when they start dropping bombs on Deadtown.” He gestured, waving his arms around to imitate a fascist dictator on crack. “‘They’re our enemies! Kill them all!’ If that’s the attitude you take, are you surprised when the other side looks at you the same way? The same anger. The same hatred. The same feeling of ‘All our problems would be solved if only those other bastards didn’t exist.’”

Again he waited. This time, the heckler stayed quiet. Kane shifted his stance, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. I put my dagger away, willing the heat in my demon mark to cool. Nobody shook hands and started singing “Kumbaya,” but no one threw a punch, either. A few zombies slunk away from the crowd’s edges.

“Struggle, my friends,” Kane said at last. “Not fighting the norms. And for God’s sake not fighting each other—there’s nothing they’d like more. But struggle. It’s how we’ll make our voice heard. It won’t be easy, but we have to show we’ll never give up. Because our goal—no matter how long it takes—is to be equal participants in society. That’s my vision. But we have to be in it together. Because if you’re not with me . . .” He didn’t seem to know how to finish that sentence. He dropped the microphone, which landed with a
thunk
and squeal, and walked to the edge of the stage.

He hadn’t made it down the first step before the chanting started up again. But this time, the chant wasn’t “Fight! Fight! Fight!” Instead, a thousand voices called out his name.

“Kane! Kane! Kane!”

Even the zombie who’d attacked the security werewolf was chanting it.

“Kane! Kane! Kane!”

Kane stopped, his hand on the railing. He turned back to the crowd.

“Kane! Kane! Kane!”

I added my voice to the chant. We clapped with each repetition. All of Deadtown chanted in one voice, until the word exploded into a tumult of cheering.

By the time Kane took the stage again, his hand on his heart, even from where I stood I could see the tears shining in his eyes.

WHEN I FOUND HIM, KANE WAS ANSWERING A REPORTER’S questions. The moment he saw me, he pushed the microphone away and enfolded me in his arms.

He came home with me. Mab still slept on the sofa; Juliet was nowhere to be seen. We tiptoed down the hallway to my room and closed the door, so softly it made no click.

What we did next was more than lovemaking. It was a uniting, a coming together so profound that every cell of my body confirmed that nothing could ever, ever pull us apart. Not the Night Hag, not the full moon, not the Destroyer’s mark. Not even my own fears. Whatever we’d meant to each other before, we deepened those feelings. Whatever hurts or disappointment we’d inflicted on each other in the past, we erased them. Together, we became something more. Something indestructible. Something that would stand together and face whatever came our way, no matter what that might be.