by Steve McHugh
“He helped me find victims. He helped me dispose of evidence. And he betrays you and your mom like that. I think I’m going to start with his eyes and work my way down, but do you have a preference?”
“He gave evidence to the FBI about you, too; did you know that?” Layla asked.
Caleb nodded. “I don’t begrudge him that. I do begrudge him trying to get you killed.”
“You’re not going to murder him, Dad,” Layla said, taking a seat on the bench.
“No intention of doing so. I do intend to make him scream.”
Peter’s eyes widened, and he thrashed about, showing Layla that his hands and feet were tied with a thin wire that was attached to two metal hooks in the ground.
“Tent pegs?” Layla asked.
“Same principle,” her dad told her. “He keeps pulling, and the wire is going to slice through his skin. I assume he doesn’t want to lose a hand.”
Layla stared at her father for several seconds. “You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
Layla stood and removed her jacket, laying it over the bench, before she did the same with her hoodie, leaving her in a t-shirt. Her forearm gleamed in the light.
“What happened to you?” Caleb asked. His voice was soft and appeared to contain genuine concern.
Layla was surprised at his tone; she hadn’t heard warmth from her father in a long time. “Mom says hi.”
“She cut your arm off?”
Layla raised her arm, moving the fingers on her metal hand. “Yep.”
“All the way to the bicep?”
Layla shook her head. “Forearm. I added the extra metal because it means I can make a few things with it. I tried a number of different styles. The first one freaked everyone out as it looked like a skeleton’s hand. This is more normal-looking.”
“Except it’s made of metal.”
“Except that.” Layla picked up her hoodie and put it back on. “Took me a while to learn to write with it, but I’m getting there. It has most of the function of my normal hand, but it means I have to maintain a constant level of concentration that I originally found hard. It’s getting easier, though. Soon it should be second nature, and I won’t even think about it.”
“So catch up aside, can I assume you’re here to take me in?”
Layla nodded. “You’re going to help us piss off Avalon.”
“And your mother?”
“She’s pissed off all the time, I think,” Layla said, her tone business-like. “She’s not Mom.”
Caleb nodded. “She’s Abaddon’s creation.”
“One way of putting it. Look, Dad, I’d love to sit here and chat with you, but you have a bound and gagged man lying beside you and it’s cold. Let him go, and then we can move on.”
“If I help you, I want you to come see me.”
“If that’s what it takes to get your help, I’ll come see you every week and I’ll bring cake and whiskey.”
“You seem harder than before.”
“My mom cut my arm off, and is a monster created by someone who wants me dead. Oh, and my father is a serial killer who escaped and made me hunt him down again. It’s been a hard few months.”
Caleb shook his head. “Something else. You fully bonded with your spirits, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Is that a conversation to have right now?” Layla looked down at the terrified Peter. “Peter, you’re a piece of shit, but my father is not going to kill you, so please stop making that noise.”
Peter nodded quickly, and the noise stopped.
“Are you going to threaten me?” Caleb asked Layla.
“No. You help me, or you die.” Layla surprised herself with how cold her words sounded. She felt tired and fed up, and was in no mood for her father’s games, but even so, her tone surprised her. “No threat, just facts. We’ll do it with or without you, but with you would be easier, and fewer innocents might die. We have a plan all in place.”
“To kill Abaddon?”
“No, Dad, not to kill Abaddon.”
“But she hurt you. She did unspeakable things. How can you not want her dead?” He asked the question in the same way someone might ask why she didn’t want ice in her drink on a hot day.
“Because I’m an adult,” Layla snapped. “And I have bigger things to worry about than revenge.”
“Revenge is sometimes enough.”
Layla shook her head. “Killing Abaddon will do what? Make me happier for a bit? It won’t remove Avalon, it won’t remove Arthur, but it sure as hell will get innocent people killed. You can seethe and be angry that I’m not going to go on a suicide mission to avenge my arm, but I’m still not going to do it. And Mom went to Abaddon first; she made a deal with the devil and the devil is a crappy boss. Who knew?”
“Her living irks me.”
“Grow up, Dad. You irk me, but I’m not about to slit your throat and be done with it. Abaddon is a problem for later. She was only a problem then because Nergal decided to try to get one over on her. Mom is a whole separate problem, but we’ll get to her when we’ve dealt with Avalon. This world is a mess. Avalon is in charge, and they’re killing innocent people by the thousands. None of the human governments are going to help because they’re already under Avalon’s control. I figure instead of doing the selfish thing and getting killed, I’d try to help a lot more people. And you’re going to help me.” Layla extended one of her metal fingers, turning it into a knife, and cut the wire that was holding Peter in place. “Run, Peter. Run very, very fast.”
Peter didn’t need to be told twice and stumbled away a second later.
“Why are you letting him go?” Caleb demanded, getting to his feet.
“Because he’s an asshole, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to kill him. Besides, a large amount of information will be passed to the news outlets and the FBI about his crimes. Turns out we still have friends there, and frankly Avalon isn’t going to care about whether or not one human gets charged with conspiracy to commit murder. Some DA will take the case because it’ll be a big news day when they parade him out as an accomplice to the All-American Ripper. Who, by the way, has escaped custody and is on the run.”
“But Peter will say you were here. You’re going to let him escape?”
Layla sighed and placed a finger to her ear. “Peter’s on the way.” She looked at her dad. “We’ll make sure he turns himself in.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“Too bad. So are we going, or what?”
“And what if I say no?” Caleb said.
“Then my friend, Mordred, will shoot you. We’ll take you anyway, and everyone will get what they want, except you. And I don’t care what you want at this exact moment in time.”
Caleb held out his hands and Layla detached part of the metal in her arm, turning it into cuffs that she put on her father’s wrists.
“I will get out of your custody eventually, you know that, yes?” Caleb asked. “You’re my daughter and I care for you, so I think it’s fair play that I let you know. I understand that you’re angry with me, but at some point in the future I’m going to have the chance to kill someone who deserves it, and I’m going to take that chance. There’s nothing you can do to stop it happening.”
Layla stared at her father for several seconds before she punched him in the gut, forcing him to his knees, coughing and spluttering. “I can’t kill you. I don’t think I’m emotionally able to, but if you give me enough time and reason, I’m sure I can build up to it.”
“You’re going to rough me up first?”
“Dad, I don’t think you understand. I’m not you. I’m not like you. I’m not going to become you. You can smirk and make accusations about who or what I’m becoming, but even if I’m forced to hunt you down like a rabid animal, I’m never going to become you. You’re going to help me and my friends, and then I’m going to find a deep, dark cell, and I’m going to shove you down there, lock the door, and throw away the key. That’s your future. The only
way you get out of it is to help in every way you can without making me hate you more than I already do.”
Caleb spat onto the grass. “I think I can do that.”
“Good,” Layla said. “Because we have a lot of work to do, and not a lot of time to do it.”
“What does that mean?” Caleb asked as the pair walked back through the graveyard.
“Oh, did I forget to mention? We’re going to another realm to free a lot of our allies and in the process piss off Abaddon more than she is already.”
Layla and Caleb walked through the cemetery to an SUV waiting at the entrance with several armed men and women standing outside it.
“You brought a lot of backup,” Caleb said.
“I figured you deserved it,” Layla told him, opening the rear door. She absorbed the first set of Caleb’s metal cuffs back into her arm and replaced them with a new pair, along with a sorcerer’s band. Then she settled her father into the passenger seat.
Layla closed the door and turned around to find Chloe standing there. “You okay?” she asked.
Layla nodded. “Just glad to finally have him off the street.” She sighed and rubbed her eyes with the fingers on her left hand. “So now we prepare to go to war.”
“We’re already at war,” Chloe said.
“Yes, but now we prepare to start winning,” Mordred said.
“About damn time,” Layla told him.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This will be my ninth published book—tenth if you want to include my novella—and I have no intention of stopping anytime soon. There are a large number of people who help make these books possible, and without their help and support I might not have gotten anywhere near the number of books published that I have.
My wife will always be the first person I thank. She listens to ideas and reads parts of the book I’m unsure about. She allows me the time to sit away in my office without distraction, and every single day I am thankful for her being in my life.
My three daughters are one of the reasons I write. And one day, when they’re old enough, they might actually be able to read what I’ve written.
My parents are some of my biggest cheerleaders, and it’s both awesome and a little weird to see all of my book covers on their living room wall.
To my friends and family. Thank you. For everything.
A huge thank you goes out to my agent, Paul Lucas, who is as great an agent as one could hope to find.
A big thank you to Jenni Smith-Gaynor, who has edited nearly all of my books, and I’d like to think that I’ve become a better writer over the years due to her suggestions and questions.
D.B. Reynolds, Michelle Muto, and a special thank you to everyone who used to be a part of the OWG family. You know who you are, and you’re all awesome.
To everyone who works at 47North, you keep publishing my work and being incredibly supportive and helpful, and I appreciate that a lot. Also, they got me whisky and cake, and that goes a really long way to making me like someone.
To all of my fans and the people who love my work, thank you for enjoying the ramblings in my head. A special thank you to anyone who meets me at conventions and says hi. You people rock.
So, that’s another book finished. And if you’re wondering what’s next, well, I can promise you I’m not done by a long shot.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2013 Sally Beard
Steve McHugh is the author of the popular Hellequin Chronicles. He lives in Southampton, on the south coast of England, with his wife and three young daughters. When not writing or spending time with his kids, he enjoys watching movies, reading books and comics, and playing video games.
