Bloodstone d-3

by Nancy Holzner

  This speech sounded way too much like she was getting ready to say good-bye, to pass her demon-fighting mantle to me. Gently, I released her hand. “I’m not ready to be your successor.”

  “Not yet, it’s true. There is much you need to learn, and I still hope to be the one to teach you. I haven’t given up, child. Not when there’s a chance we can retrieve the bloodstone.” That was good to hear. It sounded more like the Mab I knew. “Still, when one looks back over the past, there are things one feels the need to explain.”

  I thought about the twenty-year-old misunderstanding between her and Gwen, who’d never accept any explanation other than what she’d seen with her own horrified eyes. But nothing like that stood between Mab and me.

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

  “Yes, I do. I want you to understand what’s behind my feud with Myrddin.”

  I hadn’t wanted to tire Mab out with my questions about that. But now she wanted to talk. “Were you Nimuë?”

  She shook her head. “Nimuë was my sister.” Her face looked sadder than I’d ever seen it. “Myrddin killed her.”

  For a long moment, neither of us said anything. Mab’s murky eyes went distant, and she held out a hand, as though reaching across time. I folded my hand around hers, and she turned to me.

  “What happened, Mab?”

  “In that lifetime, I was Viviane.”

  “The Lady of the Lake.” I recalled the white-sleeved arm that rose from my dream-lake to hand me the bloodstone. Mab had taken that form in my dreamscape.

  She nodded. “It was all so long ago. Several lifetimes, and my lives are long. I was a demon fighter and priestess of Ceridwen. Not much different from how you know me, although I was much, much younger.” Her voice softened. “So very young. I was eighteen, Nimuë was all of sixteen. We’d heard rumors of a handsome, mysterious man who lived in the woods. Being silly girls, we went to find him. We wanted an adventure, but there was no challenge to it. Myrddin meant for us to find him.” She glanced at me sidelong. “And handsome he was indeed. His teeth were better then.”

  I could believe that. A millennium or two without dental care would take its toll.

  “Myrddin charmed us. He flattered and entertained us. And he tried to seduce me. You see, what he really wanted was a son.” Demi-demons have a very low rate of reproduction—most of their females are barren, and when they do manage to conceive and carry to term, the death rate for infants is high. Myrddin must have felt he’d have a better chance of success with a Cerddorion female.

  “I resisted. I was a shapeshifter and a demonslayer; I didn’t want to risk having a child. He tried to ensnare me with magic, but I could feel the tendrils of his spell. I refused to see him anymore. I forbade Nimuë from going anywhere near him.” She sighed deeply. “But my sister was sixteen and thought she was in love.”

  “He got Nimuë pregnant.”

  “She trusted him, and he used her, not caring how it might hurt her.” She scowled. “The pregnancy tore her apart from the inside. How she cried from the sheer pain of it. The baby clawed at her, she said; it burned her. I tried to give her herbs that would end the pregnancy, but she wouldn’t take them. She ran away to be with Myrddin, to give him his son. She said she wanted them to be a family.” Her voice caught in a tearless sob. “For weeks, I searched for her.”

  “Did you find her?” I was afraid I already knew the answer.

  “I found her corpse. Myrddin had ripped the child from her womb and left her to bleed to death on the ground.” Mab rocked back and forth, moaning softly, as if she’d just this minute discovered her sister’s mutilated body. But then she straightened. “I vowed to make him pay for what he’d done.”

  Mab lifted her chin, and a defiant pride showed in her face. “I shifted my shape to become the exact image of Nimuë. Not as she died, but as she looked when Myrddin first saw her. In that shape, I entered Myrddin’s dreams. Do you know what happens when a beautiful young girl enters a man’s dreams?” She smiled. “She gets whatever she wants.”

  “So that’s why the legends say Nimuë stole Myrddin’s magic.”

  “Yes, but it was I, in Nimuë’s image. Myrddin gave Nimuë his secrets—and gladly—but it was Viviane who took them. Only one thing did he withhold: the location of his son. Whenever I mentioned the child, Myrddin would remember that Nimuë was dead and banish her image from his dreamscape. I tried entering his dreams in other guises, but it didn’t work. He refused to divulge that secret.”

  “But he taught you the spell you needed?”

  “He did, and I used it.” Again, her eyes looked into the past. “One night, Myrddin slept in his forest under a yew tree. I sent an avatar of Nimuë into his dreams to distract him. As Viviane, I stood beside his sleeping body and wove the binding spell. When the spell was too far advanced to resist, I woke him. I didn’t want that bastard spending eternity in happy dreams of Nimuë; I wanted him to suffer. He saw me, felt the binding spell, knew I’d trapped him—and why. I made certain he knew why. The tree began to absorb him. He struggled, but I told him it was no use. I told him I’d find his demon spawn and kill it. He laughed at me then, said I’d never find the boy. Just before the tree took him, his arm shot out from the trunk. He pointed at me, his face straining forward so he could speak. And Myrddin cursed me.”

  I shuddered. “What was the curse?”

  “That I’d remember. No matter how many lives I lived, I’d remember that one, as vividly as when each moment was new. When he returned to take his revenge, he wanted to be sure I knew why.”

  It was a terrible curse. To experience that trauma, lifetime after lifetime, the pain never dimming. Even if he never returned, Myrddin had taken his revenge.

  “I never did find Pryce,” Mab said. “Not in that lifetime, though I searched far and wide. Myrddin had fostered the boy with a human family. After several years and many rumors, I discovered the family’s name. But when I traveled to them, I learned that Pryce had murdered them all and run away. The boy wasn’t yet ten years old. And so it went for many years. Pryce left a long trail of death and destruction, but I was always a step or two behind him.”

  “So how did we get so lucky to have him in our lives?”

  “Eventually, he found me. He came to Maenllyd, called me ‘auntie,’ and told me he wouldn’t rest until he’d destroyed everything I love—and finally me.”

  I WANTED TO LET MAB REST, BUT SHE INSISTED SHE HAD more to say. “Let me speak now, child, while my memories give me strength. I know how you can kill Myrddin.”

  I sat up and paid attention at that. After what he’d done to Mab, I wanted to kill him three times over—a triple death for real this time.

  “Myrddin is not immortal. We know that.”

  “But he might as well be, the way he can zip in and out of the demon plane.”

  “There is no ‘might as well be’ when it comes to immortality.” She rubbed the withered flesh of her arm. “Think back to last night, child. How did Myrddin react when you shot him?”

  “He shifted to his demon form.”

  “Yes. Why did he not simply exit to the demon plane and return, as he did when he fooled Colwyn with the triple death?”

  I pictured last night’s scene. I remembered firing, the black blood flowing from the wounds, the demon growing. “Because the bullets were bronze?”

  “Precisely. The bronze prevented Myrddin from entering the demon plane in his human form to heal. Before he could slip away into that plane, he had to take on his demon form. Only in that state could he exit to the demon plane and heal his wounds there.”

  “Why?”

  “I believe it’s because of the way he merged those two forms: demon within the human and human within the demon. It’s made his human form vulnerable to bronze in a way other demi-demons are not.”

  I thought about the legend of the triple death. None of those fake deaths—falling, impalement, and drowning—had involved any bronze implements. “S
o I can use bronze to force Myrddin to change to his demon form . . .”

  “And then you can kill the demon, just as you did with Pryce. With his demon half dead, Myrddin will be as mortal as any human.”

  I stood up. “I’ll need the Sword of Saint Michael.” Saint Michael was the enemy of all demons, and the bronze-bladed sword bearing his name, a weapon my family had owned for centuries, would shimmer with celestial flame in battle. It was the surest way to kill a powerful demon. And I couldn’t wait to for Myrddin Wyllt to feel its bite.

  29

  I WANTED TO DO A TRIAL RUN, SLIPPING OUT OF DEADTOWN and getting into position at Boylston Street, before we had to do it for real. The sun had set on Deadtown an hour ago, so the containment order was now in force. We still had several hours left before curfew. Now was the time to give our plan a try.

  I called Tina and asked her to come over and stay with Mab. She let out a whoop of excitement before she cleared her throat and tallied up another favor I owed her, so I didn’t think I was inconveniencing her too much. Then I called Clyde and told him I was expecting her, so he wouldn’t get too apoplectic when she breezed past his desk.

  Next, weapons. To make the trial run as close to the real thing as possible, I needed to arm myself the way I planned to be armed tomorrow night. I unlocked my weapons cabinet and made my selections. I strapped on a double shoulder holster and filled it with pistols: bronze bullets on the right, silver on the left. Two thigh sheaths held daggers: I stuck with the pattern of bronze on the right and silver on the left. I slid a silver throwing knife into each boot. Last, I strapped on a vertical back sheath designed for the Sword of Saint Michael. It held the sword straight up-and-down, the hilt behind my neck. To draw it, I just had to reach back, grab the hilt, and pull the sword up and out in an arc, I practiced a couple of times.

  A knock sounded on the door. “Just a minute!” I called. I took a coat from my closet—the coat was leather and midcalf length, with a hood—and pulled it on. I flipped up the hood to hide the hilt of my sword. Then I answered the door.

  Tina came in, carrying a thermos. “Chicken soup,” she said. “For your aunt. My mom used to make it for me when I got sick.”

  I took the thermos. “Feels kind of light.”

  “I only had a little, to make sure it tasted okay.” I set the thermos on the coffee table as she made a beeline for the kitchen. “Did you get a chance to buy more ice cream? Because—” She stopped and spun on her heel, gawking at me. “What are you wearing?”

  “My coat. I’m taking Killer out again.”

  “No, no, no. You can’t wear that. You look like Little Goth Riding Hood.” She came over, examining me.

  “The coat is fine. I’m going—”

  “Well, at least don’t pull the hood up like that. Here . . .” She yanked on the hood, pulling it down and exposing the hilt of my sword. Her eyes grew wider. “You’re carrying a sword to walk your dog?” Her hand flashed out, and she pulled my coat half off my shoulder. “Oh my God, you are totally armed. Where are you really going? To fight some demons?”

  No need to tell Tina I was sneaking out of Deadtown in violation of the containment order. “Yeah, that’s right. I’ve got a quick demon extermination to take care of. I’ll be back before curfew.”

  I headed for the door. Tina stepped in front of me.

  “What kind? I’ve been studying. Go ahead—quiz me.”

  “Um, Harpies. I don’t have time to quiz you now.” I pulled my hood back up.

  “Harpies, really?” She wrinkled her nose. “Those weapons are, like, total overkill for fighting revenge demons. What are you going to do with that big sword, shish-kebab them?” She lifted the side of my coat. I slapped it back down. And you’re carrying silver, too—what’s that supposed to do against Harpies?”

  What a time for Tina to get all smart about demon fighting.

  “Gotta go,” I said. “Come on, Killer.” I opened the door. Kane, wearing Roxana’s charm, shot out from wherever he’d been hiding and ran to the hall. I was right behind him.

  “You’re taking your dog on a demon extermination? What—?”

  I shut the door on her incredulous face.

  There’s a saying that a little learning is a dangerous thing. But who’d have thought that Tina’s little bit of learning about demons would be so dangerous to my sanity?

  DEADTOWN’S STREETS WERE CROWDED. NOT ONLY HAD every single resident returned to Designated Area 1, they all seemed to be rushing to get groceries and light bulbs and beer and whatever other emergency supplies they thought they’d need before curfew confined them to their homes.

  We pushed through the crowds and made our way to the side street where Kane’s network of secret tunnels began. There were so many people around, I thought I’d never get a chance to pull open the bulkhead door and slip inside. Kane sat on the ground, and I lounged against the wall, trying to look nonchalant. Of course, since everyone else was out running errands, standing still made me stick out as much as a huge boulder in the middle of a rushing stream. Zombies shot curious glances my way as they passed.

  One man stopped in his tracks as he came even with us. He turned his head sharply, nostrils flaring. Uh-oh. Werewolf. And he smelled Kane. A charm wouldn’t disguise his scent to one of his own kind.

  Kane stood, hackles rising with him. He barked sharply. Then he lowered his head and growled.

  The werewolf stepped back. He glanced at me. “Sorry,” he muttered, and hurried away.

  “Nice dominance display,” I told Kane. He sat and thumped his tail. I wished it had been that easy with the werewolf bachelorettes.

  After several more minutes of waiting, the crowd thinned and I saw our chance. I grabbed the handle to the bulkhead door and pulled. And nearly wrenched my back. I pulled again. The door was locked.

  “Is there another way in?”

  Kane shook his head.

  “Okay, let’s try plan B.” Always have a contingency plan.

  I led the way to Deadtown’s northern boundary, where there was a dead spot in the electric fence. What I found was a big, new sign that read: DANGER. HIGH VOLTAGE. DO NOT TOUCH. I didn’t stand around long wondering if the sign was for real. A moth flitted past, attracted by portable floodlights trained on Deadtown from the other side. It bumped the wire, and got zapped into oblivion.

  So much for our contingency plan.

  “THERE MUST BE SOME WAY OUT,” I SAID. WE WERE IN THE bedroom, having a strategy meeting with Mab. Tina was in the kitchen, cleaning up. Again. I could hardly believe it.

  “You could shift,” Mab said. “Become a bird, for example, and fly over the fence. Although there would be several drawbacks.”

  “I’ve thought about those. I couldn’t carry out any weapons, and there’s no telling how long the shift would last.” Not to mention I’d wake up naked in some strange place, perhaps miles away from my goal. My human mind and personality didn’t have much control over whatever animal I shifted to, so if the bird decided it was time to fly up north to its nesting grounds in Nova Scotia, that’s what it would do.

  “What about the man who made my ID? Can he help?”

  “I already called him. He can smuggle documents, but not people. He didn’t have a clue.”

  My shoulders sagged. Kane, lying on the floor, put his head on his paws.

  “Think, child. We must get you past the boundary.”

  The door opened, and Tina stuck her head in. “Is that all you want to do? Get out of Deadtown?”

  “Tina, this is a private conversation,” I said.

  “Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing.”

  “Through a closed door?”

  Mab held up a hand. “Let her speak, Victory. We need all the ideas we can get.”

  Tina came in and sat at the foot of the bed. “I sneak out of Deadtown all the time. It’s easiest in the winter, because then everyone’s all bundled up with hats and scarves and stuff and nobody can even tell you’re a zombie.”
>
  “Are you thinking of that dead spot in the north fence?” I asked. “Because it’s got lots of juice now.”

  “I’ve used that spot, but there are lots of other ways.” She bit her lip and looked at each of us, considering. “Okay, I’m not supposed to tell anybody this, but there’s this club. We sneak out of Deadtown and visit different places in Boston. It’s fun.” Sort of like a zombie version of the urban exploration club Roxana mentioned.

  “Tina, do you know how much trouble you’d be in if you got caught outside of Deadtown without a permit? They’d call in the Removal Squad.” Zombies who got removed were never heard from again. And that was true even when there wasn’t a containment order in place.

  She shrugged. “So we don’t get caught.”

  “And right now it’s too dangerous. They’ve fixed the electric fence. They’ve added police patrols. They’ve even called in the National Guard.” I turned to Mab. “I’ll have to shift. It’s not ideal, but it’s the only way.”

  “It’s not the only way. Some of us are sneaking out tomorrow night.” Tina flipped her hair behind her shoulder. “What? If it’s too easy, it’s no fun.”

  Mab laughed. “That young lady,” she said, shaking a finger at Tina, “reminds me of myself at that age.”

  Tina puffed up like a preening cockatoo.

  “Okay,” I said. “Where are you planning to sneak out? I’ll go take a look now.”

  “I don’t know yet. I haven’t heard from Brendan. He’s the one with all the maps and police information and stuff. He’ll text us tomorrow and tell us when and where to meet.”

  “I don’t like it,” I said to Mab. I didn’t want to be caught with a bunch of teenage zombies trying to sneak out of Deadtown on a lark. And if I had to wait until tomorrow, there would be no chance for a trial run.