Bloodstone d-3

by Nancy Holzner

  “What birds, Norden?”

  “Black birds. Big ones. They live in my head and caw at me. They scratch the inside of my skull. They . . . they tear at my nerves with their beaks.” He shuddered. “When I’m around zombies, the birds scream with hunger. They make me . . . they make me want to eat dead flesh.” I could smell the fear and desperation in his sweat. “And kill. I never killed before, not even on the job. But the birds . . .”

  He shook himself, and I squeezed my eyes shut, expecting a bullet. But he stepped back. He removed the gun from my jaw but kept it pointed at me. He kept the other gun pointed directly at Kane. His voice lowered to its normal range. “You’ve got one gun left, four knives, and that big-ass sword. Put your right hand on top of your head, and use two fingers, left hand, to pull out the other gun. Then throw it behind me.”

  I complied, moving very slowly. I opened to the demon plane. Norden was all beak and wings. Crows dove at his head; others perched on his shoulders, his arms. Beneath it all, Norden’s spirit struggled—shaking, flinching, trying to pull free. His aura radiated pure agony. “Norden,” I said gently. “This isn’t you. You’re a cop, one of the good guys, remember?” Blue—hope—flared in Norden’s aura. It was pale, but there. I kept talking. “Those birds. They’re not part of you. They’re the Morfran. Remember the night of the concert? Remember the crows that attacked Tina?”

  The crows plaguing Norden stepped up their attack. Their shrieking tore at my ears. The thin plume of blue faded from Norden’s aura. I pulled back to the human plane. Norden was bathed with sweat, his eye twitching, but he held both guns steady. “Now the knife strapped to your right leg,” he said.

  “You tried to help Tina. You held the kid when she was hurt. Remember? I made the crows go away then.”

  “I . . . I don’t remember none of that. Other knife.”

  I had to make him remember, give him hope that the Morfran could be defeated. “That night, at the concert, the Morfran got inside you somehow. You were cut up pretty badly. Okay, maybe you don’t remember that, but you’ve got the scars to prove it. Some of the Morfran entered your wounds, got inside you.”

  “Right boot, then the left.” In the demon plane, crows pecked at Norden’s aura, gouging out big chunks. Other crows opened their beaks and poured blackness into the spaces.

  “It’s not you, Norden. We can get the birds out. My aunt—”

  “Shut up! Now the sword. Don’t touch the weapon. Just unbuckle the sheath and let it fall.”

  I fumbled with the buckles one-handed.

  “Faster!” His voice was frantic, high-pitched. “The damn birds are pecking inside my head!”

  “Fight them! You can do it. I can help—”

  “No, you can’t!” he screamed. His aura was completely black. “Nothing makes it stop. Nothing but killing. And I’ll kill this goddamn werewolf right now if you don’t shut up and do what I say!”

  The last buckle let go. The Sword of Saint Michael clattered to the ground.

  The Morfran shrieked in triumph. In the demon plane, I could see nothing at all of Norden—just a flock of crows swarming the place where he stood. I closed to that plane. Norden was right. I couldn’t help him.

  “Both hands on your head now. Kick the sword away.” I did, not as far as I might have. But the distance was too great to dive for the sword and charge Norden. Kane would be dead before I was halfway there.

  “Face that way.” He gestured with his chin, indicating he wanted me to turn my back to him. “And drop to your knees.” The gun he pointed at Kane didn’t waver as he holstered the other gun and pulled out a knife with a long, curved blade.

  I didn’t move. I stood and stared Norden in the eye. I would not die on my knees.

  “Look, Vaughn, it’s nothing personal, okay? I have to.”

  “You don’t.”

  “Yes, I do!” he screamed. His breathing was labored again. “It’s . . . nothing . . . personal. Yeah, I’ve called you a freak . . . but I always thought you’d make . . . an okay partner, ever since . . .”

  “Ever since what, Norden? Ever since the concert? You do remember. Those crows. I got them away from Tina. Remember?”

  “They tore up that kid.” He cocked his head. “That’s what’s inside me?”

  “Let me help—”

  “No, they’re tearing me up. I have to. I have to!”

  The curved blade flashed as it fell from his hand. Norden brought up the gun, jammed it under his own chin, and pulled the trigger.

  31

  BEFORE NORDEN’S BODY HIT THE GROUND, THE GLASS doors of the T station shattered. Myrddin came out, carrying the jar he’d had at the last murder site. Two vampires stood behind him.

  “Kill her,” Myrddin said.

  I lunged for my sword, but I’m no match for a vampire in overdrive. One of the vampires slammed into me, knocking me off my feet. I twisted out of his grasp, rolled, and came up with the silver chain in my hand.

  It was the only weapon Norden had left me.

  I lashed out with the chain like a whip, striking the vampire’s face before he knew what hit him. A ghastly scream rang out as he staggered back, clawing at his cheek. The other vampire stopped and stared. I lashed out again. The chain nicked a chunk of flesh from his neck, and he knew what his friend was screaming about.

  I stood with my back against the subway building, whipping the chain to hold the vampires back. They dodged it, and fear of the silver prevented them from trying to snatch it away from me. But I couldn’t rest for a second, or else one of them would dash in and snap my neck. And I couldn’t get any closer to Myrddin.

  In my peripheral vision, I could see the wizard pick up the curved blade and bend over Norden’s corpse. He slashed at Norden’s chest and then opened the jar. Loud cawing erupted as the Morfran left Norden’s body. Immediately the sound grew muffled; Myrddin was capturing the Morfran, along with whatever remained of Norden’s life force.

  A vampire grabbed for my arm, clawing me. I knocked him back.

  “I can’t wait for you buffoons,” Myrddin called. He stood, holding the jar in both hands. “I must complete the transfer before the life force loses potency. After you’ve killed her, meet me below. I require your assistance.”

  “We could use a little assistance here, wizard. Hit her with a magic bolt; we’ll take care of the rest.”

  “It’s taking all the magic I can summon to keep these spirits contained. The ritual won’t wait. Do as I told you, then come.” He stepped through the shattered door and disappeared down the stairs, into the subway.

  The vampires spread out. The distance between them made it harder for me to use the chain. I had to turn between them, and as I lashed at one there was an extra fraction of a second for the other to move in. A fraction of a second is plenty of time to a fast vampire. One of them got his claws into my throat.

  I grabbed at his hands and struggled for air as he lifted me from the ground. The silver burned him, but he laughed and squeezed tighter.

  There was a pop, like a car backfiring. The vampire’s fingers spasmed, then let go. We both fell to the ground.

  His friend stared, eyes bugged. But only for a moment. A second pop dropped him, too.

  I looked toward the Common. Leaning on the wall he’d fallen behind, holding one of my pistols, was Kane.

  Except it wasn’t Kane, not fully. He was half-changed. Pointed wolf ears sat above a face that looked like Kane’s except for the silver fur that covered it. Coarser fur, matted with dark blood on the left side, covered his human chest and shoulders. He slumped, the gun dangling from his clawed hand.

  I ran over. “The wound,” he said. His voice sounded rough and gravelly. “Where Norden shot me. It’s forcing a change. But the silver—” He winced in pain.

  The silver bullet lodged in his shoulder was interfering with the shift. If the silver didn’t come out, Kane would die, stuck between his two forms.

  I ran past Norden’s body, looking for the wea
pons I’d thrown. A bronze blade gleamed in the streetlight. I snatched it up and went back to Kane.

  “Let me dig it out.” I touched his shoulder. Beneath the fur, his skin was burning up.

  He closed the fingers of his right hand around mine. “I’ll do it. You stop Myrddin.” Gray eyes gazed steadily at me. They were clouded with pain, but they were Kane’s eyes. I’d always seen him there.

  I nodded, not trusting my voice. I kissed his lips—human lips, despite his half-changed form—and gathered up the rest of my weapons.

  I strode back to the fallen vampires. The first was dead, the body already crumbling. Kane had sent a silver bullet straight through his heart. Better make sure he stayed dead—you never knew with vampires. I unsheathed the Sword of Saint Michael and struck off his head with a blow.

  The other vampire moaned. His prone body cringed away by an inch or two. Kane’s bullet hadn’t hit this one as squarely.

  I wrapped the silver chain around the vampire’s neck, pulling it tight, and hauled the creature to his feet. “Let’s go,” I said. “You’re taking me to Myrddin.”

  The vampire let out a strangled cry. He nodded, then cried out again as the silver abraded his undead skin. Keeping one fist wrapped in the chain, I shoved him toward the subway entrance. In my other hand, I brandished the Sword of Saint Michael. I whispered the invocation, and the blade burst into flame. It lit our way as we descended into whatever hell waited below.

  THE VAMPIRE STAGGERED TOWARD THE TUNNEL KANE AND I had explored the other night, the one with the emergency exit.

  I yanked on the chain and shook him. “Stop wasting my time. I know this tunnel is empty. Where did they go?”

  “Hidden,” he croaked. “The entrance is hidden.”

  I didn’t trust this vampire, but I didn’t have a lot of options. Myrddin had fled into this station. He and Pryce were down here somewhere.

  I pushed the vampire, and he stumbled forward.

  We moved swiftly. The tunnel was bright and clean and empty, as it had been the other night. Until we reached the emergency exit. Two vampires emerged from the staircase. Two others came forward from the darkness beyond.

  I jerked my captive vampire to a halt. “You led me into an ambush!” I ripped the chain from his neck and pushed him away. At the same time, I touched him with the flame from my sword. Fire flared and took his body. He lit up like a torch, dancing and jerking in the flames. He staggered toward his friends, who drew back. His screams echoed through the tunnel.

  Vampires burn fast. He collapsed in a pile of charred bones and ashes.

  I swung the sword in front of me. The flames brightened and whooshed with the motion. “Who’s next?”

  The vampires backed away.

  Except for the one who got behind me. I never saw him move. Hands clutched my throat, the grip so tight I couldn’t tell whether he was trying to strangle me or squeeze my head off. I whipped the silver chain behind me and simultaneously kicked back, connecting with his shin.

  His grip loosened, and I followed through with an elbow strike, turning as much as I could to throw my weight behind it. The vampire let go and staggered back, and I stabbed him with the flaming sword. He burned as brightly as the first.

  Two vampires, both females, split and came at me from both sides. I spun to the right, sweeping my sword with the motion. At the same time, I lashed out with the chain to the left. The sword caught one vampire in the side; she howled as she went up in flames. The chain wrapped itself around the other vampire’s calf as she came at me in a roundhouse kick. The kick missed my head but connected with my shoulder, knocking me sideways. As I fell, I tightened my grip on the chain, pulling her off balance. I thrust out my sword to avoid landing on it, and got a lucky hit on the fifth vampire, just as he moved in to attack. He burst into flame but kept coming, impaling himself deeper on my sword, reaching for me.

  I grabbed the hilt in both hands and arced the sword sideways to the ground, forcing him to fall with it. His burning fingers stretched toward me, blackening.

  A metallic clatter sounded to my left. The female vampire had unwrapped the chain from her leg and was hobbling away, into the dark tunnel.

  Pain seared my arm as the burning vampire grabbed it. I hit at his fingers and shook him off. My sleeve smoldered, and I batted out the flames. The vampire’s hand curled into a tight, skeletal fist and dropped away.

  I yanked my sword from the charred body and ran into the tunnel after the escaping female. The silver burn on her leg kept her from going into hyperspeed, but she still moved fast enough that I was afraid I’d lose her. I ran harder, my breath rasping through my bruised throat. I could just see her ahead, in the light cast by my sword.

  She ran-limped to the pile of rusty cans of old provisions piled up against the wall. And then she disappeared.

  Was it a trick? Had she led me to this dead-end, pretending to be injured, and then run off at vampire speed? The Sword of Saint Michael lit up the tunnel. No vampires lurked anywhere that I could see.

  The vampire I’d forced down the stairs said the entrance to the Old Ones’ lair was hidden. This mountain of cans must hide it somehow. Some kind of magical illusion, maybe? I looked closer. I poked at a rusty can with my toe, then kicked it. The can rolled across the tunnel. It was real enough. I kicked at another, and another. Cans went flying. And then I kicked one, and my foot went right through it.

  I tried again. The same thing happened. I stepped forward—just half a careful step—and met no resistance. Shifting the sword to my left hand, I took a deep breath and drew a silverbladed throwing knife. Demon or vampire, I was ready. I walked forward through the illusion, into the Old Ones’ lair.

  THE FIRST THING I SAW WAS A BLACK-ROBED OLD ONE, ARMS wide, coming straight at me. My silver knife sailed through the air and hit him in the throat. The Old One sank to the ground.

  Now I could see the room. It was large, although its low ceiling made it feel cramped, and divided into two sections. To my right, a cluster of Old Ones huddled together. To my left, Myrddin stood in the middle of a setup I recognized from when he’d tried to steal my life force. Pryce lay on a table, tubes entering his body. Before, I’d been on the other end of those tubes. This time, it was the jar in which Myrddin had captured Norden’s life force.

  Myrddin seemed annoyed to see me. “Aren’t you dead yet?” he asked irritably.

  “Not yet.” I pulled my pistol and shot a bronze bullet. Myrddin ducked. But I wasn’t aiming at him. The jar containing Norden’s life force shattered.

  A blue-tinted vapor spiraled upward from the fragments.

  “No!” Myrddin batted the vapor toward Pryce with his hands. But the spiraling stream didn’t waver. It rose up and out of sight.

  Rest in peace, Norden.

  “Bring her here!” Myrddin shouted. “The ritual must be completed tonight. I’ll use her life force to finish it.”

  The knot of Old Ones to my right stirred. Keeping an eye on them, I stuck my gun in my belt and reached down to retrieve the silver throwing knife from the one I’d killed. I touched the ice-cold body; my fingers groped for the knife.

  Pain slashed through my palm.

  The Old One wasn’t dead. He’d pulled the knife from his throat and used it to slice a deep cut into my hand. Now he grasped my wrist and pulled me to my knees.

  I wrenched my arm away. Ignoring the pain, I got my gun in my right hand. It was slippery from the blood. I pressed the gun against his forehead and put a bullet between his eyes. Bronze, but at this range it should do some damage.

  It didn’t. The Old One’s skull spit the bullet back out at me. The hole closed at once. The Old One sneered and knocked the gun from my hand.

  All right. Silver didn’t work, a close-range pistol shot didn’t work. Let’s see how he liked fire.

  I swiped the flaming sword at his neck. Blade cut into flesh, but then it stopped. The Old One’s flesh pushed out the blade. The wound filled itself in.

  The
creature felt the sting of fire, though. It screamed and scooted backward, away from the touch of the flames. Its flesh sizzled and blackened. Unlike the cuts, the burn didn’t heal. It sizzled and bubbled and blistered. The smell of burned, rotten flesh filled the room.

  I waved my sword at the other Old Ones. They cringed and stayed where they were. Then, as if one of their psychic signals had passed among them, they parted like a curtain, taking a few steps to the left or right.

  Behind them, Juliet was pinned to the wall. A dozen silver spikes held her in place: through her neck, her arms, her hands, her torso, her legs. A silver plate covered her mouth, rendering her silent. Her eyes were wide with terror and pain.

  What the hell were they doing to her?

  I roared and charged the Old Ones, slashing my sword. Maybe I couldn’t kill them, but I could make them hurt. You want to be gods? Eat fire, assholes.

  They scattered, and I went to Juliet. Keeping them at bay with my sword, I pulled the spike from her throat.

  An Old One flew at me, and I set its robe on fire. It screamed and dropped to the floor, rolling to put out the flames. I hoped the fire barbecued its yellow hide.

  I removed the spike from Juliet’s left hand. The Old Ones gnashed their fangs at me but stayed back.

  “Victory”—Myrddin’s voice cut across the room—“cannot win.” He giggled at his little pun.

  I looked across the room at him. Mab’s bloodstone dangled from his hand.

  He laid it on the table where the jar had stood. And then he lifted a hammer above it.

  “Do you know what will happen if I smash this bloodstone?”

  “Don’t—”

  “Your aunt’s life force shatters into little pieces, as well. She dies. Instantly.” He tapped the stone lightly with the hammer. Each tap was a blow to my heart. “I think I can gather enough life force from the shards to finish the job with Pryce. Would you like that, to have part of Mab’s soul trapped within my son?”