“Maxine,” Jack said in a quiet voice. “My dear girl. You are still very ill.”
“You knew I was sick.”
“I thought you would have healed by now. The boys—”
“You ran.” I reached for a small bag of M&M’s and tore it open. Dek and Mal finally lifted their heads. “You heard something you didn’t like and got the hell out.”
If part of me expected contrition, I didn’t get it. Jack narrowed his eyes. “There was something I needed to do.”
I kicked a stone into the fire—sparks flew. “I can see you’re hard at work.”
He was silent a moment, watching me. Dek and Mal wanted down, and I set them on the grass. They slithered directly into the fire, curling and twisting inside the heat. Their sighs were loud beneath the crackle of burning dung—a large pile of which was being snacked on by Aaz.
“You asked me to reach out to others of my kind, those who are still my friends,” Jack said finally, in a careful voice. “So I did.”
I held still. “And?”
“And,” he said, very quietly, “they didn’t know anything about an attack on this world, or you and Grant.”
“Bullshit.”
“Maxine. My kind cannot lie to one another. An attack is being planned, but the other Aetar cannot agree amongst themselves on how it should proceed—if at all. You and Grant represent too many unknowns.”
I drew in a deep breath, held it. “Were you the one who told them about us?”
Zee and the boys shifted around me, lifting themselves, but staying close, staring at my grandfather like wolves. Their red eyes glinted, and their skins swallowed what little starlight touched us. I felt my own light swallowed.
“Did you tell the Aetar about us?” I asked him again, my voice little more than a broken whisper.
He didn’t even twitch. I wasn’t sure he heard me. His gaze had gone distant again.
“Jack,” I said, and Zee leapt over me, snarling. He landed badly, his legs collapsing so that he banged his chin into the ground, but that didn’t slow his momentum. In less than a heartbeat: eye to eye with my grandfather.
“Truth,” rasped the little demon. “Truth is owed, Meddling Man.”
Jack blinked, coming back to himself—to us. I would have thought he was going senile if that wasn’t completely impossible. But if something else was the matter, if he’d sold us out, and there was a reason beyond his control, forced against his will . . .
“Of course I told them,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
I stared at him. “I don’t understand. You told the Aetar.”
“I didn’t inform them about your child.” Jack took a long drink from his wine bottle; his hand shook, ever so slightly.
Zee snarled and knocked the bottle away. I wanted to do the same thing, except with his head. Rage welled up, so tight and hard I could have hurled it like a stone. “You betrayed us.”
He gave me a sharp glance, but there was a hint of guilt in his face. “No.”
Zee pushed up hard against me, as did Raw and Aaz—watching him with predatory calm. I said, “You’re the reason we’re in this fucking mess.”
“No,” he said, again. “You are. You and Grant. Your very existence is the reason you are in this situation. That is no one’s fault.”
I closed my eyes, remembering my grandfather’s passionate protectiveness. Always, he had pushed the need for secrecy—even when it had become clear that we’d crossed the line, that it was only a matter of time before the Aetar realized what Grant was—and what I had become.
He was right—our existence had created this situation. But that didn’t excuse the rest. “I need an explanation. Or so help me, Jack, I will do something I regret.”
“Like kill me?” A bitter smile touched his mouth. “Let’s not get dramatic.”
“Wolf,” rasped Zee, in a quiet, warning voice.
A look passed between them—old and full, and secret. Neither Zee nor my grandfather had ever looked at me that way. For all that I was his granddaughter, Jack had a more profound connection to the boys, a shared history I could never understand. Too much murder between them, worlds full of blood, and regret. My ancestors were the afterthought, nothing but checkmate. What had come before us was the long game.
“I only meant to take a look,” Jack said, still staring at Zee. “I’ve been away from my kind for a long time. I was lonely for them.”
“Tough,” I said, and he tore his gaze from the demon to meet mine.
“Yes,” he replied, ignoring my sarcasm, “it was. For eons all we had were each other. And for eons after we found flesh, we still could not be far apart. Aetar share worlds because we find comfort in knowing we are not alone. Even if we despise each other, we still find comfort. Because no one else knows. No one else can imagine what it means to be us. And we are almost as afraid of losing that as we are of losing flesh.”
Jack relaxed into the grass, his shoulders and knees popping. A decaying human body: fit skin for an immortal. “When we imprison our kind, it is torture. We know it is torture. We strip the flesh, we isolate. Imagine the void, my dear. Imagine being trapped there.”
“You’re not in prison.”
“I haven’t lost my flesh, but I am isolated. Ever since Sarai left . . .” He stopped, closing his eyes; for a moment, I saw real loss on his face. “I needed a reminder of what I am. So I used the crystal skull as a conduit for my true form, so that I could reenter the Labyrinth and . . . see . . . how the other Aetar fared on their worlds. Just a look. It was for you, as well. I wanted to know if they were coming here.”
“And they were.”
“They were merely thinking of it,” he said. “They already knew that two Aetar had died on this world and that their Messenger’s bonds had been broken. Something was wrong. They would have found out what, regardless of me.”
“You didn’t have to say anything at all.”
“I didn’t expect to be caught watching them,” he snapped. “Once I was seen, I had to give them something. I had to speak the truth. If I hadn’t, if I’d run . . . I would have risked coming off as a traitor. They already suspected as much.”
“You were afraid they would imprison you.”
Jack said nothing. Zee held still, but I felt his tension; a mirror of my own. He rasped, “Not telling whole truth, Meddling Man.”
Even I could see that. My grandfather was distracted again, as if what he was saying wasn’t that important. He was telling me because he had to, not because it mattered.
Jack gave the demon a dirty look. I said, “All this time, you could have warned us. Why didn’t you say anything, right when I found you?”
“I told you, I thought the Aetar were merely planning an attack. I was as surprised as you to learn they’d already come after your child and Grant. What else was there to warn you about, after that?” He looked away, and muttered, “There are more important concerns.”
“More important than our lives?” I stood, and swayed, hit with dizziness. Zee pressed his claws against my leg, steadying me. My mouth was dry, my skin hot. A remnant of the fever, still in my bones. “Get up. I’m taking you home. We’ll sort it out there.”
I reached out to the old man, but Zee grazed his claws across my hand—a gesture of caution. I glanced down at him, but he was staring at Jack. All the boys were, even Dek and Mal, who slithered from the fire, smoke drifting off their scales.
“Lies,” he rasped again, so softly I could barely hear him; but Jack stared at the demon, stared and stared, and his jaw tightened.
“Lies are lives.” Zee’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Can smell it now. Drank poison to taste the trail, and the trail is strong inside us. Know where it leads. Know who hammered the arrows.”
A profound stillness fell over my grandfather. I studied him, feeling the last of my hope crumble. All that flippancy, that distance, had disappeared from his eyes. And it was chilling.
I tore my gaze from
him to look at Zee—at all the boys, who had gathered around me. My wolves, watching the oldest wolf of all.
He is the hunter who slaughters worlds, the Messenger had said.
I couldn’t bear to hear what else Zee had to say. I was afraid I already knew what it would be. I grabbed my grandfather’s shoulder, and with my other hand reached for the demon. Raw and Aaz wrapped their arms around my knees. Dek and Mal had already begun slithering up my legs. I felt none of their usual strength—weak grips, no grace. But I didn’t give a shit. They were the family I could trust. That mattered more than anything.
“Maxine,” said Jack, but I closed my eyes against him.
Home, I thought, pouring my heart into the armor—pulling myself toward Grant. Home, before something terrible happens.
The void opened: a massive jaw unhinging, taking us into its mouth. I fell into the darkness, but it was the darkness inside me I felt, catching me softly.
Soon, everything will change, it whispered. You, most of all.
I was alone. I could not feel the boys or my grandfather, not my own body, not the child inside me.
No, I said.
It is already done, murmured the darkness, and found myself released into light, right where I’d left: the farmhouse living room, with its air smelling faintly of chocolate and marijuana.
But it wasn’t entirely the same. Because the floor was covered in blood.
And a man was being eaten alive.
CHAPTER 22
I heard the screams before I was fully free of the void. I was still listening to them when I snapped into the light, and the boys pressed hard against my skin—so hard my breath left in a gasp. It didn’t feel right. But not much did, anymore.
I saw Grant first. His eyes were still closed, that long, lean body sunk deep into the old couch cushions. Shurik covered him: like legless, hairless, cats. All of them, hissing. Past him, the Messenger—standing beside Mary, who was sitting up from her nest of blankets, machete in hand. The Mahati warrior crouched nearby, very still and sharp, as if his entire body were a knife about to fall into flesh.
I followed their gazes. I’d already seen what was in front of them, but avoiding it for as long as possible seemed like a good idea. Pregnant woman, psychic trauma, all that shit.
One of the robed men from the desert was sprawled on his back, mostly dead. I knew he was mostly dead because he was surrounded by a teeming, writhing mass of Shurik, all fighting for the chance to burrow into his pale skin. Invasion had already occurred; long bodies rippled beneath his flesh, sliding up his neck. His eyes were open, staring, leaking tears. His mouth still moved, but all I heard was a faint, hoarse gasp.
Beside him was the second man—but he was very much alive. Kneeling, covered in hissing Shurik that clung to his shoulders and wriggled over his waist. His pale, bony face was taut with barely controlled terror.
“They came for the Lightbringer,” said the Messenger quietly, her gaze lingering on Jack. “But the Shurik were fast.”
I felt a terrible burst of love for those little fuckers. “And they left this one alive?”
“For questioning, I presume.”
Good call, I thought. A better one than I might have made. I glanced back at my grandfather, who was staring at the carnage: flat eyes, mouth set in a grim line. “You have anything to say about this?”
He said nothing. Just looked away, first at Grant—and then the crystal skull. I found it on the floor, but the blanket I’d tossed over it had been pulled off. Its surface gleamed; so did its eyes. I looked away, unnerved. Nauseous, too. But I blamed that on being pregnant and smelling so much blood.
“Cover the skull,” I told the Messenger. “Make sure my grandfather doesn’t go near it.”
Jack gave me a sharp look, as did the Messenger. I didn’t wait to see if she did as I asked—instead, I began to wade through the heaving, writhing mass of hissing Shurik that covered the living-room floor. It wasn’t easy—but that had everything to do with me. My entire body balked, joints so stiff I had to use real muscle to unlock them. Tin woman, rusting to a full stop. No pain, though. No fever. This was something else.
The boys.
I knelt, with difficulty, staring at the trembling man who had come to kidnap my husband. We looked at each other too long. Anger and revulsion flicked into his face, replacing the fear. Which was what I wanted.
“Hello,” I said. “My name is Maxine Kiss.”
“Abomination,” he spat.
“That, too.” I smiled, and it felt so cold, cold as my heart when I thought about what these people would do to my husband and daughter if they had the chance.
I reached down—slow, unable to force my joints to relax—and picked up a Shurik. That hard, turgid body twisted in my hand: a seething worm, sharp teeth snapping, grinding, like a fistful of razor blades rubbing together. I gritted my own teeth, revolted, and held the little demon up to the man’s eyes.
He shied away—or tried. Mary appeared behind him. Her face was flush with fever, but she held the man’s shoulder in a sinewy grip that looked strong enough to break bone.
“You are going to talk to me,” I said.
“No.” He stared at the Shurik in my hand, twitching, as other demons began massing in his lap, wriggling beneath his robes. His gaze slid down to his companion: the dead man’s body deflating like a balloon as his bones and muscles were liquefied and consumed. The Shurik were hungry.
“You are going to talk,” I said again. “I want to know the name of the Aetar who sent you. I want to know what they have planned.”
His gaze snapped to mine, defiance trickling past the fear. “You cannot stop us.”
“I turned your friends into ash with just one touch.” I leaned forward, holding his gaze. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.”
I saw him remembering what I’d done, and his physical reaction made me queasy: His lips trembled, as did the delicate skin beneath his eyes—fluttering with his pulse.
“It does not matter,” he said, hoarse. “If we cannot take the Lightbringer or kill your child, we will destroy this world. Even you cannot stop that.”
Behind me, Jack spoke a ringing, melodic word. The man took a sharp, startled breath—flinching so hard he almost toppled sideways. All that defiance vanished, replaced with almost-childlike timidity. The transformation was disturbing.
“Please forgive me,” he whispered, so softly I could barely hear him above the hisses of the Shurik. “I am worthless for not feeling your presence.”
“He is no God,” said the Messenger, almost as quietly. The man didn’t seem to hear her. His head was bowed, shoulders hunched. He might have prostrated himself if I hadn’t been in the way.
“You are worthless,” Jack said, in a dry, professorial voice. “Answer her questions.”
The man shuddered. “The Divine Lord who sent for us had no name. We never were in his presence. We spoke only to his companion, who told us he had made arrangements with our master for our services.”
It was careful wording. “Who was the companion?”
The man finally looked up—at me, then Jack. In his eyes, confusion, uncertainty—like this was some terrible trick, and he was being forced to play the fool.
“It was him,” he said, looking at my grandfather. “It was the Wolf.”
DON’T believe everything you see or hear, my mother once told me. And don’t believe everything you feel, either. Our hearts are the best liars, baby. We know our weaknesses. We know what we want to hear. And those lies are the sweetest of all.
But they’ll kill you, in the end. All those deadly pretty lies.
But not everything could be a lie. I told myself that as I looked at my grandfather, cold on the inside, cold as death, studying his eyes as I’d never studied anyone before.
The expression on his face was dazed—filled with shock, bewilderment. It was difficult for me to imagine it was fake. His eyes were so naked.
“No,” he said, tearing his gaze f
rom the man to look at me. “No, my dear. That is not possible.”
I said nothing. I looked at the Messenger, who was also watching my grandfather. “He believes what he said,” she told me, finally, which was no guarantee at all that any kind of truth had just been told.
“Did you tell this man to attack us?” I asked Jack directly.
“No,” he replied, shaken. “I have never seen him before this moment.”
I looked back at the man, who had bowed his head again. “You’re sure it was the Wolf?”
“Yes,” he whispered, trembling. “The souls of the Divine Lords cannot be confused. Their light is unique, even if their flesh changes.”
“He also speaks the truth,” said the Messenger, unease in her voice.
Someone is playing us, I thought. “After you captured the Lightbringer, what then? Where were you supposed to take him?”
His trembling worsened. “Back into the Labyrinth.”
“Where?” Jack took a step toward him, his expression frightening. “Which gate?”
The man said something in a language I didn’t understand. Jack paled, rocking back on his heels. I stared at him, but instead of seeing my grandfather, that vision of fire flashed through my mind—and with it, a terrible foreboding.
“What is it?” I asked my grandfather, but he wouldn’t look at me. So I turned to the man, and said, “What is that place you would take my husband?”
“A world,” he said, looking at Jack with confused alarm.
“You are young and stupid,” added the Messenger in a tight voice. “That is not just any world. We are not permitted there. No one is. Not even other Aetar.”
I recognized that look in her eye. I’d seen it once before, not so long ago. My feeling of dread worsened. “Let me guess. This has something to do with the Devourer.”
The man’s reaction was almost comical in its violence. I could have stabbed him in the chest with gentler results—and the look he shot me was as if I’d become one part Satan, one part Satan’s clown, with a couple extra horns growing out of my forehead. Like he couldn’t imagine anyone’s being so stupid to even think that name, let alone say it.
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