“That’s for damn sure,” Butterfly commented. “Listen, I’m going to lie low for a while. Pryce is in a bad mood; the Destroyer is in a worse one. The last thing I need is for them to find common ground in tormenting me. So, with your permission . . .” Butterfly hovered near the ceiling. I knew what was coming, and crossed my arms over my torso. “Or without.” The demon dive-bombed straight into my gut.
Oof.
Butterfly settled down and was quiet. No gnawing or stirring up feelings of guilt. The thing was probably listening to my thoughts, ready to run back to the demon plane with a report. On the other hand, Butterfly was probably right that Pryce and the Destroyer would get a kick out of torturing a personal demon, just because. Right now, it was probably best for both of us if the demon remained where it was.
“But you’d better stay quiet,” I said out loud. “It might be worth sacrificing my kitchen to see Tina make her first demon kill.” I never liked those cabinets, anyway.
IN THE LIVING ROOM, TINA HAD RETURNED THE FURNITURE to its usual arrangement and now sat on the sofa talking with Mab. A quick look around reassured me that the room had survived Tina’s practice session more or less unscathed.
“Tina was telling me,” Mab said, “what she’s been studying at school.”
Several possibilities leapt to mind: Passing Notes 101, Advanced Gossip, Workshop in Napping. But then I remembered what a good job Tina had done with her speech. I looked at her, eyebrows raised.
“Civil disobedience,” Tina said brightly. “At first I thought it was gonna be something dumb, like, you know, being polite.” She sat up extra-straight, chin high, and placed her hand on her chest. “‘Pardon me very much, but I do not believe that I wish to do as you say.’” She leaned back, grinning. “That’s not it at all, though. It’s really interesting, like Thoreau and Gandhi and stuff. People who’ve made the government pay attention by breaking stupid laws, but doing it in a nonviolent, nonthreatening way. So everyone sees how dumb the law is, and the government ends up looking like a big bully.”
I nodded. “Kane would approve.”
“He does. He even came in to talk to us.”
I hadn’t known that. But Kane and I had spent most of the last several weeks keeping our distance.
“Tina recited her speech for me,” Mab said. “I was duly impressed. Between that and the copy of the speech your doorman so kindly sent up, I feel I’ve caught the rally’s highlights.”
Tina squirmed with pleasure. I knew how she felt. Hearing the words “duly impressed” from Mab was like winning the lottery. Yet, something was odd about Tina—something more than the fact that she was showing an interest in school. Then I realized what it was. She wasn’t scarfing down every last bit of food from my kitchen.
“Do you want something to eat?” I asked.
“No, thanks.”
“We’ve got ice cream. The chocolate almond kind you like.”
The black tip of Tina’s tongue darted out as she licked her lips. Then she shook her head.
“Tina is practicing a sort of civil disobedience,” Mab explained.
“Hunger strike.” Tina allowed herself a longing glimpse toward the kitchen, then squared her shoulders. “It’s part of the protest.”
“But . . .” I began. Zombies don’t have to eat to survive. They just love to stuff their faces. It’s one of their few pleasures. “When someone goes on a hunger strike, it’s to show that they’re willing to die over an issue. The person begins to starve, and public sympathy grows. It doesn’t work that way with zombies, so what’s the point?”
“Think about it. Deadtown doesn’t produce any food, but we consume tons. We zombies are a gold mine for norm-owned food corporations. If we refuse to eat, they lose money. Gets their attention.”
She had a point. Still, seeing Tina without a small mountain of food at hand was like seeing the ocean without any water—impossible, by definition.
“Yeah, I was hungry at first. But I’m so mad at the way they’re treating us I’ve pretty much lost my appetite. Well, most of it, anyway. Other zombies say the same thing. Getting mad really wrecks your appetite.”
Funny. Butterfly had said something like that, too, although Eidolons eat emotions instead of experiencing them.
Juliet appeared at the mouth of the hallway, yawning and stretching. Her short, slinky dress was a shade of red so dark it was almost black. With it she wore a pair of black, strappy sandals whose stiletto heels must have added four or five inches to her height. “Good evening,” she said to the room in general.
“Wow,” Tina said. “You look amazing.”
Juliet smiled widely enough to show the tips of her fangs, accepting the compliment as her due.
“Off hunting?” I asked.
“I have a job.”
“You’re joking.” Juliet hadn’t worked a day in at least six centuries.
“You have a job. Why can’t I? As a matter of fact, I happen to be working with the same hunky—and very juicy-looking—human detective that you are.”
My face must have revealed my utter incomprehension, because her smile widened into a leer. “I’m a police consultant, too. And tonight I’m going out with Detective Daniel Looks-Hot-In-Tight-Jeans Costello.”
“Daniel?”
Tina put both hands to her mouth and squealed with delight, like a preteen at a slumber party.
“Hang on,” I said. “What are you talking about?”
“That zombie you interrogated at the airport—Bonita Something-or-other. She indicated that Pryce is working with the Old Ones, yes? And since I’m the only vampire ever to escape the Old Ones’ clutches, Daniel wants me to help locate their cell.”
The Old Ones prey on vampires in much the same way vampires prey on humans. It was true that Juliet had been in their thrall and broken away. The Old Ones communicate telepathically, and during her time with them Juliet had learned to listen in on their conversations. She probably knew more about the Old Ones than anyone.
“We’re going to drive around town, starting with locations they’ve used in the past, so I can listen for any telepathic chatter. It’s going to be a very long night.” She licked her lips as she adjusted the plunging neckline of her dress. “And Daniel and I will be in very close quarters.”
“Juliet, you can’t. This is business, not a date.”
“Since when have I ever hesitated to mix business with pleasure?” She twirled her shiny dark hair around her finger as her eyes appraised me. “Do I detect some lingering interest in the detective?”
“Of course not.” I cursed the crimson heat that rose in my cheeks. “But the man has a girlfriend. They live together. You can’t barge in and help yourself.”
She blinked a couple of times. “Why not?”
“Because—” The phone rang. It was Clyde, announcing that Daniel was waiting for Juliet downstairs. Wow. He was picking her up at our building. I had to meet him past the checkpoints. This almost did look like a date.
She smirked as she sauntered to the door, hips swaying with each step of those impossibly high heels.
“Wait,” I said, “you’d better take a thermos of blood, because I guarantee you won’t get lucky with Daniel.”
One hand on the open door, Juliet turned around and winked. “Don’t wait up.”
“You’re supposed to be doing a job!” The door clicked shut before I got the last word out.
“She is so awesome,” Tina sighed. “I wish zombies could become vampires.”
27
JULIET WASN’T THE ONLY ONE WITH A JOB TO DO THAT night. Gently but firmly, Mab told Tina it was time for her to go. “But it’s early. I want to practice some more,” Tina objected. She stood, but in slow motion.
“You may practice on your own,” Mab said. “Victory and I have another matter we must attend to.”
“Really? What?” Tina’s face darkened as Mab and I exchanged glances. “Oh, come on. One minute you’re training me to fight in some war and th
e next you won’t even tell me what’s going on, like I’m a child. It’s not fair!”
It’s not fair made her sound exactly like a child, but even so she had a point.
“You’re right,” Mab said. “If you’re to be recruited to help us, you should know what we’re facing.”
“I’m right?” Tina quickly covered her astonishment with a grin. “Score one for the zombie.”
“Do you remember what happened at the Paranormal Appreciation Day concert last winter?” I asked.
“Of course.” She did a couple of stiff-legged zombie dance steps. “I almost became a pop star.”
“I mean besides your fifteen minutes of fame.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip, frowning. “You mean those nasty bird thingies?”
I hoped Mab noticed the utter despair in the look I sent her way. “Those ‘bird thingies’ were materialized Morfran.”
“Oh, right. And the Morfran is a spirit of hunger that’s, like, the essence of all demons. It eats zombies. Your cousin set it loose on Deadtown to feed on us to strengthen his demons so they could attack Boston.”
Okay, not bad. Maybe there was some hope for her.
“Those birds went after me,” Tina said to Mab, lifting the hem of her T-shirt to show some places where the Morfran had gouged her midriff. Because zombies don’t heal, the wounds were as raw as the day they’d happened. “But Vicky used her black dagger and imprisoned them. In slate,” she added. “It has to be slate, right? So the Morfran can’t get out.”
“That’s correct,” Mab said. “The Morfran is bound to the slate, unless someone releases it. And releasing it is what we plan to do tonight.”
“Why?” Tina’s eyes widened as she clutched her torso protectively. “Won’t those birds attack Deadtown?”
“That’s what we’re trying to prevent,” I said.
“We won’t let the Morfran attack anyone,” Mab added. “We’ll kill it before it can.”
“You can kill it? Why didn’t you do that before . . . you know, the concert?”
“We’ve only recently discovered how,” Mab said. “So we must act quickly, tonight. It’s our best opportunity to weaken our enemies.”
“Enemies.” Tina rolled the word around on her tongue as though tasting it. “You know, I always thought of enemies as the mean girls who make up rumors and send nasty texts. But you’re talking about guys who, like, want to destroy the world as we know it. You’re saying I’ve got real enemies.” Her forehead wrinkled in thought. Then a grin cracked her pensive expression wide open. “That is so cool.”
MAB SENT TINA OFF WITH A YARDSTICK TO USE AS A PRACTICE SWORD. Tina cast a longing glance at my weapons cabinet, but she didn’t argue. She promised to come back tomorrow night to demonstrate her progress.
As soon as the door closed behind her, I turned to Mab. “Teaching that zombie to fight is a disaster waiting to happen.” In fact, if I were taking bets on Tina’s middle name, I’d give Disaster the best odds.
“You forget, child, that I spent some time with The Book of Utter Darkness as you slept.”
That made me pause. “The book mentioned Tina?”
“Not specifically, no. But it did make a reference to her kind, in the form of one of its riddles. One I hadn’t encountered before: The dead have no choice, and yet they must choose.”
I didn’t ask Mab what she thought it meant. We both knew that trying to interpret the book’s riddles led to misunderstanding. And this one was a doozy. How can you choose when you have no choice? By “no choice,” was the book talking about the Morfran-possessed zombies who were driven to murder against their wills? Or did it simply mean that death removes all options? Kane would talk about how political oppression took away zombies’ ability to choose for themselves. See, that was the problem with the book—its prophecies came true, but you were never quite sure what they meant until after the fact.
“Whatever it may mean,” Mab said, making me feel like she’d read my thoughts, “it seemed to me a good idea to let at least one of ‘the dead’ choose our side. Tina is strong, and she’s eager. She’s also deeply loyal to you.”
“Are we talking about the same Tina?” The Tina I knew had stolen from me. She’d quit being my apprentice when something better came along, then begged to come back when “something better” hadn’t worked out. She’d helped me a few times, too, but the girl was unreliable. Yes, she was strong, but she wasn’t the person I’d want at my back in the thick of battle. Anyway, she’d probably get bored of practicing with the yardstick and quit when lunges made her thighs sore.
“I’ve told you before, child. Do not underestimate that young lady.”
“All right. If you promise not to overestimate her.”
“Fair enough.”
“Mab,” I asked, “did you get anything else from the book today?”
“No, child. After the line about the dead and their choices, the book went silent. So I took that nap you recommended.” She yawned. “I wouldn’t mind another before we begin our night’s work.”
I hoped she’d be spared any dreams like the one I’d had. “Mab, does the phrase ‘There is another way’ mean anything to you?”
“It’s a very broad phrase, to be sure. After all, whatever path one chooses there is always another. Usually many more.” She shook her head. “However, the book has never spoken that particular phrase to me, if that’s what you mean. Why do you ask?”
“Pryce and the Destroyer invaded my dreamscape.” A wave of revulsion shuddered through me at the memory of Pryce in that dream. No need to tell Mab about that part. “They were trying to convince me it was inevitable that I’d join their side. But a voice spoke in my mind. And that’s what it said: ‘There is another way.’”
“Whose voice?”
“I don’t know. It seemed to come from somewhere inside my head, but it wasn’t mine.”
“That sense of doubling is common enough in dreams.”
“True. But it didn’t end with the dream.” I told her what had happened in the kitchen, from the repetition of those words when I glanced at the book to Butterfly’s claim that Difethwr had returned to the demon plane, upset and raging, around the time my dream ended.
Mab stretched out on the sofa. She put her hands behind her head, elbows out, considering. “It’s hard to know what to think. Most likely, the voice came from within your own mind, arising from your subconscious as a defense against the attack on your dreamscape. When you glanced at the book, your subconscious put forth those words again, as a reminder that the horrible visions the book shows you are not inevitable. Of course, there is another possibility . . .” She looked me up and down as though inspecting for flaws.
“What?”
“That Ceridwen awakens within you.”
Not that again. “Mab, I told you: I am not the second coming. So let’s not go there.”
“As you wish.” How did she manage to acquiesce to me while making me feel like she’d won? Her voice shifted back to its usual crisp tone. “Anyway, child, it’s most likely the first option, a reminder from your subconscious that you do have choices.” With that, she turned on her side. “And now I must rest. You, child, should spend some time in meditation. We must be prepared.”
I was dismissed. To be honest, I preferred that Mab—the one I grew up with, the one who confidently announced what would happen next—to the one who bowed her head and called me Lady. This new Mab was someone I didn’t recognize.
DAD WAS ALREADY WAITING FOR US AT THE OLD GRANARY Burying Ground. Perched on a headstone in the moonlight, he looked like a poster for a spooky movie. The falcon’s feathers glowed almost silver in the soft light, reminding me how little time was left before the full moon and Kane’s transformation.
I surveyed the old graveyard. Row upon row of headstones stretched into the darkness. Some of the old stones tilted. Others had split, and the broken-off piece leaned against the portion that still stood. Some of those broken headstones were thanks t
o me, from when I’d slammed the Morfran into the old, fragile stones with too much force. I hated damaging the antique markers, but at the time I’d had no choice.
I could hear distant noises of traffic and sirens, but the cemetery itself was quiet. I opened my senses to the demon plane to see whether we had any company. Pryce undoubtedly knew by now that we could kill the Morfran; he’d probably tortured poor Bonita to learn every last detail of what happened at Logan. He’d be anticipating our project here tonight.
As always, becoming aware of the demon plane made me stagger with revulsion. Through the smoke and stink, I could hear the muffled cawing of thousands of birds, the Morfran trapped in the stones, shrieking with hunger and rage.
I listened, trying to judge. Was there less Morfran now than I’d put here back on Paranormal Appreciation Day? I thought so. Pryce needed Morfran for his experiments on the zombies, and this cemetery was the richest source around. We were lucky he hadn’t released it all.
Returning to the human plane, relieved to purge my nostrils with the sweet scent of recently mown grass, I got ready to do the job I’d come here for.
Dad flapped over and landed on a tree branch. He seemed in a good mood. “I can’t believe I didn’t explain things to Anne sooner. We’ve missed a couple of good weeks because I was such a chicken.”
His feathers puffed out, as though the body he inhabited took offense at his choice of word.
“I’m delighted you’re both happy, Evan,” Mab said. “Are you ready to get to work?”
“I know there’ll be some adjustments,” he went on, ignoring Mab’s question. “But that’s to be expected. I mean, we had our problems before. We didn’t always see eye to eye, what with me being from the north of Wales and her from the south. Our current incompatibilities are a bit more dramatic, I’ll grant that. Still, I’m optimistic we’ll overcome them. It turns out absence really does make the heart grow fonder, at least in our case.”
Hellhound (A Deadtown Novel) Page 23
