Dek and Mal poked their heads from my hair and began humming the theme to Jaws. Lord Ha’an glanced at them and took a slow, careful step away. He couldn’t have been familiar with the movie, but apparently the music of imminent death translated well across the demon-human cultural divide.
I didn’t stop walking toward the corpses. One of the Osul bared its teeth, rolling its eyes at me, white and huge. The demon half lunged, just a feint, a bluff—and a heartbeat later, it was slumping sideways into the grass. For a terrible moment I thought it was dead—but no, its ribs still moved. Punched the hell out, was all.
Soft giggles. A hiss. Raw hopped on top of the unconscious Osul, dragging his claws through its thick silver fur. He’d jammed a Red Sox baseball cap through the spikes of his hair, but it was stained with old dried blood, perhaps from the earlier night’s fight. The other Osul shrank away, ears flat, tails dragging—staring at him with contrition and fear. A toothy grin touched his sharp mouth—all teeth, all black tongue.
I kept walking. It was easy. I’d had years of practice at pretending I was hard. Lord Ha’an caught up with me in one long stride.
“They are very young,” he said, quietly. “Born inside the prison, with no memory of their Kings.”
“They’ll remember now,” I said.
The area where the humans had been murdered was tidier than I expected. Flapjack ribbons of skin were folded in a neat pile, while bones had been set aside—heads carefully detached. I was sure it was the missing kids from the cabin—it made sense the rogue demons would have brought fresh meat home for their clan.
I counted six people. Blood everywhere, blood on my boots, pooled and sticky, and hot. The scent was wild, bitter. Made me dizzy—or maybe that was the boys, slipping in and out of shadows like smoke and wolves. Close, careful. Guarding me.
Aaz approached the dead, slinking low on all fours, nostrils flared. Zee crouched near me, eyes closed to slits, ears pressed flat against his skull.
I watched him, wary. “What?”
He was silent a moment too long, head tilted as though listening. Aaz tore a spike from his spine and used it to poke a flap of human skin, carefully, as if it might resurrect sans bones and muscle, and attack. Dek and Mal hissed to themselves, breath scalding hot against my scalp.
“Do not know,” said the little demon, softly. “Something . . . wrong. Something . . . strange.”
I saw Grant limping across the encampment toward us—let my gaze linger, taking in his gaunt frame, hollow eyes—and turned to Lord Ha’an. “Tell me what happened.”
Lord Ha’an’s broad chest rose and fell against the armor of his thick braids and silver chains. “These humans were brought here and killed. Supposedly, I was told, so that the rest of the clan could share in the spoils. Those responsible tried to escape my punishment. We captured all but one, and she is still missing.”
“Great. And the ones you caught?”
“I ate their hearts.”
I glanced sideways at him. Lord Ha’an noticed and studied me. “Do not tell me I should have offered mercy?”
“No,” I replied, simply. “I was just wondering how you are.”
I felt his gaze on me—intense, searching. I pretended I didn’t notice. “Are you losing control over your people?”
His silence lasted longer this time. “They believe I have failed to protect them. And I have, young Queen. I have. Nor does it help that they see me obeying a human. A human who has done little to earn their obedience. Besides killing them,” he added, after a moment. “You inherited power, yes . . . but what is that?”
“Nothing. I never wanted to be anyone’s Queen.”
“But the mantle falls upon you . . . and for you we sacrifice much. Perhaps we will sacrifice even more if the Aetar must be fought again.” Lord Ha’an looked at his hands, those thin, deadly fingers. “My people hunger for the hunt. That is something I cannot control.”
I thought about what Blood Mama had said. “I won’t let them kill.”
“And yet some of my warriors did just that.” Bitterness touched his voice. “It would have been wiser to allow them a controlled hunt of your world’s undesirables. To sate their desire.”
“Playing God,” I muttered. “No.”
Lord Ha’an gave me a sharp look. “And those of my kind who have been killed because you considered us your enemies?” He leaned close, ignoring the warning hisses coming from my hair. “I can forgive those deaths. But you risk too much, you risk us all, when you ignore your own power. You have a God inside you, young Queen. Respect that. Fear that. I do not know how you have resisted being consumed, but your freedom cannot last.” He looked at the encampment, and in a soft voice added, “I remember the feeling of its power inside our Kings, inside us, as it controlled our hearts.”
“Ha’an.”
“It is not a merciful God,” he whispered, and darkness stirred inside me, deep below my heart. A slow awakening, a fullness that bloomed within my chest and rose into my throat.
There is no mercy in hunger, whispered a sinuous voice, curling around my mind until it rested far behind my eyes. No mercy when you are past the size of dreaming.
I pushed that presence away, pushed hard, ignoring its quiet satisfaction. But the air was suddenly too hot beneath the trees: on my face, in my throat, inside me—burning, suffocating. Lord Ha’an leaned away, watching my face with narrowed eyes. I could smell the fresh human blood surrounding us. I could taste it, the spice in the air—wet and soft, and warm. My mouth watered.
The armor on my right hand flared to life: the heat of it sliced through me like a sword, from crown to belly. I felt that jolt, and flinched, sucking in such a sharp breath it was almost a gasp. My cheeks were hot. I felt naked to the bone.
No, I said to the darkness. I’m not yours.
You have always been mine, it replied. This is our dance, and it is sweet.
The dance is over. But it was like pulling my will from the jaws of a dragon—my soul stretched until it was rubber, until there was no more give—but I kept pulling, hearing myself cry out in pain—
—until I tore free.
Free, and the terrible hunger was gone. I wiped my mouth.
“Young Queen,” Ha’an murmured, bowing his head. I couldn’t look at him. My eyes felt wet. Fear hammered my heart, but I swallowed it down, down where I felt soft laughter—nothing but a vibration against my ribs. The sleeping God, the darkness and its slow coil around my heart. That slow, tightening coil.
I felt Grant near me. I turned and found him standing near the bodies, leaning hard on his cane—knuckles white, face gaunt, eyes too dark as he watched me. He needed a haircut, I thought idly. I needed to run my hands through his hair and hold him close. He was slipping away, right in front of me. Maybe I was, too, in a different way.
I touched my stomach and walked to him. Dek and Mal were quiet, squeezing my ears between their claws until it hurt. Zee watched me from the shadows.
“You okay?” Grant asked, as I reached up to rub the heads of the two little demons coiled around my throat.
“You tell me,” I replied, and the corner of his mouth softened as his gaze flicked over me, reading my aura, my light. His gift, and his curse.
“Still beautiful.” His mouth relaxed into a gentle smile. “Sorry it took me so long. I had to settle my demons. The Shurik were disappointed they missed the fight, and the Yorana were . . . same as usual.”
“Assholes?”
His smile widened. “Divas.”
“Some of them were there when we were attacked. They didn’t lift a finger.”
“I know.” Grant took a deep breath. “They all heard about these dead humans.”
“I bet they wanted some.”
Grant grunted and opened his shirt.
“Fuck,” I said.
A maggot the size of a hot dog clung to my husband’s chest. Several of them, in fact: one on his rib cage, and the other pressed tight to his shoulder. All of them were
the corpse color of zombie white, glistening with a snakelike sheen and pulsing with such violent force I half expected them to launch right off his body.
Dek and Mal extended their heads from my hair and let out a hungry chirp. The maggots immediately went still.
“I’m never having sex with you again,” I said.
“They understand you.”
“Good.” I pointed at his chest. “Are you insane?”
“I’m trying to teach them not to crave human flesh.”
I loved my husband, but I was going to kill him. I hated the Shurik. Their previous lord had been a malevolent, giggling . . . turd . . . and I had killed him with deep and probably disturbing pleasure. I didn’t feel much better about the rest of his people, and I wasn’t a big enough person to find any kind of connection or redeeming value in slugs that burrowed inside living creatures and ate them from the inside out. They certainly weren’t worth more than my husband’s life.
I pointed to the mutilated corpses. “Close your shirt, please, and let’s focus.”
Grant shook his head—still smiling—and covered the pulsating little demons. As he did, he looked down at the mutilated corpses. The smile faded. And then he swayed, so far to the right I thought he might fall.
“Hey,” I said, reaching for him.
“Don’t touch me,” he said, still looking away.
I froze. He managed to straighten, with an effort, and murmured, “Look at them, Maxine.”
I almost didn’t. I wanted to drill holes into his head and find out what the hell was going on with him. But instead I knelt, running my gaze over the corpses. Bones, blood, and skin. Heads. Hands. I saw jewelry. Gold glinted on the left hand of one body.
I blinked, and looked again at the shredded faces of the dead. No real identifying features, but they all had hair. One in particular: long and smoky white, even with blood soaking the ends.
White hair. A wedding ring.
“These people aren’t teenagers,” I said, and wanted to be sick all over again. “They aren’t from the cabin the Mahati massacred.”
“No,” Grant replied, finally looking at me. “I don’t know where they came from. But it’s worse, Maxine. They’ve been tampered with.”
“Tampered,” I repeated.
“They were human once,” he said softly. “Just not when they died.”
CHAPTER 5
PRIORITIES. There was still a lone Mahati on the loose, and I needed to find her before someone else did. Like a cop, or some upstanding citizen armed with a shotgun and supernatural aim. Which pretty much described the entire population of Texas.
I also needed to stop the Aetar from attacking us again. Which seemed pretty much impossible. Not that I hadn’t seen something like this coming. I’d just wanted to pretend we’d have more time. A chance to breathe.
Stupid me.
“Find out what you can,” I said to Grant. If the dead weren’t human, we needed to know in what way because the parts the Mahati hadn’t eaten seemed pretty damn normal to me.
As for who was responsible for transforming a human into something else . . . that was no mystery at all. It made me feel surrounded, hunted—watched.
“I will,” he said, and finally looked at me; but his gaze was tired and drifted down. I found myself touching my stomach and stopped—slowly, as if I might be burned. I’d always been so reckless, but it wasn’t just me now. I had a light to carry. Another light to protect.
“Be careful. You don’t have much time until dawn.” He grazed his fingertips across my cheek. I didn’t know why he hadn’t wanted me to touch him before, but right now I was hungry to close the distance between us. I needed not to feel so alone.
Lord Ha’an knelt to sniff the remains. His long-fingered hands hovered in the air above those decapitated heads, and his nostrils trembled. “I can scent it now, the bitterness in their blood. If I had not been looking for it . . .” He stopped, shook himself, and rose to his full height. The top of his head brushed a tree branch.
“A trap,” he murmured.
I thought so, too, but didn’t want to say it out loud.
I touched Zee’s head, my other hand already closing into a fist, armor oozing white-hot. Raw and Aaz bounded close, hugging my legs. Dek and Mal curled tight around my throat, burying their heads in my hair. My boys, warm around me: family, protectors, friends. Five hearts, connected to mine, bound to each of my ancestors: a line of women who had borne the burden of being hunter and hunted, mother and daughter—lives lost, to time. Just as I would be lost, one day. Lost, except in the memories of the demons at my side.
I looked at Grant one last time, and dread rippled through me. It was just an illusion, it had to be . . . but for a moment his gaze seemed flat, empty as death.
And then the link between us—the very real bond that kept him alive—flared golden hot. Grant flinched, blinking hard—swaying a little. Like watching a man come awake; I could almost see his heart rising to the surface of his eyes, with sadness, and too much pain.
I slammed my armored right hand against my thigh and fell backward into the void.
From Texas into oblivion. Dropping, like Alice into her rabbit hole. Only, there was no Wonderland at the bottom, no bottom at all, just an endless darkness where nothing existed. Not even my own body. Barely my mind. Reduced to some fluttering, desperate flicker. If there was any place that could eat a soul, it was the void between.
Mahati, I thought hard. Now.
The void spit me out.
I staggered, drawing in a deep, wheezing breath. After the void, the sensation of air on my skin felt too raw; the hard surface beneath my feet as solid as mountain rock. I could have been standing on a mountain at the top of the world; the feeling of weightlessness, of just touching down, was the same.
No real mountain. Just a hard, flat sidewalk. It was still night, but barely; in my bones, I could feel the sun, and the horizon held the pale wash of a dangerous light. Too much light: that dim city glow, rising from streetlamps; falling from the electric, rising rush of distant skyscrapers.
Less than thirty minutes until dawn, and I stood on a long street that looked like strip-mall hell. Nothing but parking lots and battered signs, and miles of concrete cut into blocks separated by roads and scrawny bushes. Some cars in the road, but not many. Skyscrapers glittered in the distance, but what caught my eye was a familiar-looking diner just down the road, windows lit.
House of Pies. Practically a landmark in Houston, open all night. I’d been here before, while my mother was still alive. The endless roads and cities, all the violence, always took a breather when we were in a booth, with pie. It was one of the few times I ever saw my mother relax. Which meant I always wanted pie.
I started walking toward the diner. If the lone Mahati was in this area, she’d be close to people. It wouldn’t just be the temptation to hunt—curiosity would pull her in, a need to be near other living creatures. The Mahati had been locked away for ten thousand years in a dimension that made the Gobi desert look like an oasis. Coming to our world was like living your whole life in a mud hut, only to discover Blade Runner outside.
Raw and Aaz prowled through the shadows beneath the parked cars, dragging teddy bears behind them. Zee closed his eyes, tasting the air with his long black tongue.
“Fresh,” he rasped.
“Find her,” I said. “Hold her for me.”
Zee dragged his claws against the concrete, sparks flying. Raw and Aaz bared their teeth in a hot grin and disappeared from sight, taking the bears with them. Zee stayed with me.
I could see inside the diner. This hour, not too many warm bodies in the booths, but there were some men, and two teenage girls. No one was talking. Their gazes were locked on the television hanging from the ceiling in the corner. Even the waitress was watching, clutching the front of her blouse. Her face was so pale.
She was also a demon. Possessed by one, at any rate. I could see the shadow of her aura flickering like a storm above he
r head.
I looked, too, at the television. It was terrible. One image, replayed over and over. My heart died a little.
“Good times end,” Zee whispered, as Dek and Mal hummed the melody to Bon Jovi’s “Story of My Life.”
“I was the idiot,” I told him, as a tremor raced through me: bone-deep, teeth-rattling chills. “Believing they could act against their natures.”
“All at fault.” The little demon touched my hand, and the sadness in his eyes made my heart break again. “Us first. Us, their Kings, who made them.”
Nothing I could say to that. It was true. Demon was a human word, steeped in religion: a mythic depiction that had nothing to do with reality. My demons, those demons living on my land, were not from hell. They were from another world. A collection of worlds that had harbored different species of sentient life. Peaceful worlds. Peaceful people. Where no one ever hunted each other or ate their own flesh to survive.
Until war had come, destroying it all. Those who survived were forced to change. Lives, generations, altered to become killing machines. And the dark entity that had remade them—long ago possessed by Zee and the boys—was now living inside me. Making me an unwilling part of this legacy, in more ways than one.
I looked again at those people in the diner. The news program cut to commercials, and everyone’s shoulders sagged. I imagined my mother in there—both of us—and I could see the booth we’d sat in, years before. When life, as well as the killing, was so much easier.
The possessed waitress tore her gaze from the television and stared through the window—directly at me. Normal human eyes couldn’t see me—too much glare from inside. But demons, especially the parasites, had better instincts. They knew when something was around that wanted to kill them.
I waited for a moment, and the waitress tightened her lips and walked to the counter, out of sight. I kept waiting.
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