Labyrinth of Stars (A Hunter Kiss Novel)

by Marjorie M. Liu

  I could breathe again, but my hands shook. All of me, trembling. I resisted the urge to toss the crystal skull over the rail into the grass, and instead I stood, very carefully, and walked back inside the farmhouse. I needed to see my husband. I needed some reminder of what was real. Maybe the monster was just around the corner, but not here—not now.

  Nothing much seemed to have changed. The Messenger had left her chair and stood behind Grant’s head, her fingers pressing into his temples. A low hum shivered through the air. I watched them both, still hungry for reassurance, then went to Mary.

  She had left the kitchen to lie down in a nest of blankets in the middle of the living-room floor. Curled on her side, eyes wide open, staring at the couch. It was disturbing, seeing her so still. Her cheeks were red, feverish. I set the crystal skull beside her, and, in total silence, she pulled it close and hugged it to her stomach. My vision blurred. I was afraid I’d fall into another vision—but no, I told myself, I was just tired.

  I made my way to the empty chair beside the couch and took Grant’s hand. His skin was warm and dry, but not hot. Reassuringly alive—that was his temperature. The Shurik was still on his chest, but its color had improved—from death gray to death paste. That also had to be encouraging, I told myself, and leaned in—staring at the damn thing like it was a measure of my husband’s health.

  Little teeth glistened at me. I bared my teeth in return.

  But that was all I could do. I sat there, body aching, mind racing—gripping my husband’s hand, squeezing his fingers, and lightly scratching his wrist.

  I’d had everything I’d ever wanted, for a brief time. A man who loved me. A home. A family. I still had these things. But there was always an expiration date, wasn’t there? Most people could ignore that, but the cold truth hung in front of me.

  This won’t last, it said. Time is running out.

  “Rest,” said the Messenger, breaking her song, looking at me with those cold, hard eyes. No use pretending that she couldn’t see I was afraid and lost. “An hour will not break the world.”

  “An hour could save us.”

  “No,” she said, still holding my gaze. “It will not.”

  I stared at her, ready to argue. But to what point? She was wrong about time being meaningless. Even a moment could make a difference. But she was right that I needed rest. I hadn’t slept in . . . a while. It scared me to try. Especially now.

  “Tell me about the disease,” I said. “What do you see?”

  She hesitated. “The Lightbringer could not heal the demons of it.”

  “No.”

  Again, she paused, her gaze becoming unfocused as she stared down at my husband. “It is a puzzle, Hunter. A poison that lives, that replicates itself with tremendous speed. It refuses to be killed or purged. All I can do is make him stronger and help his body fight. It will not save him, but it will buy him time.”

  And you? I asked the darkness. What could you do?

  One life already saved, came the slow whisper, followed by a pulse that ran through my body like a second, massive heartbeat. You have nothing else to bargain with.

  I’m asking. I’m begging.

  You prayed, murmured the darkness. You prayed with all the power of your soul for your daughter to be saved, and so your soul was given freely. Pray for this man, but it will never be with the same power as you prayed for your own blood.

  You’re wrong, I said.

  You do not love him as much as you love your child. You do not need him as much as you need her. You know she is protected beneath the shadow of your heart, and so you are reckless . . . but you would let this world die if she was not safe. Every life would crumble to ash to see her live. Including his.

  My breath caught. The Messenger said, “Hunter,” but I couldn’t acknowledge her. A different, devastating dread was rising through me, and it made me want to puke.

  I loved Grant. I loved him with all my heart. He was part of me in ways no one could ever be, and I would do anything to save him.

  But in my heart of hearts, in that secret place where silence was power, the darkness held the truth. I wanted my husband to live. I wanted the demons to survive. I wanted to protect this world. And I would fight for it, with every breath.

  But not my last breath. That was saved for my daughter.

  I felt strange, unbalanced. Needing a distraction, I checked my phone—and straightened. Rex had tried to call, and there was a text from him, too.

  Mongolia, I read. Outside Ölgii. He’s there right now.

  I stood, slowly. My lower stomach ached, but I told myself that was natural, just the baby growing and my body making room. “I know where my grandfather is. I have to go find him.”

  The Messenger’s mouth tightened. “Remember what I told you.”

  “Thanks.” I leaned in, brushing my lips over Grant’s brow. “Keep him safe.”

  “I would not be trying to save his life if I intended to let him die by another’s hands.” The Messenger hesitated. “They should have already tried again to take him. And your daughter.”

  I touched my stomach. “What does it mean that they haven’t?”

  “I do not know. There seems to be little strategy involved. If they had truly been intent on capturing the Lightbringer, it would have been easy to accomplish by now. Sending giants to attack you was ill-advised. His slow death from this disease seems to have been an accident. Even the attack on your daughter appears opportunistic rather than planned. None of that is the Aetar way.” She had never referred to the Aetar by their name; she said the word with difficulty, as if it cut the inside of her mouth.

  “We’ve drawn their attention. You’re evidence of that. We’ve been expecting them to come after us for years.”

  “But not like this. With such . . . sloppiness. Two Aetar died on this world. That is too important for anything but precision.”

  I couldn’t argue with her. I’d had a nagging feeling that something wasn’t right about this situation . . . and she’d just managed to give voice to what was bothering me. “What should they have done?”

  “Captured me first,” she said, without hesitation. “Interrogated me. And then sent an overwhelming force, more of my kind, to take the Lightbringer. During the day, when you are without the power of your demons. Or better, when the two of you are separated by distance. Drug him, remove him from this world. Poison the demon army, then. Wait for your child to be born, and—”

  “I got it,” I interrupted, disturbed. “The Aetar would not have come themselves.”

  “Never. They value their lives too much.” The Messenger’s eyes glittered. “Something is wrong, Hunter.”

  How could things be worse? I wanted to ask her. Instead, I rubbed my stomach and watched the slow rise and fall of my husband’s chest. “If it’s not the Aetar, then who?”

  “There is no one else,” she said. “That is what I do not understand.”

  “If we’re being manipulated . . .” But I stopped, unable to finish that sentence. If we were being manipulated, it still didn’t change the fact that my husband was dying and that we’d set loose a fatal disease on other humans. Something had to be done.

  I backed away. “I’ll return as soon as I can.”

  Uncertainty flickered across the Messenger’s face. “I will do my best here.”

  “What is it?” I asked. “Is there something else?”

  I wasn’t certain she would answer me. But her shoulders stiffened, as did her jaw, and, in a low voice, she said, “Part of me still belongs to them. They made me, Hunter. It is . . . difficult for me to fight against the Divine Lords.”

  It was the closest to vulnerable I’d ever seen her. I didn’t make any typical human overtures—no reaching out, no sympathetic noises. Not that I was very familiar with those, myself. Instead, I looked her dead in the eyes.

  “No one gives two shits that they made you,” I said. “All that matters is what you make of yourself.”

  She frowned at me
. I felt like the worst Hallmark card ever.

  “Just remember they’ll kill you,” I added. “How about that?”

  Her mouth twitched. “They will torture me first. But yes, I see your point.”

  Great. I glanced down at my husband again, feeling useless as shit. Worse, I felt as if I had a monster breathing down my neck. Inside that crystal skull, I’d looked into the eye of Sauron like some little hobbit, and Sauron had looked right back.

  I felt like he was still looking.

  I tossed a blanket over the crystal skull. Mary didn’t seem to notice, staring straight ahead, cheeks flushed, wild hair drooping. I stepped back, right hand clenching into a fist. Quicksilver glimmered across my skin, that mirrored metal etched with a slow-moving tide of tangled coils: roses spiraling, galaxies, or labyrinths. I fixed my mind on my grandfather and Mongolia, on my need for answers. I had to find him. I had to know what was true and the lie.

  One last deep breath. No pain. No smoke in the air. I half expected not to be able to breathe at all—the memory of my burning throat was so strong.

  That’s not going to happen again, I thought.

  You should stop lying to yourself, whispered the darkness, as I fell into the void.

  IT was night where I landed, tumbling into grass beneath a sky filled with stars and a low-hanging crescent moon. The air was cold on my face, and I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the boys to wake up.

  Only, they didn’t.

  Long seconds passed. A full minute. I counted the time in my head, waiting and waiting, growing sick with alarm. The boys tugged on my skin—an uncomfortable, intensifying pressure—but that was all.

  I wanted to puke. I looked straight ahead, dimly taking in the flat grassland that stretched to the horizon. To my right, far away, I saw the prick and flicker of firelight. Just one small fire, not much bigger than a star.

  Jack, I thought.

  And still, Zee and the boys fought to wake. Except now, it hurt.

  Rip off the Band-Aid fast, I’d always said. Slow was worse. Slow was horrific, like being chewed through a wood chipper, inch by inch. Each slice, every break, drawn out to its full potential for agony. I was, literally, being pulled in all directions at once—torn apart in the tiniest of fragments. I gritted my teeth, didn’t make a sound. Screaming would have hurt, too. Screaming would have been worse.

  You are not alone, whispered the darkness.

  As if you care, I spat, with venom and fear and loneliness roaring through me. I’m just the flesh, the flesh you want, and when you get me, I’ll be nothing. So shut the fuck up with the pleasantries.

  I heard another whisper, but no words—I couldn’t hear anything past my screaming skin—but what I felt, what cut through the agony, was a soft bloom inside my chest, like an explosion of ink released by a squid in the dark sea. A cloud filled with tendrils, tendrils filled with night, the night soft and sweet.

  My relief was obscene. I floated, cocooned from the pain. I could feel it, but all that agony was outside myself, a heartbeat away—and that heartbeat was enough.

  You are not just flesh, whispered the darkness, all around me. You are not only the dream.

  Shit, I thought, weary. What am I, then?

  The spell broke. I fell through darkness, back into my skin—just as the boys finally ripped free. It was a straining burst, a pop that exploded every nerve ending with such brilliant, devastating agony, I felt like I had swallowed a lightning bolt.

  If this was what giving birth was like, I was totally fucked.

  I lay on my side, limbs twitching—drooling into the grass. I heard my name, but that was shit. I could see the boys, little lumps in the shadows, but couldn’t move to touch them. No strength. All pain. As if acid, bleach, and fire were being brushed tenderly across my skin.

  Halfhearted hisses and snarls filled the night air. I rolled onto my back, staring at the stars. Even that exhausted me. My hands fell against my stomach and stayed there.

  Baby, I thought. Daughter. Girl. Woman. Me.

  Not me. Better than me. Better life, better heart. And even if that wasn’t the case, then at the very least—a chance. A life of possibilities, all for her. Something more than terror and death, and betrayal.

  I turned my head. Zee was sitting up, and so were Raw and Aaz. All three swaying, digging claws into their heads. Dek and Mal barely had the strength to drape themselves over my neck; I fumbled for them, dragging their bodies close, tucking their bristly heads beneath my chin. Feeling their hot little bodies, hearing their purrs—however weak—was better than any drug. My boys were alive. We’d made it into the night.

  But I still couldn’t move. Too much trauma, and only some of it was physical. I realized, reluctantly, that part of me had been afraid the boys would peel off my body, right into their own coma—like Grant. That everyone I loved, my entire foundation, would be entirely silenced.

  And even though I was relieved that wasn’t the case, that small consolation was fraught with all the fear I’d refused to let myself feel. It rolled over me in a devastating wave, and I hugged Dek and Mal to my chest—so tightly their purrs broke. Zee and the others gathered against my back, solid and warm. We breathed together, held each other together, and if I could have folded them inside me, even deeper inside my heart, I would have. I was so frightened of losing them.

  My pulse slowed from an eardrum-shattering pound to a slower, lighter thud inside my chest.

  “Zee,” I whispered. “You okay?”

  “Sweet Maxine,” he rasped. “Terrible dreams.”

  “You’re sick,” I mumbled. “Hurting.”

  “Yes.” Zee shuddered, closing his eyes. “But that not the dream.”

  Dek made a sharp, keening sound. Raw and Aaz shook, burrowing their heads against me. Zee rocked, claws digging into his round tummy with such ferocity, I thought he might eviscerate himself. I smoothed his spiked hair, desperate to calm him. “What is it?”

  “Fire.” Zee spoke so softly I could barely hear him, but even silent I would have felt his dread. I tried so hard not to think of that presence in the flames, but it had already crawled into me, and the only safe place was the darkness, which caught me so softly in its coils.

  “What was it we saw?” I murmured, afraid of taking comfort in the dark—but more afraid of the fire.

  The little demon shook his head. But the darkness whispered: A glimpse of what is to come, young Queen.

  I swallowed hard and rubbed Zee’s spiny, sharp back. “Come on. We’ll worry about this later.”

  He shot me a quick look—yeah, keep telling yourself that—but straightened up and rolled his little shoulders. “Alive. Staying alive.”

  Raw and Aaz lifted their fists, weakly, in solidarity, while Dek and Mal began humming the Bee Gees song of the same name. Which I guessed meant they weren’t dying. Yet.

  “Will get strong,” Zee added, for extra emphasis though he didn’t sound so sure. Guilt filled me. I couldn’t keep taking for granted that they were invulnerable. Not now. We might all be mortal, for however long this recovery took. I had to be careful for their sakes, as much as mine. I had to be careful for my baby.

  Careful, in preparation for whatever else was coming.

  I tried to move, found myself anchored by demons. So I tilted my head, searching, and found that distant fire.

  “Jack,” I said. Zee lifted his head, nostrils flaring.

  “Meddling Man,” he agreed.

  I was exhausted. I didn’t want to walk, but I was more wary of the armor. Finally learning my lesson, after all. Using it might take me to the edge of Jack’s fire—or perhaps I would land at the farm, or on a mountain in Norway. Might not do anything at all. My legs, at any rate, were something I could count on. If I could just figure out how to stand.

  Zee pulled me to my feet. I grabbed Raw and Aaz, hauling them up behind me. Dek and Mal clung to my shoulders, their purrs breaking into pathetic little coughs. I patted their heads.

  “W
e good?” I asked them, trying to sound strong.

  “Good enough,” Zee rasped, and bounded ahead of me. Not fast, not particularly strong . . . but good enough. That’s all I needed.

  I followed him. Raw and Aaz gathered their strength, dropping in and out of the shadows and using them to skip ahead of us. I trailed them by the glint of their red eyes and the darkness of their bodies, which swallowed what little light came from the stars.

  I hunted the fire, too.

  I saw Jack long before he saw me. Seated in the grass, shoulders slumped, several bottles of wine in front of him—and one in his hand. A big blanket covered his shoulders, tied in a knot at his chest. He was staring at the flames, eyes bloodshot, distant—and he was dirty again, his face even more lined than I remembered. If he’d slept at all since I’d last seen him, I’d be shocked.

  I walked right up, so close I could smell him. He didn’t look up at me, didn’t move a muscle. Absolutely still, staring straight ahead, with a million miles in his eyes. Just like before, with the skull. I followed his gaze, looked at the fire—and memories flooded me. Burning alive, burning in the smoke and heat, opening my eyes and staring at—

  “Jack,” I said.

  My grandfather twitched, but it was like a horse flicking off a fly. Zee prowled around the fire, watching him. He lacked his usual grace, and he swayed a little with each step—but his gaze was sharp, and the spikes of his hair flexed with agitation. Raw and Aaz also appeared, slumping in the grass with ragged sighs; almost panting with the effort of that run. Both of them reached into the shadows and pulled out: soft pretzels and hot dogs; a few bags of M&M’s; and, finally, a teddy bear.

  I crouched beside Jack and hit him in the face with the bear.

  That worked. He flinched, blinking hard, and tore his gaze from the fire to stare at me with confused, startled eyes.

  “Excuse me,” he said, picking bits of fur out of his mouth. “Some respect for your elders is called for.”