Hellhound (A Deadtown Novel) (10 page)

I linked my arm in Mab’s and we headed for the exit. Kane followed with the trolley.

The zombie came out of nowhere.

One second we were winding through the crowd, and then people were screaming and scattering as a huge zombie in a Bruins jersey charged straight at us. His bloodred eyes were fixed on Mab; his twitching fingers reached for her throat.

I yanked Mab to the floor and rolled toward the zombie, tripping him and sending him sprawling. Kane leapt onto the guy’s back while he was down. I glanced toward my aunt to make sure she was all right. She was on her knees, working the lock on her weapons trunk.

With a roar, the zombie threw Kane off and climbed to his feet. A series of shots popped from the left, and the zombie staggered back as holes appeared in his torso and the side of his head. Who the hell was shooting? Blackish stuff oozed from the wounds. But the bullets weren’t zombie droppers, because this zombie shook his head and looked around. His eyes locked on Mab. He staggered toward her.

More shots, followed by a woman’s scream.

Twenty yards away, a security guard stood, his legs planted, both arms braced as he aimed his gun.

“Hold your fire!” I yelled. Idiot, shooting in a crowded airport. The bullets only ventilated the zombie, but they’d do a lot more damage to any of the hundreds of norms caught in the panic.

Kane tackled the zombie from behind, and the creature fell again, rolling back and forth as he tried to shake Kane off. Kane punched him, and the zombie stopped moving.

Then, the fallen zombie clutched the sides of his head.

Morfran.

“Kane!” I shouted. “If he starts shaking, take cover.” Damn, I wished I had Hellforged.

Maybe Mab had a weapon in her trunk that could help us. I turned to see if she’d gotten it open.

A second zombie, this one a woman, stood over Mab, choking the life out of her. My aunt’s face was purple. Her eyes bulged like they were about to pop out of their sockets. She clawed at the viselike hands locked around her neck.

“Let go!” I launched myself at the female zombie, who stood rigid and unmoving. I hit her in the throat, but she didn’t flinch.

I went for her eyes, pressing into them with my fingers. No reaction.

Mab gurgled. Her tongue protruded from her bluish lips.

I pulled at the zombie’s hands, trying to pry them away. It was like trying to bend bands of iron.

Frantic, I looked around for the security guard and his gun. The hall was empty.

“Mab,” I sobbed, digging at the zombie’s locked fingers. “I can’t—”

From overhead came a piercing cry, the call of a falcon.

Before I could look up to locate it, a white shape plummeted downward. It slammed into the zombie, knocking her backward. She let go of Mab, who collapsed sideways on the floor. The falcon’s talons were locked into the zombie’s face. She shrieked and hit at the bird.

Mab dragged in a long, shuddering breath.

The female zombie’s shrieks intensified, and the sound changed into a harsh, constant cawing. A dozen dark shapes blasted from her wide-open mouth. Crows. The white falcon was after them like a shot. He chased them, grabbing crows with his beak or his talons and hurling them squawking to the ground. Each lay in a heap of inky feathers, as still and silent as a broken toy.

He was killing them. Dad was killing the Morfran.

Mab rubbed the purple finger marks on her throat. “Are you all right?” I asked. She nodded and pressed a key into my hand. She tried to say something, but her voice was barely a croak. Licking her dry lips, she gestured toward the trunk.

The lock was stiff. As I wiggled the key, trying to make it turn, I realized the cawing had stopped. I scanned the hall. Overhead, I didn’t see the falcon, but neither was there a single crow. To my right, the female zombie lay curled on the floor, clutching her wounded face and moaning. Kane still pinned down the other zombie, who no longer tried to rise. Hands clamped to either side of his head, the male zombie was shuddering in a way I didn’t like.

“Get away!” I yelled to Kane.
“Now!”
In my peripheral vision, I noticed the cautious approach of two airport cops, their guns drawn and shaking. “You, too,” I shouted, waving them away. “Get back!”

The cops turned and ran. Kane stared at me like he couldn’t believe I was telling him to let the zombie go. But when the screaming started, rising in pitch like a demon choir practicing scales, he leapt up and sped toward me. I twisted the key. The lock gave, and the trunk opened. I spun the cart around to shield Mab, and Kane joined us, crouching.

One, maybe two seconds later, the Morfran blew the zombie apart.

Something splatted against the trunk, knocking its cover shut. Black slime spotted the floor around us. Huge crows shot upward in a frenzy of cawing. They circled near the ceiling. The white falcon sped into their midst. As the predator tore into them, caws became shrieks.

I opened the trunk and pawed through the contents. Long swords, a couple of cutlasses, a rapier, a two-handed claymore. Half a dozen daggers. Most were bronze-bladed. Nothing with an obsidian blade like Hellforged, but that would be too much to hope for. Hellforged was one of a kind. “Which weapon, Mab?” I asked, grabbing a random dagger and holding it up.

Mab didn’t even look at me. Her gaze followed the white falcon as he seized and tore the Morfran. “Not a weapon, child.” Her damaged throat could scarcely emit a whisper. I had to lean in close to hear her. “A leather glove. Put it on, and quickly. That’s the falcon from the prophecies.”

I found the glove. The dead body of a crow, its breast torn open, thumped to the ground beside me. Its black eye lost its sheen and dulled into death.

The hell with Dad’s secret. I’d kept it long enough. This new development—that the white falcon could actually
kill
the Morfran—was important. “That falcon is also—”

The falcon landed, perching on the trunk. He stretched out his wings, folded them, and shook his feathers. Then he looked my aunt in the eye.

“Hello, Mab,” the falcon said. “Long time, no see. Welcome to Boston.”

“EVAN?” MAB RASPED.

My aunt is most definitely
not
the fainting type. But her injuries, combined with the look of utter surprise and bewilderment that crossed her face, made me reach to catch her, just in case. She huffed and pushed me away.

Kane stared, mouth open.

Dad turned his falcon’s head and cocked it, as though listening. His rainbow eyes looked into the distance. He spread his wings.

“We’ll talk later. Gotta go. Say hi to Juliet for me, Vic.”

The huge bird launched himself into the air. His wings flapped, carrying him toward the ceiling. The ceiling wavered, like ripples in water. The falcon passed through and disappeared.

Two faces turned to me.

“I guess I owe you both an explanation.” But I had no idea where to start. Instead I gestured at the female zombie who lay on the floor clutching her face and rocking from side to side. “First, though, we need to get her secured. And call Daniel. He needs to know about this.”

The look my aunt gave me made me want to crawl into the trunk and close the lid over me. I glanced at Kane for support, but the hurt in his eyes made me wish I hadn’t. My fingers tightened around the soft, thick leather of the glove I still held.

“Put that away,” Mab whispered. “And lock the trunk.” Her gaze slid sideways. The airport cops approached us, their guns drawn. That must have been what made Dad fly off. I hoped they had somewhere we could hold the female zombie while we waited for Daniel to arrive.

But it wasn’t the cops that worried Mab. Before they got two steps closer, a howling, baying sound filled the terminal. The men froze, glancing around in terror. The noise seemed to surround us, approaching from everywhere at once, until galloping hooves cut through the din. Beside me, Kane caught his breath, then groaned.

The Night Hag was coming.

Inside my shirt, the protection charm grew hot against my skin.

“Victory! The glove!” Mab got some voice into her words, but the effort must have hurt her throat.

I threw the glove into the trunk and slammed the lid. After two desperate jiggles, the key turned, locking it shut.

Two hellhounds bounded into the terminal.

The charm burned my chest. I grasped the chain and pulled it outside my shirt, where it glowed like a miniature sun.

More hounds ran in. The pack skidded to a stop not ten feet away. They crouched and snarled, snapping their teeth. But they didn’t come any closer.

I reached for Kane’s hand. “Are you all right?”

“The moon’s not full yet.” His tone was grim, and there was strain in his voice. Together we stood.

The galloping hooves slowed to a walk, then halted. For a moment, there was silence except for hellhound whimpers and growls. Then, the Night Hag burst through the outside wall. Her horse screamed; flames shot from its nostrils. And there was the hag herself, her hood thrown back to reveal her death’s head skull, an eerie light glowing in its eye sockets.

She’d obviously chosen her moment to make a dramatic entrance. The footsteps of one airport cop echoed as he raced out of the terminal. The other was already gone.

Mab struggled to stand. Kane let go of my hand as he reached down and got one arm around her. Gently, he lifted her to her feet. She leaned on him for a moment, then straightened and stood on her own. His hand found mine again. Together the three of us faced the Night Hag.

From her mount, the hag scanned the terminal. As she turned her head, flesh covered her face and her hair grew long and silky. Her dress filled out, as her shape morphed from skeleton to young woman. But there was no beauty in her youth. Her gaze locked on me, her features twisted in fury.

“Where is he?” she snarled.

“Where’s what?” Hard to sound tough when your voice comes out in a squeak. The charm glowed on my chest, its heat penetrating my shirt.

“My falcon. The one you stole from me.” She pointed an accusing finger, and one of the hounds barked. The others leapt to their feet and joined in, straining forward. I glanced at Kane. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, as though that would block out light and sound both.

“Silence!” roared the hag.

The hounds yelped and dropped to a shivering crouch. Kane flinched, but he opened his eyes. He regarded the hag with a steady gray gaze that must have cost him every ounce of strength and will he could muster.

But the hag fixed her own gaze on me. Her face had changed, sagging into middle-age. Bags pouched under her eyes; her jawline drooped into jowls. The fury remained, however.

I cleared my throat to steady my voice. “The falcon escaped. Don’t blame me if you couldn’t hold on to him.”

“Liar!” The word exploded through the room, and the hounds cried out in pain. Beside me, Kane gasped, then pressed his lips in a tight line. I squeezed his hand, trying to offer reassurance neither of us felt.

The hag now wore the face of a cruel old woman, the kind who stalks through fairy tales and children’s nightmares. “I’ve been tracking that bird. He comes to you. I demand you remove whatever spell you’ve enchanted him with and return him to me.”

“There is no spell. The falcon is free. I handed him over to you as per our bargain. What happened after that isn’t my problem.”

“She’s right, Mallt-y-Nos.” Mab’s voice rang out clear and strong. I looked at her in surprise. Five minutes ago, she’d been crumpled on the floor, barely able to whisper. Now she stood tall and straight, like a warrior queen rallying her troops. “My niece is no witch.” Her brows came together in a frown. “She can’t even boil water with a seething spell. Surely you don’t believe she’s capable of weaving the kind of spell required to bind the white falcon of Hellsmoor.”

Um, thanks, Mab.
It was true, I sucked at spellcraft. But as desiccated skin flaked off the hag’s face, revealing the creepy skull beneath it once more, focusing on my weaknesses didn’t seem like the best way to make her leave.

“You.” Mallt-y-Nos turned her hideous face to Mab. “I should set my hounds on you this moment. It would please Lord Arawn no end if you were driven back into his realm.”

“But you won’t, and we both know why.” Mab’s calm voice thrummed with a deep resonance that echoed off the terminal’s walls. “It is not yet my time.”

“Your time!” shrieked the hag. “It was your time centuries ago!”

“Perhaps. But that time came and went, and here I stand.”

“You cannot cheat Arawn forever,” intoned the bare skull. “You are not immune to harm.”

“Again, perhaps. But that harm will not come from you.”

Moments passed, and the Night Hag’s face returned to youth. She looked like a sulking teenager. Then she threw back her head and let out a scream of rage. Windows shattered. Flames burst from the mouths and ears of her yowling hounds, and Kane staggered backward. My arm met Mab’s as we moved to support him. But Kane stayed on his feet.

“Felt that, didn’t you, hound?” the hag sneered, her beautiful young eyes glinting cruelly.

“The moon isn’t full yet,” he said again, pushing out each syllable through gritted teeth. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “I’m not your hound.”

“So you say. But your body tells you otherwise.” Her silvery laugh rang with menace. “It knows your Mistress. Shall I make you kneel before me, here and now?”

She pointed, and Kane’s whole body went rigid. He clenched his jaw and grunted, trembling with effort.

“On your knees, hound!”

With a gasp, he bent at the waist, as though taking a terrible blow. His knees began to buckle.

“Stop it!” I shouted. I stepped in front of him, hoping to shield him with my protection charm. “Leave him alone!”

The hag made a sweeping motion with her hand, as though batting away a mosquito. There was a loud crack, and the charm blew to pieces.

Behind me, Kane groaned. The sound held bottomless depths of pain.

The Night Hag’s aging face grinned a terrible grin.

Anger flared, and my demon mark glowed crimson.

“Mallt-y-Nos, you abuse your power.” The words came from Mab, but the growing haze of anger around me distorted her voice. It sounded deeper, her Welsh accent stronger, and it echoed through the hall. “Desist, or face the consequences.”

I almost laughed. No matter how impressive Mab’s voice, what made her think the Night Hag would listen to her? There was only one way to deal with this damned spirit.

A tongue of flame leapt up from my demon mark.

I had no intention of waiting around for the Night Hag to agree to play nice. I was going to kill her for what she was doing to Kane. It was so simple. Destroy this horrible creature, and she’d never bother us again. That was the answer. That was
always
the answer. If something gets in your way—kill it.

Hurt it. Crush it. Destroy it.

My demon mark blazed with hellfire. I used its flame like a blowtorch to blast the hinges off Mab’s trunk.

“Victory, don’t!” Mab shouted. Her voice sounded like her own again.

I ignored her and ripped off the lid, then tossed it aside. I seized the hilt of a steel-bladed sword. Steel—perfect. The hag was a spirit, not a demon, and the touch of steel would make her feel unbearable agony.

And feel it she would. Over and over, before I destroyed her.

I laughed.

I hefted the sword, looking forward to feeling her flesh give way as I drove the blade into her body.

But the hag, still atop her huge steed, was too high. All right. First the horse, and then the rider. I aimed for the beast’s massive chest.

“
No
, child!”

I charged.

Something black flew at my face, blinding me. I stumbled, losing my bearings. A sharp pain stung my cheek. Another sliced into my sword arm. The sword was snatched from my hand.

I stopped, confused. My vision cleared. My aunt stood between me and the Night Hag, brandishing the sword.

At
me
?

Rage reddened my vision. All right. If she wanted to fight, we’d see who won. My aunt or not, I’d had enough of the bossy old lady and her Mab-always-knows-best attitude. She needed to get the hell out of my way.

My demon mark spurted a geyser of flame. A flick of my arm, and I’d burn her to ashes. But no. What I really wanted was to beat her at swordplay. I reached into the trunk for a weapon. Another sharp pain bit my arm.

“Jeez, what is
wrong
with you?” The question buzzed close to my ear. “Have some respect for your elders, why don’t you?”

So that was the black shape that had flown into my eyes.

“Get out of my way, Butterfly,” I snarled. “Or you’re next.”

“Okay, sure. Go ahead. Kill your conscience. Then this”—the black butterfly flew through the jet of flame and landed on my demon mark—“will take over completely.” The insect started tap-dancing on the mark, all six legs jumping furiously. It tickled—but it also soothed and cooled. The red haze of anger cleared a little. The flame sputtered and shrank.

And there I stood, reaching for a weapon to do battle with my aunt, one of the people I loved most in the world.

Head hanging, I let my arm fall to my side. Butterfly’s question was a good one: What
was
wrong with me?

The answer, of course, was in the faint red mark where Butterfly was stamping out the last sparks. The Eidolon looked up at me and winked. “Listen to me, kid. I may be a pain in the ass, but I’ll keep us both out of trouble.” Its sharp black wings lifted it into the air, and then it dive-bombed me and disappeared somewhere in my gut.

Oof.
That never felt pleasant.

But it was miles better than what I’d be feeling if I’d attacked Mab.

I raised my eyes to hers. There was forgiveness there, but also a wariness that made me want to curl up in a ball and weep. My aunt didn’t trust me.

The Night Hag cackled.

Behind me, Kane groaned. He lay on his side, panting, his ashen skin slick with sweat. I leaned over him. His eyes flickered open. “I didn’t kneel,” he whispered. “I couldn’t stand, but I didn’t kneel.”

I reached out a hand—my non–demon marked hand—and smoothed back his beautiful silver hair.

“You are mine, hound, whether you will it or no,” the Night Hag said. She was old again, pinched and wrinkled, her voice shrill. “And your precious Victory doesn’t care. She has the means to release you, and yet she refuses.” She cackled evilly. “She would rather see you suffer. And oh, you will. I will make you suffer beyond anything you’ve endured. Your will is strong; it will be my pleasure to break it.”

Kane swiveled his gaze to me, a question in his eyes.

“Has she not told you? Weeks ago, I offered her a bargain. Your freedom in exchange for the falcon.
My
falcon. Clearly, she has made her choice, hound. And she has not chosen you.”

“Leave us, Mallt-y-Nos.” Mab’s voice had again faded to a whisper. She’d fitted the lid back on the trunk and she sat on it now, her shoulders slumped. The steel sword lay on the floor beside her. “You have no business here.”

“Oh, but I have. There is a soul here for me to collect.” She gestured with her chin toward the spot where the male zombie had fallen before the Morfran blasted him apart. Wisps of a bluish mist rose and swirled together. They grew to form a column and began to take on the shape of a man.

“But before I go, I’ll say this: I saw the leather glove in that trunk. The gauntlet. I know its purpose, to call the falcon. If you give it to me, I will honor our bargain. But if you do not—” Her youthful features were anything but innocent. “If you do not, I will obtain it some other way. And then I will have both my falcon
and
my hound.”

She whistled, and the pack of hellhounds sprang to their feet. The horse let out a terrifying whinny as she reared it back. The blue mist of the dead zombie’s soul, now a transparent form the size and shape of his destroyed body, froze. The Night Hag blew her hunting horn. Her hounds barked frantically and charged the zombie’s shade. He screamed—a thin, muffled sound that came from somewhere beyond ordinary hearing—and ran, the hounds at his heels. Mallt-y-Nos dug sharp spurs into the sides of her steed and took off in pursuit. Her hunting horn blared furiously.