Hellhound

Page 19

So Pryce, Myrddin, and Difethwr were working together. That was the bad news. But they hadn’t yet perfected their method for turning zombies into mindless, bloodthirsty, unstoppable killing machines, since the Morfran destroyed any zombie it drove to kill. That was . . . well, not exactly good news, but I’d take it. If Butterfly could give me an address, I might be able to surprise Pryce and stop him before he made any more progress.
A throat cleared. Axel stood in front of me. “You’re out of peanuts,” he said, nodding at the bowl. “Want more?”
I thought of Butterfly, facedown in the bowl, slobbering all over the peanuts. Traces of demon spit still glistened inside.
“No thanks,” I said. “I think I’ve gone off peanuts for a while.” Probably for the rest of my life.
13
THE SUN WAS COMING UP AS I WALKED THROUGH NEAR-DESERTED streets toward home. Hampson’s curfew must be working. I saw plenty of Goons, dressed in riot gear and patrolling in pairs, but not another soul. The Goons watched me go by, but they didn’t bother me. The curfew applied only to zombies, so they had no reason to stop me.
The lobby of my building was also deserted. For the first time I could remember, Clyde wasn’t at the doorman’s desk for his day shift. And for all the times I’d squirmed under his former minister’s gaze, I realized now he still saw himself as a shepherd of sorts, watching over his flock. Clyde looked out for his tenants; he took care of us as best he could. Without him at his post, crossing the marble floor of the lobby felt like trekking across miles of empty, frozen tundra.
Upstairs, I didn’t hear the TV blasting as I unlocked the door. As I stepped inside, the lights were on, but the television was off. “Juliet?” I called, taking off my jacket. “You home?”
“In the kitchen,” she called.
“All right, Vic?” came Dad’s voice from the same room.
I hung up my jacket and put away the Magnum and its holster, then went into the kitchen to join them.
Dad perched on a chair, The Book of Utter Darkness open on the table in front of him. Across the room, the microwave dinged. Juliet took out a plate of cheeseburger sliders and carried it carefully over to Dad. She shut the book and pushed it aside, then set the plate down in its place.
Dad snatched up a slider and gulped it down.
“Rough session with the book?” I asked.
“Not rough so much.” He swallowed another cheeseburger. “But trying to read that damn thing leaves me ravenous. Afterward, the falcon part of me cannot get enough to eat.”
“Did you see anything new?” After the last vision the book had given me, I was almost afraid to ask.
“A little. The smoke was thinner, and I could see more of what was happening on the ground. Lots of fighting.” Had he seen me killing humans? A jolt of anxiety hit as his rainbow eyes regarded me, but there was no way to read Dad’s feelings in the bird’s face. “Now, remember, this is my interpretation of what the falcon perceived. But I’m pretty sure I saw demons slaughtering humans. And fighting alongside the demons—”
“Don’t say it, Dad.” The rush of panic made me talk fast. “I’ve seen it, too. But it doesn’t have to happen that way. Remember, Mab says the book tries to trick us. And in your case, everything gets filtered through the falcon’s perceptions.”
“So you don’t think the zombies will turn against humans and join the demons?”
“Wait. You saw zombies attacking humans?”
“They make awfully impressive soldiers. They’re strong and practically indestructible. Nothing stops them. They keep coming and coming, focused only on killing, like in a horror movie.” He swallowed the last slider. His head swiveled to find Juliet. “Got any more of those?”
“They’re already in the microwave.” She grinned at me. “Who knew I was such a good hostess? Maybe I should give a party.”
Dad’s head swiveled back to me. “So what did you think I saw?”
“Doesn’t matter. But I think I should tell Mab about this right away.”
“Oh, there was a voice mail from her.” The microwave dinged, and Juliet paused to remove another plate of sliders. “Well, not from her but from someone calling on her behalf.”
“Jenkins?”
“Could be. I saved it so you could listen.”
“Thanks.” I picked up the kitchen phone and put in the code to retrieve messages. In a moment, I heard the voice of Jenkins, Mab’s major domo, giving me information about her flight number and when she was due to arrive in Boston. I grabbed a pen and some paper, then played the message again and wrote everything down.
“Mab’s coming to Boston,” I told Dad as I hung up the phone.
“Excellent!” he said. “I’d love to see the old girl. When?”
“Tomorrow evening. Her flight gets into Logan at six thirty.” A thought occurred to me. “If you want a family reunion, you really should tell Mom about . . . you know.” I opened my arms as though they were wings and flapped them a couple of times.
“You’re right. And I’m gearing up to do just that. Won’t be long now.” He looked at the kitchen clock. “Is that really the time? I’ve got to fly to Needham. I do enjoy watching Gwen get the kids off to school in the mornings. Thanks, Juliet, for the chow. See ya, Vic.” The falcon launched himself into the air and disappeared through the kitchen wall. Even though I knew the white falcon had the ability to pass through barriers that held others back, it was always disconcerting to see that.
The microwave dinged.
“I don’t suppose you want these.” Juliet held out a steaming plate of sliders.
“Nope.”
She picked up a mini cheeseburger and nibbled at the edge. “Ugh,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Your father prefers these to rats?” She tilted her wrist, and the sliders slid into the trash. She set down the empty plate and rubbed her hands together. “Anything else you want microwaved? Anything at all. I’m getting quite accomplished at the technique.”
“I’m good, thanks. Microwaved food before bed gives me indigestion.”
She peered into the trash can. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Maybe I’ll have to rethink that party.”
“If you want to host a party, hire out Creature Comforts. Axel could use the business. I expected to see you there tonight, in fact, but the place was practically empty. Where were you?”
“I was there early on. But the norms are keeping their distance from Deadtown these days. I had to go farther afield to hunt.”
“But . . . the Code Red.”
“Please. Any vampire thwarted by the humans’ silly little checkpoints can’t be older than a century or so. We play along when it suits us. The rest of the time . . .” Her eyes glazed, then she smiled. “The rest of the time we are ‘like the fox, / Who, ne’er so tame, so cherish’d and lock’d up, / Will have a wild trick of his ancestors.’”
“Shakespeare?” Juliet was obsessed with Shakespeare. After more than four centuries, she still carried a grudge about the way he’d distorted her life story in Romeo and Juliet. For starters, she complained, the title should have been Juliet. But she’d memorized every one of his plays, and dropped Shakespearean quotes into casual conversation like other people drop brand names.
“Who else? Bonus points if you tell me which play.”
“Not a clue.”
“Henry the Fourth, part one, of course. I know you’ve seen it. I dragged you to a performance at Boston University last year. But I think you’d fallen asleep by this act.”
“What sleep? You elbowed me in the ribs so many times it took a week for the bruises to fade.”
“I had to. Do you have any idea how loudly you snore?” She yawned and did a cat-stretch. “Speaking of sleeping, I think I’ll go and resume the shroud.”
“‘A thousand times good night!’” I said, pleased with myself for remembering a line from Juliet’s own play.
“Um, sure. Whatever,” she said, and left the kitchen.
I went into the living room and called Kane. I expected to leave a message, but he picked up. There was warmth in his voice as he said my name, but also a guarded tone. “Is anything wrong?”
“No, nothing.” Nothing besides the usual, which was everything. But no need to rehash all that now. “I was going to leave a voice mail. I’m sorry if I woke you up.”
“You didn’t. I’m getting ready for work.”
“Did you get any sleep at all?”
“Some. I’ll catch a nap on my office couch this afternoon if I need it. So what was the voice mail about?”
“Mab’s coming to Boston. I’m meeting her plane at six thirty.”
“Tonight?”
I had to stop and think before I replied. Kane was getting ready for his day, but I hadn’t been to bed yet. “Tonight” for him was “tomorrow” for me. “Yes. In about twelve hours.”
“I’ll drive you there.”
“Kane, you don’t have to do that. You said you’re tired. And you’ve got your rally tonight.”
“That’s all under control. I want to, Vicky. I like your aunt. And I want to see you. We only have three days left . . .” His voice trailed off, and my mind finished his sentence. Before the full moon.
“All right.” I wanted to see him, too. I wanted to spend a couple of hours together free of tension and anxiety, without the lengthening shadow of impending terror stretching over us. We arranged to meet at his office at five. We’d grab a quick bite (dinner for him, breakfast for me), and then take his BMW out to the airport in time to meet Mab.
“It’s a date,” he said. As we hung up, I kept thinking how nice, how normal that sounded. And how very far beyond my grasp.
TERMINAL E, LOGAN AIRPORT’S INTERNATIONAL ARRIVALS terminal, was crowded. People packed the area elbow to elbow, watching intently each time the doors opened to reveal newly deplaned passengers, most arrivals looking tired and disoriented as they wheeled out trolleys piled with luggage. Bored kids chased each other, running up and down the lobby or twining through the crowd.