Hellhound

Page 20

Mab’s plane was late. We’d been waiting over an hour, sipping coffee from paper cups and watching the board for updates. Kane made half a dozen phone calls, checking the progress of his assistants in setting up for tonight’s unity rally. He even managed to nap for ten minutes, his head resting on my shoulder, as we sat in hard plastic chairs. Carefully, so as not to wake him, I curved my arm around his shoulders as I watched the evening light fade through the big plate glass windows.
Kane snorted awake and sat up straight. “Is she here yet?”
“The board says her plane landed a couple of minutes ago. It’ll take some time to deplane everyone and get through customs.”
He stood and stretched. “Let’s watch for her, anyway.”
“You don’t want to keep resting?”
He shook his head. “It’d be better to move around a little.”
His hair was ruffled where his head had lain on my shoulder. I stood and smoothed it.
“Thanks,” he said, flashing me a grin. His fingers went to his blue silk tie, making sure it was straight. “Don’t want your aunt to think you’re dating some slob.”
We walked over to join the waiting crowd. Kane stood beside me, close but not quite touching. I twisted to see beyond the people standing in front of me. As I did, my shoulder brushed his side. He put his arm around me and pulled me to him, smiling with a deep-down warmth I hadn’t seen since our return from the Darklands. I smiled back. For a moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the airport—hell, in the whole world—as that warmth flowed between us. It felt so good. This was us, Kane and me, and all the worries and things that stood between us melted away as he bent his head to brush his lips against mine.
“Get a room!” shrieked a high-pitched voice. A boy darted away, giggling.
Kane straightened, but his smile remained. He turned back toward the door.
“Let me know as soon as you see her,” I said. Kane was a head taller than me; he had a better vantage point.
He nodded, the smile still playing around his lips. Maybe, I thought, just maybe we could find our way through this whole hellhound thing.
“There she is,” Kane said, nodding toward the door.
I caught a glimpse of gray hair through the crowd. “Mab!” I shouted, jumping up and down and waving. Strong hands closed around my waist and Kane lifted me up. Mab squinted at the crowd, then her eyes registered that she’d spotted me. A small, tight smile curved her lips (my aunt is not a grinner), and she raised her hand. Kane put me down, and we made our way to a spot along the wall where she waited.
Tiny smile in place, she opened her arms to me, and I ran to give her a hug. She stood stiffly, as always, like she was allowing my hug instead of receiving it. But that was Mab. The bones of her back felt small and fragile, like a bird’s, but there was a strength in her that belied her age. She gave me her customary quick pats on the back—onetwothree—and held me at arm’s length. Her eyes sharp, she inspected me. “You look tired, child. Have you been getting enough sleep?”
I smiled. It was a traditional greeting from my aunt. Other people say, “Hi, how are you?” Mab asks about nightly hours of REM. No surprise there. She’s fought demons long enough to know how it messes up a person’s sleep schedule. “I’m fine. How was your flight?”
“Long. But less traumatic than my previous journey here.” The last time Mab traveled to Boston, she’d made her way physically through the collective unconscious, the region that borders everyone’s dreamscapes. It’s dangerous territory to cross, home to the stuff of nightmares. Better to brave airplane food and lousy in-flight entertainment options.
“Welcome back,” Kane said, stepping forward and extending his hand. “It’s wonderful to see you again.” As Mab shook his hand, he pulled her into a one-armed hug. I smiled to see my aunt’s eyes widen over his shoulder.
“Oh, my,” she breathed, pressing a hand to her chest, when he released her. He flashed his million-watt grin and stepped behind her luggage cart, which was loaded with a large suitcase and an old-fashioned trunk, the kind ladies in floor-sweeping skirts used to pack their tea dresses and ball gowns for ocean crossings. With Mab, though, such a trunk could carry only one thing.
“You brought weapons?”
“That’s what took so long in Customs. Fortunately, I was carrying papers saying they’re bound for an exhibit at the Higgins Armory Museum in . . . er . . .”
“Worcester. It’s a city about an hour west of here.” I’d given a couple of sword fighting demonstrations there. In fact, I’d put the curator in touch with Mab when he expressed interest in one of her swords that I’d mentioned in conversation. She must have had Jenkins give him a call. “Are they? Going to be shown there, I mean?”
“Perhaps one day. But I have use for them first.”
“I don’t know if we can get them into Deadtown,” I said. “The border is pretty tight right now.”
“You can keep them in my office,” Kane said. “It has a secure vault for sensitive papers and things.” Good idea. That would give us a cache of weapons—mine—in Deadtown and another beyond its boundaries.
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.