Hellforged (11 page)

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Authors: Nancy Holzner

Tags: #Fantasy, #Contemporary, #Fiction, #General, #Demonology

BOOK: Hellforged
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“Evening.” I took a mug from the cupboard. Inhaling the fragrant steam as I filled it with coffee, I felt almost normal.
Juliet looked up from the paper she was reading—
News of the Dead
, a real tabloid rag but the only newspaper specifically for the paranormal community—and smiled a closed-lipped vampire smile. She went back to the paper.
“So, um, what was going on here today?” I asked.
“Oh, did I wake you when I came in? I tried to be quiet.”
I stared at her.
Juliet, normally imperturbable, fidgeted, cleared her throat, and took a sip of coffee. She picked up her paper and put it down again. “All right. So I usually don’t come in after dawn. But thanks to those Goons, I got thrown off my stride last night. It took me ages to find a meal. We went back to his place, and by the time I left the sun was already rising.”
“Juliet, this isn’t about whatever time you got home. What were you doing in the living room? What were those creatures?”
She took another sip of coffee, her eyes boring into mine over the rim of her cup. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I nearly choked on my coffee. Vampires aren’t exactly famous for their honesty, but I couldn’t believe she was lying to me. “Are you
kidding
? You were chanting with a bunch of skeletons with industrial-sized choppers. I got attacked in my own hallway, for God’s sake.”
Juliet gave me a long, level look. “You must have been dreaming.”
I opened my mouth to deny it, to remind Juliet I never dreamed unless I wanted to. But then I remembered the Destroyer. Two dreams in a single day? Yesterday, I’d have said it was impossible. Today, I wasn’t so sure. I’d woken up in my own bed, with a fast-fading headache and no sign of injury. All Cerddorion are fast healers, so it was hard to know whether I’d really been knocked on the head.
But I’d been unconscious, not asleep. Hadn’t I?
Juliet flipped a page in the
News of the Dead
. She wasn’t giving anything away.
My need to talk to Aunt Mab was growing more urgent by the minute. Damn it, why didn’t she have a real phone? It would take too long to call the village pub and ask them to send her a message. And I couldn’t use the dream phone now. I had to meet Tina in less than an hour.
Juliet studied her paper intently. Maybe she wasn’t lying. Maybe I
had
dreamed the whole thing.
If Mab couldn’t tell me how to regain control of my dreams, I didn’t know what I’d do.
 
AS I ENTERED THE LOBBY OF TINA’S GROUP HOME, MUSIC blasted from the lounge. The zombie house mother, who sat reading a romance novel behind the reception desk, seemed oblivious. She regarded me over her reading glasses, smoothed a strand of gray hair that had escaped her bun, and smiled absently. “Tina’s in the lounge, dear.” She licked her thumb and turned the page, then reached for an apple from the bowl by her right elbow. The bowl by her left elbow held half a dozen cores.
The music got louder as I went down the short hallway. By the time I turned left into the lounge, it was rattling my teeth.
Tina stood in the middle of the room, holding a hairbrush like a microphone and screaming into it as she wiggled her hips. Even by Tina’s standards, today’s fashion choices were over the top. Along with her tight, tiny black miniskirt and gold halter top, she wore hoop earrings that would come in handy if someone wanted to play a pickup game of basketball. Her hair was teased halfway to the ceiling.
From the speakers, a voice snarled, “Grave robber …” and Tina wailed, “Oooooooo.” The singer shrieked, “Stay outta my grave!” and Tina echoed the words with a shriek of her own: “Outta my graaaave!” I don’t know much about music, but to my abused ears it sounded like she’d invented her own key.
I crossed the room and twisted the stereo’s volume dial to zero. Tina’s off-pitch howling filled the room, then stopped abruptly. She spun and scowled at me.
“What’d you do that for? I was practicing.”
“We’ve got a lesson, remember?” I shrugged out of my jacket and sat in my usual chair. We were finishing Russom’s chapter on water demons tonight, and I had a good story about merpeople in Boston Harbor I’d tell her if the lesson went well. I draped my jacket over the chair’s arm and pulled out a notebook, then turned its pages until I found the one I wanted. “Okay, so what can you tell me about Shabiri?”
Tina tossed the hairbrush on the coffee table, but she didn’t sit down or look at me. “About what?”
“Shabiri.”
“Um. Some kind of water demon?”
“Yeah. Like all the demons in chapter seventeen. What else?”
She chewed a hangnail and didn’t answer.
“I’ll give you a hint: The name means ‘dazzling glare.’ Now, what’s their habitat, and what effect do they have on humans?” She remained more interested in her nails than our conversation, so I answered the questions myself. “They sit on open water, and they strike humans with blindness. Does that ring a bell yet?”
She lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “Sure, whatever.”
Okay. I knew she was excited about the Monster Paul audition. Usually, she stayed on top of the reading. Maybe I could cut her a break tonight. In all my years of training, Aunt Mab had never once done that for me, but there were times I would’ve appreciated it. “If you didn’t get through all the reading, let’s just go over what you did study. Where do you want to start?”
Tina sat on the sofa and leaned toward me. “Vicky, I’ve been thinking.”
Tina? Thinking?
Uh-oh.
I raised an eyebrow and waited.
“This chance to sing with Monster Paul could be my big break. I mean, fighting demons is cool and all, but you know what the best part was? Being on TV after the Halloween parade. Having people come up to me like I was a celebrity. Some even asked for my autograph.”
“Tina, there’s more—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’ve only said it like a hundred times. ‘There’s more to demon fighting than glory. It takes study and hard work and blah blah blah.’ And I get it, honest. But see, if Monster Paul picks me, I can have what I want
now
. I mean, I know I’ll have to rehearse and all, but that’ll be easy compared to learning about demons. It won’t take seven years. We’ll be on the road in a month.” Her red eyes widened. “On the road. Doesn’t that sound, like, amazing? I’ve never been out of Massachusetts. The farthest my family ever traveled was, like, Cape Cod for vacation.” She spun a finger in the air to show how little she thought of that. “Monster Paul travels all over the country to give concerts. He even gets to perform in no-rights states. And there’s this rumor he’ll do a world tour next year.”
“So you’re telling me you don’t want to be my apprentice anymore.” The pang I felt surprised me. Three months ago, I would’ve jumped for joy.
“I didn’t say that. What I was thinking was that fighting demons could be, like, my safety career.”
“Your safety career.”
“You know, like a Plan B. Something to fall back on if I get tired of traveling the world and being rich and famous and stuff.”
“It doesn’t work that way. Either you’re committed or—” I didn’t get to finish the sentence, because Jenna ran into the room. Her outfit matched Tina’s, but because Jenna was on the pudgy side, rolls of green flesh bulged out in places where they shouldn’t.
“Tina, we’ve gotta go!” she said. “Brendan just texted me and said the line is already three blocks long. He’s saving us a place, but—Oh, hi, Vicky. Are you trying out, too?”
I shook my head. “I can’t carry a tune.”
Jenna snorted. “Like that matters.” She snapped her gum, then tugged on Tina’s arm. “Come
on
.”
Tina got up and followed her friend but turned around in the doorway. “Are you mad?”
I shook my head. “No, Tina. It’s up to you to figure out what you want to do with your life. Go to your audition. But if you decide you want to learn demon fighting, we’re going to have a talk about commitment.”
“Yeah, okay, whatever. Thanks, Vicky!” She blew me a kiss and was out the door.
 
AFTER TINA SKIPPED OUT ON ME, I THOUGHT ABOUT CALLING Daniel to see if he still wanted to meet for dinner. But it was already almost eight. By the time we decided where to go and actually got there, it’d be past his bedtime. Or his dinnertime, anyway. And with everything that had happened in the past twelve hours—Difethwr’s return, T.J.’s death, weird creatures showing up in my apartment (or maybe in my dreams)—I wasn’t in much of a mood for socializing. If Daniel had any information from the lab guys, he’d call.
I liked Daniel. Maybe a lot. He was brave and smart and loyal. I liked the way a cloud of butterflies started fluttering in my stomach and other interesting places whenever I saw him. But that was the problem. Until I sorted out my feelings about Kane, it wasn’t fair to start something with Daniel. Plus, if I called him now, after saying I was busy tonight, I’d sound desperate. There was a whole list of good reasons not to pick up a phone.
A little voice in the back of my head called me a coward, and I told that little voice to shut the hell up.
Really, the only person I wanted to see right now was Axel. He might not be the most emotional guy around, but T.J.’s death had shaken him. I wanted to check that he was okay. So when I left Tina’s place, I returned to my apartment to pick up the equipment for tonight’s job, got the Jag out of the garage, and drove to Creature Comforts.
After I’d cleared the checkpoint, I could see something going on up the street. I pulled over to the curb and got out. Parked in front of Creature Comforts was a white van, CHANNEL 10 ON-THE-SCENE NEWS emblazoned in huge red letters on its side. Floodlights and a camera pointed at a dark-haired woman wearing a red parka, white earmuffs, and a white scarf: Lynne Hong, a sharp reporter with a reputation for her in-your-face style. She clutched a microphone in her mittened hands and nodded to a young guy holding a clipboard. Beside her stood Sykes.
The Goon Squad cop towered over the petite Hong. He wore a brown suit with a crooked red tie and squinted against the bright lights, looking like he wanted his sunglasses. At least the artificial light wouldn’t damage his eyes.
The assistant with the clipboard went back to the van and stood beside the cameraman. Hong smoothed her hair and watched the assistant, waiting. “In ten,” he called and began counting down. I moved closer to hear what they were saying.
After “one,” Hong furrowed her brow into a serious-reporter look and addressed the camera. “Tonight, your Channel 10 On-the-Scene News Team has exclusive coverage of a shocking tragedy that occurred in the New Combat Zone earlier today. With me is Brian Sykes, a previously deceased police officer with Boston’s Joint Human-Paranormal Task Force. Officer Sykes, tell us what happened.”
Sykes nodded and opened his mouth. “An employee—” His voice cracked, and he licked his lips nervously. He cleared his throat and tried again. “An employee of this establishment, Timothy John Stillwell, known as T.J., was found … was found dead at approximately seven thirty this morning.”
“Yet there’s been no official announcement of a death. Why is that?”
“It’s because T.J. was a PDH—um, a previously deceased human. Despite Massachusetts law, the police commissioner refuses to recognize the legal rights and protections afforded to the previously deceased.”
“Quite an inflammatory statement, Officer Sykes. Do you have evidence to support it?”
Sykes pulled at his necktie, leaving it even more crooked. “Two detectives—human detectives, I mean—stopped the JHP’s investigation and commandeered the forensics team.” He looked at Hong as though that explained it.
“Can you prove that Commissioner Hampson authorized the actions of these men?”
“They said …” Sykes’s words trailed off. Hong let the silence hang for a few seconds and then changed the subject.
“What caused Stillwell’s death?”
Sykes blinked and looked like he wished she hadn’t asked that question. “At this time, unfortunately, we … uh … we don’t know.”
“But you believe it was murder?”
“I do.”
“And why is that?”
“Because …” Sykes ran out of steam. He shut his mouth, opened it, shut it again.
The reporter pressed on. “Do you have any suspects?”
“I … We …” Sykes tugged at his collar again. Then his expression darkened. “No. There are no suspects because Commissioner Hampson shut down our investigation.”
Hong faced the camera. “Tonight, many questions remain. Was a zombie in fact murdered here? If so, how? And why are Boston police refusing to investigate? Reporting to you from the New Combat Zone, I’m Lynne Hong.”
Sykes turned toward Hong like he wanted to say something, but she was already moving toward the van. The floodlights went out. Sykes stood there, blinking rapidly.
“Okay, guys,” Hong said, “the real story’s with Hampson. I’ll try to get him on the phone.” She whipped out her cell phone, pulled off a mitten, and hit some buttons. She slid the phone under her earmuff and spoke for a few seconds. Then she snapped the phone shut and shook her head. “He’s not at headquarters. I know where he lives; it’s on Marlborough Street. Let’s get over to the Back Bay and see if we can catch him on camera.”

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