Hellhound (A Deadtown Novel) (16 page)

“What happened last night, Evan?”

“I was perched on a rooftop near the harbor, looking out at the water and trying out different things I might say to Anne. I can’t seem to figure out a way to break this”—he opened and closed his wings—“to her gently. So there I was, watching the planes come and go. Now that I think of it, Mab, I probably saw yours land. Anyway, all of a sudden there was this clamoring in my head. And hunger. Good lord, I’ve never felt so hungry. Like what I felt while reading the book, but stronger. I didn’t even try to understand what was happening; I simply let this body act. I let the hunger guide me, and you saw what happened. The falcon wanted the Morfran.”

“You expelled it from Bonita. That’s the name of the zom—” I glanced at Kane. “I mean, the PDH who attacked Mab.” Dad’s talons hadn’t done her face much good, but he’d saved her life by getting the Morfran out before it fed on her. Not that that mattered after Pryce grabbed her again.

“It’s clear,” Mab said, “that the falcon must remain at liberty to help us in the coming war. If we act now to destroy the Morfran, Pryce’s demon troops will never gain the strength to march out of Hell. We could
prevent
the war.”

Silence fell upon the table. I closed my eyes against visions of Boston burning, of death and slaughter, of a bloody sword in my own hand. If only we could turn the path of fate so that instead of solidifying into reality, those visions would dissolve and fade like a bad dream. With the falcon’s help, we might have a chance.

“So,” Kane said, “let’s look at what we’re dealing with, point by point.” His logical lawyer brain was taking control of the conversation. Good. He spoke dispassionately, holding up his free hand and counting off each point on his fingers. “One, there’s my bargain with the Night Hag. Two, there’s her threat to kill Vicky.” He paused and looked at my father. “I’ve hired four of the country’s top witches to shield her apartment during the full moon, if we can convince her to stay home.”

“I already told you I can’t promise that. And I still think you’re wasting your money. That charm I wore didn’t keep the Night Hag away; she blew it apart like dandelion fluff. When the Night Hag comes after me, nothing will stop her.”

“Unless,” Mab said, “we can think of a way to make Mallt-y-Nos call off her hounds.” She nodded at Kane. “Please continue.”

“Three”—he ticked off another finger—“the white falcon carries the spirit of Vicky’s father. Four, the Night Hag wants the falcon. And five, the falcon can kill the Morfran—but only if it’s free of the hag’s control.”

Each point felt like a hundred-pound weight settling on my shoulders. “See?” I said. “It’s impossible.”

“Hush, child. You can’t think that way. There’s always a solution.” But the way the minutes stretched out, everyone staring gloomily at the table, seemed to contradict that notion.

“Okay.” Dad’s voice made me jump. “Let’s say Vic did hand me over. Without the gauntlet, I mean—that was never part of the deal, right?”

“That’s right.”

“I’ll escape again. The first time the hag sends me to dive-bomb some poor soul she’s hunting, I’ll fly away. Same as before.”

“It’s too risky.” Mab shook her head. “Mallt-y-Nos would not have proposed the exchange without some way of binding the falcon to her. If she gets her hands on you, Evan, I’m afraid there’ll be no flying away this time.”

“What about a substitute?” Kane said.

“Where would we get one?” I asked. “It’s not like they sell white falcons at pet stores.”

“True, but we might get something that’s close enough. Remember when I was stuck in wolf form? Roxana Jade created a charm so that everyone who looked at me saw a German shepherd. We know that charm worked. If we got a different bird—a parakeet or a canary or something—and the charm gave it the appearance of the white falcon . . .”

“It wouldn’t work.” I shook my head. “The bird would have to wear the charm somewhere, and the hag will inspect every inch before she releases you.”

“I believe Mr. Kane has the right idea,” Mab said, her eyes alight. “Although we can effect the substitution much more simply. Victory, you will contact the Night Hag. Tell her you’ve agreed to the exchange, and set up a time and place.”

“And then what? If not Dad or a charmed canary, what can I give her?”

“Me, of course. I’ll shift into a white falcon.”

I DIDN’T LIKE IT. IF HANDING DAD OVER TO THE NIGHT HAG was too risky, it was an equally bad idea to give her Mab. If anything went wrong, my aunt could end up as a hostage, or worse.

“Nonsense, child.” Mab waved away my objections. “I’ve thought it through. We’ll make a replica of the gauntlet, and you’ll offer that to Mallt-y-Nos if—and only if—she promises to prevent her hounds from attacking you. She’ll want to test it, of course. I’ll be close by, and when she calls I’ll arrive immediately. When she’s convinced of the gauntlet’s authenticity, I don’t doubt she’ll be willing to give whatever you want in exchange for it.”

“But you said she must have some way of binding Dad to her. I don’t want her doing that to you.”

“I’m not a falcon, child. As soon as she’s released Mr. Kane and vowed not to attack you, I’ll resume my usual form.”

Something would go wrong. I could feel it. I argued; I reasoned. I even considered pulling rank—if Mab really thought I was the Lady of the Cerddorion, maybe I should use that to my advantage. But I couldn’t bear the thought of my aunt on her knees before me again. It wasn’t right.

So eventually I agreed. I couldn’t think of a better plan, and I’d sacrificed weeks to my own indecision. As soon as darkness returned and she could ride forth, I’d call the Night Hag and set up our exchange.

Kane stood, announcing he had to get to the office. He said a general good-bye. Mab replied that it was a pleasure to see him again, but Dad fixed him with a cold predator’s stare. I got up to walk him to the door.

“Your father doesn’t like me.” He said it as though puzzled. Kane was a charmer, and most people responded warmly to him. He had his enemies, of course, but they were usually political. His eyes held a question:
What did I do?

I thought I knew. It wasn’t anything Kane did; it was who he was. But that was Dad’s problem, not Kane’s, and I intended to have it out with my father as soon as Kane left.

“I’m sorry he was rude. You know how some fathers are. He’s not used to the idea of me dating.”

“Of you dating, or of you dating a werewolf?”

Kane was right on the money, but I didn’t want to go there now. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever the issue, it’s his problem, not yours.” My demon mark twinged as I thought about how unfair Dad was being. Kane had dedicated his life to fighting discrimination. He shouldn’t have to face it from his girlfriend’s father. “I’ll make sure he understands that.”

Kane pulled me into his arms for a kiss. “Thanks for standing by me. For saying what you said. Those are words I’ll never get tired of hearing.”

So before he left, we said them again.

WHEN KANE HAD GONE, I RETURNED TO THE KITCHEN. WITH each step across the living room, my irritation grew. My demon mark heated up to a slow burn, but the anger felt good. Dad had no right to judge Kane before he even knew him. It was an insult to both of us, and I wasn’t going to put up with it.

I slammed open the kitchen door. “Dad,” I yelled, “you were totally out of line.”

Two heads turned to me. Mab muttered something about more tea and went over to the sink. My father’s sharp, rainbow-eyed stare irritated me further. Okay, so it’s impossible for a falcon to look contrite, but all I could see was defiance.

“You met my boyfriend for the first time, and you acted like . . . like . . . I don’t even know what.”

“Like a concerned father.” Dad’s voice was softer than his expression. “Two things, Vic. First, the whole thing was a complete surprise. I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

Was it really true I’d never mentioned Kane to my dad? I had a sinking feeling it was, but that only stoked the anger building inside me.

“Second,” Dad continued, “the guy’s a werewolf. There’s no worse match for one of our kind—you know that, Vic.”

I’d known it, but hearing him say the words made my simmering anger boil over into rage. I stood there unable to speak, my fists clenched. My demon mark felt like a hot coal inside my skin.

Dad went on. “I’m sure you like him, but you need to nip this thing in the bud before he gets serious. You know what werewolves are like. Once they start sniffing around, before you know it they’re pressuring you to start a pack. It’s not that I’m prejudiced or anything. It’s their nature. Instinct is strong in werewolves. Sooner or later, it always wins out. And then where will you be? Stuck at home with a wolf cub while the demons run rampant.”

The words gave voice to my own doubts, yet hearing them infuriated me. The kitchen dimmed as white-hot anger zeroed in on the falcon. I tensed, ready to lunge at the stupid bird. I’d wring its neck and toss its broken body aside like a limp rag. I’d—

“Victory.” Mab’s voice cut through the haze of anger. “Remember yourself.”

I closed my eyes. The vision persisted—I could feel the bird’s neck crack under my fingers, see the lifeless heap of feathers.
No. Stop. Not Dad.
I inhaled slowly, counting to five, feeling the air expand my lungs. I held it there, counting to five again. In my mind, my hands were still tight around the falcon’s neck, but the edges of the vision blurred. I exhaled to another five counts, making an effort to empty my lungs. As I inhaled again, the vision dissolved.

In my mind’s eye, my hands were empty. My father perched, unharmed, on the back of a chair. I kept my eyes closed, holding those images in place.

A few more rounds of focusing on my breathing drained away the anger. The demon mark’s heat diminished to the level of a bad sunburn. I opened my eyes.

Where was Dad? The chair where he’d been perching was empty. Then I saw him on top of the fridge. He’d flown out of my reach. Yesterday I’d nearly gone after Mab with a sword. Today I’d been ready to wring my father’s neck.

“You need to work on anger management, Vic.”

“You’re not the first to say so. But that doesn’t make what you said okay.”

The falcon ducked his head. “I’m only trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection. Not like that.”
Deep breath, Vicky.
“My love life is my own business. Kane and I will work things out for ourselves.”

“You really love him?”

“Yeah. I do.” The effort of pushing away the anger collapsed my knees, and I sat down at the table.

“You can’t argue with that, Evan.” Mab came over with her mug of tea. “I understand your concern with Vicky’s future. However, you’d do well to remember your own past. You may not be a werewolf, but I seem to recall that you once persuaded a skilled Cerddorion demon fighter to give up her career for you.”

That ruffled Dad’s feathers. “I didn’t persuade Anne. It was her decision. Anyway, that was different. Vicky has a role to play.”

“Only if she accepts it. And that’s not a decision you—or I—can make for her.” Mab glanced at me sidelong, and I wondered whether she was thinking about the Lady of the Cerddorion again. Because if it really was my choice, I could tell her right now: I didn’t want the job. Nope. Mab was the Lady, not me. Not in a million years.

“All right,” Dad said. He left his refrigerator perch and glided to a chair. “You’re right, Vic. I was wrong. I’ll apologize to the werewolf the next time I see him.”

“The werewolf has a name, Dad. It’s Kane.” I reached out and scratched the falcon’s head. He cooed and leaned into my hand, closing his rainbow-colored eyes. “I think you’ll like him once you get to know him.”

The falcon straightened, clucking. “We’ll see. I mean, I’ll give it a shot. If he’s important to you, I’ll give him a chance. In the meantime, do you have any of those little cheeseburgers Juliet makes for me?”

I microwaved a package of sliders and put some bread in the toaster for Mab. I hadn’t had time to pick up her favorite marmalade, but she graciously made do with strawberry jam.

By the time I brought everything over to the table, Dad and Mab had reached an agreement: As soon as the sun went down, the three of us would be at the Granary Burying Ground, the place where I’d imprisoned the Morfran Pryce had brought to Boston. Mab would release the Morfran from the old slate headstones, and Dad would kill it. I’d stand by to capture any Morfran that tried to escape. It was a good plan, and the sooner we could put it into action, the better.

Dad attacked the mini-cheeseburgers fiercely, devouring each in two bites. When he was finished, he stretched his wings and cleared his throat.

“I have an announcement,” he said. “I’m going to take the plunge.”

“You mean you’re finally going to tell Mom?”

“Yes. Today. I don’t want to put it off any longer.”

“That’s great, Dad. She’ll be thrilled.”

“You think so? I’ve been worried the whole situation will upset her.”

“She’s missed you for a long time.” I knew how that felt. When Dad died, I thought I’d never get over my grief and guilt. When I found him again in the Darklands, it was clear things had changed, but I still had the essence of my father back. That’s what counted.

“Ten years. But that’s just it. By now, she’s accepted that I’m dead. Gone. She’s adjusted to the idea. We always told each other that if anything happened to one of us, we’d want the other to move on.” His voice suddenly sounded small. “What if she has?”

“She’s not dating anyone, if that’s what you mean. She told me so.”

“But don’t you see? My return could mess up her life. I’m back, yes, but in this body.” He opened and closed his wings. “It’s painfully obvious that things can never be like they were between us. What if she doesn’t want to be married to a bird? Or worse, what if she squelches her own life because she feels an obligation to this freak hybrid that holds some part of her long-lost husband? Or what if—”

“Come, come, Evan.” Mab’s no-nonsense tone cut Dad off mid-rant. “Stop torturing yourself. Best let her decide.”

“Mab’s right, Dad.”

“I know. And now I realize that maybe I don’t have all the time in the world. The Night Hag wants this body, and even if I escape her, it looks like the falcon will be on the front lines when Pryce leads the demons out of Hell. It’d be a real shame if I never got the chance to speak to Anne.”

“It’s the reason you escaped the Darklands,” I said. “Sometimes you have to take risks.” That was something I was learning, myself.

Dad didn’t speak for a moment, staring into the distance. Then he blinked and puffed out his chest. “You’re right,” he said. “Let’s do it. Today, before I lose my nerve again.”

“We’ll be rooting for you, Dad.”

“You’ll be doing more than that, Vic. At least, I hope you will. I need your help.”

“What do you want us to do?”

“Set things up for me. Ring your mother, and tell her Mab is in town. Arrange a meeting in the park. Tell Anne to come alone.”

It could work. Mom would love to see Mab, and she’d understand the need to get away from Gwen’s house to do it. Gwen harbored bad feelings toward Mab, thanks to a twenty-year-old misunderstanding. Recently, Gwen had realized that past events were more complicated than she’d thought. She’d softened toward Mab, but only a little—not enough to invite her over. Now, when Dad revealed himself to Mom at the park, Mab and I would be there to offer them support. I had a feeling they’d need it.

“I would enjoy seeing your mother again, Victory.”

“Okay.” I turned to Dad. “What time do you want me to set up the meeting?”

“How soon can you drive out there?”

Wow, Dad really had made up his mind. “It depends. Let me see what the restriction code is.” If they’d raised the code back to red or orange after the zombie attack at Logan, I’d have trouble getting Mab out of Deadtown.

Dad paced back and forth on the table, pecking at cheeseburger crumbs, as I called the hotline to check.

“We’re good,” I told him. “It’s still yellow. Let me call Mom and see what she says.”

My luck held. Gwen had taken Justin, her youngest, to a swim class at the Y. Mom said she’d love to see Mab and could meet us at the park at ten.

“Okay, Dad,” I said after I hung up. “You’ve got a date with destiny in two hours.”

“Two hours?” It was hard to tell with a white falcon, but I could swear he paled a couple of shades. “Gotta go. I have to practice my speech.”

“Evan, it’s Anne,” Mab said. “Your wife. The mother of your girls. A speech is not required.”

The falcon bobbed his head in a distracted nod and took off, flying straight through the ceiling. He was off to meet his date with destiny.