The Iron Hunt (6 page)

The
zombie had been watching me. All that time, I never knew it. “You think I
care?”

He
laughed. “My dear, your mother had the heart of a lion, but you, merely a lamb.
You care. You care too much.”

Dek
and Mal poked their heads from my hair. Raw tipped whiskey into their small
mouths. I wanted to take the bottle and smash it across the zombie’s human
head. And then exorcise the hell out of him.

“The
boy,” I said. “If you hurt him—”

“That
would not be in my interest. He is my protection. Against you.”

“A
man died last night. Were you involved in that, too?”

A
faint smile touched his mouth. “There are many players in the game, Hunter. How
many watch you from the shadows, you may never know.”

That
was a bad answer. I wanted to tap my foot, but kept my leg still. The limo felt
like a cage. “What do you want?”

“Conversation.
Nothing more. You have my word, on the blood of my Queen.”

I
leaned back. Zee stilled. “Blood Mama sent you?”

The
zombie’s expression never changed, but his throat bobbed, and his aura
flickered. “She has concerns.”

I
held my breath. Blood Mama was the ruler of the first prison ring, and a true
zombie queen, more powerful than all her children combined—and she grew more
powerful with every soul her children inhabited. The pain they made was the
pain she felt, and it fed a hunger that never ended, and never would.

I had
met her. I had crossed the veil itself to face her presence. Given myself up,
allowed my body to be dragged into the prison. To save Grant. Blood Mama had
tried to possess him. She had come close. So close to taking everything I cared
about. Again.

Blood
Mama had ordered the murder of my mother.

She
had ordered the deaths of all the women in my line. She would order my murder,
when it was time. A decision entirely dependent on Zee and the others. My boys.
My friends. Who would abandon me one day in favor of some distant, future
daughter—whoever she might be. And when that happened, when I no longer had
their protection, Blood Mama would know. All the zombies would know. I could
almost hear the rifles being loaded.

Not
that I let it get me down. Not that I had abandoned hope. I was not afraid. Not
anymore—though I remembered those days. I remembered being terrified. Scared of
possibilities. Some distant, future pregnancy, which would start the clock
ticking down the seconds of my life.

Some
in my bloodline had tried to avoid sex entirely, determined to elude their
fates. But children were how Zee and the others survived. Celibacy was the same
as their murder. And if a Hunter would not willingly procreate… the boys, so I
had been told, would force the issue.

And
that was something I tried never to think about.

“I
want to see the boy,” I told the zombie. “And give me the name of your host.”

“Edik
Bashmakov.” He tipped his head to me. “And you may
not
see the child
until our business is complete. I cannot take the risk.”

Glass
broke. Aaz was eating the vodka bottle. “No trust? I’m willing to take
you
at your word.”

He
shrugged; a delicate movement, infinitely refined. “You are the Hunter and you
have no bounds, no allegiance. No one you answer to. Your word has no honor.”

I
imagined my hand on his forehead, sucking the demon free. “And you? Possessing
human bodies? Feeding on suffering? Is
that
honor?”

“It
is survival,” he replied calmly. “Do not judge us by human values. You, who
pretend to walk amongst them. You, who are only half a breed, some glorified
prison guard. You, lonely little Warden.”

Zee
rested his claws against my knee and stared at Edik. The zombie lowered his
gaze. “This will not take long, Hunter. Then I will go, and you will have the
boy. Agreed?”

I
could have set Zee and the others upon him. Exorcised the demon from that human
body and tortured it into speaking. My mother had taught me the trick. But I
thought, perhaps, that was a line I did not feel like crossing tonight. And I
did have
some
honor.

I
drank my ginger ale. The boys pressed close, clinging. My eyes ached. Outside,
the limo drifted into a neighborhood of warehouses, rusty steel. I smelled the
ocean. I thought of Grant. We were near him.

“Tell
me why I’m here,” I said.

Edik’s
aura flickered. “The veil. It opened tonight. You felt it.”

“Do
you know what came through?” It would not have been Blood Mama or her brood.
Zombie-makers did not need to wait for the veil to open.

Edik
said nothing; unmoving, not one muscle, not a twitch, though his aura burned.
Either he did not know or did not want to say. I took another sip of ginger
ale. “What does your Queen want?”

The
zombie slid his hands down his thighs, resting his palms on his knees. “I think
you know, Hunter. The prison is failing. When it does, this world will die.”

No
mystery, no surprise. A logical conclusion, one I had been trying to ignore for
the last decade. But I had never heard it said quite so bluntly. “I can’t
imagine why you’re warning me. You’re a demon. Prison goes down, you win.”

Edik’s
flickering aura was the only thing about him not perfectly, coldly, calm. Even
his eyes, hard as steel. If bullets could have been made from disdain, I might
have died in that moment from a shot through the head.

“You
are so naïve,” he said.

“Am
I?” I replied. “Wow.”

Edik’s
mouth tightened with displeasure. “You have no idea what rests in the prison
rings. My kind are vermin to the others, less than demon. Rats chasing the
tails of wolves.”

Demon
politics. Something I had not considered. Maybe I was naïve. “You think I care?
All I want to know is what came through the veil.”

“Calculation,”
he said mysteriously. “A pawn, a scout.”

The
ginger ale suddenly felt like acid in my stomach. “What else? How do I find
this demon?”

“Only
my Queen knows.” Edik hesitated. “She was used, Hunter. She was used in the
service of another. Forced to make a bargain, to facilitate the passage of this
pawn.”

“No
one forces Blood Mama into anything.”

Edik
looked away, a muscle twitching in his face. “Our brethren in the veil will
destroy us, you know. They will kill us when they break free. They will consume
us. But before they do, before all the walls fall and the First Ward crumbles,
and the Reapers rape the bones of this world, the others will have their way
with your humans—and no matter what you think of Blood Mama and her brood, we
are
nothing
compared to them.”

I
said nothing. I sat very still. Except for my fingers, making a dent in the
soda can. Blood Mama had chosen well. Edik Bashmakov had talent. He was a true
connoisseur, a professional, at the art of imparting bad news. I admired his
skill. I no longer felt quite so eager to kill him.

More
like I wanted to run screaming for the hills and never look back.

“Ten
thousand years of peace.” Edik stared at his withered hands. “The prison has
been our blessing.”

I
exhaled slowly. Tried to act cool, dispassionate, but inside, my gut roiled,
and my muscles felt hacked with chills. I wanted to pull some covers over my
head. Go find a tall mountain and hide in a cave. I wanted to call Edik a liar
and a fool and pretend I was a normal woman, a blind woman, a deaf woman—a
happy, ignorant, breezy woman.

I
stared out the car window. Caught my distorted reflection: pale skin, dark
hair. I wondered what it felt like to be possessed and not realize it, to have
someone living inside your head, manipulating your mind until your body was
nothing but a tool.

I
felt like a tool. Like I was about to be used.

Zee
and the others scooted close, resting their heads in my lap. I rubbed their
razor hair and watched Edik’s face, his aura. He had met my mother and
survived. I wanted to know how, but I did not ask. I was becoming afraid of
answers.

“What
does Blood Mama expect me to do?” I asked carefully, never once doubting what
he had told me was true. His aura could not lie. He had meant every word.
Something bad was coming. Something had arrived.

“Blood
Mama did not say,” he replied smoothly. “But as you are the Hunter, and better
suited than most to killing my kind, you might consider the possibility that
she expects you to continue what you are best at.”

My
mouth crooked. “I could start with you.”

He
pushed his glasses up his nose, an effortlessly normal gesture, given the
appallingly abnormal circumstances. “Hunter, I am the least of your concerns.
This is the end of the world.”

“And
you’re still holding something back.”

He
hesitated. “My Queen had another message.”

I
waited a beat. “And?”

He
suddenly looked uncomfortable. “It is for them.”

I
stared. Raw stopped picking his nose, and Aaz sat up from my lap. Zee leaned
forward, his scales cutting leather. Even Dek and Mal slid from my hair, their
tails tightening around my throat as Raw reached back to stroke their soft
heads. I slid the ginger ale into a cup holder and said nothing.

Edik
looked at the boys. Sweat beaded on his brow, and his feet shifted against the
limo carpet. Zee stretched close. Watching him felt like the first blush of a
hurricane. He curled when he moved, pulsed and glided and shimmered like wet
silk woven from mercury threads, quicksilver and deadly. All of them, the same:
mouths made for death, merciless, without conscience. Splice together every
predator, steal from the past and present and future of some murderous natural
world—borrow from the unholy—and if you wrapped that up into a sharp tight
package, you might find a shadow, a glimpse, of what they were.

My
boys. My deadly little boys.

The
old human host swallowed hard. He pressed his lips to Zee’s pointed ear. Razor
hairs brushed the zombie’s face, slicing his pale wrinkled skin like a hot
knife through butter. Zee could have controlled that. But only two people were
allowed to touch him without consequences.

Edik
bled profusely, but except for a quiver in his bottom lip, he showed no pain.
Nor did he did speak long. Zee pulled back, red eyes shuttered, and the others
crowded close, huddled like a churning mass of obsidian and knives. The little
demon whispered to his brothers in their native tongue. I kept my mouth shut.

The
zombie tapped the dividing glass, and the limo slowed. I glanced out the window
and saw a chain-link fence, the outline of distant cargo ships.

Edik
pulled a cell phone from the inner pocket of his jacket. He tossed it to me. “I
will call you with the boy’s location.”

“The
other children?”

“They
scattered from the alley of their own free will. I promise you that, Hunter.”

I met
Zee’s gaze. “And our business? Blood Mama’s concerns?”

Edik’s
jaw tightened. “Watch yourself.”

Not
the answer I wanted to hear. I pushed open the limo door, slid out, and paused.
“Russian Mafia, Edik?”

His
eyebrow twitched. “This and that.”

I
held his gaze. “Keep your business away from children. ”

“If I
do not?”

“The
boys have your scent now.”

I slammed
the door. The limo pulled away. I watched taillights flash and hardly had the
energy to think about what had just happened. But I did, and there was no
comfort. Only questions, confusion, and the utter certainty that I was totally
screwed.

The
phone rang. I answered, and Edik said, “Go east to the parking lot and find the
white van.”

He
hung up. I let Aaz eat the phone.

The
old warehouse district was wasted and empty like a pile of bones. Night did not
hide the scars. I saw floodlights in the distance, shining over the docks.
Behind me, battered factories and broken glass, some bodies tucked into nooks,
trying to huddle against the cold breeze that wound around my face. My hair was
still damp from the early rain, and the sidewalk was rough. Patches of scrappy
grass pushed up through the concrete. I heard the freeway, and the sounds of
construction and night work at the ship-yard.

I
also saw the parking lot, half a block down.

I
ran. The boys stayed close, loping alongside me, dancing between shadows. Zee
reached up and took my hand. I gently squeezed his claws. He blinked out. By
the time I reached the small crusty parking lot, he was already perched atop a
white van parked near a ragged billboard covered by a peeling advertisement for
Starbucks. There were very few cars in the lot. There was little of anything in
the neighborhood.

“Is
he in there?” I called up to Zee.

He
nodded, surveying the area like a sentry on the watchtower. “Little pea, little
pod.”