Myrddin drew back his arm to hurl energy at Kane. I kicked him, knocking off his aim. His fireball missed, exploding against the wall. I rolled off the table, away from Myrddin, and crouched, ready to dodge his next fireball, gauging the distance to my sword.
But Myrddin didn’t throw another fireball. His mouth dropped open as he stared at the light emanating from the bloodstone.
I opened my fingers a little to let the light stream out. A beam shot upward and spread into a nimbus. Its center glowed with an intensity that almost hurt to look at. The light pulsed. It fractured, spun, and came back together in an image. In the center of the nimbus stood a young woman, clothed in a white gown, a silver circlet crowning her flowing hair.
“Viviane,” whispered Myrddin.
“Betrayer,” she spat. She lifted an elegant hand. Her finger pointed at him, and a torrent of energy shot out. It picked Myrddin up and hurled him against the wall. When he hit, his skin split open and his demon form emerged. It twisted out of his body, like some scaly reptile emerging from an egg, growing by feet each second. Myrddin’s human form disappeared.
Now. I had to act now, while Wyllt, Myrddin’s demon form, was forced to materialize in the human plane. I ran for my sword, shouting the invocation. Flames licked the blade. Holding the bloodstone high with my right hand, I snatched up the sword with my left. I charged the demon.
Viviane directed the stream of energy with laserlike precision. Wyllt glowed, held here somehow by the beam. The demon crouched, too big for this low room. I drove the Sword of Saint Michael through its hide and into its stomach. Flames burned demon flesh; sulfurous smoke billowed. I withdrew the sword and thrust it in again, moving it around to slice up as much of the demon’s innards as I could.
Wyllt doubled over, clutching its abdomen. Black, stinking bile gushed from the wound. Demon flesh melted. Smoke surged. I kept striking and slashing. The demon’s body wavered. It softened and grew spongy, then melted into a waterfall of black blood and liquefied flesh. The remains of the demon puddled on the concrete floor.
From the puddle, a form took shape. Myrddin, his demon half gone, reemerged. He lay slumped against the wall, his body broken, his eyes closed. I checked for a pulse and found none.
In the glowing light from the bloodstone, Viviane nodded, grim satisfaction on her face. Her image faded, along with the silvery light.
Screams echoed from somewhere deep in the underground network of rooms.
I ran over to Juliet and pulled out the spikes that impaled her. I worked as quickly as I could, but carefully. Too much of her weight on the wrong spike would cause more damage.
She was too weak to stand. I lowered her to the ground and removed the silver gag. She licked her lips. “I was the first one to survive the virus,” she said. “So they were trying to see if they could kill me.” Her eyes fluttered. “I think maybe they succeeded.”
The bloodstone pulsed. I opened my hand. Red with my blood, glowing, it was larger than before. The setting had cracked and fallen away in places, but the broken chain was still attached. I tied its ends in a clumsy knot, then lifted the chain over her head and positioned the pendant so the bloodstone hung over her heart. Then, without knowing why, I traced the eihwaz rune on her forehead like a blessing.
Juliet gasped. Her body went rigid, then shuddered. Her wounds shrank and closed. Her eyes flew open and she looked around the room.
“What’s that wizard doing?” she cried.
Myrddin wasn’t dead. He still slumped on the ground, but he held the metal probe with both hands. The probe protruded from his chest, where he’d stuck it deep into his own heart.
I raced over and tried to tug it out. He fought me with surprising strength, struggling to keep the probe in his own heart. I kicked him and tugged harder. Inch by inch, the probe gave.
Kane appeared at the back of the room, bruised and bloody, his clothes torn.
I looked at him. “Are you—?”
Myrddin wrenched the probe from my hands and drove it deeper into his heart.
Kane fell to his knees. On the table, Pryce convulsed.
Myrddin giggled. “I win, my girl. Tell Viviane I’ll see her in hell.” The giggle cut off abruptly as the triumphant light faded from his eyes.
32
“FATHER!” PRYCE GASPED AND SAT UP ON THE TABLE, LOOKING around, pulling needles from his body. His face twisted with hatred when he saw me.
“You,” he sneered. With amazing agility for someone who’d been comatose for a month, he jumped from the table. To his left, he saw Myrddin’s corpse. “What did you do to my father?”
I grasped the Sword of Saint Michael; its flames blazed to life as I raised it. “The same thing I’m about to do to you.” I raised my sword and charged, aiming to plunge the point into Pryce’s heart.
He dodged to the far side of the table. As he did he raised his hand, palm out, and pushed toward me. A rectangle of energy pulsed out. The Sword of Saint Michael passed through, but when the energy hit me it knocked me backward. My ass landed hard on the concrete floor.
I’d never seen Pryce do that before. But Myrddin had used the same gesture when Mab attacked him at Back Street.
Pryce looked as surprised as I was. He looked at the ceiling, then at the floor where Myrddin lay, then back at the ceiling again. “Father?”
I got to my feet.
Pryce laughed. The sound emerged as a giggle.
I charged again. And again, Pryce used magic to knock me back.
He hurled a fireball at me. I sliced it in two with my sword.
Throwing fireballs, Pryce edged toward the entryway. His aim was bad, but the strength and sheer number of his missiles kept me back.
Near the door, the fireball he tried to throw fizzled and extinguished in his hands. He turned and ran.
I ran after him.
“Vicky!” Juliet yelled behind me. “Kane needs your help!”
I stopped in my tracks and turned around. “There’s silver in him,” she said. “I can’t get it out. It’s killing him.”
Outside, cans bounced and rolled as Pryce found his way out the hidden door.
Behind me, Kane groaned, the sound weak and shot through with pain.
I let Pryce go and ran back to Kane.
KANE LAY UNMOVING ON THE FLOOR, HIS EYES SHUT, HIS skin ashen. His breath tore from his throat in ragged gasps. The flesh around the bullet wound had blackened and blistered, classic signs of silver burn. He felt hot all over, and his heart beat erratically, like it had lost its normal rhythm and couldn’t find it again.
Around his neck, he wore the bloodstone.
“He was having seizures,” Juliet said. “The pendant helped me; I thought it would help him, too. But he’s not getting better.”
At least the seizures had stopped. But we had to get the silver out. There must be a fragment of Norden’s bullet still inside him. I needed something to dig it out with.
I rushed back to the table where the Old Ones had held me down. Myrddin had cut me with something. I found it on the table where he’d dropped it—a scalpel.
In the few moments I was gone, Kane had gotten worse. The silver burn had spread across his chest and down his arm to the elbow. It would be spreading inside, too.
Mab’s bloodstone wasn’t healing Kane. I took it off and put it around my own neck. First, remove the silver. After it was out, maybe the bloodstone would help Kane, as it had Juliet. If it wasn’t too late.
Sweat beaded on Kane’s forehead as I searched the wound. His unconscious body spasmed as I hunted for the fragment. I was hurting him, and I hated that, but the silver was hurting him more. I had to get it out.
I saw blood and flesh and bone. But no scrap of silver. I cut a little more. Kane groaned, and I felt sick inside.