No one moved.
I put down the tray and stood in front of T.J., getting between him and Norden’s gun. “He said it was an accident, Norden. No harm done.”
Norden could kill me with impunity as easily as he could shoot T.J., but I was hoping he’d find it harder to pull the trigger when the target was unarmed and hadn’t done anything. From the look in Norden’s eyes, I couldn’t count on that. He didn’t lower the gun.
Then, suddenly, Axel loomed between us. I didn’t know he could move that fast, almost as fast as a vampire. A second ago, he’d been behind the bar.
“No guns,” Axel growled, his quiet monotone more menacing than a shout.
I wasn’t going to hide behind Axel, even though there was room for three of me back there. I stepped out and stood beside him.
Norden’s eyes shone with an ugly light. He lifted the gun and pressed it against Axel’s chest, right over his heart. Axel stood stonelike. The gun’s barrel made an indentation in his shirt.
I gauged the distance from where we stood to the front door. Sykes was outside, waiting for his partner. But if I ran out to get him—hell, if I did so much as blink—Norden would squeeze the trigger and blow a hole through Axel. The gleam in his eyes said he’d do it.
I held my breath. I didn’t dare do anything else.
Then Norden laughed. He stepped back, angling the gun away from Axel and toward the floor. My breath came in a rush, and time started again.
“Came back to use the men’s room,” Norden said, reholstering his gun. He walked down the short hallway at the back and stopped in front of the restrooms. He shook his head. “Boos and Ghouls. Jesus.”
5
DAWN WAS AN HOUR AWAY, SO THE LINES AT THE CHECKPOINT into Deadtown were short. I waited only a minute to go through one of the walk-up booths. The guard, a zombie in a tan uniform, had no nose and sported a ragged hole in his right cheek. The Council always chose the scariest-looking zombies for checkpoint duty, probably to keep curious norms off the monsters’ turf. This one took my ID card, swiped it, and glanced at the name. “Thank you, Ms. Vaughn. Have a nice morning.” He smiled as he handed the card back to me, as pleasantly as it’s possible to smile when you’re missing half your face.
I jogged the few blocks home. It was the coldest hour of a cloudless, starlit night, enough degrees below freezing that I didn’t want to think about how many. My breath steamed like a locomotive by the time I pulled open the door to my building.
Clyde was still at the desk, eating a sandwich. He swallowed quickly when he saw the door open, then nodded to me.
“Still on duty?” I asked. “They got you working double shifts now?”
“Only temporarily. The new night man is due to start tomorrow. But I don’t require much sleep, Ms. Vaughn. And the extra hours have been welcome.” He cleared his throat. “My daughter is a freshman at Wellesley.” His expression blended pride with sadness.
Clyde rarely talked about himself, but I knew he was the only member of his family who’d been felled by the zombie plague, and his wife had divorced him soon after. I wondered if he ever saw his daughter—or if his tuition checks were their only contact.
As I said good night, I wished I’d given Clyde a bigger bonus at Christmas. Too late now. I’d make up for it on his birthday.
JULIET WASN’T HOME. ALL WAS QUIET EXCEPT FOR SOME muffled, moving-around noises from the upstairs neighbors. It was getting late for her to be out. I wasn’t worried. At Juliet’s age, she could stand a little weak, early-morning winter sunlight. I just hoped the Goons hadn’t pissed her off so much that she’d found some hapless norm and drained the poor guy dry.
What an image.
I drew the blackout shades throughout the apartment in case the sun rose before Juliet got home, then I went into my room to get ready for bed. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, pulled on some sweats, and—
Oh, no. I wasn’t wearing my watch. I’d left it on the bar at Creature Comforts.
Damn it, that watch was expensive. In ten years of demon fighting, it was the only one I’d found that worked in dreams. I remembered knocking on the bar when I’d said that to T.J.
My bedside clock read six thirty-four. They might still be cleaning up. I’d call and make sure it was there. Otherwise, I’d worry that someone had scored a free watch at my expense.
I went into the living room, picked up the phone, and dialed.
“Creature Comforts,” said a chipper voice. Had to be T.J. Axel wouldn’t sound that bright with a spotlight shining on him.
“Hey, T.J., it’s Vicky Vaughn.”
“Oh, hi, Vicky. Did you want Axel? He’s gone downstairs. He was so mad about that Goon Squad cop, I think he’s demolishing a punching bag or something.”
“No, that’s okay. I just wanted to ask if I left my watch on the bar.”
“Yeah, you did. Axel noticed it after you left. I tried to catch you, but you were already through the checkpoint. We’ll keep it behind the bar until you come back. Or I could bring it to you if you’d rather.”
“Would you? That’d be terrific. I need it for a Drude extermination tomorrow night.” I told him where I lived.
“Oh, sure, I go right by there on my way home. But I won’t be out of here for a while. Those Goons made a mess of the storeroom; it’ll take me an hour, probably, to straighten it up. That okay?”
“I’m about to fall into bed. Can you leave it with my doorman? He’ll hold on to it for me.”
After we hung up, I fell into bed, as predicted. Now I could sleep soundly.
Except sound sleep eluded me. I did sleep, and it started off fine—darkness, silence, no dreams. But a sound emerged, an echo of laughter. It rumbled through my sleep, not a dream but not part of the waking world, either. The sound grew and multiplied; other voices joined in, all of them laughing. The darkness rippled, broke into pieces, and tumbled into billows of thick black smoke that stung my nose and eyes. I smelled burning and squinted against the smoke, trying to make out a half-glimpsed figure passing through it.
This shouldn’t be happening. I struggled to gain control. All Cerddorion are lucid dreamers; we know when we’re dreaming and can consciously direct what’s happening. It’s one of the reasons we’re such skilled demon fighters: Demons often enter victims’ dreamscapes to torment them, so we have to be able to control dreams. But tonight, it was difficult. I focused my attention on dispersing the smoke—I tried a strong wind, then rain. I made the wind stronger, until a hurricane blasted my dreamscape. The smoke didn’t thin. Didn’t budge. It was smoke, but it was a solid, heavy presence, like a hundred-foot-high cliff. The laughter escalated, roaring over the screaming winds.
Then, abruptly, it stopped. The smoke cleared as if it had never been there. The laughter fell away, one voice at a time, until a single whisper remained. The whisper faded, then it was gone. All around me stretched the blackness of undisturbed sleep—and an uneasiness that lingered with the merest whiff of burning.
Gradually, I sank deeper into sleep. My body needed it.
As I reached the deepest part of the sleep cycle, the place of profound relaxation, a hideous figure pushed itself into my dreamscape. Its warty blue skin dripped slime, and it smiled, showing hundreds of teeth, each as big and sharp as a dagger. Flames smoldered behind its eyes, and it belched foul-smelling smoke.
Difethwr, the Destroyer. The Hellion that had killed my father—and nearly killed me.