There was one thing I didn’t understand. “The zombies have been around for three years. Why is this happening now?”
“There’s been only a very small amount of the Morfran free in the world, although I suspect that has changed in recent weeks. Even so, it would take time for enough free Morfran to find its way to Boston, coalesce, and consume one of your zombies. Presumably, wisps of the Morfran have been feeding on previously deceased Bostonians all along—an unexplained hole in a face or limb, a finger or toe missing.”
Yeah, we had zombies like that. Medical researchers labeled the condition “leprosy-like necrosis.” They thought it was an aftereffect of the virus. Wouldn’t they be surprised to learn it was a hungry spirit gnawing on zombie flesh?
Mab continued: “The Morfran cannot act on its own. It’s a feeling, a hunger, and it needs direction. The Destroyer used you as a lens to focus the Morfran’s destructive energies.”
Guilt stabbed at me. It was all my fault. Difethwr needed a bridge to send the Morfran after those zombies, and I’d lay down and said, Hey, why don’t you just walk over me?
Mab sat in silence. I figured it was time for me to get some answers. “Who’s Pryce?” I asked. “Why does he call himself my cousin? And how could he be descended from Ceridwen and not be Cerddorion?”
“Where did he approach you?”
I gave her a long look to show I knew she was avoiding my questions. At least she was addressing the topic, sort of. “At the train station. I thought you’d sent him to pick me up.”
“I didn’t know when you were arriving, or I’d have been there to meet you myself.”
“I tried to let you know. I called before I boarded at Euston and left a message with the cleaner at the Cross and Crow.”
“No message arrived here; Cadogan usually sends along any phone messages with the postman. So Pryce intercepted it, probably by chatting up the girl at the pub. He can be quite charming when he wants something.” She pulled a notebook and pencil from her pocket and made a note. “He must be staying there. I’ll ask Cadogan to keep an eye on him.”
“Pryce doesn’t live around here?”
“No. But I’m not surprised he’s arrived. Or that he tried to influence your first impression of him before I could warn you.”
No hurry there. It was like pulling teeth trying to get her to say two words about Pryce. “Well, now’s your chance.”
“Don’t be cheeky, child. I promise you’ll understand before the morning is done. What I can tell you now is that yes, I expected Pryce to come here. I’ve expected it ever since the Destroyer interrupted our communication.”
“They’re connected? The Destroyer and Pryce?” Somehow that didn’t surprise me. Something about Pryce—his dead eyes, maybe—suggested he’d be at home with Hellions.
Mab nodded.
“What is he, a sorcerer? Because my bond with the Destroyer takes precedence over any sorcerer who tries to command it.” That was how I’d stopped a power-crazed lunatic from flattening Boston last October.
“Pryce is no mere sorcerer, child.”
“Okay, so he’s not a sorcerer. He’s not my cousin. That’s two things he isn’t, but I still don’t know what he is.”
“You will, and soon. Today.” Something in her tone, something almost like pity, hinted that I’d end up wishing I’d stayed ignorant. “Our enemies have had three months to prepare. We must work quickly. Your first lesson will be to understand who those enemies are.” She stood and pushed her chair back from the table. “And that lesson begins now.”
17
I FOLLOWED MAB DOWN THE HALLWAY, THROUGH THE DINING room, and into the library. More than any room in this house, the library had “Mab” stamped all over it. Bookcases, full to overflowing, lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Four rolling ladders, one on each wall, were mounted on tracks, making it easier to retrieve books from the upper shelves. To my right, wing chairs flanked a huge fireplace, and in the far wall, French doors opened to the garden. A desk, chair, and sofa completed the furniture. Otherwise, everything was books, books, books.
“Sit, child.” Mab nodded toward the wing chairs as she went to a bookcase.
I paused in the doorway, reluctant to cross the threshold. In ten years, I’d never been able to shake the dread that gripped me whenever I entered this room. A particular spot on the Persian carpet drew my reluctant gaze. I didn’t want to look, but I couldn’t stop myself. I never could. Through a watery veil of sudden tears, I looked at the place where my father had fallen the night he died.
That had been my fault, too. Damn it, how many would die before I defeated that Hellion?
I squared my shoulders and crossed the room, making a detour to avoid walking over the site of my father’s last moments on Earth. I went to the fireplace and sat in the chair across from Mab’s. I miss you, Dad. If you were here, we’d fight this thing together.
But I had Mab on my side, and you couldn’t ask for a better demon fighter. I turned around to see what my aunt was doing.
She’d taken down a book, and she clasped it to her chest with both arms as she came toward me. Instead of taking her seat, she knelt beside my chair. She moved easily, no stiffness to betray her age, and for a moment I remembered Pryce’s words: Don’t you ever wonder about dear Aunt Mab? Who is she, exactly?
Mab’s eyes bored into mine. How many times had I searched those eyes for some glimmer of approval? Now, they showed worry. But I could see my father in them, and myself. Whatever doubts Pryce wanted to raise, I knew this woman. She was family. I trusted her with my life.
Mab cleared her throat, like she was searching for the right place to begin. “When we spoke on the telephone, I said it was time to start your next level of training. After this morning’s conversation, I’m certain of it.”
I nodded. That’s why I’d dropped everything and flown across the Atlantic.
Clutching the book with her left arm, she laid her right hand on my knee. “The trouble is, I’m not quite as certain you’re ready for it. But I’m afraid we have no choice. The situation has outpaced us.” She took a deep breath, and something flickered in her eyes. “This book will be the basis of your training.” She held the book toward me so I could see its cover.
“No!”
I was out of my chair and halfway across the room before I realized I’d moved. My heart pounded against my ribs like it wanted to escape from my body every bit as much as I wanted to get out of that room.
That book. It was evil. I couldn’t bear to look at it. It was the book my aunt had told me never to touch. The one I’d taken down in spite of—no, because of—her prohibition and used to summon Difethwr. I was just acting out; I hadn’t meant to call the Hellion. But Difethwr came anyway. And it killed my father.
In ten years, I’d never stopped regretting I’d ever seen the damn book. And now it was going to be the basis of my training?
No.
No no no.
Mab appeared beside me. She took my hand, her grasp cool and calming. “I know you’re afraid,” she said, her voice gentle. “I know this feels like something you cannot do. But please sit down so I can explain.”
I let her lead me back to the fireplace. I stopped at a chair. My knees bent. I settled on the seat. My body did these things automatically, puppetlike. My mind, fogged by grief and shock, couldn’t be bothered with things like walking and sitting.
That book had caused the greatest tragedy of my life. I’d vowed never to touch it again. And now Mab wanted to assign me homework from it.