I swung the other andiron, connecting with the demon’s gut. The creature grunted but stayed put. It grabbed the andiron with both hands and wrenched it away from me. Clouds of sulfurous smoke poured from its hands, but it held on. The andiron swooshed toward my head. I ducked and ran behind the demon. The force of the swing sent it off balance, and I shoved it with both hands. It tottered and fell on its face.
It was up in seconds, throwing the andiron at me with the force of a runaway locomotive. I ducked again. The andiron crashed through a back window. Beside the window, shining like the answer to a prayer, was what I needed: a junky old military rifle. With a bayonet. A bronze one.
I ran over, leapt onto the bench, and pulled the rifle from the wall. The demon hit me from behind. I went flying again, but I hung on to the rifle. When the demon jumped in front of me, its arm drawn back for another blow, I lunged, goring its abdomen. The demon’s hide was tough, but I moved the rifle as much as I could—up and down, side to side—pushing hard and getting the bronze in contact with the maximum amount of demon guts.
The creature batted me away like a fly. I flew across the pub, thudded into the far wall, and crashed to the floor. The demon looked down at the thing sticking into its belly, as if trying to figure out what the object could be. Even from where I lay twenty feet away, I could see the smoke and melting flesh where the bronze had made contact.
It took hold of the rifle. Wincing, it pulled out the bayonet. It shuddered when the point appeared, then threw the weapon on the floor. The demon turned its head back and forth, like it was looking for me, but the fire behind its eyes had dimmed. It took a step, then grabbed at its abdomen and fell to one knee. As I watched, the demon began to shrink. The air around it shimmered as it grew smaller and smaller, until it was no larger than the spark that had started this whole crazy battle.
The demon disappeared.
I half-sat, half-lay against the wall. Any moment now, I’d see if my body still worked well enough to stand up. Yup, any moment. Before I could rouse myself to try, a thunderclap shook the room, and a flash of light blinded me. I blinked, trying to get my vision back so I could face whatever new threat approached. Somehow, I found my feet. I was standing at the back of the room, leaning against the wall beside the phone.
“There she is!” Mr. Cadogan called from the bar. “We was about to send a search party into the ladies’.”
My ears rang from that sonic boom. But Mr. Cadogan’s voice came to me clear and strong. Colors had returned. The dusty velvet drapes hanging by the unbroken back window were the most beautiful shade of red I’d ever seen.
I did a discreet self-check. No blood. No slashes, cuts, or burns. I looked exactly as I did when I walked into the pub. Even the pain was gone.
I smiled at the publican. “I wasn’t gone that long, was I? Just went, um, outside for some air.” I strove to keep my voice light, but I sounded like someone who’d barely survived a battle. Wonder why. I took a couple of steps—I was shaky as hell—and sat down at the table where I’d left my drink. I picked up the glass and downed the perry in three gulps.
“It’s past last call. Jenkins was getting anxious about you.”
Jenkins nodded, peering at me like he knew something strange had happened.
I set the glass down and wiped my mouth. Everything in the pub was exactly as it had been before I’d gotten sucked into that alternate reality. Tables and chairs were upright, arranged as usual. Bottles lined up in their places behind the bar. The bayoneted rifle hung where it always had. The young couple and the farmer were gone, but it was closing time. I surreptitiously checked for my knife. Missing. My heart lurched and I checked the other sheath, but Hellforged was there, strapped into place and jumping in time with my booming pulse.
“Sorry, Jenkins,” I said. “I guess I lost track of the time.” I stood and carried my glass over to the bar. “Thanks for the drink, Mr. Cadogan.”
“Sure you won’t have another? The pub’s closed, but there’s no reason we can’t have a quick tipple amongst friends.”
Jenkins squinted at me, concern showing in his face. “Vicky looks tired,” he said. “I’m a bit knackered myself. We’d best be getting home.”
“Are you sure? I’ve got another ghost story to try out on Vicky. She can tell me whether American tourists would like it.”
“Let’s save it for another day, Mr. Cadogan.” It would be a long, long time before I was ready to hear another story about Spooky Lil. “I’m probably not the best judge, anyway. I don’t believe in ghosts.”
At least, I didn’t think I did.
25
JENKINS WAS QUIET AS WE DROVE HOME, GIVING ME THE opportunity to talk about what had happened, but not pressing, either. I didn’t feel like discussing it. How could I when I wasn’t sure what had happened?
Second, a battle in the world between the worlds. I’d just fought my way through the second test—that was clear. Wherever I’d been tonight, it was like nowhere I’d gone before, in the human or the demon plane. But what had I been fighting? A ghost? A demon? Both?
At Maenllyd, the kitchen was empty. Rose would be home at her cottage at this hour, and Mab had gone to bed. She left out a jar of the anti-dreaming tea on the table. I filled the kettle with water. When it boiled, I spooned two teaspoons of the herbs into a teapot. I reached for the kettle, then stopped and added a third teaspoon of herbs to make sure the mixture would do its thing. I poured hot water into the pot, got a mug, and waited for the tea to brew.
When the tea was ready, I carried the mug up the back stairs to the third floor. I changed into the warm flannel nightgown and climbed into bed, pulling the covers over my lap and sitting back against the pillows, the mug warm in my hands. I drank it all, then scooted down and closed my eyes. As I lay in my narrow bed, feeling warm and safe, I wondered drowsily about the creature—or creatures—I’d battled at the Cross and Crow. Wondered where, exactly, “the world between the worlds” was. Then the gray haze of sleep enclosed me, and I stopped wondering about anything at all.
A PHONE WAS RINGING. BUT THAT COULDN’T BE RIGHT; MAB didn’t have a phone. Plus I was still asleep, and I’d swigged a whole mug of extra-strong tea to make sure I didn’t dream. Therefore, I reasoned in my sleep, a phone couldn’t be ringing.
Still, the phone rang.
I let my attention probe toward the sound. A black-and-olive cloud appeared and thickened into a dense fog. A dream-phone call. But I didn’t know anyone with those colors. I waited, peering through the bruise-colored mist to see who was contacting me. A figure stepped forward. Pryce.
“Don’t call me cousin,” I said, before he could speak. “In fact, don’t call me at all.”
I concentrated to bring the fog back. To hang up on him, I only had to summon enough mist to obscure his features. Not as satisfying as slamming a door in his face, but it would do.
“Wait.” He extended his hands and pressed downward, lowering the fog I’d stirred up. “I didn’t call you. You called me.”
I scowled, and lightning flashed a couple of times as thunder rumbled. “That’s a lie.”
“You asked a question, and I know the answer.” He bowed. “I hastened to be of service.”
“Well, how about you hasten to get out of here?”