Shit. I’d left Hellforged in the mine.
I couldn’t go back for it now. If the Morfran attacked, I’d never make it as far as the first cavern. I’d rather get to Pryce and kill him before the third phase blew me to pieces.
Flame continued to spout from my demon mark. I held my arm high, like a torch, so it cast light ahead of me, bathing the night in a red glow. I went forward, listening for the cawing that would escalate to a scream before the Morfran attacked, waiting for the buzzing to start in my head. The crows circled and circled, but they didn’t make a sound. Another step, then two more. Nothing changed. I proceeded toward the center of the gravel yard, toward the hub of the circle traced by the crows’ flight. I went cautiously, tense and alert, watching for an ambush. In the mine, Pryce had run away. Why hadn’t he attacked? Because he’d be in a better position to strike here, with Cysgod and this huge mass of Morfran as his troops.
I passed the Land Rover and glanced inside. Jenkins lay facedown, his body wedged behind the front seats.
I’m going to kill you, Pryce. For Jenkins. For those zombies. But most of all for Mab.
The yard appeared deserted. If not for the massive flock of crows circling overhead, I’d have thought Pryce was long gone.
“Pryce!” I shouted. “Quit hiding, damn you. Let’s end this now.”
Fire sprang up in the center of the yard. Its flames glowed bright red, the shade of fresh blood. Pryce stood in the center of the conflagration, Cysgod towering behind him. Crimson light splashed across Pryce, illuminating his human features with a demonic glow. Cysgod’s figure was opaque, sucking in whatever light touched it.
I raised my sword and ran at them, bellowing a furious war cry. I struck, but my sword bounced off the flames like they were made of iron, wrenching my arm at the shoulder. Pryce laughed. I hated his laugh.
“Nothing ends tonight, cousin. Unless we’re talking about Mab, of course. Poor old dear, eh? Thanks for helping me send her to her destiny.”
I struck at the fire—four, five, six times—hacking and stabbing as though I could bash my way through. The flames didn’t flicker; my sword couldn’t penetrate them.
I stopped, panting, holding my sword at the ready in case Pryce’s protection failed.
“I’d never hurt Mab.” As I said the words, I remembered how she’d stared at me, at the flame that burst from my arm when I slipped into the demon plane. She’d warned me, and I’d ignored her warning. Pryce was right: It was my fault. Again. I’d given Cysgod the opening to strike Mab down.
“That’s two of your relatives you’ve killed now, isn’t it? Mab and your father. Are you certain you’re Cerddorion? It’s like you’ve been on my side all along.” Each word punched me like a fist. When the sword fell from my hand, I barely noticed. Pryce sneered. “Welcome to Hell, cousin.”
The flames blazed up. I staggered back, shielding my eyes. Pryce’s human form grew taller and taller, until it reached Cysgod’s height. The two forms melted into each other, blending into a huge, hideous demon gleaming with bloody light. The demon blew me a kiss.
An explosion blasted out, hurling me backward through the air. I slammed into the Land Rover and slid to the ground, blinded by the brilliant flash and deaf to everything except the echo of demonic laughter.
29
SOMEONE WAS SHAKING MY SHOULDER. IT HURT. IT FELT LIKE all my bones, broken into inch-long fragments, were rattling around in a burlap bag.
“Miss Vicky?”
I swatted at the hand that insisted on rattling my poor bones.
“Miss Vicky! Thank God! Where’s Miss Mab and your gentleman friend?”
I peeled my eyelids back to a squint—it was the most I could manage—and saw Jenkins’s anxious face inches from my own.
“You’re alive,” I said.
“Me? ’Course I am. Soon as them crows started flying out of the mine—looked like smoke from a seven-alarm fire, they did—I hid in the Land Rover. They’re all gone now, thank God. Disappeared with that explosion.”
Gravel bit my palms as I sat up. I checked my arm—the demon mark no longer burned—and looked up. Jenkins was right; the sky was clear. A waning gibbous moon hung in the east, casting silvery light over the landscape. Across the sky, stars winked and sparkled. Somewhere, people were calling this a beautiful night. But not here. Not in Hell.
Welcome to Hell, cousin.
Jenkins shook my shoulder again. “Where’s Miss Mab? What did that Pryce mean, what he said about her?”
Jenkins’s face was taut with worry, his eyes afraid. I closed my own eyes to keep the tears from spilling over. Jenkins and Rose had been with Mab for so many years, humans who lived with and accepted the family’s strangeness—and, yes, even managed to love us. How could I tell him Mab was dead? Especially when it was because of me.
I couldn’t say the words. I couldn’t.
Closing my eyes didn’t help. The tears escaped, anyway. I buried my face in my hands and sobbed.
“Oh, dear Lord.” Jenkins’s hand tightened on my shoulder.
I had to pull myself together. Jenkins deserved to know what happened, that Mab had fought well and died bravely. And I had to go back and help Kane carry out her body.
“Jenkins …” I began, opening my eyes.
But he wasn’t looking at me. He stared at the entrance to the mine.
I turned and stared, too. Kane was coming across the yard, head bowed, carrying something across his shoulders. It wasn’t Mab; it was some sort of animal. I couldn’t make out what. Jenkins was already hurrying toward him. I jumped up and followed.
Kane carried a huge gray wolf.
“I’ll explain in a minute,” he said. “Let me set her down.”
Jenkins opened the Land Rover’s rear door, and I helped him fold down the backseat. The three of us eased the wolf into the vehicle. She lay on her side, eyes closed, tongue lolling, ribs moving quickly in shallow pants.
“It’s Miss Mab, isn’t it?” Jenkins said.
Kane nodded.
“I thought she was dead,” I said, so quietly I could barely hear my own words. “If I’d realized … I never would have left her alone in there, not even to stop Pryce.”
Kane put his arm around me and pulled me close. “You didn’t. You sent me to be with her. I thought she was dead, too, Vicky. But I decided to try a healing technique that works on my kind—I don’t know why I did. To do something, I guess. I didn’t expect it to work.”
Mab’s fur was matted with blood from her chest down to her belly, but I couldn’t see an open wound. “What did you do?”
“When a werewolf is severely injured—in wolf or human form, it doesn’t matter—sometimes even our bodies can’t heal fast enough to sustain life. But a sort of blood transfusion can help. That’s what I did. I cut my arm”—he pulled up his tattered sleeve to show the spot, but his skin was unscarred—“and let the blood run into Mab’s wound. It started to close immediately, and she gasped, like she’d been holding her breath for too long. But then she changed into a wolf. I didn’t know that would happen.”
“It’s okay. It’s good, actually. Changing form will help her heal faster. The wound closed before she shifted?”
“I think so. I was watching it, but the energy blast of her shift drove me back.”
I ran my hand over the wolf’s thick, coarse fur. She stirred, then sighed and sank back into sleep. Mab was alive. Tears—how different they felt—spilled over again. I glanced at Jenkins; he wiped his sleeve across his eyes.