Hunter Kiss: Labyrinth Of Stars Part 7

"You've been watching him?" Grant asked.

"Blood Mama made us, all these months," replied the possessed woman, while her friend looked past us and gave some tourists a toothless grin. "The Wolf can't be trusted."

I started to walk past her, and she stopped me. "Our mother says you didn't listen."

"Listen?" I thought of that waitress in Texas. "I listened fine. The message just wasn't worth s.h.i.+t."

The old woman stepped forward, deliberately ignoring Grant. "You should have let your baby die and made another, with a different father. That was what you should have heard in her message. Your attachment to the one in your belly will f.u.c.k us all."

I grabbed her throat, and the woman squawked like a flattened chicken. The tourists who were pa.s.sing us-a slight, elderly white woman, and her equally elderly black husband-gave us startled looks and kept on walking, fast. The demon's friend also backed away-right into Raw, who appeared from the shadows with a snarl.

"I'm going to kill you," I told her.

"Let me do it," Grant said.

I glanced at him, an unpleasant thrill in my gut. His eyes were so cold, so grim, I didn't recognize him. Truly, for a moment, it was as if another man had stepped into my husband's place. Even his face looked different: thinner, longer, lost in so many shadows he seemed to exist between here and there.

He looks like a demon, I thought.

Until, suddenly, he was my husband again. But that was almost as frightening.

The possessed woman's eyes bulged; she clawed at my hand. Zee flowed from the darkness and grabbed her leg. She went totally, completely still.

"Little light is our light," he whispered. "Cut her, we cut you. Cut you all dead."

"Traitors," she rasped. "False Kings. You reaped worlds and would lose this one to a child and a Lightbringer."

Grant made a sharp, slicing sound with his tongue-I felt it sc.r.a.pe against my skin like a razor blade. Both the possessed women stiffened, dark auras tearing straight up-invisible hands ripping them from their stolen bodies. I imagined a tearing sound-but that was just the women sucking in their breath through their teeth, inhaling and inhaling, standing on their toes, rising as high as their stout, stolen bodies would take them. Backs arched. Bones cracked.

My husband spoke again, and those demon auras snapped free of their hosts. Zee leapt up, grabbing one of them. Raw took the other, holding that struggling wisp in his fist. He grinned, sharp teeth absolutely hideous-and stuffed the demon in his mouth. Zee did the same, swallowing with grim pleasure.

I had already released the human woman's throat, but I touched her again, this time to hold her up as her knees buckled. Grant grabbed her companion, but he only had one hand free and she half fell to the sidewalk with a grunt. Zee and Raw were already gone, lost into the shadows.

Demons, parasites. For years, I'd called the hosts of these things zombies. Humans with weak minds, possessed by demons who fed on their pain and the pain they caused others. An old demon could possess absolutely. A weak demon was just a hitchhiker, influencing from the shadows of the unconscious. But either way, the host was always screwed. I'd known men and women forced to commit terrible crimes against their wills-and after an exorcism have no memory of it. No memory, but forced to live with the consequences, forever.

Both women were touching their heads, babbling to each other in Chinese. I didn't understand a word, but Grant began humming, a soft melody that skimmed across my skin like a feather. The women calmed, staring blankly at each other.

I pulled Grant toward the apartment-building door. His hand was clammy. I said, "That wasn't like you."

"Does it matter?" he asked tightly.

I forced him to look at me. "You're not a killer."

He paled but stayed silent. I didn't know what else to say except take his hand. I kissed the back of it, briefly pressing his palm against my cheek. Willing him to feel my concern.

I'm changing, whispered his voice inside my mind.

I caressed our bond, savoring the light and heat of it. You're a father whose daughter is being threatened.

Grant drew in a sharp, pained breath. It's more than that.

And then, carefully, gently, he pulled his hand from mine.

We went inside, blinking at the dim, buzzing fluorescent lights, which cast the world in a sick greenish gray. I heard televisions, shouts in Chinese, but tuned it all out, listening to my heart pound as I ran up the stairs two steps at a time.

Grant couldn't keep up, but said, "Go on."

So I did. Zee uncoiled from the shadows, dropping on all fours to race ahead of me. His claws left deep gouge marks in the stairs. He looked over his shoulder, hair spikes flexing with agitation.

"Maxine," he rasped.

"Find Jack," I said. "I've got Dek and Mal."

But Zee did not leave me. Instead, he moved closer, so close I could reach out and touch him as I ran up the stairs; and I did, my palm skimming his sharp hair and the tips of the spikes jutting from his back. Comforting, having him near. I needed the reminder I was not alone. Even having Grant with me wasn't rea.s.surance enough.

We reached the top floor. No one was in the hall. I heard men speaking Chinese behind closed doors, a dog whining. My boots scuffed the stained tiles. I smelled hot oil, garlic, and something rotten, like the lingering vapor from a dirty toilet.

We stopped at the second-to-last apartment. Door was already cracked open, Aaz just on the other side, peering out at us. His eyes were huge, sharp ears pressed flat against his skull. He clutched a half-eaten teddy bear. Not a good sign. My heart dropped, and I pushed inside.

It was night; I expected darkness. But the apartment I found myself in felt worse than dark. I could taste the desolation, sickly sweet: plates of rotting food on the table, the buzz of flies, the oppressive ovenlike air so thick I could have been pus.h.i.+ng through solid matter. I waded into that apartment, stomach churning, letting my eyes adjust to the shadows and faint neon light streaming through slivers in the blinds.

"Jack," I said, and then louder: "Jack."

Zee fell into a shadow-slipping in and out of this world through the gloom-and then reappeared on the other side of the room, beckoning me with a flash of his long claws. I followed, Aaz staying close, chewing on his teddy bear's ear. I skirted books, paintings; a tall vase that I nudged with my shoulder and almost knocked over.

A smell hit me: more rot, but this time of the living; and I saw the rounded curve of a back, so hunched and still that at first I thought it was another piece of furniture. But no, there was an arm, pale and thick with muscle; and I heard, I felt, a slow exhalation. I took a step closer, and choked. The air was rancid with filth. My shoes stuck to the floor.

"Meddling Man," Zee whispered.

I moved sideways and found the little demon crouched on top of a small table, his claws digging hard into the wood. All the spikes on his head flexed in agitation. Raw was there with him, and Aaz made a small, distressed sound. Dek and Mal coiled tighter around my throat.

A crystal skull was on the table.

It didn't resemble anything human. Wide cranium, protruding crests at the cheeks. Thick jaw, filled with teeth as sharp as dagger points, like a piranha's mouth. I could see the lines of that thing, all those spectral curves, as if a light were in my eyes, or its eyes, and it made me dizzy for a moment. I touched my stomach again, which felt warm. My right hand tingled, the armor encasing my skin coming alive.

Zee and the boys stared at the skull. If they destroyed it right now, I would not be surprised. That . . . thing . . . and twelve other similar artifacts were responsible for channeling the power that had been used to imprison my five little demons upon the body of my ancestor-and bind thousands of demons more into a prison outside this world.

My grandfather had been one of the prison-makers.

I watched the old man. It had been months. I barely recognized him. For a moment, I wondered if he'd found a new body to inhabit.

But I looked longer, harder, and all those rough edges were the same: cheekbones, nose, that broad, lined brow. His face was barely visible behind his matted beard and crusty shreds of silver hair. His s.h.i.+rt was rotting off him, filled with holes and stained yellow with sweat; and his boxer shorts were hideously filthy. He smelled like sewage. Made my skin crawl. Just standing there, breathing the same air: lethal.

He sat so still, eyes open, unblinking: staring at the crystal skull. I didn't want to imagine how long he'd been like that. Long enough, maybe, to kill a normal human. His lips were crusted with blood.

Grant entered the room behind me. "Oh, my G.o.d."

I ignored him, stepping in front of my grandfather-blocking his view of the skull.

"Jack," I said.

Nothing. For a long moment I was sure he wouldn't stir, that whatever had captured him would continue holding his spirit and flesh. He was in a coma, he was paralyzed, he was already gone from that body.

But just as I was about to call down Zee, the skin around his eye twitched. So did his hand, resting on his knee. I held my breath, waiting. I held my breath, so I wouldn't vomit. Sweat rolled down my back. I thought about home and wanted to reach past the filth and shake my grandfather awake.

He twitched again, a jolt that ran from his feet into his legs. His fingers flexed, and his shoulders. .h.i.tched with a sharp breath that wheezed into his lungs like rattling leaves. I heard popping sounds. His mouth cracked open. I expected him to speak, but instead his tongue emerged, and it was grotesque: shriveled, dry, bleeding.

I snapped my fingers at Raw. "Water."

The little demon dropped his fist into the shadows; he pulled a bottle of water free, ice-cold and perspiring. I popped the cap, held my breath against the smell, and pressed the bottle against my grandfather's broken lips. His eyes were still open, unresponsive. He stared right past me.

He didn't drink at first. Water filled his mouth and spilled down the sides. I stood there, waiting. Dek and Mal pushed their heads free of my hair and slithered down my arms, peering at my grandfather's face.

Grant stepped close, a low hum pouring from him, a heavy sound that made the air vibrate.

That did it. My grandfather choked. Water sputtered from his mouth over my hands, but I held his jaw and the bottle, and when he managed to swallow, I gave him more. He drank and drank, and when that bottle emptied, Raw put another in my hand. At some point, his eyes closed-and then at some point, his eyes opened-so that when we were at the end of the third bottle I realized he was looking at my face. And this time, he was seeing me.

"Hey," I said, trying to smile.

My grandfather raised a shaking, filthy hand and touched my wrist. It happened to be my right wrist, covered in armor, and the organic metal reacted to his touch with a ripple. The old man shuddered, and leaned away from me. His gaze fell on the crystal skull. I moved sideways, blocking his view.

He closed his eyes. "Sweet girl. How long has it been?"

"Months since I saw you. But I don't know how long you've been . . . like this."

"Too long." Jack opened his eyes and looked at me. "Thank you for finding me. I was . . . not in my right mind."

And then his gaze fell down to my stomach.

"Ah," he said. "Time has pa.s.sed."

I frowned. "Can you walk?"

He didn't seem to hear me. He tore his gaze from my stomach, then looked slowly around the room, as if seeing it for the first time. I thought for sure he'd already noticed Grant-given that my husband was standing right in front of him-but when my grandfather finally looked at him, directly, a bolt of tension ran right through his jaw, down into his grimy hands. He stayed like that, unblinking. Until, finally, I realized he wasn't really seeing my husband at all.

"Jack," Grant said sharply. "Focus."

No reaction. Zee made an impatient sound and grabbed the old man's wrist. I had never seen the little demon touch him, and the contact seemed to startle my grandfather almost as much as me. He recoiled, trying to pull free, but Zee was relentless.

"Meddling Man," he rasped, eyes glowing. "Be here. Be now."

Jack stared at him, then exhaled sharply. "What has happened?"

I glanced at the skull. "You tell me."

He still looked dazed. I almost touched him but was afraid of catching a disease.

"Can you walk?" I asked him. "We need to leave."

Jack didn't move. His gaze flickered back to the skull.

"f.u.c.k it," I said, reaching for him. "Let's go."

My grandfather held up a trembling hand, stopping me. "Don't. I'm not an invalid. Just old and stupid." He slid forward on the chair, and that small movement released an odor that made me stop breathing. Grant bent his head and covered his mouth.

When Jack stood, his knees wobbled. So did the rest of him. I gritted my teeth, held him up. My skin crawled, but I didn't let go. He felt so frail. My hands softened, and so did my heart.

"Hey," I said, in a gentler voice. "Grandfather."

Jack closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "Have you ever called me that?"

"I can't remember." I looked at the skull. "Anything I need to know?"

"Of course not," he said tersely, then hesitated. "We should leave . . . that . . . here."

Zee gave him a doubtful look. Jack said, "Yes, yes, you're right. We'll bring it."

I opened my mouth. My grandfather shook his head, confusion marring his grizzled face. "No, that's wrong. It's safer here."

Even Raw and Aaz stared at him. Grant frowned, studying the skull with an uneasy glint in his eye.

"It's alive," he said, quietly. "Full of light."

"What does that mean to us?"

"I don't know." He tore his gaze from it, blinking hard. "But it can't just be left behind."

I wouldn't have left it, anyway. I took a deep breath-through my mouth-and looked at Zee. "Find a box to put it in."

My grandfather's shoulders slumped, but he didn't argue. Or agree.

Zee reached into the shadows beneath the table. I heard a clank, sc.r.a.ping; he pulled free a metal box.

Jack said, in that same terse voice, "Why are you both here?"

I almost snapped at him but swallowed hard at the last moment, kept my voice steady.

"We couldn't hide forever," I told him, which wasn't what I intended to say at all. But Jack stared at me, and in a heartbeat he was fully himself, fully present, and he straightened up and grabbed my hand.

"Maxine," he said.

I squeezed his fingers, and all the pain, fear, and dread that had been hovering just outside my heart, hovering on the cusp, spilled into me and kept spilling.

"Jack," I said. "They tried to poison Grant. And kill our baby."

"They," he echoed, but it wasn't a question. He knew to whom I was referring. He was one of them, after all.

"It almost worked," Grant said. "Too close, Jack. Too d.a.m.n close."