Hellhound (A Deadtown Novel) (15 page)

“MAB, DON’T!” THE LAST THING I WANTED WAS MY AUNT on her knees in front of me. “Get up, please.”

“You cannot know how long I’ve waited for the Lady to return,” she murmured. But she returned to her chair.

“I’m sorry to say it, but you’re jumping the gun. I’m not the Lady of the Cerddorion. I can’t be.”

“And what makes you think that?”

“This, for starters.” I pulled up my sleeve to expose my demon mark. “And that vision I told you about—the one where I fought on the wrong side. I can’t be the second coming of some goddess. There are things inside me . . . like last night—” I stopped, not sure how to express my fear that next time, the Destroyer would gain control. “I’m too flawed.”

“Ceridwen was never perfect, child. Her story makes that clear. Don’t forget that both lines—demon and Cerddorion—came from her. After centuries of struggle, they’re reunited in you. It’s this”—she tapped my demon mark with her finger—“that makes Ceridwen’s return possible.”

“You’re wrong. Even Pryce believes you’re the Lady.” I told her how I’d pieced together this theory.

“Pryce’s arrogance has always been his undoing, child. We need not pay the slightest attention to what he thinks.”

“Except for the part where he’s trying to kill you.” And besides that, I remained unconvinced. If anyone should lead the Cerddorion in the coming war, it was Mab.

She tutted, then patted my arm. “Never mind that, child. I’ll refrain from calling you ‘Lady’ if it troubles you. Just know that I am here to protect and serve you.”

I didn’t like it. For my whole life, I’d always looked up to Mab. She was so many things to me: teacher, mentor, taskmaster, drill sergeant, role model. What she
wasn’t
was some kind of attendant who called me “Lady.” If she honestly believed I was Ceridwen, take two, she was going to be disappointed. Big time.

“Let’s not discuss it now.” The briskness in Mab’s voice made her sound more like herself. “Haven’t we kept your young man waiting long enough?”

A blush crept into my cheeks. “You knew Kane was here?”

“I heard the shower running and, later, a door close. As it’s past dawn, I assumed it wasn’t your vampire roommate.”

“He wants to have a conference about how to deal with Mallt-y-Nos.”

“Very sensible. Why don’t you fetch him, and we’ll do just that?”

“All right. But no more ‘Lady of the Cerddorion’ stuff, okay?”

“As you wish.”

That sounded way too much like some underling acquiescing to royalty, but I let it go. Mab would realize her mistake soon enough. This whole legend about the goddess returning sounded like nothing more than wishful thinking to me. Just as the war between demons and the Cerddorion reaches crisis mode, Mama Ceridwen returns to sort things out. Not bloody likely. I was surprised Mab could believe such a thing.

But Pryce believed it, so I’d have to be vigilant. I would not let him attack Mab again.

Down the hall, I tapped on the bedroom door and opened it. Kane, sitting on the edge of the bed, looked up from his phone. He was dressed in the suit he’d worn yesterday, his shirt a little rumpled from lying on the floor all night. A sexy look on him.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Basically, yes. A little weird. Mab’s not angry at me, but she thinks I’m the reincarnation of an ancient Welsh goddess.” Kane’s eyebrows went up at that. “I’ll hash that out with her later. Now, we need to figure out what to do about the Night Hag.”

“A goddess, huh?” Kane stood and slipped his phone into his inner suit pocket. “Goddess of what?” He grinned and pulled me to him, his lips close to my ear. “After last night,” he whispered, “I’m guessing goddess of sex.”

I ignored the shiver that went through me. “Don’t tease. This idea of hers is making things awkward between Mab and me. So please don’t bring it up.”

“I won’t say a word.”

In the kitchen, Mab had made herself another mug of tea. She was back to her usual self, acknowledging us with a brisk nod and suggesting we get down to business at once. I poured coffee for Kane and refilled my own mug, and we sat around the table.

That’s when I noticed the glove lying on the tabletop. Crafted from thick leather, it was big enough for the hand of a large man—even Axel might be able to squeeze his paw into it. The glove was brown and looked soft from years of use and polishing. Its long cuff was decorated with undulating patterns embroidered in gold and silver thread—swirls and runes and symbols I didn’t recognize.

“That’s the glove you took from your trunk last night,” I said.

“The gauntlet, yes. I thought it would be a good idea if Evan were to join us for this discussion. After all, the situation concerns him, as well.” Mab picked up the gauntlet and fitted it onto her right hand. The fingers looked big and clumsy, and the cuff nearly reached her elbow.

She stood, holding her right arm out straight before her. In a loud, clear voice, she said,
“Hebog, tyrd!”

The words meant
Falcon, come!
in Welsh.

She repeated the phrase twice more. The third time she said it, there was a change in the air, an electric charge. I took a breath; it was like inhaling lightning, a sharp, tingly feeling in my lungs. Kane grabbed my hand. Mab watched the ceiling, holding her arm before her. The gauntlet glowed with a pulsing light. The buzzing pressure grew.

A shape slammed through the ceiling, a hurtling white blur. Mab staggered back a step as the blur hit her arm. The blur took shape as a falcon, his talons grasping the gauntlet. The bird’s head turned, taking in the room. When he saw me, his body relaxed and he folded his wings. “Hi, Vic.” Dad greeted Mab, too. Although he stared at Kane, he didn’t speak to him. Instead, he looked at Mab. “Well, that was weird. It’s good to see you, but I’m not sure how I got here.”

“Weird, yes,” said Mab. “Almost as weird as being spoken to by a falcon in the voice of my long-dead nephew.”

“Touché, old girl.” He chuckled. “You should’ve seen your face.”

“Weirdness aside, what happened, just now, when I called you here?”

The falcon tilted his head. “Do you remember those old science fiction films I used to watch? It was like being pulled into a tractor beam, like you sometimes see in those. However hard I strained, whichever way I tried to fly, it sucked me here.”

“I used the gauntlet to call you. Can you leave it?”

Dad didn’t move. He grunted and twisted, but he stayed where he was. “Nope. My talons won’t let go.”

“The white falcon is bound to this gauntlet unless I release him.” Mab snapped her fingers. Dad hopped off the glove and perched on the back of a chair. He shook himself and started preening. Mab sat in her own seat, then turned to Kane and me. “Now you see why we must not allow the Night Hag to get possession of it.”

Dad stopped preening. “The Night Hag? She knows about it?”

“She saw me with it last night.” Mab took off the glove and laid it flat on the table, her fingers smoothing the leather. “Were you aware of it, Evan? Before I used it to call you, I mean.”

“No, but the falcon was. Or at least, I got a flash of recognition when you called. There’s a memory buried deep in this brain, but it feels old, something almost forgotten. Where did you get the gauntlet?”

“In the very distant past. It was a gift from Lord Arawn.”

That surprised me. “Really?” I’d met Arawn in the Darklands, and he didn’t seem like the gift-giving type. He’d loaned me a sword, but that didn’t work out too well. During our brief acquaintance, the main thing Arawn had given me was an order to get out of his kingdom or die.

“As I said, child, it was long ago. I brought the gauntlet with me because you told me you’d brought the falcon into our world from the Darklands.” She turned to Dad. “What she didn’t tell me, Evan, was that you had come with him.”

“I promised,” I muttered, staring at the table. Kane, his hand still on mine, gave a squeeze.

“Vic, it would have been okay—” Dad began.

“Victory has not been entirely forthcoming with any of us—including you, I’m afraid. That’s why we’re meeting here now, to lay our cards on the table, as it were, so that everyone involved fully understands the situation.”

Dad cocked his head at me. I’d gotten used to the falcon’s constant sharp-eyed, almost angry expression, which never changed, no matter what Dad was feeling. Even so, guilt permeated my gut. I ignored the feeling. Time to stop trying to carry everything myself, as Kane said. I loved everyone sitting around this table, loved them so much it hurt sometimes. If anything ever happened to any of them . . . But they didn’t want my protection. They wanted my trust. I took a deep breath.

“Dad, when I was in the Darklands, Kane followed me there. To bring me home.”

The falcon’s head swiveled to Kane. His stare lasted a full minute. “How did you get in?”

“The same way I did,” I answered. “He made a deal with Mallt-y-Nos.”

“She’s well known to werewolves,” Kane put in. “One of her titles is Mistress of Hounds. But normally she leaves us alone.”

“What did you promise the hag?”

“He promised . . .” My voice cracked, and I couldn’t seem to get any more words out. Kane moved his chair closer to mine and put his arm around my shoulders. A warm, gentle squeeze reassured me.

“I promised to join her pack for a year and a day.”

“As a hellhound?”

“Yes. For the three nights of each full moon.”

Kane and my father locked eyes across the table, Kane’s steady gray-eyed gaze meeting Dad’s bright, sharp one. With a start, I realized that this was the first time they’d met, not counting the business at the airport.
Oh, great.
I was glad we’d had no time for formal introductions. Dad, meet my werewolf boyfriend; he moonlights as a hellhound. Kane, meet my father, a talking falcon from the realm of the dead. Even under the best of circumstances—which these were not—we’d all be chowing down on supersize portions of awkward.

“Well, Vic,” Dad said. “He looks strong. He might survive. You say he came for you in the Darklands? How come?”

“Because I love her.” Despite our grim situation, Kane’s words sent sparkles of pleasure through me. He sounded so natural, so sure.

“Really? Vic, are you two an item or something? Because I swear I can’t remember you ever mentioning . . . what’s his name again?”

Kane stiffened, but he didn’t pull away. I could feel his questioning gaze on me, but I kept my own eyes on my father. “Kane, Dad. His name is Alexander Kane. And if you’d think for a minute, you’d realize my love life has never been a big topic of discussion between you and me.”

“But he’s a—”

Don’t say it, Dad.
“He’s my boyfriend. And I—” I was going to say, “I love him,” but my voice cracked again and Mab took the opportunity to tsk at all of us.

“Based on my own observations, Evan, I will attest to the fact that Victory and Mr. Kane are indeed in a serious and exclusive relationship.”

A serious and exclusive relationship.
How romantic. Why couldn’t I get the L-word out in the easy way Kane said it? Damn it, I didn’t want to leave any room for doubt.

“I love him, Dad.” There. Not a hint of a crack. My words came out clear and strong. My father stared at me and didn’t reply. I broke from his gaze and turned to Kane. He didn’t speak either, but the soft glow in his eyes said everything.

Mab broke the silence. “Examining the validity of their relationship is not the purpose of this meeting. Although I’ll admit it does affect our current problem. To catch you up, Evan, I’m sure you’re aware that Mallt-y-Nos was furious when you escaped from her.”

Dad quit staring at Kane. He chuckled and puffed out his chest feathers. “The old hag didn’t have her claws on me for more than half an hour.”

“She blames Victory. She’s convinced that Vicky somehow stole you from her. She has sworn that at the next full moon, she will set her hounds—Mr. Kane among them—on Vicky in revenge.”

Dad’s chest deflated. “Vic, is this true?”

I nodded, miserable.

“The hag has offered Vicky a way out. She will release Mr. Kane from his promise on one condition.”

The falcon’s gaze fixed on the glove lying on the table. “If Vic hands me over.”

“That’s correct. So you see—”

“That’s why you brought the gauntlet, isn’t it?” Although the falcon’s expression never changed, hurt permeated my father’s voice. “You called me here to tell me that you’re giving me to that horrible creature.”

“No, Dad. It’s not that simple.”

“Of course it is. I understand, Vic. Your boyfriend gets his freedom, and the Night Hag leaves you alone.”

“If we planned to do that, Evan, why would we be here now? We could have given Mallt-y-Nos the gauntlet at the airport last night.”

“Without saying good-bye? You wouldn’t be that cold, Mab.” The falcon shook himself, and the sadness in Dad’s voice deepened. “Honestly, Vic, I do understand. When you made your first bargain with the Night Hag, you never expected me to be part of it. You couldn’t have known I’d use this body to leave the Darklands or that I’d abandon the hag the first chance I got. So I take responsibility. But . . . if you could hold off one more day, give me a chance to see your mother.” He shook his head and spoke quietly, as if to himself. “I’m sorry now I wasted so much time getting up the courage to speak to her.”

“Dad, stop.” I rapped the table a couple of times to make him look at me. “We are
not
handing you over to the Night Hag. In the first place, you should know me well enough to know I couldn’t do that to you.”

“And I couldn’t let her sic her hellhounds on you. They’d rip you to bits.”

“She’ll probably do that anyway. Calling the hounds off was never part of the deal. All she offered was a one-for-one exchange: the falcon for Kane’s release. That’s where I got stuck. It’s an impossible bargain. No matter how many times I thought it through, I couldn’t come up with an acceptable solution.”

“Besides,” Mab put in, “there’s even more at stake.” Awe crept into her voice. “The white falcon can kill the Morfran.”

“I was as surprised about that as anybody,” Dad said. “In fact, I was planning to come over and discuss it before you called me here. I don’t know if Vic told you, Mab, but I’ve been trying to read the book. And now I finally understand what it was telling me, telling the falcon part of this brain. The Morfran is the falcon’s food.” He clicked his beak in what was perhaps the avian equivalent of smacking one’s lips. “Better than cheeseburgers.”