The Iron Hunt (9 page)

“Hunter,”
whispered the demon. “Such a long time, Hunter.”

His
voice was smooth and warm as some lava kiss, a slow bath in liquid fire. I could
not look away from his small, perfect mouth, which barely moved as he spoke.
Terrifying. Eerie. My heart pounded so hard I felt light-headed.

I
staggered backward into the same crowd that had left the restaurant. Nothing
happened. The men and women did not notice my presence. They scattered around
my body. Gazes slid past my face. Still talking to each other, having a good
time. They walked past the demon without batting an eye, parting on both sides
of him like a river accommodating an island.

The
demon’s mouth tilted into a sharp smile, eyes hidden beneath the brim of his
black hat. Zee and the others poured from the shadows. Watching me, not the
demon. Watching me closely. Like they expected me to do something. As though I
needed no protection. I tried to summon them, but my voice caught. I choked on
words.

And
then, I just choked.

I was
dense. Took me a moment to realize what was going on, and it felt like a
lifetime, my skin hot, tears springing to my eyes. I tried to suck in air, but it
met a wall in my lungs, and I could not breathe. I could not breathe.

“We
are
your breath,” whispered the demon, and I felt it. I felt his smile in my lungs.
And still, the boys did not save me. They stared as though held on the end of
some terrible tether, and I wanted to scream at them, but I could not make a
sound, and the boys, Zee—
my family
—

“Do
not fight,” whispered the demon. “Hunter.”

I
fought. I fought hard, and felt a flutter behind my ribs, familiar and
haunting. A cold sensation. Cold as snow. Cold as a backwoods bar on some
Wisconsin country road. Cold as my mother’s knives. Darkness, stirring.

The
demon smiled. “Yes. You remember.”

Zee
barked a sharp word, and the demon inclined his head. I went down hard on my
knees, stars pulsing in my eyes. I thought of my mother, the boys. Grant.
Everything went dark.

Then
it ended. Ten hours, ten seconds, no idea. I found myself on the ground, almost
blind. Alive and breathing. Boys were on top of me, little traitors, Dek and
Mal twined around my neck while Raw and Aaz clutched my hands, cushioning my
skull. Zee licked my forehead, rough tongue rasping my skin. I wished he would
catch the tears racing from my eyes. So many tears. I could not stop crying.
There was something inside me. Something burning my heart. I was burning.

My
head lolled. I saw the demon facing me. Eyes still hidden behind the brim of
his hat, cloak and hair snarling through the shadows. I grabbed the back of
Zee’s neck.

“Kill
him,” I ordered breathlessly, daring him to defy me.

He
did. He remained unmoving, and there was a story in his eyes, in all of them. I
could not stand to see it. I could not. I pushed myself up, breathing hard, and
faced the demon. That demon with his smile. My knees quavered, but I had my
fists. I was breathing. That was something. Maybe.

Oh,
God. Oh, fuck.

Zee
grabbed my wrist. “No, Maxine.”

I
resisted. He pulled hard, tugging me behind him, then barked an order. Raw and
Aaz tore spikes from their spines, wielding them like spears. I looked down the
street and saw people coming, laughing and talking. No one seemed to see us.

“Oturu,”
Zee snarled. “Enough.”

The
demon tilted his head, just so, and his body twisted, flowing like the skim of
a shark through water. He danced when he moved; on the city street, wrapped in
shadows: a kiss on the eyes, a devil’s ballet, and only his feet moved, only
his cloak had arms; and his hair, rising and flowing as though lost in a storm.
I heard thunder, and when his toes sliced spirals in the concrete, I listened
to the wind bury winter; and when I tasted his grace, his grace had no name;
only, night became something else in his presence, as though darkness had a
soul, here, swaying to heartbeats roaring.

I
could not look away. The demon swayed to a stop before me, so close we could
have touched. Zee, Raw, and Aaz gathered near, spikes clutched in their fists.

“Hunter,”
he said. “We have missed your face.”

“I
don’t know you,” I whispered, every instinct in my body singing and raw.

The
demon’s smile grew a deeper edge. “Blood holds no dominion, Hunter. You know us
well
.”

I
knew nothing. Less than nothing. I thought of my mother. She would have been
kicking ass right now. She would have taken one look at this joker and ripped a
new hole in his face. Whether Zee helped or not.

Tendrils
of hair drifted near. Mal snapped, hissing. I reached into my own hair, and Dek
curled around my wrist and fingers. The demon leaned close enough to kiss.

I
slammed my fist into his face. My fist, wrapped tight in the body of another
demon. I did not need brass knuckles. Dek left spikes in the demon’s jaw and
took a chunk from his cheek, leaving a hole that gaped and smoked and burned.
The demon danced from me, hissing, cloak billowing sharp.

“Stay
away from me,” I snarled. The demon turned just enough to show his profile, and
the nimble ends of his hair plucked Dek’s spikes from his face, dropping them
one by one into his cloak, which absorbed the bone fragments like some ravenous
abyss. His cheek began to knit closed. Raw trembled against my leg, but I did not
think it was with fear. His gaze, like Zee’s and Aaz’s, was hard and cold and
hungry.

Men
walked past. One of them, a stocky fellow with a chunky belly and a bag of
takeout swinging in his fist, almost walked right over me. Oblivious. Laughing
with his buddies about some girl’s ass. I felt like a ghost.

“Hunter,”
whispered the demon unsteadily. “You are still too new.”

I
glanced at Zee, who stared at the demon with a familiarity that frightened me
almost as much as the creature himself. “What do you want?”

His
eldritch hair coiled in the air. “You woke us. Your soul reached for us. Inside
the abyss, we felt your call.”

“I
did no such thing.”

“
They
know.” The demon’s cloak billowed briefly toward the boys. “We can be here for
no other reason.”

“You
came through the veil.”

“We
are not of the veil,” said the demon. “But it opened. It is weakening.
Something came through. You have… need of us.”

I
felt rain on my face, and the newspaper digging into my back. Jack Meddle, I
thought. My grandmother. I did not have time for this crap. “I don’t need
anything
from you. You’re a demon.”

He
smiled faintly, but this time with a wry humor that was horrifying in its slip
of humanity. “As are you.”

Zee
said a sharp word. The demon inclined his head and stepped back. The gesture
was oddly respectful.

“Hunter,
born again,” he whispered. And then his hair lashed out, faster than I could
blink, and I felt a sting against my face in the sweet spot between my jaw and
ear. I flinched, dancing back. Reached up and felt no blood—just an indent, a
small series of lines.

Zee
slammed his fist into the sidewalk. The demon bowed his head and stepped
sideways into rain and shadow, the tips of his sharp toes digging trenches into
the concrete.

“We
are yours,” he whispered. “But, Hunter, you are
ours
, as well.”

“No,”
I began to say, but it was like watching a living abyss fold itself into one
breath, one hollow. The demon moved—and disappeared. Vanished. So completely it
was as though the world had opened its mouth and swallowed him.

I
stared, my eyes nothing more than two holes burning in my head. I looked at
Zee, Aaz, and Raw. Heads bowed, staring at their feet. Dek and Mal were silent,
quivering. Sorrow. Shame. I could feel it in them, and it hurt. Broke my heart.
I wanted to cry again, but there was no time. I had no place for tears.

“What
just happened?” I whispered, but Zee said nothing. None of the boys would look
at me. It hurt more than I could have imagined.

I
touched his shoulder. “You refused to fight for me. You betrayed me. I want to
know why.”

“Sorry,”
Zee breathed. “So sorry, Maxine. From the heart, sorry.”

I
brushed my hand across my eyes. More people were coming down the sidewalk; cars
driving fast along the slick road. Music pounded from the rental shop, and the
smells from the restaurants, the grease—

I
bent over, gagging. Dek and Mal crooned in my ear. I turned back to the Jeep,
numb, fumbling for the keys. My head pounded. Tears leaked from my eyes. Zee
touched my knee, and I shook him off.

I got
in the car, started the engine, and pulled away without waiting to see if the
boys followed. For the first time in my life, I did not care.

IF I
had been thinking clearly, it might have occurred to me that a gala event at
the Seattle Art Museum would be a black-tie affair.

But I
was preoccupied. Mostly with hot shame. I felt useless, worthless. I was alive,
but not because of anything I had done. The demon had not wanted to hurt
me—simple as that—and the idea that I had been at his mercy made me sick. I
could not even blame the boys. This was my fault. I had become complacent.
Always with Zee and the others at my back, knowing they would take care of me,
best as they could.

False
confidence. My delusion. My mother had always worked so hard: martial arts,
weapons training, games of strategy and deception. Keeping her mind and body
sharp. She had trained me, too—but she had also been dead for five years, and I
had let things lapse. I was rusty. I was an idiot. Relying on the boys was one
thing—being lazy, something else entirely.

The
boys sat very quietly in the backseat. No music. No fidgeting. I glanced back
once or twice and found them with their hands folded in their small laps,
little clawed feet dangling above the floor. Ten minutes of listening to them
sniffle made it impossible to stay angry. Hurt, maybe, but I could not hold a
grudge. Not with them.

“I
need answers,” I finally said. Zee made a small hesitant sound that was
distinctly uncomfortable, and I added, “You owe me that much. I thought I was
going to die.”

“No,”
Zee said firmly. “Not death.”

“I
thought we were family.”

“Thick
as thieves.”

“Then
what
is going on?”

“Can’t,”
Zee whispered, and a moment later melted from the shadows into the passenger
seat beside me. He clutched his sharp knobby knees to his chest.

I
searched his gaze. “Why?”

Small
fingers tugged the bottom of my jacket. Raw and Aaz squirmed around the
gearshift, under my arms, into my lap. Made it hard to drive, but I did not
have the heart to push them away. Zee hugged his knees a little tighter.
“Secrets, Maxine.”

“You
promised not to tell me what’s going on?”

“Promised
not to tell
anyone
.” His voice was soft, almost childlike. “Promised on
our blood.”

My
hands tightened around the steering wheel. Demons might be morally deficient—by
human standards—but they kept their word. Always. I did not know what would
happen otherwise, but it was important business. And the boys were no less
demonic: Their word was law. But to bind it to blood was another matter. Blood
was life. Blood passed on. Blood lasted until you died.

But
the boys never died—and that was the life span of a promise.

“Someone
made you promise not to speak about that demon we just met? What about Jack
Meddle? That message Blood Mama gave you?” I felt like a broken record asking
those questions, but I stared at him, waiting—then slammed on the brakes as the
light in front of me turned yellow. We all plowed forward, Dek and Mal
tightening their tails around my throat. Aaz smacked his head against the horn,
and the Jeep blurted out a fat little sound.

“All
connected,” Zee said, which made me want to beat my head against the horn, too.
“Mommy told you.”

My
mother said a lot of things. Brush your teeth. Read the first three chapters of
War and Peace
. Always keep a twelve-gauge handy. But I think I would
remember something about demons with knives for feet, or private messages
between the boys and Blood Mama. I think she would have drilled that in.

I
grabbed Zee’s hand. “You have to give me more. I’m out of my league.”

He
shook his head. “Never. You are the Hunter.”

I
felt like a nobody. I ran my fingers along the short razor spikes of Zee’s
angular cheek. Felt like silk grass. He leaned into my touch, eyes half-lidded.

“Did
you do this to Mom?” I asked him. “Keep these secrets?”

He
did not answer. I controlled myself, barely. “The demon?”

Zee
sighed. “Oturu. He is Oturu. Also… a hunter.”

“Not
from inside the veil. Not what I felt come through.”