She ran-limped to the pile of rusty cans of old provisions piled up against the wall. And then she disappeared.
Was it a trick? Had she led me to this dead-end, pretending to be injured, and then run off at vampire speed? The Sword of Saint Michael lit up the tunnel. No vampires lurked anywhere that I could see.
The vampire I’d forced down the stairs said the entrance to the Old Ones’ lair was hidden. This mountain of cans must hide it somehow. Some kind of magical illusion, maybe? I looked closer. I poked at a rusty can with my toe, then kicked it. The can rolled across the tunnel. It was real enough. I kicked at another, and another. Cans went flying. And then I kicked one, and my foot went right through it.
I tried again. The same thing happened. I stepped forward—just half a careful step—and met no resistance. Shifting the sword to my left hand, I took a deep breath and drew a silverbladed throwing knife. Demon or vampire, I was ready. I walked forward through the illusion, into the Old Ones’ lair.
THE FIRST THING I SAW WAS A BLACK-ROBED OLD ONE, ARMS wide, coming straight at me. My silver knife sailed through the air and hit him in the throat. The Old One sank to the ground.
Now I could see the room. It was large, although its low ceiling made it feel cramped, and divided into two sections. To my right, a cluster of Old Ones huddled together. To my left, Myrddin stood in the middle of a setup I recognized from when he’d tried to steal my life force. Pryce lay on a table, tubes entering his body. Before, I’d been on the other end of those tubes. This time, it was the jar in which Myrddin had captured Norden’s life force.
Myrddin seemed annoyed to see me. “Aren’t you dead yet?” he asked irritably.
“Not yet.” I pulled my pistol and shot a bronze bullet. Myrddin ducked. But I wasn’t aiming at him. The jar containing Norden’s life force shattered.
A blue-tinted vapor spiraled upward from the fragments.
“No!” Myrddin batted the vapor toward Pryce with his hands. But the spiraling stream didn’t waver. It rose up and out of sight.
Rest in peace, Norden.
“Bring her here!” Myrddin shouted. “The ritual must be completed tonight. I’ll use her life force to finish it.”
The knot of Old Ones to my right stirred. Keeping an eye on them, I stuck my gun in my belt and reached down to retrieve the silver throwing knife from the one I’d killed. I touched the ice-cold body; my fingers groped for the knife.
Pain slashed through my palm.
The Old One wasn’t dead. He’d pulled the knife from his throat and used it to slice a deep cut into my hand. Now he grasped my wrist and pulled me to my knees.
I wrenched my arm away. Ignoring the pain, I got my gun in my right hand. It was slippery from the blood. I pressed the gun against his forehead and put a bullet between his eyes. Bronze, but at this range it should do some damage.
It didn’t. The Old One’s skull spit the bullet back out at me. The hole closed at once. The Old One sneered and knocked the gun from my hand.
All right. Silver didn’t work, a close-range pistol shot didn’t work. Let’s see how he liked fire.
I swiped the flaming sword at his neck. Blade cut into flesh, but then it stopped. The Old One’s flesh pushed out the blade. The wound filled itself in.
The creature felt the sting of fire, though. It screamed and scooted backward, away from the touch of the flames. Its flesh sizzled and blackened. Unlike the cuts, the burn didn’t heal. It sizzled and bubbled and blistered. The smell of burned, rotten flesh filled the room.
I waved my sword at the other Old Ones. They cringed and stayed where they were. Then, as if one of their psychic signals had passed among them, they parted like a curtain, taking a few steps to the left or right.
Behind them, Juliet was pinned to the wall. A dozen silver spikes held her in place: through her neck, her arms, her hands, her torso, her legs. A silver plate covered her mouth, rendering her silent. Her eyes were wide with terror and pain.
What the hell were they doing to her?
I roared and charged the Old Ones, slashing my sword. Maybe I couldn’t kill them, but I could make them hurt. You want to be gods? Eat fire, assholes.
They scattered, and I went to Juliet. Keeping them at bay with my sword, I pulled the spike from her throat.
An Old One flew at me, and I set its robe on fire. It screamed and dropped to the floor, rolling to put out the flames. I hoped the fire barbecued its yellow hide.
I removed the spike from Juliet’s left hand. The Old Ones gnashed their fangs at me but stayed back.
“Victory”—Myrddin’s voice cut across the room—“cannot win.” He giggled at his little pun.
I looked across the room at him. Mab’s bloodstone dangled from his hand.
He laid it on the table where the jar had stood. And then he lifted a hammer above it.
“Do you know what will happen if I smash this bloodstone?”
“Don’t—”
“Your aunt’s life force shatters into little pieces, as well. She dies. Instantly.” He tapped the stone lightly with the hammer. Each tap was a blow to my heart. “I think I can gather enough life force from the shards to finish the job with Pryce. Would you like that, to have part of Mab’s soul trapped within my son?”
“Don’t do it, Myrddin.”
“All right. Then I’ll need your life force instead. You or Mab. It’s one or the other.” He stopped tapping and raised the hammer again. “Hurry up. I don’t have much time. If you won’t decide, I’ll decide for you.”
“Let Juliet go. If you promise not to hurt her or Mab, I’ll cooperate.”
“What Colwyn and his corpses do with that vampire is none of my concern. My offer extends only to your aunt.”
I hesitated.
The hammer descended.
“No! Stop!” I screamed. “Don’t kill her.”
An inch above the stone, he stopped. He glared at me from under his brows. “Extinguish your sword.”
I let the flames die. One of the Old Ones—Colwyn, I think—snatched the sword and tossed it aside. Cold hands wrapped around my limbs like shackles of ice. The Old Ones hoisted me and carried me toward Myrddin.
A howl sounded. It started low and rose in pitch, full of anger and desperation. The Old Ones carrying me halted as it reverberated, filling the room.
“Kane!” I screamed, twisting toward the entrance. “In here! Go through the—”
An Old One stuck his hand in my mouth. I choked on long-dead flesh. Pushing aside revulsion, I bit down hard, but it didn’t faze the Old One. I couldn’t hurt it.
“Get her over here, now!” Myrddin said, his voice low but brimming with menace. The Old Ones carried me, bucking and struggling, to the table.
“Hold her down,” Myrddin said. “So I can finish this.”
Four Old Ones restrained me, pressing my arms and legs hard against the table. At my head, Colwyn covered my mouth, holding my upper arm with his other hand. I fought to breathe. Each hard-won inhalation reeked with the smell of the grave.
Myrddin bent over me. He’d hung the bloodstone around his own neck again. The pendant dangled from its chain, the bloodstone still small and dull. “No time for fun and games tonight, my girl,” he said. “No slowing down the chi and maximizing the pain. A pity, but it’s time to bring my son back.” He carved the eihwaz rune into my chest. Then he plunged the metal probe into my heart.
The pain convulsed me. My head strained against the Old One’s hand as I tried to scream. My right arm broke free; my grasping hand fastened on the bloodstone.
It pulsed.
The stone grew warm as blood from my slashed palm seeped into it.
I yanked, snapping the chain that held the stone around Myrddin’s neck.
The bloodstone vibrated in my hand, drinking in my blood. A silvery light glowed from between my fingers. The light spread, running up my arm, lighting up the rune cut into my skin. It seeped into my heart, spreading warmth through my chest.
With a mighty heave, my heart rejected the probe, expelling it from my body.
From the entrance, a roar pierced the room. The heads of all four Old Ones whipped toward it. I looked, too.
Kane towered there, still a hybrid of man and wolf. He stood at his full height, powerful, his shoulders broad. But his head had wolfish features and his fingers sprouted wicked-looking claws. He wore clothes he’d taken from one of the dead vampires, but somehow that made him even more terrifying.
He roared again, and the Old Ones scattered like cockroaches. They scuttled deeper into the room. Kane howled and ran after them.
Myrddin drew back his arm to hurl energy at Kane. I kicked him, knocking off his aim. His fireball missed, exploding against the wall. I rolled off the table, away from Myrddin, and crouched, ready to dodge his next fireball, gauging the distance to my sword.
But Myrddin didn’t throw another fireball. His mouth dropped open as he stared at the light emanating from the bloodstone.
I opened my fingers a little to let the light stream out. A beam shot upward and spread into a nimbus. Its center glowed with an intensity that almost hurt to look at. The light pulsed. It fractured, spun, and came back together in an image. In the center of the nimbus stood a young woman, clothed in a white gown, a silver circlet crowning her flowing hair.
“Viviane,” whispered Myrddin.
“Betrayer,” she spat. She lifted an elegant hand. Her finger pointed at him, and a torrent of energy shot out. It picked Myrddin up and hurled him against the wall. When he hit, his skin split open and his demon form emerged. It twisted out of his body, like some scaly reptile emerging from an egg, growing by feet each second. Myrddin’s human form disappeared.
Now. I had to act now, while Wyllt, Myrddin’s demon form, was forced to materialize in the human plane. I ran for my sword, shouting the invocation. Flames licked the blade. Holding the bloodstone high with my right hand, I snatched up the sword with my left. I charged the demon.
Viviane directed the stream of energy with laserlike precision. Wyllt glowed, held here somehow by the beam. The demon crouched, too big for this low room. I drove the Sword of Saint Michael through its hide and into its stomach. Flames burned demon flesh; sulfurous smoke billowed. I withdrew the sword and thrust it in again, moving it around to slice up as much of the demon’s innards as I could.
