Darklands (11 page)

PHYLLIS’S KITCHEN WAS THE SORT OF GRANDMOTHERLY place that should always smell like gingerbread. Red-and-white-checked curtains framed the window over the sink. Between the tall wooden cabinets hung plaques with sayings like
BLESS THIS KITCHEN
and
RECIPE FOR FRIENDSHIP
. An oval braided rug in shades of blue and brown warmed the yellow linoleum floor. There was even a teddy bear–shaped cookie jar sitting chubbily on the counter.

I sat at the kitchen table, a glass of cool tap water in my hand, my third since I’d exited Phyllis’s dreamscape. My throat was dry, and I was still coughing up cottony puffs of fog. Pookie rubbed against my legs, his purr rumbling like a diesel engine. Phyllis was asleep upstairs. After exiting her dreamscape, I’d checked her vital signs and they were fine—better than mine, probably. Now I was waiting for her to wake up.

I reached down and absently stroked Pookie’s gray fur. This job had been a disaster. I’d killed exactly one Drude. The interloper with the sack had snatched at least one other, but I hadn’t been able to make sure Phyllis’s dreamscape was totally clear. I’d have to come back another night and do a sweep for any lingering Drudes. That is, if Phyllis would allow me back. That black door I’d opened—it was obviously the forbidden door, the one behind which terror lurked. Not only had I opened it; I’d gone through, plummeting headfirst into her fear of falling.
Falling and heights, two of her biggest fears. She’d checked those boxes on her pre-extermination information sheet.

A noise in the hall made me look up. Phyllis stood in the doorway, wearing her pink robe and slippers. Pookie ran over to her. She picked up the cat and offered me a tentative smile.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, jumping up to pull out a chair for her.

“Hungry,” she said, waving me off. She set Pookie back on the floor and went to the refrigerator; its light reflected from her glasses as she peered inside. She removed a carton of milk and a slice of cake. “Would you like something?” she asked as she poured the milk into a glass. More milk went into a saucer for the cat.

“No, thanks. Do you feel ready to talk about what happened tonight?”

“Give me a moment, dear.” She returned the milk carton to the fridge and set the saucer on the floor. Then she carried her glass and cake over to the table. She settled into her chair with a sigh, took a long swallow of milk, then smiled at me. “Well, that certainly was exciting, wasn’t it?”

“I hope you weren’t frightened.”

“Frightened? Whatever for? Why, I haven’t had a dream like that since I was…well, since I was much younger.” A blush colored her powdery cheeks. “And much more romantic.”

Romantic? That was a funny word for a dream about endless corridors, falling through space, exploding demons, and shadowy figures with automatic weapons. She must have had a follow-up dream after I left. If it wasn’t a nightmare, that was a good sign.

“But where is he?” Phyllis leaned sideways and craned her neck as though trying to see behind me.

“Who?”

“Your helper.” She twisted around in her chair, then bent over and looked under the table before returning to me. “And why didn’t you introduce him to me before I went to sleep? I would have slept better knowing
he’d
be in my dreams.” Her blush deepened.

I sat up straighter. “Did this helper carry a sack?”

“Yes. For removing demons.” She frowned. “Nasty, scaly things they were. I’m glad I never opened a door if that’s what waited on the other side.”

“Tell me about him. What did he look like? What did he actually do in your dream?”

“He came into the dream the same way you did, stepping out of a beam of light. I saw you both do that. But I watched him because…” Girlish dimples framed her smile. “Well, because he was so attractive. The very picture of tall, dark, and handsome.” The dimples faded as she concentrated. “Well, not dark. I wouldn’t describe his complexion that way; in fact, his skin was perhaps too pale. But his hair was the blackest I’ve seen. Black as…black as crows’ wings. And his eyes were lovely and dark. Like a midnight lake. Eyes you could dive into and swim around in forever.”

The room suddenly felt twenty degrees colder. Strip out the poetry, and Phyllis had just described Pryce.

I hadn’t seen the face of the man who’d invaded Phyllis’s dreamscape. But his height, his build, the way he moved—yes, it could have been Pryce. What the hell was he up to?

“This, um, helper. Did he kill any demons?”

“No, he made them small and put them into his sack. I thought maybe he was collecting them so you could shoot them all at once with that gun you showed me.” She frowned. “Why didn’t you? I was rather looking forward to watching them die. Instead…oh, my, now I recall. Instead you opened the forbidden door, and your helper pushed you through it.” Her frown deepened. “That wasn’t very helpful of him, was it?”

No, it wasn’t. Not helpful at all. “What did you see after he pushed me?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to follow you through
that
door. Besides, I liked watching that young man.” She drank some milk, then wiped her mouth thoughtfully. “In the dream, everything he did seemed natural. But now that I look back…why
did
he push you through that door?”

“Let’s put it this way: He’s not my helper.”

“I was beginning to wonder about that. Well, he did get those nasty demons out of my dream. Most of them, anyway.”

“Most of them?”

“Right after he pushed you, he reached into the sack and pulled out a demon. Hauled it out by its ear. The demon grew bigger and bigger, until it was taller than he was. Even so, it cringed before him and I thought, ‘Oh, good. Now he’ll kill it.’ But he didn’t. He spoke to it, and it flew out the door, the one you went through. Then the young man tied the sack shut again and tossed it into one of those light beams.” That meant Pryce
had transferred the demons he’d captured to the human world. Why? I wondered. “Then he stepped into the light, too. I waved good-bye and blew him a kiss, but I don’t believe he saw me.” She sighed and rested her chin in her hand.

“Did you hear what he said to the demon?”

“‘Bring her to me, and I’ll free you.’ That’s why it seemed all right, I suppose, that he’d pushed you, because he sent someone to rescue you.” Her mouth curved in a prim smile. “It’s funny with dreams, isn’t it? Things make perfect sense at the time, but then you wake up and those very same things have you scratching your head. Why was that young man collecting demons, not killing them? Why did he push you? Why did he send a demon to bring you back?”

All questions I’d like the answers to, myself.

“And for that matter,” she continued, “why did you kill the demon that helped you? You did kill it, didn’t you?”

“That’s what you hired me to do, remember? Believe me, that demon had no intention of helping me. And if I hadn’t killed it, it would have kept giving you nightmares.”

“Do you think so? After you disappeared into the fog, your helper came back. He didn’t have his sack with him, but he had a gun—much bigger than yours, some kind of machine gun. ‘Finally,’ I thought, ‘it’s demon-shooting time.’ But he didn’t use it. He looked around the room and took half a step into that fog. Then he seemed to change his mind. He stepped into the beam and went away again.”

Pryce hadn’t returned with a gun to shoot demons. He planned to use it on me. The Harpy attack had failed; this time, he wanted to make sure I was dead.

“After that, I had a lovely dream about being in a garden. Not a wall or a door in sight. Quite refreshing.” Phyllis got up and went over to the cookie jar. The teddy bear’s head sat on the counter, its button eyes staring vacantly over its smile, while she rummaged around inside its body. I thought she was going to offer me a cookie, but she pulled out a wad of bills.

“Now, dear, how much do I owe you?” she asked, licking her thumb and peeling off twenties.

“Nothing.” It pained me to say it, but I hadn’t finished the job. “I’ll have to come back and make sure your dreamscape is clear of Drudes.” She’d already paid half up front. It was my policy not to collect the full fee until the job was done.

“Nonsense. I’m certain the demons are gone. I could feel the difference as I was sitting in that beautiful garden; it was like a fresh wind blowing across a rain-swept landscape.” Phyllis was definitely a poet at heart. “If the nightmare comes back, I’ll call you.” She held out a thick stack of bills. “Take the money, dear. You’ve earned it.” When I hesitated, she picked up my hand from the table and closed my fingers around the cash.

“Thanks.” I stuffed the money into my pocket. “But if you find yourself in that hallway again, promise you’ll call right away.”

She nodded. “You could send that nice young man. Oh, but you said he wasn’t your helper.” Her eyes went all dreamy. “Well, if you do happen to see him, tell him he may visit my dreams whenever he likes.”

PRYCE WAS PLANNING SOMETHING, AND HE WANTED ME OUT of his way. Two murder attempts in two days. When he wasn’t trying to kill me, he was running around Boston, snatching personal demons. What was he up to?

I was back in my apartment, getting ready for bed. It was early, still several hours before dawn, but I wasn’t going to sleep, anyway. Not yet. Juliet was still out with her Goon Squad guards. I hoped she was having fun at Creature Comforts, not stuck in some extra-long interrogation session. Maybe a night out would quench her desire to buy every product advertised on TV.

I closed my bedroom door. I was going to try something, and I didn’t want to be interrupted when Juliet returned.

“Forewarned is forearmed.” It was one of Mab’s favorite sayings. I must have heard my aunt say that a thousand times during the years I trained as her apprentice. Know your enemy. Understand how that enemy thinks. Learn what you can of the other side’s plans before you rush in to fight.

Before I came face-to-face with Pryce again, I needed to learn as much as I could about what he was scheming. Nothing good, I was sure of that. But “nothing good” wasn’t much of a starting point. Pryce’s demon-napping must be causing a stir in the demon
plane. What did the demons know that I didn’t? What rumors were buzzing around there that hadn’t reached my ears?

There was one way to find out: Conjure a demon and question it.

I lay in my bed, covers tossed to the side. The bedroom was cold and I shivered, but that was okay. What I was about to do would work better if I was uncomfortable.

I’d decided to summon an Eidolon, a guilt-demon. Unless you’ve lived the life of a saint, Eidolons are the easiest kind of demon to conjure. All you have to do is focus on regrets and remorse, things you wish you could do over or take back. Eidolons respond to all kinds of anxiety, but guilt is their favorite. They love guilt like flies love honey.

Reaching over to my nightstand, I checked that the bronze-bladed dagger I’d hidden behind my alarm clock was close by. A similar dagger was tucked under my pillow. I needed to be ready to send the Eidolon back into the ether as soon as I’d finished questioning it. Guilt is tough to get rid of once you’ve stirred it up. Whenever I exterminate a guilt-demon for a client, I always recommend follow-up sessions with a therapist. Unless you deal with the root causes of the infestation, the demon will regenerate.

I was playing with fire, and I knew it. But I needed answers. I closed my eyes and searched my feelings for twinges of regret.

I didn’t have to look far. Immediately, Maria sprang to mind. The poor kid had been so scared by waking up to experience a false face—and there was no reason for her to suffer that fear. I’d thought we’d have more time before she moved into that phase of her development, but that was no excuse. Maria deserved to understand what was happening to her. I should have laid everything out for her as soon as it became clear that she had the shapeshifter gene. But I’d held back, mostly because I was trying to stay out of Gwen’s way. Yet in doing so, I let my sister down, too. Gwen had turned to me for help in guiding Maria through the transition to shapeshifting; she knew she couldn’t handle it alone. And I’d agreed to help. So how come I was doing such a lousy job? Without trying, I’d somehow managed to wedge myself between my sister and her daughter. I wasn’t doing either of them any good.

Explanations, justifications, plans to handle things better—they all arose in my mind. I pushed them down. I did want to
solve this problem, but now wasn’t the time. Now, my focus was on stirring up guilt. To judge by the uncomfortable feeling in my gut, like I’d swallowed a baseball-sized lump of lead, I was off to a good start.

I moved on to Mom. She was right; I didn’t call often enough. I pictured her in her condo in Florida—or tried to. As I reminded myself harshly, I’d never visited her there. Still, I imagined her in the evening, sitting at a generic kitchen table and paging through an old photo album, looking at childhood pictures of Gwen and me. She gazes fondly at Gwen. Gwen is the good daughter, the one who turned out right. She has a delightful family. She gave Mom the grandbabies she longed for. She calls often, and visits when she can. Of course, she always brings the whole family.

In my imagination, Mom turns to a photo of me, a chubby-cheeked toddler of two or three, sitting on Dad’s shoulders, grabbing his hair in both fists. The picture makes Mom smile, but it’s a sad smile. Her second daughter was never much for snuggling or hugs. And I’d been Daddy’s girl from the moment I was born. Even as a baby, Mom had once told me, I’d always smile when Dad walked into the room. My first word was
Dada
. I’d howl when he left for work in the morning, and drop whatever I was doing to run to him when he came home. Although Mom never said so, my obvious preference for my father must have hurt her.

She probably thought that was why I was so bad about calling. I meant to call—really, I did—but the weird hours I kept made it hard to stay in touch.
No—no excuses.
In my mind, I focused on the image of my mother with her photo album, remembering the girls she once had. Sitting by the phone in hopes one of us would call, knowing it wouldn’t be me.