Darklands (15 page)

The ground shook as something dropped from the sky and landed behind her. A huge demon, fifteen feet tall, cast a shadow over the girl. She screamed and tried to scramble beneath the sculpture. The demon encircled her waist with one scaly hand and tugged. Her screams grew frantic as she lost her grip on the tortoise. She kicked and flailed as she was pulled away. The demon kicked the sculpture and didn’t even seem to feel the bronze. The tortoise flew into the air and landed upside down, rocking back and forth on its shell.

The demon shook the child, and her screams stopped. She hung like a rag doll from its hand as it flapped its wings. As the demon rose into the air, the picture’s perspective changed and
widened. We saw Copley Square from above, then all of Boston. The city was in flames. The South Shore, the North Shore—they burned as well. The entire eastern seaboard was an inferno, the Atlantic red with blood.

The book snapped shut with a blast of wind that blew ashes into my eyes and filled my nostrils with smells of smoke and death. It shrank back to book size, then fell into my subconscious.

Enough. Whatever else might be lurking down there, I didn’t want to see it. My hands shaking, I picked up the trapdoor and fitted it back on its frame. I locked it again. Then I conjured three more padlocks, one for each side, and locked those, too. Finally, when I thought maybe I could speak without screaming, I turned to Mab. She was standing, her hands clenched into fists, her gaze fixed on the trapdoor.

“I hate that book,” I said. I didn’t have to ask for her interpretation of what we’d seen. It was obvious. If Pryce succeeded in whatever he was trying to do with his captured demons and the cauldron, the result would be a war unlike any in history. Demons and the Old Ones would attack. And humanity would fall.

“HOW CAN WE STOP PRYCE?” I ASKED MAB. WHAT I REALLY wanted to know was how we could stop that vision of utter devastation from becoming real.

“One step at a time, child.” She sat down heavily and fingered her bloodstone pendant. “Let’s start at the beginning. You said Pryce has tried twice in as many days to kill you. One attack was by Harpy. I didn’t see the other.”

“I’m not opening that door again.”

“No need, child.” I could have been wrong, but I thought I saw a slight shudder pass over Mab. “Tell me what happened.”

“It was in my client’s dreamscape.” I described the black door that opened to empty air, and how I’d been pushed through it, only to be hauled back inside by a demon. “When I found the second dream portal, Pryce started to come through it—with a rifle. I got out of there.”

“As well you should have.” She tapped her chin, thinking. “So,” she said, “Pryce wants you not merely out of the way, but dead. Interesting.”

Of all the words to describe that situation—alarming, scary, terrifying, disturbing—“interesting” wasn’t even near the top of my list.

“Pryce is collecting demons and trapping them in that cauldron,” she continued. “But how on earth did he get hold of it? I thought it was in Cardiff.”

“The cauldron?” I shook my head. “It was in Boston. Well, in Cambridge. The Peabody Museum—it’s part of Harvard—had it on loan from the Welsh National Museum as part of an exhibit of Celtic artifacts from the Bronze Age. It was stolen over a week ago.”

“Presumably at the same time your clients began canceling their engagements.”

“Yes, that’s right.” I’d made the same connection. After Pryce had nabbed the cauldron, he’d wasted no time filling it with demons.

“What do you recall,” Mab asked, “of the poem ‘The Spoils of Annwn’?”

Usually Mab’s pop quizzes caught me off guard, and this one would have, too, if I hadn’t just reread the poem online. “King Arthur led a raid on the Darklands and stole some sort of magic cauldron. The poem says the cauldron wouldn’t cook a coward’s food.”

Mab looked pleased. “It’s an odd, obscure poem,” she said. “And of course poetry always dresses things up. The part about a coward’s food is nonsense, of course. A tale made up to inspire men to acts of bravery during brutal times.” I could see that:
Hey, look, the cauldron cooked my food! I must be a hero!
Mab continued: “Outside the Darklands, the cauldron is merely an ordinary vessel. In its proper place, though, it is the cauldron of transformation.”

“What’s that?” I’d never heard of the cauldron of transformation.

“The Darklands are home to three magical cauldrons: the cauldron of rebirth, the cauldron of regeneration, and the cauldron of transformation. The first, rebirth, returns the shades who inhabit the Darklands to new lives in this world. The second, regeneration, renews the shades who dwell permanently in the Darklands. The third—when it is where it belongs—changes one thing into another.”

“And that’s the one Pryce is cramming full of demons.” He was grabbing all the demons he could get his hands on and imprisoning them in the cauldron in hopes of transforming them…into what? I asked Mab what she thought.

“The cauldron cannot transform anything while it remains in our world,” she answered. “Perhaps he has some reason for trapping demons and needed a bronze vessel to contain them.” She didn’t look like she believed that for a second.

“But you saw the place where he dumped the demons into the cauldron, right?” She nodded. “It’s the site of a doorway into the Darklands. I think Pryce plans to open it at the full moon.”

“How do you know this? Have you visited this place?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. I only learned about it tonight. I know where it is, though. A…um, demon told me.”

Mab pursed her lips. Silence stretched between us.

“After what I saw in my client’s dreamscape”—I gestured toward in the direction of the reenactment we’d witnessed—“I figured there had to be rumors buzzing around the demon plane. So I conjured a demon and questioned it.”

“What kind of demon?”

“Well, Eidolons are easiest—”

“Oh, child, surely you know better than to summon a guilt-demon on purpose.” Mab radiated disapproval.

“Usually, yes.” Didn’t she see I’d had no choice? “I didn’t call it for fun. How else was I going to get information about what’s happening in the demon plane? An Eidolon was the best choice. It wouldn’t lie to me, not directly. It confirmed the figure I saw was Pryce. It told me that a lot of demons were staying in Uffern because they were afraid of him. And it also told me about the cauldron and the portal. We’d be totally in the dark if I hadn’t talked to it.”

Lips still pursed, Mab gave a long, slow nod. “Well, at least you killed the Eidolon after you were finished with it.” Suddenly, I had an intense desire to inspect my fingernails. “You
did
kill it?”

Fascinating things, fingernails. They have this little pale moon at the base…I made myself look my aunt in the eye.

“No, I didn’t.” How could I explain why I let the demon go? Admit that it had manipulated me? Rationalize that I’d sent it back to the demon plane as a spy? I went for the truest reason. “I planned to kill it. I had my dagger in my hand. And then it said, ‘Please don’t.’”

Okay, so I couldn’t explain. The whole thing sounded stupid now, the worst kind of beginner’s mistake.

“Ah.” Mab sighed, and I braced myself for a lecture. But her
face softened. “Compassion is a fine and ennobling trait, child. Even when shown to an enemy. Perhaps especially then. Without compassion, we’d be…well, we’d be no better than the things we fight. But I do hope that in this instance, yours hasn’t been misdirected.”

“If it tries to feed on me again, I’ll kill it without a second thought. I told it so when I banished it.”

“Beware, child. Dangerous times are coming.” She looked at the trapdoor, then back at me. I felt like she was trying to peer inside my head. “It’s important that you’re ready. Don’t allow this Eidolon to manipulate and distract you.” A crease appeared between her eyebrows. “I do hope I’m right about you,” she murmured, almost too quietly for me to hear.

“Right about me? What do you mean?”

Mab shook her head. She filled her teacup, dismissing the issue.

“Mab,” I began.

She shook her head again. “Not now, child. We must focus on the matter at hand.”

I watched the steam spiral upward, wondering what she’d meant. Ready for what? Right about me how? But I knew it was useless to press her now. Anyway, she was right. We needed to focus.

Mab set down the teapot, lifted her cup, and blew on it. “Now, tell me what you learned about this portal. You say it’s called the Devil’s Coffin?”

“The Eidolon said a door opens there at the full moon. A door to the Darklands.”

“There are such doors. Normally they open only for souls to pass through on their journey to the other side. But a wizard could indeed use the power of a full moon to open one. And because Pryce received Myrddin’s life force, we must assume he also received at least some of his father’s knowledge. We must assume that Pryce knows how to open the portal.”

“So now we just have to figure out why Pryce wants to smuggle a cauldron full of demons into the Darklands.”

“Not simply a cauldron, child. The cauldron of transformation. Think of that.” Mab frowned. “What is Pryce missing? His shadow demon. Without it, he cannot realize his ambition to rule Uffern. And he cannot lead demons to war in the human realm.” She paused, and I felt sure she was remembering that terrified,
screaming toddler clinging to a sculpted tortoise. It was the same image that haunted me. “Pryce wants his shadow demon back. I believe that he’ll attempt to transform all those lesser demons into a single entity, which he will then bind to himself.”

It took me a minute to process that. “You mean he’s going to try to make himself a new shadow demon.” This was bad news. Pryce was aiming to turn himself back into a demi-demon. If he succeeded, he’d be more powerful than before.

“Without his demon half, Pryce is merely human. Mortal. Weak. He cannot enter the demon plane. So, yes. I think that he would do whatever is necessary to regain his full power.” She sipped her tea. It seemed odd. Such a civilized act, after we’d both witnessed the end of the world.

“Friday is the first night of the full moon,” I said. “I’ll go to the Devil’s Coffin as soon as it’s light. Maybe I can find the cauldron and kill its stash of demons.”

“Take care, child. Pryce has tried twice in as many days to kill you. He will almost certainly try again.”

“I think he’s learned by now that I’m not so easy to kill.”

“And so he may try all the harder. Remember, he doesn’t merely want to stop you; he wants you dead. And that’s especially dangerous when you’re looking for a doorway into the Darklands.”

Good point.

“I think we’ve discussed enough for now, child. We both have much to think about. Let’s talk again tomorrow.”

“All right.” My head was spinning as it was.

Mab’s colors filled my dreamscape. I waved to her through the blue and silver strands, watching as her silhouette faded.

I do hope I’m right about you.

What had she meant? In all the years I’d known Mab, she’d never expressed any doubt about me. A wish that I’d work harder, sure. Disappointment, yes. But never doubt. I didn’t like it.

We’d talk again tomorrow, after I’d checked out the Devil’s Coffin. I’d ask her then. And I’d keep asking her until she explained. “Forewarned is forearmed”—it was her saying, after all.

For now, I had things to do. I’d just tidy up my dreamscape and get started on them. I turned to the trapdoor to make it disappear.

With a deafening crack, a padlock exploded. Then another.
Then the final two. The door blew twenty feet into the air. Through it sprang a massive wolf. I conjured a weapon and tensed, waiting for it to charge.

But it didn’t. It stayed were it was and looked at me with accusing eyes.

With Kane’s eyes.

Shit.
The full-moon retreat. I couldn’t be with Kane at his werewolf retreat because I had to stop Pryce.

The wolf stood statue-still, disappointment radiating from its eyes.

In another part of my mind, Copley Square burned. A little girl sobbed in fear.

I couldn’t let that vision become reality.

Kane would understand. No pressure—that’s what he’d said. Not on a whim. I’d simply tell him I needed more time. He’d be fine with that.

So would Simone. Simone Landry would be very,
very
fine with my absence.

But I had no choice. I’d deal with her later.

I dropped my weapon and put out my hand. Stepping closer to the wolf, I began to explain. “Kane, I—”

The wolf shuddered. Its skin split. A giant maggot bulged out. With lightning speed, it jumped on me, knocking me to the ground. The thing was as big as a Volkswagen, as mushy as a garbage bag filled with toxic sludge. It stank like death. Sharp teeth bit into my gut, an eager, sucking mouth fastened on the wound.

Thoughts of every bad or wrong thing I’d ever done flooded my mind. Every time I’d ever been nasty or hurtful. Every time I’d disappointed someone. Every time I was petty or didn’t give a damn. Faces swirled around me like leaves in a whirlwind: Kane, Mom, Gwen, Maria. Even Mab. And Dad—especially Dad. His eyes were closed in death, but I knew he was staring at me.

I could never escape the fact of my father’s death. He’d always be dead. And it would always be my fault.

I woke up yelling and thrashing, struggling to free myself from the Eidolon’s oppressive weight.

MY HAND WENT TO THE DAGGER ON MY NIGHTSTAND. BUT as soon as I pulled it out I realized there was nothing to strike at. Nothing was attacking me. I crouched against the headboard, heart galloping, adrenaline like lightning in my veins. But alone. The Eidolon wasn’t here.

I slid my legs forward so I was sitting up in bed, waiting for my pulse to quit pounding. That maggot-shaped horror could have been anything. Most likely, the image I’d dropped into my subconscious had combined with Mab’s warning to emphasize the Eidolon’s threat to me. But it also could have been a Drude, whipping up my worry about the Eidolon into a banquet of fear for it to feast on. I really hoped I wasn’t dealing with two demon infestations. I could handle a Drude if I had to—although I’m skilled at controlling my dreams as they unfold, I do get occasional nightmares. Any Drude that trespasses in my dreamscape soon gets blasted back into the ether.