Darklands (21 page)

I checked the weapons I already wore—knives in thigh and ankle sheaths, a pistol in a shoulder holster, another at my hip. All set. Good to be prepared, but I didn’t expect to use any of those weapons here. I unzipped my duffel bag and took out a case. In it was tonight’s real weapon: a sniper rifle. If things went according to plan, it was all I’d need. One bullet, one carefully aimed shot, and I’d be rid of Pryce forever.

Earlier, I’d hesitated before packing it. Without his shadow demon, Pryce was technically human, and that meant I was planning a murder. Was it right to set up an ambush and take him out the moment he walked into my sights? I considered the evil Pryce had done. He’d tried to kill Gwen when she was just a teenager. He’d set loose a demonic spirit to feed upon Deadtown’s zombies. He’d almost taken down an airplane full of innocent people in one of his many attempts to kill me. Not three months ago, he’d injured Mab in the heart. I flashed back to my aunt lying on the ground, struggling to breathe, her lifeblood pumping over my hands as I tried to hold the wound shut.

And Pryce was barely getting started. The devastation I’d seen in that vision was his goal. He’d do everything he could to make it real.

Hell, yeah, it was right to kill him. Or if not, it was a wrong I could live with.

I took the sniper rifle from its case. I connected the barrel and housing, then attached the infrared night-vision scope. I folded down the barrel’s biped mount. Lying on the muddy ground, propped up on my elbows, I squinted through the sight and located the Devil’s Coffin. If Pryce stood in the middle of
the coffin stone, on the spot where the InDetect had picked up that residual demon presence, I’d have a clean shot.

One bullet, one carefully aimed shot.

I settled in to wait, clearing my mind of everything except my focus on the Devil’s Coffin.

WHEN DAWN BROUGHT ENOUGH LIGHT INTO THE WOODS that I could see my hand in front of my face, I sat up. I was stiff as a slab of concrete, every muscle sore. My eyes ached from staring at the same spot for hour after hour. Pryce hadn’t set foot in the woods. I, on the other hand, felt like I was as much a part of Purgatory Chasm as its granite boulders.

I stood and stretched. I whirled my arms in big circles and twisted left and right, limbering up my spine. I jogged in place for a minute, my breath steaming the air, to warm my frozen limbs. As I disassembled the rifle and returned it to its case, all I wanted was a hot shower and a warm bed. And coffee. A mug of hot coffee would be the gateway to paradise right now.

Somehow my stiff legs kept trudging forward, one step at a time, until I made it back to the Jag. If anyone had been around to watch me from a distance, my lurching gait would have them calling 911 to send the zombie removal squad. The car was covered with condensation in the cold morning air. I dumped my duffel bag on the floor of the passenger’s side, climbed in, and swiped the windshield wipers back and forth a couple of times. Then I cranked up the heat and hit the road.

But not for very long. A couple of miles up Route 146 was a motel. Two single-story wings of maybe a dozen rooms each stretched out on either side of a central office. Why drive all the way to Boston just to turn around and come back out here tonight? I pulled into the parking lot. Only three cars were in the front lot; one other sat out back. Plenty of vacancies, obviously. I’d stay here, rest up, and be back in place in my sniper spot before moonrise.

In fact, since the motel was so close to the park, I could leave the Jag here, parked out of sight, and hike in. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about Pryce spotting my car.

It sounded like a plan.

I removed all my sheaths and holsters and put the weapons
away in their bag. A quick check in the mirror showed a smudge of dirt on my cheek; I licked two fingers and rubbed it off. I got out of the car and took off my muddy rain jacket, laying it on top of the duffel bag. Some mud streaked my jeans, but I was more or less presentable. I locked up the Jag and went into the office.

The clerk started to argue with me about checking in early, but since the motel wasn’t exactly overflowing with guests he grudgingly gave me a room. I paid cash and showed him a forged, out-of-state license—one that didn’t shout PARANORMAL in big red letters. It’s a felony for paranormals to misrepresent themselves as human, but lots of us who can pass carry phony IDs. Mine was made by the best forger in Deadtown. Anyway, I was here to kill Pryce, and murder was a felony, too.

I snagged a foam cup of lukewarm, bitter coffee from the lobby, then retrieved my duffel bag from the Jag and lugged it into my room. The room wasn’t anything special: a queen-sized bed with a pink-and-blue flowered coverlet, a dresser with a circa-1990 television on top, a couple of beat-up chairs, and a crookedly hung print of a spring garden. Good enough, though, for what I needed.

I got out a dagger and placed it under the pillow, then stashed my duffel bag under the bed. I pulled the window’s heavy drapes closed. Deciding to skip the shower for now, I stripped down to my underwear and climbed into bed. Despite the coffee, I was asleep within moments. No guilty thoughts, no tormenting dreams. Just the rest I’d need to get up and try again.

WHEN I AWOKE AT A LITTLE PAST TWO IN THE AFTERNOON, the first thing I thought of was Kane. He was in Princeton by now, had been there for a couple of hours. The law requires werewolves to check into their retreats by noon on the first day of the full moon, so he would have set out from Boston by ten thirty or eleven this morning to get there on time.

I wondered what he was doing right now.

He’d described the retreat center to me. A pack is a family unit, and each pack has its own cottage. Some packs are big enough to need a small complex of several buildings. Lone wolves, like Kane, stay in a dormitory. From what he’d said, his room there was a lot like the motel room I was in now, minus the tacky décor: a bed, a few furnishings, a window, a private
bath. His room had a desk so he could work while he was in human form during the day. He was probably sitting there now, shuffling papers and typing on his laptop, until it was time to get ready for the change.

And where was Simone? She was still part of her family’s pack, Kane had told me, working her way up the hierarchy among siblings and cousins. That meant she’d stay in their family compound. Better than down the hall from him in the dorm, I guessed, but still too close. Especially when I was on this side of the silver-plated razor wire that surrounded the retreat.

Damn. I wanted to be there. The realization surprised me. For a long time, I’d believed that going on retreat with Kane would take something away from me, would force me to be something I wasn’t. Then, when Simone started making her move, I’d rushed forward in a blind panic and insisted on going. What a mess I’d made. Kane must think I was playing some stupid game. But the truth was, if I could be anywhere right now, I’d want to be with him.

Well, why not? This motel was only about twenty-five miles from the retreat center—a short drive into Worcester and then a straight shot up I-190 to Princeton. I could shower, dress, hop in the Jag, and be there in less than an hour. That would give me plenty of time to talk my way in, find Kane, and be at his side when the moon’s influence hit.

I could picture it now: me tapping on Kane’s door and cracking it open. Him looking up and turning in his chair. His expression changing from annoyance to a huge grin when he saw it was me.

Or not.

I could just as easily picture his expression going from annoyed to angry. I couldn’t assume he’d be pleased to see me there. I’d jerked him around enough to cause a serious case of whiplash. He had a right to be angry.

The image faded. There’d be no retreat for me this weekend.

Besides, I had a job to do.

During my long nap, I’d reported to Mab via dream phone. Not much to report. The cauldron, if it was there, was well cloaked. No sign of Pryce. When I told her I’d set up a sniper rifle, ready to kill him the moment he appeared, she nodded once and said, “Good.”

“Good” was also her response when I told her about Tina’s A on her career portfolio. I felt a twinge of jealousy—ridiculous, but there all the same. When I’d been Mab’s apprentice, she seemed much more stingy with her praise. But that was a long time ago, and anyway, Tina wasn’t her apprentice. Surely I’d outgrown the need for pats on the head from my aunt.

We agreed my best course was to return to the Devil’s Coffin in time for tonight’s moonrise. Then we ended the call so I could rest. Talking on the dream phone lets the body rest but keeps the mind active. And tonight, I’d need body and mind to work together.

I got up and showered. I dressed. Flakes of dried mud fell from my jeans, and I brushed them off as best I could. It was best to keep the Jag hidden—bad idea to drive around town when Pryce might be in the neighborhood—so I spent the afternoon watching boring talk shows. It was enough to make me sympathize with Juliet’s plight; that egg-scrambler thing really was kind of clever. I had pizza delivered. I peeked out through the drapes to keep tabs on the weather—gray, gray, gray, with on-and-off drizzles. I paced the length of my motel room. A lot. I probably could have walked to Princeton with all the pacing I did.

I tried not to think about Kane.

Butterfly left me alone, even when thoughts of Kane crept past my defenses. Which happened far more often than I cared to admit.

SUNSET WOULD OCCUR AROUND SEVEN, AND MOONRISE forty minutes after that. I needed to be in place well before the moon came up, so at five I stepped out of my motel room to begin the hike back to the chasm. As I zipped up my jacket, I looked at the sky. Low, thick clouds hung there, obscuring the light so that it seemed like dusk already. Misty rain chilled my face. I wondered if the overcast sky would interfere with Pryce’s plans. The full moon’s effect was felt by werewolves whether the sky was cloudy or clear, but opening a portal to the Darklands required strong magic. Maybe Pryce’s wizardry wouldn’t work on a night like this.

I could hope. But I couldn’t rely on it. I shouldered my duffel bag and set out toward Purgatory Chasm.

Route 146 is not the road to choose if you’re in the mood for a stroll in the country. It’s a four-lane highway that occasionally slows down as it passes through business and residential areas, like the stretch I was on now. But just because the speed limit was lower didn’t mean drivers paid the slightest bit of attention. Cars whizzed by like they were on a practice lap for the Indy 500. There’s no sidewalk, so I trudged along the grass beside the breakdown lane, which, in most places, was too narrow for a car to stop if it actually broke down.

As soon as I could, I left 146 for a side street. I’d driven on this street yesterday; from here I could get into the park the back way, which was what I wanted to do.

This road was better. A few yards away from 146, it became a quiet country lane, lined with woods and stretches of tumbledown stone walls. Houses were few and far between. I climbed over a stone wall and walked through the woods, skirting around small ponds and marshy spots. There wasn’t much traffic here, but it was better to keep out of sight.

A few hundred yards along, I passed a cemetery set on top of a small rise. It was a desolate, forgotten-looking place, tilted gravestones bristling along the top of the hill. In the dim light, the dark stones were leaden against the gray sky. I shivered and kept walking.

Soon I turned left, following another road that led toward the park. At one point, I heard a car approaching, and I stepped deeper into the woods. It passed, heading north, and kept going. I didn’t hear or see anyone else.

In less than half an hour, I stood at my perch on the eastern edge of the chasm. I paused there long enough to check out the Devil’s Coffin. It was deserted, but I hadn’t expected Pryce yet, anyway. An hour remained until sunset, which meant that the park was still open. It was hard to imagine that anyone would come here for outdoor fun on a miserable day like today, but you never know. Pryce wouldn’t want anyone asking questions about what he was doing in the woods. And neither did I. I made my way back to the loop trail, hiked along that for a little way, then went deeper into the woods. When I was far enough off the trail to be out of view in case some stray, masochistic hiker trudged by, I dropped my bag beside a boulder and sat down. I checked my watch. In half an hour, the park should be clear, and I’d return to my perch above the Devil’s Coffin.

The drizzle had strengthened to a light rain. I watched it fall, working to clear my mind for tonight’s task. Whether I’d finally put an end to Pryce or spend another cold, wet night in the woods, I had to be ready.

A movement on the right caught my eye. As I turned my head, my hand slipped inside my jacket to the grip of the pistol in my shoulder holster. A sharp bark sounded, then two more. A small Jack Russell terrier stood twenty feet away, paws planted and ears cocked, leaning toward me.

I like dogs. But I didn’t need this one announcing to the world that I was here. I put a finger over my lips. “Shh!”

Full-scale barking erupted in response.

“Nero? Nero! Here, boy!” A woman’s voice came from the direction of the loop trail.

Nero glanced in the direction of the voice, then resumed barking at me. Someone crashed through the woods in our direction.

I stood and grabbed my bag. I started back toward the trail, but Nero followed, barking the whole time. I dropped my bag and sat down again.

A moment later, Nero’s owner appeared through the trees. She was medium height, her light-brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wore a dark-green jacket and a park ranger’s hat. Great. I was busted.

“Thanks for finding my dog,” she said, even though it had been the other way around. She bent down and held out a hand. Nero bounded over to her, and she clipped a leash on his collar. “I’m not supposed to let him off the leash, but he’s been cooped up in my office all day. I didn’t think anyone was here.” She patted the dog’s back.

“Glad you found him,” I said, hoping she’d be on her way.