Hellhound (A Deadtown Novel) (24 page)

“A demon informant. Are you sure you can trust what it tells you?”

The million-dollar question. “I’m sure this is the address. I spoke to a neighbor who confirmed she heard screaming there last night. That screaming must have come from Tina.”

“Wait, you’re
there
? Vicky, get away—now. This is a job for professionals; I’m sending in a paranormal SWAT team. I can’t have a civilian screwing up the operation.”

A hot tingling began in my demon mark, and I clenched and unclenched my fist. Daniel wouldn’t even know where to send his damn professionals if it weren’t for me. The tingling intensified to a slow burn. Stupid know-it-all cop. Without me, he’d be snoozing away in his nice, warm bed, while Tina and the others cowered in their pitch-dark cells.

Tina.
I couldn’t help her if I let the rage take over. I took a couple of deep breaths. The tingling settled back to an itch. One more breath made sure my voice remained steady.

“I’m not screwing anything up, Daniel. I’m telling you where you can find the Old Ones and the missing zombies.” He started to say something, but I talked over him. “And I’m not leaving. A friend is in there, and I’m going to make sure she doesn’t get hurt. I’ll stay back and let your SWAT guys do their work, but I’m not going to be pacing my living room biting my nails and hoping
they
don’t screw things up.”

There was a long pause. “I could have you arrested.”

Push it down, Vicky. Don’t let the anger win.
“You could. But you won’t. You need my help.”

Silence.

“Pryce is storing a significant amount of Morfran somewhere in there. You need me to find it. And some of the zombies might be Morfran-possessed. We need to help them, not use zombie droppers to blow them away.”

“I thought you said the Morfran only materialize at night.”

“That’s true, but I can see into the demon plane. Not far, just where it overlaps with this one. I can use that vision to locate the Morfran, so we can destroy it at nightfall.”

I could almost see Daniel running a hand through his shaggy curls as he thought. “I don’t like it. I didn’t bring you into this to put your life at risk.”

The anger I was holding back receded a little on its own. Daniel didn’t think I was incompetent; he was trying to protect me. That was an impulse I could understand, even though I didn’t want his protection.

“I’ll stay back, I promise. But I have to be there. And Daniel, one more thing.”

“What is it?” He sounded afraid to ask. He was right.

“You’ll need a biohazard team, as well. The Old Ones are manufacturing plague virus.”

“They’re
what
? You tell me this as an afterthought?”

“It wasn’t an afterthought.” Rescuing Tina was my first priority. As a human, of course, Daniel would be most worried about the plague. “Pryce is having them ship it to multiple, undisclosed locations. My informant says they haven’t sent any yet, but they’re close.”

He swore, quietly but packed with frustration. “This changes everything. Okay, I’ll have to activate SWAT team B—all paranormals. After they’ve cleared the building, the biohazard team will go in to remove the virus and create a quarantine zone. You say there are houses nearby?”

“There’s a row of them across the street.”

“We’ll do what we can to get them evacuated. It might be tricky, though. We need the element of surprise. That and daylight are the only advantages we have.” He added that the team would be there within the hour. I agreed to meet them in a parking lot a block away.

I believed Daniel when he said he’d do his best to evacuate nearby residents. Even so, while I was waiting for the team I’d pay another quick visit to Mrs. Sal. Just to drop the hint that this would be a good afternoon to grab her neighbors and go shopping.

THE PARANORMAL SWAT TEAM ARRIVED IN A PANEL TRUCK disguised as a delivery van. It reminded me of the one that transported Daniel, his former partner, and me to the secure holding facility out in God-knows-where. Now, the back door opened, and a woman waved me in. I climbed inside, and she closed the door behind me.

Besides the driver up front, six team members sat on benches along either side of the van: four werewolves, an ogre (you can tell by the tusks), and a hook-nosed giant who looked so much like Axel he had to be another troll. The team wasn’t dressed in body armor like the SWAT teams you see on TV. Instead, they wore black jeans and black sweatshirts, but the clothes were heavily embroidered with symbols of magical protection. In addition, a charm hung around each cop’s neck. There was one female on the team—the werewolf who’d opened the door for me—and she looked tough enough that I’d think twice about tangling with her, no matter what phase the moon happened to be in.

Daniel wasn’t present. Regulations kept humans a mile away from any suspected plague site. But the van carried communication equipment, which one of the werewolves fiddled with now. In a minute, Daniel’s face appeared on the screen.

The ogre sat at the near end of a bench, his knees nearly hitting his chin. He scooted over to make room for me and I sat—well,
half
sat would be more accurate—balancing as best I could on the sliver of available bench.

The werewolf who’d established the communications link told Daniel everyone was here.

“Great,” he said. “Team, I want you to meet Vicky Vaughn, who’s lending us her expertise on demons and the Old Ones. We found this location thanks to her.” This got me a couple of nods from various SWAT personnel, but most kept their eyes glued to the screen. Daniel took a couple of minutes to complete the introductions, announcing each team member’s name and specialty. I’m sorry to say the information didn’t stick. There were six of them, and only one of me, and I’ve never been good with names.

Preliminaries dispensed with, Daniel got down to business. The team was well informed about the Old Ones, especially their powers and vulnerabilities. A few months ago, the Old Ones were a mere legend—most vampires didn’t even believe in them. But recent events had changed all that. This SWAT team knew that if an Old One gets his fangs into a body, he can drain it dry in less than a minute. They knew that the Old Ones never sleep, although they grow lethargic in the daytime. And they knew that silver is the best weapon against them. Each team member was supplied with silver bullets, two silver knives, and silver-plated handcuffs. The werewolves wore special gloves made of some thin, high-tech material that let them handle those items.

“I’ve seen silver burn through Old Ones’ flesh,” I said. “But be aware that, when we broke them up last winter, they were working on a cure to make them impervious to silver.” They’d used Juliet as a guinea pig, and the experiments had nearly killed her. “We don’t know how far they might have advanced that project.”

From the screen, Daniel spoke. “Given our current information, although silver may not kill the Old Ones, it should weaken them enough to subdue them. Also, like all undead they don’t do well in sunlight. If possible, break out some windows; the light will disorient them.”

“That’s true,” I agreed. “Their vision weakens in daylight. But remember that there are hostages in there, too. We want to avoid injuring them if possible.”

“What about those hostages?” the female werewolf asked. “They’re all PDHs, right? We understand some of them may be possessed by a demonic spirit.”

“The Morfran. It can’t materialize in daylight, so you won’t have to deal with it directly. But yes, it’s possible that some of the zombies in that building are Morfran-possessed.”
Not Tina,
I thought.
Please not Tina.
I didn’t let my voice betray my fear. “If that’s the case, the Morfran could drive its host to a murderous frenzy. So be careful.”

“All PDHs are to be taken into custody so we can watch them and make sure they’re clean,” Daniel said. “No exceptions.” I had a feeling that last comment was directed at me.

“But don’t kill any,” I emphasized, “even if a zombie attacks you. We know how to exorcise the Morfran. Remember, these folks are victims.”

There were no more questions, and other than, “Please be careful. One of those zombie hostages is just a kid,” I couldn’t think of anything else to add. Daniel gave the team the green light to do their reconnaissance.

Two werewolves left, and the ogre sitting next to me slid over, so I finally had enough bench to sit on. The scouting werewolves took along thermal imaging equipment to scan the building for cold spots. The Old Ones’ icy body temperature would show up black, giving us an indication of the locations and number of Old Ones in the building. Zombies don’t produce body heat, either, but their skin is the same temperature as their surroundings. The Old Ones are like walking blocks of ice.

Nobody said much while we waited for the team members to return. Daniel cut the communication link so he could talk to the biohazard team, waiting in their own van at a different location. The SWAT guys sat with their eyes closed and their heads back, meditating to strengthen their magical defenses. They’d need it. The Old Ones are adept at magical warfare, able to call up energy and wield it as a lethal weapon. They’re no slouches at sword fighting, either.

I thought of Tina, practicing lunges in my living room, and my heart constricted. Right now, she was probably curled up in a tiny cell like the one Bonita described. Alone, scared, and in darkness, not knowing where she was or what would happen to her. I
had
to get her out of that place. In fact, I vowed, if she made it out in one piece, I’d take the kid back as my apprentice, if only to keep an eye on her.

Two sharp raps on the van door made me jump and almost fall off the bench. The others opened their eyes calmly as the scouts returned. They got Daniel back on the link and uploaded thermal images of the building. They’d found eight Old Ones—our team was outnumbered, but not by much. “We couldn’t scan the basement, though,” a werewolf explained. “There could be more down there.”

“Probably at least two,” I suggested. “That’s where they keep the zombies, and Bonita said they always came in pairs when they brought her food. So we should assume another two guards, at least, on that level.”

Ten ancient super-vampires—maybe more—to six highly trained paranormal cops. Even with our daylight advantage, it could go either way. I’d fought the Old Ones before. I could tip the advantage to our side. But Daniel wouldn’t hear of it.

“You’re here as a consultant, Vicky, and I appreciate your help in that role. But you haven’t trained with this team. You don’t know their procedures. I hate to say it, but you’d get in the way. So I’m telling you—no, I’m
ordering
you: Stay in the van.”

None of the team looked at me, and I was glad my crimson face evaded scrutiny. The humiliation heated my demon mark, making me want to strike out at something—anything, since Daniel was out of reach. Instead, as the van started rolling toward the target site, I focused on slowing my breathing, willing the demon mark to cool. Whatever was about to go down, Hellion-fueled rage wouldn’t help.

The recon images showed that the cold spots were concentrated at one end of the building. As the team conferred with Daniel to formulate an attack plan, leaving me out, the uneasy feeling that had taken root in my gut began to sprout. Could I trust Butterfly’s information? The information, yes. The Old Ones were in that building. But what about the demon’s intention?

Was this a trap?

“Good luck, team,” Daniel said. The screen went blank.

The ogre reached across me to open the door. “Wait!” I touched his arm. He looked at my hand as though it might be something to eat. Then his hard, tiny eyes met my face. His tusks gleamed.

“Remember that this tip came from a demon,” I said, looking at the ogre but speaking to the whole team. “Pryce is powerful in the demon plane. He may have passed me this information to set a trap.”

“We know that.” The hard eyes softened a degree. “But thanks.” Then he opened the door and stepped quietly out. For a monster the size of a gorilla, he was light on his feet. The others followed, silent.

The ogre wore a headset linking him to the van’s communication system, which the driver had now taken over. When the team was in position, the ogre notified us. Then we heard his whispered command, “Go, go, go,
go
!”

We heard shattering glass and the explosion of flash-bang grenades.

We heard shouts of “Police! Down on the floor, now!”

We heard rapid-fire shots.

And we heard a soul-rending scream of fear and pain.

After that, we heard static. Nothing else.

“Shit,” said the driver. “Something’s—”

I didn’t hear the rest of his sentence. I was already out the door and running toward the building.

My boots slapped the pavement as I sprinted to the opening they’d cut in the fence. Wire ripped my jacket, catching a sleeve as I squeezed through. I yanked free and darted to the open door, drawing a sword as I went.

Inside, I found myself standing in a long hallway. Sounds of fighting erupted from the far end. Moving quickly, I advanced along the hall, staying quiet and watching the shadows for hidden enemies. The corpse of an Old One lay on the floor. I raised my foot to step over it, but a hand grabbed my ankle and yanked me off balance.
Not dead.
I fell sideways, using the momentum to turn and ram my sword into the damn thing’s throat. Flesh sizzled as the silver blade entered the desiccated body. The Old One gurgled. The hand relaxed and fell away.

Good. Silver still did its job. The feel of the blade finding its target, the death rattle, strength slipping away—these things sped up my adrenaline-accelerated pulse. I wanted more.

The hot, prickling demon mark urged me forward. I paused, trying to suppress the feeling. It grew. I struggled for a moment, then I let it go. I was here to win. Not merely to stop my enemies but to crush them. To drive in my sword and exult in their annihilation. Instead of resisting the Destroyer, I’d draw strength from the demon that had marked me.

That mark raged with fire that raced up my arm. It ignited my heart, my brain. There would be death—and I would bring it.

Impatient to join the battle, I ran forward. I passed another body that made me pause. This one, in a mechanic’s coveralls, had been decapitated. A few feet away the head of a male zombie stared at me. Then it blinked. His mouth moved, but the severed vocal cords couldn’t produce sound. His black tongue licked his lips, and I realized the words he was trying to say.

“Help me.”

How in hell can you help a headless zombie? Maybe an undead surgeon could put him back together, but there was nothing I could do. Not even put the poor guy out of his misery. My attempt at a reassuring smile a sickly failure, I left him where he lay.

Almost there.
From the room at the end of the hall came the grunts, scuffles, and shouts of fighting. Blades clashed. Someone bellowed in pain. Why no gunshots? I quickened my pace. My demon mark spouted flame, reflected in my blade. The need to be in the thick of it, to color my sword with blood and gore, gripped me. I’d stood by for too long. Only death—hot, steaming, bloody death—would satisfy.

I stepped inside. In the semidarkness, it was hard to tell who was what. Zombies, robed Old Ones, SWAT team members—all roiled and writhed in a noisy, pounding mass of violence.

A scream, primal, coming from some place far beyond me, tore itself from my throat. Raising my sword, I plunged into the fight.