Hellhound

Never, ever had I wanted to kill any demon more than I wanted to kill Butterfly at that moment. But I couldn’t. Not yet. “What do you want?”



“You know, ever since you first conjured me, it’s been nothing but, ‘Get the hell away from me, Butterfly,’ or ‘I’m going to stab you with this bronze dagger, Butterfly,’ or ‘How about I humiliate you to death, Butterfly?’ You only ever summon me when you want something. The rest of the time, you’d rather see me dead.”



“What do you expect? You’re a parasite.”



Butterfly sniffed. “That doesn’t mean that I don’t have feelings. So here’s what I want. I’ll tell you where Pryce took your zombie friend—give you the actual address—if . . .”



I leaned forward, waiting.



“If you promise to be nice to me.”



Okay, this had to be one of those moments when a dream went from feeling like everyday reality to Salvador Dali–land. “You want me to be nice to you?”



“Yeah, yeah, I know. A personality like yours, it’s asking too much, isn’t it?” Butterfly’s voice went all pouty. “I knew you couldn’t do it.”



With an effort, I made the dagger I’d conjured vanish. “Define ‘nice.’”



“What?” Butterfly’s eyes fixed on my empty hand.



“When you say that you want me to be nice to you, what exactly do you mean?”



“Well, you won’t threaten to kill me, for starters. That sort of talk puts a real crimp on a relationship.”



“No threats. What else?”



“No actually trying to kill me either, of course. And no name-calling or humiliation.”



“So basically you want me to grin and bear it while you torment me and get fatter on my emotions.”



“A demon’s gotta eat.” Butterfly flew close, hovering inches in front of my face. “But no, actually, that’s not what I mean. I thought maybe we could . . . you know, talk.” Its beady eyes actually looked sincere, even hopeful.



“Let me make sure I understand. You want to me to sit down and have a friendly chat with you.”



“Yeah.” A forked tongue darted from its mouth. “And maybe just a little snack.”



It went against everything I’d ever learned about demons. As soon as any demon got a toehold into your psyche, you killed it, the faster the better. And yet I’d been living with this one for weeks. It had stopped me from attacking Mab, and it had risked its life to find out where Pryce had taken Tina. Butterfly drove me crazy, but this demon also had information I needed.



“You promise you have the actual street address, here in the Ordinary, of where the Old Ones are holding Tina?”



“Yeah. When Pryce left, it was still dark in your world. Instead of following him back into the demon plane, I went outside. I know the address, all right.”



I bit my lip, feeling I was about to make a terrible mistake. But Tina needed me. I had to find her. “All right. I’ll be nice to you. For one hour.”



“That’s all I’m asking.” For a moment, Butterfly looked almost weepy. But the sentimental expression hardened to a sneer. “Your head would explode if you tried for any longer than that.”



Whatever. “You want to shake on it?”



Butterfly lifted its front leg. “No hands, remember? I’ll accept a blood oath.” I didn’t like the sound of that, but before I objected Butterfly shot like a rocket through the air and landed on my shoulder. “So,” it said, “you agree to be nice to me for one hour in exchange for the address of the Old Ones’ base?”



“Yes, but—” Before I could get another word out, the demon chomped a chunk out of my neck. “Ow!” My hand reflexively swatted at the spot.



“No swatting, either. When you’re being nice to me, I mean.”



“Fine, fine. Give me the address.”



“Pay attention. You don’t want to forget it when you wake up.” Butterfly buzzed the address in my ear, repeating the number and street over and over. When I felt like it was burned into my brain, I brushed the demon away. Gently, even. “Get ready,” I said, spreading my arms wide. I brought my hands together in a loud clap. An explosion boomed, shattering my dreamscape and hurling Butterfly and myself each into our own realms.



31



I JUMPED OUT OF BED AND YANKED AT THE BLACKOUT shade. Bright sunlight dazzled me. Still day. I had time.



Ignoring the white spots that swam through my vision, I wrote down the address Butterfly had given me. It was in East Boston, not far from the airport. I clutched the paper in my hand as I rushed out to the living room to call Daniel.



Mab lay fast asleep on the sofa, a light blanket pulled up to her collarbone, her face pressed into the cushions. The sight of her there, so relaxed, so vulnerable, gave me pause.



Pryce wanted to kill her. I didn’t doubt that for a moment. After all, both zombies had gone straight for Mab at the airport. My demi-demon “cousin”—and his plan to work with the Old Ones to distribute the zombie virus—had to be stopped. But what if Pryce had fed Butterfly that information and then sent the Eidolon to me to set up an ambush? I mean, a demon spying on its own kind in return for nothing more than an hour of civil conversation? It didn’t add up. Demons—all of them—are creatures of greed and pure self-interest. The only way an Eidolon could come up with an offer like Butterfly’s would be if it were getting a much more significant reward from another quarter.



Like Pryce.



It made sense. Everything Butterfly had told me was true: the address, the virus, Pryce’s alliance with the Old Ones. But maybe my friendly neighborhood demon had left out the part where Pryce had given it the information on purpose, patted its misshapen little head, and sent it my way with his blessing.



Was Butterfly double-crossing me? If it was, that damn demon would soon learn that I defined “being nice” as putting it out of its miserable existence by dicing it into pieces with my sharpest bronze blade.



I couldn’t trust Butterfly. I couldn’t trust any demon. And I would not risk Mab’s life by leading her into a trap.



Pryce had told Mab I wasn’t the Lady of the Cerddorion. But I’d bet my best long sword that he thought she was—and therefore needed to be eliminated.



I set the phone in its cradle and returned quietly to my bedroom. As I dressed, I formulated my plan. First, I’d go to Kane’s office and fill him in. He said he wanted to stand beside me. Okay, I’d let him. I could use his help. While there, I’d arm myself with weapons from Mab’s trunk, still locked in Kane’s vault. Then, we’d go to East Boston. If Butterfly’s information checked out, I’d call Daniel. That way, Mr. Let-the-Professionals-Handle-It Detective couldn’t tell me to keep away from the site—I’d already be there.



The clock on the wall told me it was a little past noon. With any luck, I’d be home safe and sound, ready to tell Mab of the Old Ones’ defeat before she woke up.



I tiptoed through the living room and eased the front door open. I didn’t let out my breath until I’d pulled it silently but firmly shut behind me.



DEADTOWN WAS AS QUIET AT NOON AS THE REST OF BOSTON would be at two in the morning. I was glad to see that zombies were home behind their blackout shades, honoring the curfew, not roving around in gangs looking for things to smash and fights to pick. If Kane’s rally had let them express their frustrations in a more constructive way, he’d really accomplished something.



Once I’d passed through the checkpoints, I entered a different world. The downtown streets bustled with humans going shopping, heading to appointments, and running lunch-hour errands. It was a beautiful spring day, with the kind of warm, sunny weather that fooled you into thinking summer had arrived. In my tank top, jeans, and light jacket, I was a little dressed-down compared to all the business-suited types, men and women, buzzing in and out of Kane’s office building. Too bad. I was at work, too, but in my business dress-for-success didn’t mean a tailored suit and high-heeled pumps. Those would only get in my way.



I rode the elevator to Kane’s floor. As I pulled open the glass door to his office suite, his receptionist, Iris, smiled a greeting. Iris was a pretty and efficient human who kept Kane’s law firm running smoothly, especially when the boss and his werewolf partners were on retreat.



“Vicky, hello,” Iris said warmly. “You missed Kane by twenty minutes.”



“Is he at lunch? I thought maybe I should peek into The Grill, but the office was on the way, so it made sense to stop here first.” The Grill was Kane’s favorite lunch spot.



“I can save you the trouble of going over there. He’s not at lunch. He went home.”



I remembered he’d admitted being tired, but I still thought he’d be here. Kane voluntarily going home in the middle of a workday was on a level with daisies sprouting from a three-foot snowbank in the middle of February.



“I know,” Iris said. “Unheard of, right? He said he had to get some sleep. Said he’d been feeling a little run-down and wanted to rest up before the full-moon retreat.” She frowned. “I hope the Detweiler pack isn’t giving him trouble again. Their oldest sons are twins, and I hear they’ve been challenging every male in sight.”



“I don’t think that’s it.” The Night Hag gave “run-down” a whole new meaning—she’d drive her hounds until their paws were ragged shreds of bloody flesh, and then do it again the next night. I was glad Kane was giving himself time to prepare for his ordeal. He’d need it.



“You’re probably right,” Iris said. “Those Detweiler whelps are no match for him. So, do you want to use the phone?” Iris knew about my abysmal track record with cell phones; she wouldn’t expect me to be carrying one. “I know he wouldn’t mind if you called him at home.”



“No, I don’t want to disturb him. But I would like to get some things from the safe.”