Hellhound

As I ate, I thought about Mab’s advice. Meditate. Focus on being pure. Easy for her to say. She wasn’t marked by a Hellion. Ten years ago, the Destroyer had touched me with its essence. I’d struggled to control it, and often I’d succeeded, but never had I been able to push it out. Over time, that essence had infected my own, intertwining with it like ivy creeping up a brick wall, insinuating itself, claiming a stronger, deeper hold, weakening the mortar until it crumbles and the wall collapses.



From the newspaper on the table, my own face stared at me. What if that disastrous SWAT raid had been my collapse?



That’s what Pryce wanted me to believe.



But, damn it, who said Pryce got to define me? I didn’t know what happened. I searched my memory for some clue. Sifting through images, I worked my way back, past my hours as a prowling cat, past my encounter with Pryce in Limbo. I focused on the moment I’d stood in the hallway, sword drawn, ready for a fight.



A fight with whom? I’d rushed into the building to defend the SWAT team. To drive back any Old Ones who threatened them. But what had been my intention when I threw myself into the fight? To protect—or to destroy?



My mind wouldn’t go there. Each time I tried to picture myself stepping into the room where the SWAT team struggled with the Old Ones, blackness descended like the curtain falling prematurely on a play. I tried to peer through that darkness, but it was no use. My memory stayed stubbornly blank.



Although I couldn’t picture the scene, I could almost remember a voice. Not shouting and grunting, as you’d expect in a fight, but murmuring. Indistinct, it gently probed the edges of my consciousness, searching for a way in. There were words, so soft and muffled I couldn’t make them out.



The Destroyer, urging me on? Possibly, but it didn’t feel that way. The Destroyer was pure rage. This voice was softer, and the tone was . . . I couldn’t pin it down, but it felt more like a question than a command. Gentle, cajoling. Not brutal or harsh. Yet the sounds also thrummed with power, like lightning contained in a silken box.



I strained to listen, to recognize the voice, to make out the words. My efforts yielded nothing but a headache. I shouldn’t try so hard so soon after shifting back to my human form. I blinked, focusing on the spoon in my hand. It was lifted halfway to my mouth, the bowl filled with soggy cereal. I raised the spoon and swallowed the cereal, even though I no longer felt hungry. Mab was right. I needed to recover from the shift. I’d fill my stomach, clean up, and rest. Maybe then I’d have the strength to figure out what had happened.



By the time Kaysi entered the kitchen, dressed and ready for work, I’d eaten a second bowl of cereal.



“I’m usually home before six,” she said, pulling on her jacket, “but tonight I was going to meet some friends after work. I can cancel if you think you’ll need my help.”



Again I marveled at her belief in me, a complete stranger. “Don’t change your plans for my sake. I’ll be gone long before you finish work.”



“Well, be careful. With your picture in the paper and probably all over TV, too, someone might recognize you. Just remember: You can stay here as long as you like.”



“Thanks, Kaysi.” I wasn’t sure yet where I’d go, but I wouldn’t impinge on her kindness any more than I had to.



“There’s one other thing. But you have to promise you won’t say no.”



I’ve never been able to make a promise without knowing what it was, so I just stared at her.



“I know you don’t have any money, so I want you to take this.” She held out a twenty dollar bill. “If you want, we’ll consider it a loan.”



“Kaysi, I—”



“Take it.” She shook the bill at me. “You’ll be doing me a favor. If I’m worrying about you out there without a cent, I won’t be able to concentrate at work. You wouldn’t want me to get fired, would you?”



I met Kaysi’s eyes—blue and shining with sincerity—as I wordlessly accepted the bill. “Thanks,” I repeated. “I’ll pay you back as soon as I can. For everything.”



She shrugged like everything she’d done for me was no big deal. “Whenever. You know, there have been times in my life when things got hard and I wished somebody would give me a break, even a little one. Usually nobody does. So I’m happy I can do that for you.” She glanced at the wall clock. “I’d better get to work.”



She was out the door before I could thank her one more time.



I WAS IN THE SHOWER WHEN IT OCCURRED TO ME THAT THE cops might arrive at any moment. What if Kaysi had pretended to help me so she could call the police as soon as she was safely away from the house?



The thought had barely formed before shame washed over me, hotter than the water that stung my skin. Was that how my mind worked—automatically assuming that anyone who helped me couldn’t wait to turn around and stab me in the back?



I didn’t believe Kaysi would turn me in. Even so, I hurried through my shower and got dressed quickly. With a little concentration, I was able to change my shape so the borrowed clothes fit. Not a full-blown shift—after last night, I was out of those until the other side of the full moon—but a trick that lets me alter the dimensions of my usual form. It’s great for those days when putting on my jeans requires extra tugging. Now, I focused on making my body fit the dimensions of the faded jeans and gray T-shirt Kaysi had given me. I checked the mirror. The effect was good. My face was a little fuller, and I’d lost a couple inches of height. My features, hairstyle, and hair color were still my own, but the change in build might be enough of a disguise for me to move around Boston unnoticed. I certainly hoped so. I had hours to get through before tonight’s showdown.



MORE WARMTH AND SUNSHINE. IT WAS THE KIND OF GLORIOUS spring day that rewards Bostonians for enduring the long winters. I bought some cheap sunglasses and a baseball cap at a dollar store. Nobody looked at me twice as I roamed around the city. For a while, I rode the subways, hiding behind a Boston Globe someone had left on a seat. I left the T at Copley Square and tried to grab a nap in the public library, but I’d barely closed my eyes before a librarian rapped on the table and whispered, “No sleeping.” So I moved on to Boston Common, where I lay down on the grass in some shade, threw my arm over my eyes and slept for the better part of an hour. But sleeping in the open isn’t easy, especially when an entire police force is looking for you, so again I moved on.



The afternoon passed in a blur of coffee shops, bus-stop benches, and window-shopping. Not wanting to be seen and having no place to hide is a bad combination. Still, on the crowded streets no one regarded me with suspicion.



Fast-food burgers for both lunch and dinner gave me indigestion but helped me stretch out my funds. If not for those twenty dollars, my day would have much harder—and hungrier. Once this was all over, I’d definitely do something nice for Kaysi.



Assuming I lived to see morning.



I SPENT THE LAST TWO HOURS BEFORE MY RENDEZVOUS with Mab at the Boston University student union. It wasn’t far from Fenway, and nobody cared if you slept there. In fact, sleeping with an open book on one’s lap seemed a popular activity.



At ten thirty, I stood, stretched, and left the union. I walked along Commonwealth Ave. toward Kenmore Square. By ten minutes to eleven, I stood on Yawkey Way in front of Gate A, staring at the shuttered green doors in Fenway Park’s high brick walls and wondering how the hell we were going to get inside.



Five minutes later, Mab arrived with the answer: a grappling hook. She regarded me skeptically. “You can make it over the wall, can’t you?”



I stood straight, and released the energy that had changed my body shape. In moments, I was back to my usual self. “Fit as ever,” I said.



For some reason, the skepticism didn’t leave Mab’s expression. She merely turned and heaved the hook upward. It flew two stories into the air, then landed behind the Fenway Park sign. Mab yanked the rope; the hook caught and held. “I’ll go first,” she said. “If you need help, I’ll haul you up.”



“I won’t, but go ahead.”



Mab scrambled up the wall and disappeared onto the roof. In a moment, her face popped over the edge. “Come, child.”



I looked up the street, then down. It was deserted. I tugged on the rope; it held. I braced my legs against the brick wall and began my ascent. Okay, so maybe I didn’t climb the two stories as fast as Mab, but I got there.



Mab pulled up the rope. We made our way across the roof, over a fence, and down another wall. In minutes, we stood on the field.



The full moon cast silvery light over everything, from the grass to Pesky’s Pole to the famous Green Monster. Rows of seats stretched up into darkness. The field had been mown recently, the smell of cut grass mingled with the cool night air.



“Here is your athame,” Mab said, handing me a dagger. “It’s never been used as a weapon, so it will help you create a strong circle. Notice, though, that the blade is bronze. It can serve as a backup weapon if needed.”



I tested the dagger’s blade. A thin line of blood appeared. Unlike some ritual daggers that were purposely blunted, such as Hellforged, this one was sharp. Hellhounds are demons, and if any got too close tonight, the dagger would do some damage. As would the sword Mab handed me now.



I didn’t want to think about what these weapons would do to Kane in hellhound form, so I put it from my mind. Maybe everything would go as planned.



And maybe the Night Hag would show up, kiss me on the cheek, and offer to adopt me.



My doubt must have shown in my face, because Mab put her hand on my arm. “Remember, child,” she said, “I’ll be here to protect you, and I can do that in two ways. The first is to defend you physically. If there’s an attack while I’m still in falcon form, rest assured the falcon will not let anyone near you. But of course I’ll shift back to this form as soon as possible so I can wield my sword.”



“Thanks, Mab.” There was no one I’d rather have on my side in a fight.