Labyrinth of Stars (A Hunter Kiss Novel) (21 page)

“Whatever. I need you to tap that network of little parasites and find out where my grandfather is, and what he’s doing.”

He was silent a moment. “Are we officially spying on him?”

“Your kind spies on everyone, whether they want to or not. Give me a fucking break. Blood Mama probably has an army floating over my grandfather’s head.”

“You’re nuts. I’ll call you as soon as I find something.”

Good, reliable, demon-possessed Rex. And to think, I’d once almost murdered him. I started to hang up, but he said, “Maxine.”

He almost never used my real name. It was always, Hunter, or Hunter Kiss, or maybe just an expletive. So I hesitated, waiting, and he said in small voice, “I like this world. It’s fucked up, but it’s good. Please tell me that’s not about to change.”

“It already has,” I said, and couldn’t bear to say anything else. I very quietly ended the call.

I went to the bathroom. Sat on the toilet and tried not to cry. With my pants pushed down I could see the boys on my legs and they looked gray and pale, and dull. I ran my hands over them, held my palms over their slow-moving faces—and whispered, “Love you, love you, love you.”

My reflection was shit. I had new wrinkles in my forehead that made my face look like a minitractor had been plowing right to left and between my eyes. My lips were cracked, bleeding, my cheeks sunken. Haunted, all of me. Haunted and sick, and exhausted.

I washed my face, patted my abdomen, and took a deep breath.

I could do this. I was not alone. I was beloved.

I went back out into the living room. Natural light pushed through the windows, but the space was cool and dark, which only deepened the hush that fell around us.

The Mahati crouched in the corner, eyeing the Shurik through the open door. The Messenger had already taken Mary’s seat and stared at Grant with unblinking, distant eyes. I wanted to pester her but kept my mouth shut and listened to my own body: dizziness fading, strength returning, headache almost gone. I wasn’t as happy about that as I should have been.

The Messenger said, “I do not know if I can help him. He is torn inside.”

I wanted to ask what that meant, but a low, smooth hum rolled from her throat. Power flowed over my skin, and the Mahati took a deep breath and strode from the house. Fled, really. He kicked some Shurik on the way out, and they hissed at him like he was their next Happy Meal. He didn’t seem to care.

I hesitated, then moved in close and picked up the crystal skull. I didn’t particularly want to touch it—the memory of that earlier vision was still too sharp. I was afraid of what I would see again.

Nothing at all, it seemed. I waited, holding my breath. Took me only a minute to start feeling ridiculous. I was going to jump at shadows soon.

The Messenger was right, though: It seemed wrong, having it there on the floor. I wasn’t sure why Mary had removed the skull from Jack’s hiding place.

I carried it outside to the porch. Five fat Shurik were tangled up in my chair, the one I always sat in with Grant when we wanted to feel like an old married couple.

“Move,” I snapped, and all of them raised the tips of their wormlike heads to stare at me. I felt, quite distinctly, that I was looking at a bunch of petulant teens giving me the “fuck you, old person” stare, which would have been a lot more amusing if I hadn’t already felt like an
actual
fucked-up old person. I waited a couple seconds to see if they were going to listen, but they didn’t even twitch in the right direction.

I used my foot to sweep them off the chair. It was like trying to move cats. All hisses and Velcro grips and tumbling, curling bodies. One of them lost its mind and tried to bite me through my jeans. I felt its teeth connect, the immense strength of its jaw, but no pain. The Shurik, on the other hand, fell back with all its teeth falling from its mouth, covered in black blood and shrieking.

I sat down and pretended not to care. I also pretended not to watch as its companions dragged its writhing body off the porch into the dandelions, its little cries growing fainter and fainter as it was pulled farther from the house. The rest of the Shurik inched away from me. Not far—apparently, they had some pride—but just out of reach.

With my feet up on the rail, I balanced the crystal skull on my knees. Slid my gaze past those holes for eyes, down to the sharp piranha teeth. I felt light-headed.

“Jack,” I said, thinking out loud.

Thirteen skulls. Created to amplify an Aetar’s inherent power—enough to build a prison on a woman’s body, a prison for five demons and the darkness inside them, a prison that would be inherited through blood: a reincarnation of mother and daughter and demon, for all time.

The boys had destroyed all those skulls, except this one. Jack’s skull. Jack’s weapon.

He wouldn’t have betrayed us. He wouldn’t have told the Aetar about Grant, or that I was carrying the child of a Lightbringer.

Doubt began to pick at me, though. Just a little. But a little was a lot.

“What did he see in you?” I muttered at the skull, picking it up and looking into its eyes. “What did he see, for all those months?”

And how could I use this thing to help us now? How could I use it to find the Devourer?

The Devourer.

At the exact moment I thought that name, a shock ran through the skull, straight into my hands. I almost dropped the damn thing, fumbling for it against my chest. Heat flowed from its core, followed by a sheen of light that arced through the crystal in a hot white flash.

My armor reacted as well—rippling like water, clashing against the edges of my skin like it was fighting to cover the rest of my arm and body.

The boys surged. Zee’s face appeared in my arm, crimson eyes open and staring, his claws frozen, stretched over my skin in a grotesque image of battle. I heard a ringing sound, louder and louder, drilling through my ears, straight through to the center of my head.

The skull began to glow. My vision flickered to black. For a moment I was afraid I’d fallen into the void, except that I could still feel the chair beneath me and the breeze in my hair. I touched my eyes, but they were open. I was blind.

Heat flashed over my skin. So much heat, the air burned around me: popped, and crackled like bone. I tried to take a breath, but there was nothing: The air pulled right out of my lungs. In its place, smoke. A bitter cloud that coated the inside of my nostrils and mouth, plugging my throat like a hot fist pushing down my esophagus.

Fire. I was inside a fire.

I grabbed my right hand, desperate for the void—but all I felt was naked human skin. No metal. No armor.

Fear hit, mixed with the drowning poison of dread—so overwhelming I no longer felt the fire burning or the smoke choking me. No pain, just
feelings
, a toxic crash of emotion that slammed into me, and kept slamming, until I felt burned just from terror and not the fire. I fought for any escape—reached for the bond I shared with my husband—but that was still gone. Reached deeper, for the darkness.

It wasn’t there, either. I couldn’t even feel the boys on my skin. I was totally alone.

Open your eyes,
whispered a voice in the fire, but I was so paralyzed and unnerved, I could barely hear it. I didn’t want to open my eyes. I was afraid of the smoke and the sting. I was terrified, caught up in the unspeakable knowledge of dreams—that if I looked, if I looked—something terrible would happen.

Something terrible was already happening. I opened my eyes.

And blacked right the fuck out.

W
HEN
I woke up, I didn’t know where I was.

It took a moment of staring at the porch rail, the driveway, blue sky—my own propped-up feet—before my life came back to me. Even then, it was slow.

My body felt strange: too big and uncomfortable, like a giant had been stuffed inside my skin, stretching me out as if I were a balloon. My hands were full. When I saw the crystal skull, memories rushed back, so hard and fast I leaned over the arm of the chair and vomited.

Nothing came up, but some Shurik who had been edging closer stopped and inched away.

“Shit,” I muttered, head pounding. I began to close my eyes against the pain but stopped as even more memories flooded through me. Worse memories. Memories that made my throat close and left me choking.

My breath wheezed, barely touching my lungs. I scrabbled at my chest, fingers digging in—but it wasn’t the prospect of a slow, panicked asphyxiation that had me scared—it was one memory I couldn’t shake that made me afraid to close my eyes. Like a kid afraid of the dark: The monsters wouldn’t get me if I could see them coming.

And I’d seen a monster. I remembered that now.

Just for a split second: a terrible, obscene moment that stretched and stretched inside my mind, hanging in time, frozen and awful. An impression, more than anything else. Some . . . massive shape, lost in fire, radiating a feeling of immense, remorseless indifference that made me feel small as shit and just as worthless. It wasn’t the implacability of a storm or earthquake—that, at least, felt natural. This was aberrance: alive and aware. And just one look had fucked me up.

I could breathe again, but my hands shook. All of me, trembling. I resisted the urge to toss the crystal skull over the rail into the grass, and instead I stood, very carefully, and walked back inside the farmhouse. I needed to see my husband. I needed some reminder of what was real. Maybe the monster was just around the corner, but not here—not now.

Nothing much seemed to have changed. The Messenger had left her chair and stood behind Grant’s head, her fingers pressing into his temples. A low hum shivered through the air. I watched them both, still hungry for reassurance, then went to Mary.

She had left the kitchen to lie down in a nest of blankets in the middle of the living-room floor. Curled on her side, eyes wide open, staring at the couch. It was disturbing, seeing her so still. Her cheeks were red, feverish. I set the crystal skull beside her, and, in total silence, she pulled it close and hugged it to her stomach. My vision blurred. I was afraid I’d fall into another vision—but no, I told myself, I was just tired.

I made my way to the empty chair beside the couch and took Grant’s hand. His skin was warm and dry, but not hot. Reassuringly alive—that was his temperature. The Shurik was still on his chest, but its color had improved—from death gray to death paste. That also had to be encouraging, I told myself, and leaned in—staring at the damn thing like it was a measure of my husband’s health.

Little teeth glistened at me. I bared my teeth in return.

But that was all I could do. I sat there, body aching, mind racing—gripping my husband’s hand, squeezing his fingers, and lightly scratching his wrist.

I’d had everything I’d ever wanted, for a brief time. A man who loved me. A home. A family. I
still
had these things. But there was always an expiration date, wasn’t there? Most people could ignore that, but the cold truth hung in front of me.

This won’t last,
it said.
Time is running out.

“Rest,” said the Messenger, breaking her song, looking at me with those cold, hard eyes. No use pretending that she couldn’t see I was afraid and lost. “An hour will not break the world.”

“An hour could save us.”

“No,” she said, still holding my gaze. “It will not.”

I stared at her, ready to argue. But to what point? She was wrong about time being meaningless. Even a moment could make a difference. But she
was
right that I needed rest. I hadn’t slept in . . . a while. It scared me to try. Especially now.

“Tell me about the disease,” I said. “What do you see?”

She hesitated. “The Lightbringer could not heal the demons of it.”

“No.”

Again, she paused, her gaze becoming unfocused as she stared down at my husband. “It is a puzzle, Hunter. A poison that lives, that replicates itself with tremendous speed. It refuses to be killed or purged. All I can do is make him stronger and help his body fight. It will not save him, but it will buy him time.”

And you?
I asked the darkness.
What could you do?

One life already saved,
came the slow whisper, followed by a pulse that ran through my body like a second, massive heartbeat.
You have nothing else to bargain with.

I’m asking. I’m begging.

You prayed,
murmured the darkness.
You prayed with all the power of your soul for your daughter to be saved, and so your soul was given freely. Pray for this man, but it will never be with the same power as you prayed for your own blood.

You’re wrong,
I said.

You do not love him as much as you love your child. You do not need him as much as you need her. You know she is protected beneath the shadow of your heart, and so you are reckless . . . but you would let this world die if she was not safe. Every life would crumble to ash to see her live. Including his.

My breath caught. The Messenger said, “Hunter,” but I couldn’t acknowledge her. A different, devastating dread was rising through me, and it made me want to puke.

I loved Grant. I loved him with all my heart. He was part of me in ways no one could ever be, and I would do anything to save him.

But in my heart of hearts, in that secret place where silence was power, the darkness held the truth. I wanted my husband to live. I wanted the demons to survive. I wanted to protect this world. And I would fight for it, with every breath.

But not my last breath. That was saved for my daughter.

I felt strange, unbalanced. Needing a distraction, I checked my phone—and straightened. Rex had tried to call, and there was a text from him, too.

Mongolia,
I read.
Outside Ölgii. He’s there right now.

I stood, slowly. My lower stomach ached, but I told myself that was natural, just the baby growing and my body making room. “I know where my grandfather is. I have to go find him.”

The Messenger’s mouth tightened. “Remember what I told you.”

“Thanks.” I leaned in, brushing my lips over Grant’s brow. “Keep him safe.”

“I would not be trying to save his life if I intended to let him die by another’s hands.” The Messenger hesitated. “They should have already tried again to take him. And your daughter.”

I touched my stomach. “What does it mean that they haven’t?”

“I do not know. There seems to be little strategy involved. If they had truly been intent on capturing the Lightbringer, it would have been easy to accomplish by now. Sending giants to attack you was ill-advised. His slow death from this disease seems to have been an accident. Even the attack on your daughter appears opportunistic rather than planned. None of that is the Aetar way.” She had never referred to the Aetar by their name; she said the word with difficulty, as if it cut the inside of her mouth.

“We’ve drawn their attention. You’re evidence of that. We’ve been expecting them to come after us for years.”

“But not like this. With such . . . sloppiness. Two Aetar died on this world. That is too important for anything but precision.”

I couldn’t argue with her. I’d had a nagging feeling that something wasn’t right about this situation . . . and she’d just managed to give voice to what was bothering me. “What should they have done?”

“Captured me first,” she said, without hesitation. “Interrogated me. And then sent an overwhelming force, more of my kind, to take the Lightbringer. During the day, when you are without the power of your demons. Or better, when the two of you are separated by distance. Drug him, remove him from this world. Poison the demon army, then. Wait for your child to be born, and—”

“I got it,” I interrupted, disturbed. “The Aetar would not have come themselves.”

“Never. They value their lives too much.” The Messenger’s eyes glittered. “Something is wrong, Hunter.”

How could things be worse?
I wanted to ask her. Instead, I rubbed my stomach and watched the slow rise and fall of my husband’s chest. “If it’s not the Aetar, then who?”

“There is no one else,” she said. “That is what I do not understand.”

“If we’re being manipulated . . .” But I stopped, unable to finish that sentence. If we were being manipulated, it still didn’t change the fact that my husband was dying and that we’d set loose a fatal disease on other humans. Something had to be done.

I backed away. “I’ll return as soon as I can.”

Uncertainty flickered across the Messenger’s face. “I will do my best here.”

“What is it?” I asked. “Is there something else?”

I wasn’t certain she would answer me. But her shoulders stiffened, as did her jaw, and, in a low voice, she said, “Part of me still belongs to them. They made me, Hunter. It is . . . difficult for me to fight against the Divine Lords.”

It was the closest to vulnerable I’d ever seen her. I didn’t make any typical human overtures—no reaching out, no sympathetic noises. Not that I was very familiar with those, myself. Instead, I looked her dead in the eyes.

“No one gives two shits that they made you,” I said. “All that matters is what you make of yourself.”

She frowned at me. I felt like the worst Hallmark card ever.

“Just remember they’ll kill you,” I added. “How about that?”

Her mouth twitched. “They will torture me first. But yes, I see your point.”

Great. I glanced down at my husband again, feeling useless as shit. Worse, I felt as if I had a monster breathing down my neck. Inside that crystal skull, I’d looked into the eye of Sauron like some little hobbit, and Sauron had looked right back.

I felt like he was still looking.

I tossed a blanket over the crystal skull. Mary didn’t seem to notice, staring straight ahead, cheeks flushed, wild hair drooping. I stepped back, right hand clenching into a fist. Quicksilver glimmered across my skin, that mirrored metal etched with a slow-moving tide of tangled coils: roses spiraling, galaxies, or labyrinths. I fixed my mind on my grandfather and Mongolia, on my need for answers. I had to find him. I had to know what was true and the lie.

One last deep breath. No pain. No smoke in the air. I half expected not to be able to breathe at all—the memory of my burning throat was so strong.

That’s not going to happen again,
I thought.

You should stop lying to yourself,
whispered the darkness, as I fell into the void.

IT
was night where I landed, tumbling into grass beneath a sky filled with stars and a low-hanging crescent moon. The air was cold on my face, and I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the boys to wake up.

Only, they didn’t.

Long seconds passed. A full minute. I counted the time in my head, waiting and waiting, growing sick with alarm. The boys tugged on my skin—an uncomfortable, intensifying pressure—but that was all.

I wanted to puke. I looked straight ahead, dimly taking in the flat grassland that stretched to the horizon. To my right, far away, I saw the prick and flicker of firelight. Just one small fire, not much bigger than a star.

Jack,
I thought.

And still, Zee and the boys fought to wake. Except now, it hurt.

Rip off the Band-Aid fast,
I’d always said. Slow was worse. Slow was horrific, like being chewed through a wood chipper, inch by inch. Each slice, every break, drawn out to its full potential for agony. I was, literally, being pulled in all directions at once—torn apart in the tiniest of fragments. I gritted my teeth, didn’t make a sound. Screaming would have hurt, too. Screaming would have been worse.

You are not alone,
whispered the darkness.