Vault of Shadows (11 page)

“Not sure he even has one anymore. He's a psycho killer, remember.”

“That doesn't mean he's soulless, Milo. Even evil people have souls, hard as that is to believe.”

“He's half Bug.”

“So? What makes you think the Swarm don't have souls? They're alive, and maybe some of them are mindless, the worker drones, I mean, but the soldiers have minds. There's every possibility they have souls, too.”

“Even the drones?”

She shrugged. “I don't know.”

Milo thought about it; then something occurred to him. “Remember a few days ago when I first met the Huntsman? He tried to kill me and the Witch of the World did some wonky magic and for a minute I was inside the Huntsman's head.”

She nodded. “You said it was horrifying.”

“It was. We had that whole mind-melding thing and I'm really glad I don't remember all of it. But there are some things I remember. One of them is that long before the Swarm ever got here, back when the Huntsman was just a human psychopath, he was trying to learn everything he could about magic. He's always wanted to
become
magical. He thinks that's part of how he'll become a god. I saw memories of him reading thousands of old books and talking to psychics and doing everything he could to learn about it. He was obsessed with it.”

“Oh,” she said, looking sick. “That's not good news.”

“No it's not.” Milo cocked his head to one side. “There's a word kind of stuck in my head since that happened. I've read it in books, too, and I'm pretty sure it's some kind of magic. Like the bad kind.”

“What word?”

“Necromancy.”

Evangelyne drew back in horror. “Goddess of Shadows! That is the very worst kind of sorcery. Even among the magical peoples there is no one more reviled and feared than a necromancer.”

“Why?”

“
When a person dies, there is a great release of energy. Not only does their soul fly free, but other forms of energy are released and it is raw and powerful. In sacred rituals around the world, people gather to honor someone as they die and to share in that release. They allow the soul to move on, but sometimes they can gain great insight and knowledge from that raw energy. Much of what we Nightsiders have learned of healing has been learned as one of ours passed through the veil and into the eternal darkness, and we honor them for sharing with us.”

She paused and swallowed hard. “But a necromancer is different. He does not wait for natural death. Instead he uses torture and murder to force the release of these energies, and then he steals those secrets for himself. A necromancer is like a vampire except that instead of feeding on blood, he devours life energy and then uses it to read the future, uncover secrets, enslave others, and even raise the dead and turn them into slaves.” She shuddered. “There is not much we Nightsiders fear, but we fear a necromancer. Please, Milo, please tell me that you're wrong about what you read in the Huntsman's mind.”

Milo said nothing, and he wished he hadn't said a word. Especially
that
word.

Evangelyne shook her head, and he saw her mouth that word.

Necromancer.

“Wait,” he said, “so you're saying that they wanted the Huntsman to kill me to free Queen Mab?”

“Maybe. It may be more complicated than that. A single sacrifice wouldn't break open the door. Not with someone new to using magic. Wanting to become a necromancer and actually
being
one are hardly the same things. No, I think they will have to take other lives to set the
Aes Sídhe
free.” She pondered this. “It may be that the Huntsman has already killed someone else to gain the power necessary to communicate with the queen. It's a process with many steps. I think what they tried to do to you was something different.”

“I probably don't want to know,” he said, “but what do you think they had in mind?”

“Binding you.”

“What, like tying me up?”

“No. Binding your soul and your life force to those of a necromancer. It would turn you into a kind of slave. You've heard of animals that some witches keep as pets and servants? They're called familiars.”

Milo nodded. Scary books were filled with that sort of stuff.

“If the Huntsman were able to complete the spells necessary to bind your life force to his, then you would have no choice but to serve him. That means he could make you as obedient to him as the Bugs are to the hive queens. And you would have to tell him anything he wanted to know.”

Milo touched the crystal egg in his pocket and cut a look at the leather pouch at Evangelyne's belt. She followed his gaze and nodded.

“You would have no secrets from him because he would be your master forever.”

“Oh, man . . .”

She smiled a twisted smile. “And to think you were saved by an annoying little dog.”

“Killer is not annoying,” said Milo quickly. “Actually, I think I'm going to be especially nice to that mutt for the rest of my life.”

“You should.”

Milo felt dizzy. “Why can't the world be simple? It used to be. I can remember when the hardest thing I had to do was put my toys away and brush my teeth before bed. Now . . . every day things get bigger and more complicated. Why can't I just go back to being a kid?”

“I'm sorry, Milo,” said the wolf girl. “Life used to be easier for me, too. I used to read my books and run through the woods hunting rabbits and sing to the moon with my aunts. Some of the Nightsiders had learned how to find peace even with you humans around.”

Milo sighed.

“Then,” said Evangelyne, “the Bugs came. And then the Huntsman, and now the
Aes Sídhe
are trying to make mischief.”

“I think it's a little worse than ‘mischief.'”

She shook her head. “That word means something
different to the Nightsiders, Milo. Mischief isn't harmless pranks. Not to us. It comes from an old French word,
meschever
, meaning something done to bring grief.”

The word “grief” hung in the air, and it was a word that Milo—and everyone else still alive on Earth—knew all too well. Knew, and feared.

Milo had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Can we . . .
talk
to these faeries? Maybe make them understand who the Huntsman really is and what he wants?”

“I don't know. I doubt it. They don't have a reputation for being reasonable. Trying to reason with them could get us hurt.”

“Even if we're careful?”

“I really don't think it's possible. Others have tried to make peace with them, and there was always blood, death, and ruin. All I do know, Milo, is that Queen Mab and her kind—the dark faeries of the
Aes Sídhe
and their allies among the goblins and imps—will never be our friends and they will never be our allies. Not even in this fight. Never.”

Despite that, Milo pasted a smile on his face. “My dad had a saying: ‘Never say never.'”

Evangelyne's eyes were cold. “Your father is lost, Milo. I'm not sure we can trust his wisdom.”

“Don't say that!” snapped Milo. “My dad's missing, not lost. I'll find him. The witch said—”

Before he could finish his statement, Shark stuck his head out the hatchway and yelled, “I did it! Come on!”

His face was covered with grease and sweat, but he was grinning from ear to ear. Killer barked and jumped around him. A few seconds later Milo heard the rumble as the alien engines came to life.

M
ilo raced up the ramp, with Evangelyne right behind him. And as if from nowhere, Iskiel came slithering through the scorched grass and managed to get aboard ahead of both of them.

On the bridge of the Huntsman's command ship, Killer barked and ran around in circles, then stopped and jumped straight up in the air a dozen times as if on springs. He couldn't know what was happening, but he had caught the fire of everyone's excitement.

“Will it work, boy?” said Evangelyne, turning a fierce eye on Shark.

Shark ignored her.

“Wait,” said Milo, grabbing his friend's sleeve, “can you even fly this thing?”

“Me?” Shark grinned and shook his head. “I could probably figure it out, but you already flew it, so you're elected.” He shoved Milo toward the pilot's chair.

“But—” began Evangelyne.

Shark cut her off. “Strap in,
girl.
”

“Not funny,” she grumbled.

Because there were so many different kinds of Bugs
in the Swarm, the chairs were made of a gel-like substance that conformed to the shape of whoever sat down. Evangelyne slid into a seat and shuddered as the gel shifted and molded itself to her. She made a face of distaste as she fumbled with the seat belt. The wolf girl couldn't figure it out—technology had played so small a part in her upbringing—so Shark connected the straps and cinched them tight.

“Ow!” she complained.

“S'matter? Too tight, Your Furry Highness?”

“Watch your mouth, fat boy—”

“Hey, guys!” yelled Milo. “How about you two shutting up? I mean, seriously? Is now really the time?”

Shark laughed as he snugged himself into a chair, and he whistled for Killer, who sprang into his lap. Evangelyne glowered at them both. Iskiel crawled onto one of the control panels against the far wall, jumped up to catch the edge of an open air vent, and vanished inside. They could hear the skitter of his claws as he disappeared down the duct.

Shaking his head, Milo belted himself in.

The bridge, like all Dissosterin tech, was simple, unadorned, and smelly. The air stank of rotting eggs, old garbage, and other items Milo chose not to name. Everything was slimy and felt wrong. Everything. Even the air around them seemed to throb with a sense of threat.

It doesn't want us here,
he thought, then scolded himself for the stupid idea. He couldn't shake it, though, and as
he studied the controls to re-familiarize himself with them, the uneasy feeling persisted.

Bug ships did not have actual physical piloting controls and instead used holographic steering. As soon as Milo had sat down in the command chair, a 3-D hologram of the craft had appeared in the air in front of him. Milo knew that all he had to do was stick his hand inside the projection and then move it in whichever direction he wanted the ship to go. The tech was designed so that even the dimmest of the Bugs could operate it, and configured so that any kind of hand—or insectoid claw—would work. All that was required was a living body sitting in the pilot's chair. It was shockingly uncomplicated, but it required absolute focus. Insects weren't easily distracted and they were conditioned to follow procedures, so they could steer the ship. It was a lot more of a challenge to Milo. He couldn't, say, wipe his nose or scratch an itch, because the ship would follow his hand movements and very likely crash.

He slipped his hand into the glowing hologram, then immediately snatched it back as if stung. It wasn't because anything had actually hurt him. That might have been easier to deal with. Instead it was a weird kind of emotional reaction.

It doesn't like the way my hand feels.

As if the ship was repulsed by his touch.

As if it was disgusted.

Greasy sweat popped out on Milo's face.

“
What are you waiting for?” demanded Evangelyne.

“Yeah,” growled Shark, pounding the arm of his chair with a fist. “We gotta go, go,
go
!”

Milo steeled himself and slowly and carefully eased his hand back into the hologram. The ship around them trembled. Everyone looked around, and Milo could see the nervous expressions on their faces. Were they feeling it too? He was sure they were. Even Killer looked nervous: his little tail drooped and he began to whine.

“Hold on,” said Milo, as much to himself as to them, and he slowly raised his hand. Immediately the ship responded by spinning up the main engines and firing the antigravity drives. It was so easy.

Except that on a deep level he could feel the ship resisting him.

Hating
him.

Had it done that when they'd stolen it that day? Had the ship felt this level of hatred? Had he been so caught up in the urgency of their escape from the hive ship that he simply hadn't noticed?

He could feel it now, though.

This ship belongs to the Huntsman,
he told himself.
And it knows it.

Way down below the surface of his conscious mind, he heard another voice echo that feeling.

Be warned, child of the sun,
whispered the Witch of the World.
This ship is sick. It has become polluted by the darkness that dwells within the Huntsman.

Milo almost yelled. It had been days since the witch had spoken to him. At first he'd feared her presence, thinking that maybe it was proof he was bonkers. Then he'd come to trust her. She wanted this world saved from the Swarm. She wanted him to rise, to become a hero who saved the world. Crazy as that thought was.

Then she'd given him a final, cryptic warning and vanished from his mind, from his waking thoughts, from his daydreams, and from his nightmares. The last words she'd spoken were burned into him. Two statements, and Milo didn't know if they were connected or not.

There are horrors more dreadful than the Huntsman, Milo Silk.

That was something too horrible to contemplate. Nothing seemed more terrifying than the Huntsman.

But then, as Milo had begun coming out of his dream, he thought he heard her say something else.

Your father lives.

If they were separate thoughts, then one was frightening and one was the best news he'd ever had.

If they were part of the same thought, then Milo knew his world was doomed.