Hellforged (Page 51)

I still didn’t know what that meant. Mab was pure. Looking at her now, I realized I’d never known anyone purer. Truer to who and what they were. I, on the other hand, was one big bundle of fear and confusion, with some Hellion essence and a shadow demon thrown in. I’d never get all that sorted out before I had to fight Pryce and tackle the Morfran.

Mab’s face was smooth and unlined, her eyes clear. Whatever she was feeling, she didn’t wear it on the surface. I crushed her to me in a hug. She hugged back—for once, just as hard and nearly as long. Then, with her onetwothree pat, she dismissed me. Wiping my eyes with the heels of both hands, I went to the car where Kane waited. I got in, and there was much waving as we started down the driveway. Around the curve, all the way to the front gate, I kept waving.

As we turned onto the main road to start our drive south, I knew the trip would feel much, much longer than the four hours it would take us to reach the airport.

32

AT HEATHROW, WITH HELLFORGED STRAPPED TO MY ANKLE, I held my breath as we waited in various security lines. But I got through without incident—even the body scanner—thanks to a cloaking charm provided by Mab. The fact that I didn’t get picked at random for supernatural screening was pure dumb luck.

In the crammed boarding area, we sat on the floor with our backs against a wall. Haggard-looking passengers stood or slumped in chairs, surrounded by carry-ons and shopping bags. Others peered at laptops, ignoring the crowd. Bored kids ran around or cried.

I wasn’t looking forward to the flight. We had economy seats at the very back of the plane, judging from the row number. Jenkins almost hadn’t been able to get us on a flight today, so we were lucky. Still, sitting in this hot, crowded, stuffy corral watching business- and first-class passengers waltz onto the plane, where I knew they’d be greeted by smiling flight attendants offering them free drinks, I felt irritable.

Then I saw something that made me sit up straight and grab Kane’s arm. “There’s Pryce,” I whispered. He had his back to us as he handed his boarding pass to the gate attendant. His black suit looked as expensive and well cut as something Kane would wear.

“You’re right,” Kane said, as Pryce disappeared down the gangway. “I caught his scent.”

I didn’t think Pryce had seen us. He had no reason to look at the corner of the boarding area where we were jammed in among all the other economy passengers.

This was amazing luck. Or maybe not luck—after all, there were a limited number of afternoon flights to Boston. But Pryce wouldn’t be wreaking havoc in Boston while he was sitting on the plane. And we could follow him after we landed. Or Kane could. If I followed Pryce, the Destroyer might warn him. Once Kane learned where Pryce was staying, I’d figure out a reason to go there, something that wouldn’t put the Destroyer on red alert.

Boarding, I felt almost cheerful, even when a dozen people trying to cram too-big carry-ons into too-small overhead bins slowed our progress down the endless aisle. Even when we got to our seats in the very last row, center section, right in front of the toilets. Perfect. Pryce and his first-class ticket would never come back here. When we landed at Logan, Kane could pick up his scent again, and my “cousin” wouldn’t know we were onto him until I sliced off his damned demi-demon head.

I LET KANE TAKE THE AISLE SEAT. WITH HIS HEIGHT, HIS KNEES were right under his chin unless he could stretch his legs into the aisle. Not that he got much chance. From the moment the FASTEN SEATBELT light blinked out, a parade of passengers marched back and forth to the bathrooms behind us. The line held steady at three or four people deep, which meant there was always someone standing in the aisle beside Kane, crowding him.

Wolves need lots of personal space. After a while Kane snarled and sprang from his seat, startling the flannel-shirted guy who’d been leaning against it. Kane stalked up the aisle. A couple of minutes later he came back down the other side. When he got near the bathroom crowd, he turned around and walked up the aisle again. He kept going like that, pacing up one aisle and down the other. All coiled energy and nowhere go.

As the hours passed, he’d come back and sit for a little while, then jump up and go back on the prowl. When the flight attendants blocked the aisles with their meal carts, I thought he was going to explode.

While Kane paced, I thought about tomorrow night’s Monster Paul concert. With a critical mass of Morfran in Boston, did Pryce still need me as a bridge? How would he proceed? There was only one place to look for that information. I removed The Book of Utter Darkness from my bag and set the book on my tray table. Its pale-tan cover radiated malevolence. I didn’t want to open it. I didn’t want that cacophony of words to push its way into my mind again. The other passengers wouldn’t like it; people get nervous when someone starts screaming on a plane.

I touched the cover, and Hellforged twitched in its sheath. I’d better get centered first; maybe that would make it easier to deal with the damn book. I closed my eyes, ignoring the roar of the engines, the crush of people around me, the nauseating chemical-and-shit bathroom smell. I went inside myself, deep, listening to my own breathing, my own heartbeat. When I felt calm and sure, I opened my eyes. The book still gave off its evil vibe, but it bothered me less. It was only a book; I was stronger. I opened to a random page. No storm of words swirled into my head; Hellforged lay calm against my calf. So far, so good. I turned the pages slowly, scanning the text, waiting for understanding to creep into my thoughts.

Instead, a suitcase-sized purse landed half on my tray.

“Sorry,” smirked the thirty-something woman on my left. She was styled to within an inch of her life: spidery mascara-laden eyelashes, fake tan, so much goopy lip gloss that if a fly landed on her mouth, it’d be stuck there forever. I could’ve rapped my knuckles on her stiff hair without making a dent. She didn’t look the least bit sorry.

I shoved Ms. Iron Hair’s purse off my tray and returned to the book. Right away, understanding flooded my mind. And shall thrice-tested Victory be conquered? First, the carrion-eater consumes living flesh. Second, a battle in the world between the worlds. Third, Victory falls.

Yeah, yeah. I had all that down. I wanted the book to tell me something I didn’t know.

The words pulsed in my mind like a heartbeat. I’d survived all three tests: the Morfran attack, the battle in the pub, the race through the slate mine. Maybe the book was taunting me because I’d passed them, reminding me that I’d proved myself worthy of becoming the last thing I ever wanted to be.

Lucky me.

I looked up to see Kane coming back down the aisle, then returned to the book. I called to mind the new prophecy Mab told me about that morning: As the dead dance, the Brenin shall claim what’s his. Maybe focusing on that would force the book to reveal more.

But I never got the chance, because the plane dropped.

Kane, along with the entire bathroom line, flew upward and smacked the ceiling, then came down and hit the floor hard. Ms. Iron Hair slammed into the seat in front of her, somersaulting halfway over it. Screams erupted. The overhead bins popped open. A blizzard of papers flew everywhere and iPods, laptops, briefcases, and dozens of other items tumbled through the cabin like clothes in a dryer.

For too many heart-stopping seconds, the plane fell. Then it leveled off.

The Book of Utter Darkness was still on my tray. I’d slapped my hand on it when the plane dropped. I stuffed the book into the seat pocket and started to close the tray.

The FASTEN SEATBELT sign flicked on, as sobs and groans filled the cabin. “Ladies and gentlemen,” said a shaky female voice over the PA system, “the captain has turned on the FASTEN SEATBELT sign. Please return to your seats and—”

Before anyone could move, it happened again. People who’d been trying to stand were tossed back into the air. Kane landed half on me, half in his seat, snapping my tray from its brackets. I helped him into his seat and scrambled to get the seatbelt around him. But what good does a seatbelt do when you’re dropping like a stone out of the sky? How far can a plane going 500 miles an hour fall in ten seconds? The math was beyond me, and I didn’t think I wanted to know the answer.

Once again, the plane leveled off. This time, the screaming didn’t stop.

“Are you okay?” I asked Kane.

“I think I broke my shoulder blade,” he said. “I’ll be all right.” His superfast werewolf healing would take care of a broken bone, but even Kane couldn’t recover from a plane crash.

On my other side, Ms. Iron Hair clutched my arm, crying.

The plane nosed upward. The pilot was trying to regain some height.

The PA system bonged. People shushed each other so they could hear the message. Other than the thrumming engines and a couple of hysterical screamers, the plane was quiet. “This is your captain speaking. Please remain calm. It seems we have a glitch in the aircraft’s stabilization system.”

Glitch. As soon as he said the word, I felt a tug, and everything went gray. Demonic laughter rang out; something had grabbed my perception and yanked it into the demon plane. I whipped my head around to see if Difethwr shadowed me. As I turned, a movement outside the window caught my eye.

Pryce, in his demon form, his massive wings expanded, flew beside the plane. He held up three taloned fingers.

Third, Victory falls.

The plane dropped again.

Oh, God, no.

This was the third test. Not “Victory falls in battle” but “Victory falls from the sky.” How the hell was I supposed to keep a jumbo jet in the air?

I braced against the seat in front of me as the plane fell. Pryce had loosed a Glitch and escaped into the demon plane. The Glitch was frying the system that kept the plane in the air. And there was nothing below us except thirty thousand feet of empty space and the Atlantic Ocean.

33

I HAD NOTHING WITH ME TO FIGHT A GLITCH. NO BRONZE weapons, no Glitch Gone. Nothing. And the plane was bucking and swooping like an out-of-control roller coaster.

Ms. Iron Hair half-tore my arm out of its socket. I pulled away, but she grabbed me again. Mascara smeared her face in two black streaks, but not a single hair was out of place.