Part 8 (1/2)

”Well,” replied my grandfather, sounding shaken. ”Well, now.”

Zee gestured at him with one long claw. I didn't know if it was a threat, but there was certainly menace in his glinting gaze; a bitterness that gave way to something old and calculated, and devastatingly fierce.

”Meddling Man,” he rasped. ”Choose now, or never. Choose, who.”

I had never thought to ask that question. It hadn't occurred to me that I'd need to. But Zee had known my grandfather at his worst. He had known him, battled him, been imprisoned and tortured by him. Yes, he would ask. Yes, he would doubt his loyalties. I should have, too.

A preternatural stillness fell over my grandfather, deeper and quieter than death. For a moment, he seemed erased-as if, though I was looking at him, smelling him, he ceased to exist.

Jack said in a soft voice, ”There's no choice. Not anymore.”

I felt oddly vulnerable, hearing those words. I should have expected them. He was my grandfather, after all. But Jack was unpredictable. Jack had his own way. And sometimes that had nothing to do with my own notions of safety, or with loyalty.

I went to the table. The metal box was open, but Zee was looking at the crystal skull like it might burn him.

Behind me, my grandfather cleared his throat. ”I'll do that.”

He sounded a little too eager. I glared at him. ”Just got you out of a coma.”

”Maxine,” Grant warned.

”It's okay,” I muttered, already reaching for the thing. I couldn't help myself. I kept thinking about the maker of this weapon, this tool that had caused so much harm and damage-and contributed to my existence. I felt no wonder or longing. Just frustration, aggravation. My mother had inspired these emotions, once upon a time. Now, so did my father.

I stared into the cavernous eyes of that carved, inhuman skull-and touched the crystal.

Why did you give this to them? I thought, hoping my father could hear me, wherever his spirit resided in the Labyrinth. I need your help, too, you know.

But nothing happened. That was how it worked with these things-never, ever, predictable. I was ready for that. For anything.

Except for the image that pa.s.sed through my mind, sharp and clear as memory.

It was me. I saw myself. Gaunt, hollow-eyed.

Being dismembered by fire.

CHAPTER 10.

TEXAS. It was still daylight.

I had never actually seen the boys lose their bodies in the sun. The transformation always happened too fast. Maybe, sometimes, if I watched closely at sunrise, I might glimpse the edges of their bodies shred into some unnatural haze. But that was rare: a blink, then gone. Far easier to fall into prison than out of it. Which didn't seem fair.

I felt their weight settle on me as soon as we slipped from the void. My boys. Imprisoned on my body until sunfall. Protecting me with their flesh.

Jack stumbled, s.h.i.+elding his eyes against the light. Corpse-like, all bone, so starved and dehydrated it was hard to look at him. His beard and wild, matted hair stuck out at crazy angles-which, alone, wouldn't have drawn my attention. Except that something seemed to be moving in there.

”Yes?” he said. His beard twitched. Grant coughed and looked away.

So did I, scanning the farmhouse and the dusty, long drive. I half expected to see more police, or neighbors with pitchforks, burning torches, and shotguns.

Mary opened the front door and stepped onto the porch. An Osul child pushed past her, looking like an extra big tiger cub-puffy fur, big eyes, even bigger ears-the kind of face that had a certain amount of apelling more possessions, violating more lives. That should have been the line in the sand, one I'd never cross. But I had, without more than a moment's thought.

Because there was another line in the sand. Humans on one side, demons on the other. And G.o.d if I hadn't made a choice that I still couldn't face, or speak of out loud. It wasn't shame I felt every time I sided with the demons-it was self-loathing.

Grant squeezed my hand. I kissed his shoulder, wis.h.i.+ng I could just stay there, leaning up against him for the rest of my life. Instead, I nudged him away. ”We'll meet you in the camp. Lord Ha'an has to be warned that Jack is coming. The other clans will have to prepare, too.”

Demons might want to eat humans, but there was no hate involved. Jack, on the other hand, was one of the architects of the prison. He and his kind had committed atrocities against the demons. Fought them in a thousand-year war.

This was not going to be cute.

Grant didn't smile. I wasn't sure he could. I realized right then how tired he appeared, and his dry lips were close to cracking. He still had that odd flush in his cheeks, which stood out against his pale, drawn skin.

I regretted I'd said anything. ”Never mind, it can wait. Come inside. You shouldn't be alone, anyway.”

He shook his head. ”It has to be done.”

”We'll get Mary to do it. She needs to take the kids back anyway.”

Jack squinted, staring hard at my husband. I wondered how awake he really was because he seemed to have trouble focusing. But when he did lock in on Grant, all the considerable lines in his face seemed to get only deeper, and harder.

”My dear boy,” he said. ”You are being cannibalized.”

Grant flashed him a hard look. ”That's a bit dramatic.”

I stared. ”What?”

Jack scowled. ”I knew there would be consequences to those bonds. I had hoped otherwise, but you, lad, are no demon. No matter how powerful you are. You were not made for the burden you bear.”

Grant shook his head and limped toward the power-charged six-wheeler parked in front of the porch: the only vehicle that could transport him around the full three thousand acres of our land.

I blocked his path. ”Jack,” I said, holding my husband's gaze. ”Talk.”

”He won't die,” said my grandfather, still watching him with those piercing, searching eyes. ”The bond he shares with you won't let him. But the bond with those demons is different. He's not . . . taking. He's only giving. And that's not the way it works.”