Calling her on the dream phone would be a better option. I’d have to guard my thoughts so she wouldn’t hear anything in the background about Hellions. But I thought I could do that. The bigger question was, would she answer? Gwen had rejected all things Cerddorion, and for all I knew that included talking to family members through her dreams. It had been years since I’d tried to contact her that way.
I went back into the living room and settled into a chair. I needed to be relaxed, but not too much. Even though I didn’t think Difethwr would be back tonight—it had delivered its message, its challenge—I didn’t intend to fall into deep slumber. Only a light doze, just under the surface, more like self-hypnosis than sleeping. I made sure my sword was within reach of my left hand, then closed my eyes. Focusing on my breathing—in for four counts, out for four counts—I let my mind relax. In . . . out . . . in . . . out . . . Thoughts arose, but I gently blew them away on the out breaths. Starting at my toes, I imagined all tension flowing out of me, draining into the earth. Toes . . . ankles . . . calves . . . knees . . . Very gradually, gently, I nudged the relaxation upward . . . stomach . . . back . . . shoulders . . . dissolving all tension from my body. I wasn’t sleeping. I knew where I was and stayed connected with my surroundings. But I was ready to place the call.
Gwen’s colors are pink and gold. I focused on those, thinking of peaches, sunrises, the rose quartz necklace Gwen used to wear. Wisps of her colors appeared, but they thinned and faded. They didn’t swirl up into the heavy pink-and-gold mist I needed to pass through to enter Gwen’s dream. After a while, I gave up. Gwen wasn’t answering. I’d have to try to contact her through human means in the morning.
SOMETHING KICKED MY ANKLE. IN A SECOND, I WAS ON MY feet, sword in hand.
“Whoa! Back off, Vaughn. Put that thing down.” A scowling, scarred face came into focus. It was Lucado, standing three feet away in his striped bathrobe. I lowered the sword and rubbed my eyes. Sun streamed into the room. Despite myself, I’d fallen asleep.
“What time is it?” I asked, groggy.
“Time for you to go. Jesus, you’ve got to be the world’s worst bodyguard. First you fall asleep on the job, then you practically stab me to death when I wake you up.”
“That’s an exaggeration. You weren’t in any danger.”
“Yeah, well, neither were the demons. You’re fired.” He headed toward the hallway, then turned back. “And this time I won’t change my mind.”
“Frank, you can’t fire me—”
“You keep saying that. But I can. I just did. Get out.”
“No, you don’t understand. You can’t fire me now. Just one more night, and it’ll be over. I’ll be out of your hair forever. That Hellion you dreamed about—”
“Was just a dream. And dreams don’t mean nuthin’ in the morning.” He spun on his heel and left the room. I followed him into the kitchen. The room was warm with the smell of coffee, but this didn’t seem like a good time to ask for some.
Frank sat at the table, a mug in front of him, writing something. He signed it with a flourish, and held it out to me. A check.
“There ya go,” he said. “Two nights’ pay. You can’t say Frankie didn’t keep up his end of the deal.”
“Frank—”
“That’s all you’re getting out of me. Now leave.”
He wasn’t going to listen. I almost didn’t blame him, having come downstairs to find me fast asleep in a chair. I took the check, folded it half, and stuck it in my pocket. The clock read 7:34.
“Can I at least use the phone before I go?”
“No.”
“I need to call my sister.”
He pounded the table with his fist, sloshing coffee out of his mug. “Then call her on your own damn phone. You got no reason to be here anymore.”
When I see a battle I can’t win, I know it. I shrugged and, without another word, left the kitchen.
In the living room, I packed up my gear and zipped the duffel bag. I wished I could brush my teeth, but I hadn’t packed a toothbrush, and anyway, Lucado would probably call the cops if I tried to use his powder room. Carrying my bag, I went through the hall and opened the front door. Then I paused. I dropped my bag and went back to the kitchen, slamming the swinging door open with the heel of my hand.
Lucado still sat at the kitchen table. He was reading the paper. When I banged the door open, he slapped the paper down, looking seriously angry.
“Frank,” I said, before he could speak, “listen to me for one minute. That Hellion doesn’t make empty threats. If you don’t want my protection, fine. But get out of Boston. Just for tonight. The Destroyer is trapped inside the city. If you’re not here, it can’t harm you.”
With a grunt, Lucado raised the paper like a barrier, rattled it into shape, and ignored me.
THE FIRST THING I DID WHEN I GOT HOME WAS GRAB THE living room phone to call Gwen. There was a stutter tone indicating a voice mail, but I ignored it, punching in her number. I’d check for messages later.
The phone rang a couple of times before her husband answered.
“Nick, hi. It’s Vicky. Can I talk to my sister?”
“Sorry, Vicky, she’s on her way into town. I just walked in the door from dropping her and the kids off at the train station.”
Damn. If that jerk Lucado had let me use his phone, I would’ve caught her.
“Okay. Thanks, anyway.”
“Hey, maybe I’ll see you this afternoon. I’ve got a squash date with a client at the Racquet Club. Give him a good game, then let him win.” He chuckled. “But I’m meeting Gwen at Quincy Market afterward; should be there around one fifteen. So hang around a bit and say hi—if the kids don’t drive you crazy first.”
“But then you’re going home, right? No trips to the aquarium? No parade?”
His tone indicated he thought it was a strange question. “We’ve got to catch the 3:10 train out of South Station. Gwen and I are going out for dinner—business stuff—and the kids have a Halloween party. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, it’s just—you know how crazy Boston gets on Halloween nowadays. Swarming with tourists and partiers. Nutso. It’s no fun when it’s that crowded.”
We exchanged a few more pleasantries, then hung up. I slumped back on the sofa. Gwen and the kids were on their way into Boston, and there was nothing I could do about it. Maybe it would be okay. I reminded myself that Difethwr couldn’t make a move during daylight. But I had a bad feeling I couldn’t shake. It worried me to have the whole family together, the entire Cerddorion population of Massachusetts, on the day the Destroyer was promising an end to Victory.
Still, it was daytime now. We had hours and hours before we had to worry about Difethwr. So I’d meet Gwen for lunch, act all happy and normal—and then personally escort the whole family to South Station and make sure they got on that train.
ON VOICE MAIL THERE WERE THREE MESSAGES FOR JULIET, including last night’s dinner offering a second helping. His voice had the slow, dreamy tone of an over-the-moon vampire high.
The fourth message was from Daniel. Hearing his voice gave me a gut-level jolt, hot and cold at the same time. I couldn’t help seeing those smiling blue eyes, and I couldn’t help hearing that cop saying “your wife.” Daniel had news from Roxana. When she’d called another meeting of the Witches of the Shield, one person hadn’t shown up. The missing witch, Clarinda Fowler, was a paralegal who worked in Government Center. She hadn’t come back from lunch yesterday, and no one knew where she was.
“We don’t know for sure that she’s the one who leaked the information about the shield,” he said, “but right now it looks that way.”
His message was short and businesslike, and I felt somehow shortchanged when he hung up. But businesslike was what I wanted, right? If I had to interact with Daniel Costello at all, let us both be brisk and professional. There was no other way.
I sighed, then listened to the next message.
“Um, hi, Vicky. It’s Tina.”
Tina! That thieving zombie. I sat up straight and gripped the phone.
“I, uh, know you’re probably kinda mad at me right now . . .”
Kinda. That girl would be lucky if I simmered down to kinda.
“But I didn’t steal your sword. Honest. I wasn’t gonna keep it. I just wanted to show it to Jenna. It’s, like, the coolest thing ever. I wanted to show her my moves.”
See, that was the problem with starting weapons training too early. Tina didn’t have any moves. But because I’d let her spar with me, she thought she did. What is it they say about a little learning—it’s a dangerous thing?
Tina went on: “I was gonna bring it back tonight, but then me and Jenna had this really cool idea for our Halloween costumes—I mean, like, really cool—and I need it for mine. So, uh, I’ll bring it back tomorrow night. I promise.” She blew out a loud breath, then spoke really fast: “I hope you’re not mad at me. Bye.”
End of message.
I couldn’t believe it. Using Saint Michael’s sword for her Halloween costume. Sacrilege—that’s what it was. Not to mention the end of the entire city of Boston if I didn’t get the sword back before sunset.
I jumped up from the sofa. It was eight thirty. Tina would be tucked into her bed now, like all good little zombies. I was going to go over to her group home, and I was going to take back my sword. And while I was there, I’d confiscate Russom’s, too. If Tina couldn’t figure out the difference between the archangel’s sword and a toy, there was no way she’d ever become a demon fighter. No way.
“NO, DEAR. TINA’S NOT HERE. SHE NEVER CAME HOME AT all this morning. I’m quite worried.”
Tina’s house mother sat behind a reception desk, looking like the zombie version of Mrs. Butterworth: plump face, gray hair pulled back in a bun, little half-moon glasses that she peered over when she spoke. Her looks made a weird combination with her spongy, pitted zombie complexion and bloodred eyes. She fluttered with anxiety about her missing charge.
I went back into the living room and settled into a chair. I needed to be relaxed, but not too much. Even though I didn’t think Difethwr would be back tonight—it had delivered its message, its challenge—I didn’t intend to fall into deep slumber. Only a light doze, just under the surface, more like self-hypnosis than sleeping. I made sure my sword was within reach of my left hand, then closed my eyes. Focusing on my breathing—in for four counts, out for four counts—I let my mind relax. In . . . out . . . in . . . out . . . Thoughts arose, but I gently blew them away on the out breaths. Starting at my toes, I imagined all tension flowing out of me, draining into the earth. Toes . . . ankles . . . calves . . . knees . . . Very gradually, gently, I nudged the relaxation upward . . . stomach . . . back . . . shoulders . . . dissolving all tension from my body. I wasn’t sleeping. I knew where I was and stayed connected with my surroundings. But I was ready to place the call.
Gwen’s colors are pink and gold. I focused on those, thinking of peaches, sunrises, the rose quartz necklace Gwen used to wear. Wisps of her colors appeared, but they thinned and faded. They didn’t swirl up into the heavy pink-and-gold mist I needed to pass through to enter Gwen’s dream. After a while, I gave up. Gwen wasn’t answering. I’d have to try to contact her through human means in the morning.
SOMETHING KICKED MY ANKLE. IN A SECOND, I WAS ON MY feet, sword in hand.
“Whoa! Back off, Vaughn. Put that thing down.” A scowling, scarred face came into focus. It was Lucado, standing three feet away in his striped bathrobe. I lowered the sword and rubbed my eyes. Sun streamed into the room. Despite myself, I’d fallen asleep.
“What time is it?” I asked, groggy.
“Time for you to go. Jesus, you’ve got to be the world’s worst bodyguard. First you fall asleep on the job, then you practically stab me to death when I wake you up.”
“That’s an exaggeration. You weren’t in any danger.”
“Yeah, well, neither were the demons. You’re fired.” He headed toward the hallway, then turned back. “And this time I won’t change my mind.”
“Frank, you can’t fire me—”
“You keep saying that. But I can. I just did. Get out.”
“No, you don’t understand. You can’t fire me now. Just one more night, and it’ll be over. I’ll be out of your hair forever. That Hellion you dreamed about—”
“Was just a dream. And dreams don’t mean nuthin’ in the morning.” He spun on his heel and left the room. I followed him into the kitchen. The room was warm with the smell of coffee, but this didn’t seem like a good time to ask for some.
Frank sat at the table, a mug in front of him, writing something. He signed it with a flourish, and held it out to me. A check.
“There ya go,” he said. “Two nights’ pay. You can’t say Frankie didn’t keep up his end of the deal.”
“Frank—”
“That’s all you’re getting out of me. Now leave.”
He wasn’t going to listen. I almost didn’t blame him, having come downstairs to find me fast asleep in a chair. I took the check, folded it half, and stuck it in my pocket. The clock read 7:34.
“Can I at least use the phone before I go?”
“No.”
“I need to call my sister.”
He pounded the table with his fist, sloshing coffee out of his mug. “Then call her on your own damn phone. You got no reason to be here anymore.”
When I see a battle I can’t win, I know it. I shrugged and, without another word, left the kitchen.
In the living room, I packed up my gear and zipped the duffel bag. I wished I could brush my teeth, but I hadn’t packed a toothbrush, and anyway, Lucado would probably call the cops if I tried to use his powder room. Carrying my bag, I went through the hall and opened the front door. Then I paused. I dropped my bag and went back to the kitchen, slamming the swinging door open with the heel of my hand.
Lucado still sat at the kitchen table. He was reading the paper. When I banged the door open, he slapped the paper down, looking seriously angry.
“Frank,” I said, before he could speak, “listen to me for one minute. That Hellion doesn’t make empty threats. If you don’t want my protection, fine. But get out of Boston. Just for tonight. The Destroyer is trapped inside the city. If you’re not here, it can’t harm you.”
With a grunt, Lucado raised the paper like a barrier, rattled it into shape, and ignored me.
THE FIRST THING I DID WHEN I GOT HOME WAS GRAB THE living room phone to call Gwen. There was a stutter tone indicating a voice mail, but I ignored it, punching in her number. I’d check for messages later.
The phone rang a couple of times before her husband answered.
“Nick, hi. It’s Vicky. Can I talk to my sister?”
“Sorry, Vicky, she’s on her way into town. I just walked in the door from dropping her and the kids off at the train station.”
Damn. If that jerk Lucado had let me use his phone, I would’ve caught her.
“Okay. Thanks, anyway.”
“Hey, maybe I’ll see you this afternoon. I’ve got a squash date with a client at the Racquet Club. Give him a good game, then let him win.” He chuckled. “But I’m meeting Gwen at Quincy Market afterward; should be there around one fifteen. So hang around a bit and say hi—if the kids don’t drive you crazy first.”
“But then you’re going home, right? No trips to the aquarium? No parade?”
His tone indicated he thought it was a strange question. “We’ve got to catch the 3:10 train out of South Station. Gwen and I are going out for dinner—business stuff—and the kids have a Halloween party. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, it’s just—you know how crazy Boston gets on Halloween nowadays. Swarming with tourists and partiers. Nutso. It’s no fun when it’s that crowded.”
We exchanged a few more pleasantries, then hung up. I slumped back on the sofa. Gwen and the kids were on their way into Boston, and there was nothing I could do about it. Maybe it would be okay. I reminded myself that Difethwr couldn’t make a move during daylight. But I had a bad feeling I couldn’t shake. It worried me to have the whole family together, the entire Cerddorion population of Massachusetts, on the day the Destroyer was promising an end to Victory.
Still, it was daytime now. We had hours and hours before we had to worry about Difethwr. So I’d meet Gwen for lunch, act all happy and normal—and then personally escort the whole family to South Station and make sure they got on that train.
ON VOICE MAIL THERE WERE THREE MESSAGES FOR JULIET, including last night’s dinner offering a second helping. His voice had the slow, dreamy tone of an over-the-moon vampire high.
The fourth message was from Daniel. Hearing his voice gave me a gut-level jolt, hot and cold at the same time. I couldn’t help seeing those smiling blue eyes, and I couldn’t help hearing that cop saying “your wife.” Daniel had news from Roxana. When she’d called another meeting of the Witches of the Shield, one person hadn’t shown up. The missing witch, Clarinda Fowler, was a paralegal who worked in Government Center. She hadn’t come back from lunch yesterday, and no one knew where she was.
“We don’t know for sure that she’s the one who leaked the information about the shield,” he said, “but right now it looks that way.”
His message was short and businesslike, and I felt somehow shortchanged when he hung up. But businesslike was what I wanted, right? If I had to interact with Daniel Costello at all, let us both be brisk and professional. There was no other way.
I sighed, then listened to the next message.
“Um, hi, Vicky. It’s Tina.”
Tina! That thieving zombie. I sat up straight and gripped the phone.
“I, uh, know you’re probably kinda mad at me right now . . .”
Kinda. That girl would be lucky if I simmered down to kinda.
“But I didn’t steal your sword. Honest. I wasn’t gonna keep it. I just wanted to show it to Jenna. It’s, like, the coolest thing ever. I wanted to show her my moves.”
See, that was the problem with starting weapons training too early. Tina didn’t have any moves. But because I’d let her spar with me, she thought she did. What is it they say about a little learning—it’s a dangerous thing?
Tina went on: “I was gonna bring it back tonight, but then me and Jenna had this really cool idea for our Halloween costumes—I mean, like, really cool—and I need it for mine. So, uh, I’ll bring it back tomorrow night. I promise.” She blew out a loud breath, then spoke really fast: “I hope you’re not mad at me. Bye.”
End of message.
I couldn’t believe it. Using Saint Michael’s sword for her Halloween costume. Sacrilege—that’s what it was. Not to mention the end of the entire city of Boston if I didn’t get the sword back before sunset.
I jumped up from the sofa. It was eight thirty. Tina would be tucked into her bed now, like all good little zombies. I was going to go over to her group home, and I was going to take back my sword. And while I was there, I’d confiscate Russom’s, too. If Tina couldn’t figure out the difference between the archangel’s sword and a toy, there was no way she’d ever become a demon fighter. No way.
“NO, DEAR. TINA’S NOT HERE. SHE NEVER CAME HOME AT all this morning. I’m quite worried.”
Tina’s house mother sat behind a reception desk, looking like the zombie version of Mrs. Butterworth: plump face, gray hair pulled back in a bun, little half-moon glasses that she peered over when she spoke. Her looks made a weird combination with her spongy, pitted zombie complexion and bloodred eyes. She fluttered with anxiety about her missing charge.
