sound-proofing.” He flexed his biceps, then strained both arms outward, but he couldn’t break my hold. “Come on,” he said, “lemme go.” I released his arms, and he wiped his chin with the back of his hand.
That’s when the screeching started.
This time, the bodyguard grabbed my arm. “What the hell was that?”
I yanked away. “Which way’s the kitchen?”
He looked at me funny, like maybe he was thinking this was no time for a coffee break, but he pointed to the right. “Through those doors.”
I took off running before the words were out of his mouth and slammed through the swinging doors. The kitchen was modern, all granite and chrome, and every surface was empty. No salt shaker on the table or the stove. I began opening cabinets, one after another, but I couldn’t find what I was looking for.
Another horrible screech sounded, and the bodyguard stood in the doorway. “What do you think you’re doing? And what’s making that noise?”
“Salt!” I yelled, and he looked at me like I was insane. “Where does Frank keep the salt?” He gaped at me, not answering. “Don’t just stand there, damn it! We’ve got to stop that demon!”
That got him moving. He was surprisingly fast for someone the size of a battleship. He opened a cupboard next to the stove and took out a round blue container.
“Iodized?” he asked.
“Doesn’t matter. Get back out there. Sprinkle a line of salt across the doorway. If the thing comes in anyway, throw a handful at it. Aim for the eyes.”
The screeching was in the outer hallway now. The bodyguard stared at me with bug eyes. “You want me to throw salt at it.”
“Aim for the eyes,” I repeated, pushing him out the door. In the hallway, I quit pushing and split off toward the living room. The bodyguard stopped in his tracks and stared at me over his shoulder. He looked scared. “I’ll be there in a minute,” I said. “I’ve got to prepare.”
But there was no time. The front door burst open, and Difethwr loomed on the threshold, hideous, making Lucado’s bodyguard look like a midget. The Hellion was even more terrifying than I remembered it. Its warty blue skin glistened with slime that dripped from its body in long, mucouslike strings. It stretched its mouth into a horrible grin, revealing row upon row of razor-sharp teeth—hundreds of them. Flames shot from its eyes, its mouth. The bodyguard stopped, craned his neck to get a look at the thing, and then keeled over in a dead faint. Shit.
I ran to him, grabbed the salt from his hand, and poured it around his prone body in a lopsided circle, silently chanting words of protection, charging the salt with their power. Difethwr advanced, filling the room with screeches so painful you wanted to cut off your ears. I looked up and saw the yellow eye-flames sweep toward me. And I froze. It was the worst night of my life all over again. I was back in Aunt Mab’s library, helplessly watching this creature destroy my father, Dad’s body twisting in agony.
The Hellion laughed, exactly as it had laughed that night, and I snapped back to the here and now. This demon was not going to make a victim of me twice.
I poured salt into my hand, the grains spilling over the edges of my palm and skittering across the hardwood floor. I charged the salt with my intention—
The flames bounced and sparked off the bubble of protection that shielded the man. Inside the circle, he lay unharmed, looking like he was asleep. The Hellion roared with fury, then raised its eyes to me.
I drew back my arm and took aim. The tingling in my arm intensified. It felt like a swarm of spiders crawling under my skin. The salt in my fist grew hot—blisteringly, unbearably hot. I couldn’t hold it. My fingers opened; the salt fell to the floor. And the pain—my whole arm blazed with a fiery ache that tormented like the touch of Difethwr’s flames. Weak and useless, the arm dropped to my side. I couldn’t make it move. The demon mark glowed a fiery red.
Difethwr laughed again, and I understood. The arm that bore the Hellion’s mark would not act against the demon.
Well, the rest of me could still fight. Hastily, I knelt and scooped up a pile of salt with my left hand. Still on my knees, I hurled the salt as hard as I could left-handed.
My aim was off, and most of the salt sailed past its right shoulder. But some hit the target. The demon clawed at its eyes, its shrieks rising to a whole new level. “Difethwr,” I shouted over the din, “I banish thee back to the Hell whence thou came.”
The last words my father ever spoke.
The Hellion staggered back, and I ran for the living room. I opened the duffel bag and reached in with my left hand—my right arm still hung limp—and fumbled around until I found the sword. I grasped the hilt and pulled it out. Heavy footsteps approached from the hall. Moving as fast as I could, I got the sanctified wine out, but I couldn’t get the top off with just one hand. Flames danced over the edge of the Persian rug. I looked up. Difethwr stood in the doorway. My sword’s blade remained cold and dull.
I looked wildly around the room. Too much to hope for that Lucado would have a little sanctified wine lying around, but then I saw the brandy decanter. It was worth a try. As Difethwr advanced, I grabbed the decanter with my left hand, yanked out the glass stopper with my teeth, spit it out, and poured brandy along the blade. As I did, I whispered the ancient spell. A faint glow played along the edge of the blade—or was it the reflection of Hellion fire?
Difethwr laughed, and the back of my neck tensed, anticipating a blast of Hellion fire. But I kept my focus on the sword.
The blade glowed. A flicker ran along one edge. And then the blade burst into flame. I straightened, and turned to face the Destroyer.
The sword felt awkward and heavy in my left hand as I raised it. Not six feet away, the demon stopped. It pulled back its flames until all I could see of them was a smolder behind its eyes. We faced each other.
Difethwr chuckled, a deep, gravelly rumble. And then it spoke my name. Its voice sounded like a dozen demons speaking together, not quite in unison, in a huge, echoing chamber. “Victory Vaughn,” it said, “thy true name is Vanquished.” Another rumbling laugh. “Prepare to join thy sire.”
“Don’t you dare talk about my father, Hellion.”
“True. ’Tis senseless to speak of things that are no more.” The thing regarded me, running its pointed black tongue over all those teeth. I tightened my grip on the sword. God, I wished I could use my right arm. “No trace remains of thy father. We destroyed his soul.”
“That’s a lie!” I hoisted the heavy sword, my left arm trembling, and charged.
Difethwr leaped to my right, and I missed it entirely. I spun as fire erupted from its eyes. I tried to block with the sword, but it was too unwieldy, my left arm too slow. The twin flames sped toward my face. This was it. I was going to die in excruciating agony, just like my father.
Then, so close that they singed my eyebrows, the flames stopped. I stepped back. Difethwr groaned and muttered something. I heard it say, “No, Master. The shapeshifter is here.” Then it growled. Slowly, as if the effort caused it pain, the Hellion reeled the flames back into its eye sockets, inch by inch. Again, the eyes glowed dully.
The Hellion raised its slime-dripping arm and pointed at me. A flame danced at the end of its clawed finger. “It is not yet thy time, daughter of Ceridwen. But soon. Soon we will destroy thee and reduce this city to ashes and rubble. And thou wilt have no power to stop us.”
As if to confirm the demon’s taunt, the flame along the blade of my sword dimmed. Difethwr laughed, throwing back its head. Huge, slime-covered blue warts covered its neck and jaw. I spoke the spell frantically, whispering the words too fast, slurring them. It did no good. The sword’s flames faltered, then went out.
Difethwr’s laughter cut off abruptly, and the demon cocked its head, as if listening. Rage twisted its face. “Yes, Master. We obey,” it said, each syllable yanked out like a tooth being pulled. The Hellion wavered, fading, becoming transparent.
“Who bound you, Difethwr? Whose call do you answer?”
