Halloween. Of all the days of the year to heighten the terror of a supernatural attack, Halloween was number one. Humans associated Halloween with monsters and the paranormal. Even an intelligent witch like Roxana had made that mistake.
So Kane must have been right about one thing. The attack was intended to confuse the humans, to turn them against the “monsters”—Hellions, demons, PAs; it didn’t matter. The creepy things that come out after dark would be blamed for whatever Difethwr and its master were planning. Whatever it was, I’d bet my best sword that it would happen during the Halloween parade. First the Destroyer would confront me here—
I was back in the living room, once again wearing a track in Lucado’s rug. Too bad. I had to think, and pacing helped.
So the plan was to cause terror and blame the monsters. But it was personal, too; there was no doubt in my mind. Above and beyond Difethwr’s servitude to its master, the Destroyer had a personal vendetta against me. How could it be otherwise? My family had been at war with it for hundreds of years, and here I was, the result of a prophecy, vowing to kill it. Surely the Destroyer believed that if it killed me, the last of my line, it would achieve the final triumph over the Cerddorion.
I halted, my heart suddenly pounding in my throat. Gwen and the kids were coming into Boston tomorrow to meet me for lunch. That couldn’t happen. I didn’t want them anywhere near this city, daylight or no daylight. Not on Halloween. Not with Difethwr sealed inside, determined to end its centuries-old feud with my family.
I had to call Gwen and tell her to stay away. Stay in her nice, safe, charm-protected house in the suburbs. I hurried into the kitchen and picked up the phone, then noticed microwave clock—it read 1:46. Gwen and her family would be fast asleep. I didn’t want to alarm the whole Santini household with a phone call in the middle of the night. I didn’t want to alarm Gwen at all; she’d freak out if I told her I was preparing for a battle-to-the-death with a Hellion. I just wanted to cancel lunch. I’d tell her Boston was too crazy with all the tourists and Halloween festivities; we’d get together another day.
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
“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
“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?”
