Deadtown

before a table covered in black cloth; something bulged beneath the covering. At the ends of the table, torches blazed.

The Hellion halted in front of the master—the room was silent, even our snake-tresses quieted their hissing as we awaited the signal to attack. But the Hellion, in stiff, resisting movements, bowed before the master, then fell to its knees. “Master,” it said, “we are yours to command.” The Hellion’s words begged to serve, but their tone oozed with hatred, with a strong desire for revenge. A murmur rippled through the Harpies.

The master nodded, and something in the gesture stirred my memory. I knew this human. His female servant picked up a robe and slid it over the master’s clothes. The robe was black, covered with symbols that shimmered and glowed with light. His power surged. My sisters drew back, again murmuring. Even the Hellion cringed, bowing lower.

I’d never seen a master such as this one. Why did I feel I knew him? The female servant handed him something. He lifted it: a knife that sparkled with gems. Turning in a slow circle, he displayed it to all present. The shining weapon brought my stone to mind. I wanted it. Now. I wanted it more than ever.

“Tonight,” the master said, “we will reduce this city to ashes and rubble. We will crush all humans within it. Difethwr, my servant—” The Hellion growled, and the master smiled. It was a smile I knew well, a smile of pleasure in another’s pain. “My servant Difethwr shall direct you. You Harpies, now gathered here, are the foot soldiers of my attack. In addition, Difethwr, in obedience to my will, has assembled a legion of Hellions. Even now, this legion waits outside the shield that protects this city.” He smiled his cruel smile again. “But the shield will fall, and we will prevail.”

With a flourish, he pulled the black cloth from the table. On it lay a naked human, bound at the wrists and ankles. His eyes were closed, and he didn’t move—only the slight rise and fall of his chest showed that he lived. I climbed into the air to see better. It was not an impressive human, neither large nor fleshy. And the face was marred: a long, thick scar ran from his eyebrow to his mouth.

That scar. Something nudged at my mind. I felt I knew this human, as well. A strange word whispered through my mind: Lucado. I didn’t know its meaning. Confused, I dropped back to the ground.

“With the blood of this man and the fire of the Destroyer, we shall pierce the shield!” the master shouted. Excited Harpies cheered and shouted. But I didn’t join their battle cries. The Lucadoword wouldn’t leave me, buzzing at the edges of my thought. Again, hunger faded, replaced by an unpleasant, queasy feeling. I wanted my shining stone.

The master covered the victim with the black cloth. “Clarinda,” he called. The female servant came forward and took the knife. “I must prepare my spell.” He smiled and puffed his chest. This was an arrogant master. “The spell that will open the shield and subject a legion of Hellions to my command! Where’s my servant? Where’s Difethwr?”

The Hellion still kneeled in its spot before the master. Rage flamed behind its eyes. “Here . . . Master.”

“Send forth these Harpies. Start the attack!”

“We obey.” Flames roared and shot forth from the Hellion’s eyes but stopped short of the master. The Hellion stood and raised its arms. “Harpies, attack! We charge you to avenge this master on all humans within the bounds of this city. We charge you to sow confusion and terror! Go! Now! Attack their parade!”

Screeching with excitement and bloodlust, the Harpies rose in a dark cloud. The cloud hovered, then exploded into a hundred different directions as my sisters went forth to seek their prey. I rose into the air also, but I felt no hunger for human flesh. I felt no hunger at all. The Hellion’s vengeance command was not for me. All I wanted was to retrieve my shining stone.

Lucado, Lucado, the night whispered as I flew back to the top of the building. As I landed, another word—Vicky—arose. That word was one I’d heard today. The child. The woman. Vicky, both had said, as though that word was my name. Vicky. My name.

Vicky was my name. I shook my head, snakes hissing. No. Like all Harpies, my name was Vengeance.

I hopped to the hole where I’d hidden the stone and plucked it out. Its light was dim now, not the glowing bloodred I’d seen before. Red—the stone must be red. It was important. And I had to do something when the redness returned.

I picked up the stone by its string and launched into the air. I’d take the stone back to my nest, and . . . Where was my nest? I didn’t know. How could that be? All Harpies have nests. But the thought of nest was a blank spot in my mind.

In confusion, I landed in the square. All the Harpies had gone. In the distance, I heard their battle cries and the screams of humans. I dropped the stone on the ground. Did it shine brighter here, redder? I bent to pick up the stone but knocked it with my beak. It skittered away, toward the building where my sisters had gathered. The stone glowed redder. Yes, its color had both deepened and brightened. I pushed it again, on purpose this time. The color brightened more. Carrying the stone in my beak by its string, I waddled into the building.

Inside, the shining of the stone was stronger, its color deeper. Beautiful. I felt happy, but still confused. I was supposed to do something now, but what? I flew up into the rafters to puzzle it out.

Below me, the female servant and the master placed items on a second table. The bound man— Lucado, something whispered—remained motionless, covered with the black cloth. The Hellion stood close by, tense with coiled fury, watching the master, its face a mask of hatred. I drew back on my perch. The Hellion’s expression was repulsive, hideous. Had I admired this demon? Now, hatred answered hatred. A chaos of feelings roiled in me. Anger. Hunger. Fury. Revenge. Prickling, burning sensations bubbled through me. I saw the Hellion, and I hated it. I wanted to fly into its loathsome face, pluck out its eyes, rake its skin with my talons.

The thought came from nowhere: My father. This Hellion killed my father. I didn’t understand, but I knew it was true.

Screaming, I dropped the stone and dove at the Hellion, crying vengeance. Vengeance! The demon turned, surprise and rage twisting its features. Vengeance! I aimed for the eyes. Vengeance! But just as my talons were about to strike, I fell. One wing, seared with fiery pain, collapsed and hung limp. I veered to the side and fell, hard.

When my body slammed into the floor, it broke into a dozen pieces—that’s how it felt as the pain exploded through me. Agony in my head—like my skull had split, my brain mushroomed. I couldn’t hear the hiss of my beautiful tresses. My legs swelled up into large, soft, sausagelike things, while my wings were losing their feathers, growing small and stick-like. As every part of me wracked with pain, I writhed on the ground.

“What’s that Harpy doing here? And what’s wrong with it?” A man’s voice pushed through the wall of pain.

“It’s not a Harpy, Master. It’s the shapeshifter.”

I hurt, hurt, hurt—as though I were being burned in a furnace, stabbed with spears, and pulled apart all at once. Twisting and struggling, my body gave up its Harpy form. As I found my way through the haze of pain, I knew who I was.

And I knew I was in trouble—naked, weak, unarmed, in-the-presence-of-my-worst-enemy trouble.

When the last spasms of the shift had shuddered through my body, I opened my eyes. Difethwr loomed above me, flames licking from its eyes as if hungry for my skin. It showed its teeth in a horrible laugh. “Hast thou forgotten, daughter of Ceridwen? Our mark is upon thee.”

The pain had drained from my body—all but my arm. The demon mark was on fire with searing, burning pain. That was why I’d fallen. My arm, still demon-marked while in the form of a Harpy’s wing, had failed when I tried to attack Difethwr.

The sorcerer appeared, standing over me. The symbols on his black robe seemed to glow and move. “Good evening, Miss Vaughn,” said Seth Baldwin. “Your timing is wonderful.”

“Go to hell, Baldwin.”

“No, that’s where I’m about to send you.” He smirked, running his gaze down, then up, my naked body. “A pity, perhaps.” Then his voice went hard. “Clarinda! Prepare a second altar.” He turned and disappeared from my field of vision.

Clarinda—I’d heard that name before. The witch who’d disappeared. Clarinda Fowler was the witch who’d leaked the information about the shield. All at once I remembered Roxana’s amulet, the shiny stone that had so fascinated me in Harpy form. I’d dropped it when I tried to attack Difethwr. Was it working now? Could the witches