Bloodstone

She wasn’t anywhere on Back Street.

Juliet’s gasp. That sudden cold. A chill lingered in the air, along with the stale smell of ancient grave dust. The Old Ones had snatched Juliet away, and I hadn’t even noticed.

The sirens were almost on top of us, and flashing lights splashed across the Berkeley Street intersection. I lifted Mab into my arms, ignoring the pain that gripped my wrist, and ran.

24

AT THE CHECKPOINT BACK INTO DEADTOWN, THE ZOMBIE guard eyed Mab’s ID. He flicked a glance toward her face, then blinked and stared hard. He looked at the ID then back to Mab. ID, Mab. ID, Mab. He typed into his computer and squinted at the screen. He waited, tapping his fingers on his desk, until the computer beeped. He squinted at the screen again. Once more, he compared Mab’s picture with her actual face. Finally, he shrugged. “You should update your photo, ma’am.” His polite voice held a warning. “It will prevent future delays at the checkpoint.” He handed both IDs back to me.

The photo on the card in my hand, taken yesterday, showed someone who could be the daughter of the woman at my side. With each minute that passed, Mab was aging almost visibly. A dowager’s hump had sprouted between her shoulders, and her spine curved like a shepherd’s crook. She clutched my arm with ropy, liver-spotted hands. She could barely walk; I picked her up again so I could carry her through the streets of Deadtown. She turned her face to my shoulder and let me.

At the door to my building, though, she insisted I put her down. “I’ll walk across the lobby myself,” she insisted. Even her voice had aged, to a thin, tremulous, almost-whine.

Clyde came over to assist us. “Another relative, Ms. Vaughn?” he asked, offering Mab his arm.

“No,” said Mab, all dignity. “We met yesterday. I’m Vicky’s aunt, Mab.”

Poor Clyde nearly choked on his mortification. “I . . .” He coughed, swallowed, opened his mouth, closed it, then coughed again. “I do apologize.”

Mab harrumphed and accepted his proffered arm.

“She’s had a rough night,” I said. “She’ll be better tomorrow.” I sent up a silent prayer to whatever gods might be listening that it would be so.

Mab harrumphed again. She shuffled across the lobby, leaning her whole weight on Clyde and me.

“Would you like me to accompany you upstairs?” he asked, pressing the elevator button.

“No, thank you, Clyde. We’ll be fine,” I said.

“Very good.” When the elevator door opened, he helped Mab inside, then stepped back out into the lobby. The doors closed on his puzzled face.

“Almost home.” I patted Mab’s arm, hoping the gesture gave more assurance than I felt.

Mab sighed. The sound seemed to hold all the weariness of the ages. “This place, child, is very, very far from home.”

IN MY APARTMENT, KANE CIRCLED MAB, SNIFFING, GIVING me inquiring looks. I told him I had to get Mab to bed, and he backed off as I helped her into my bedroom. Once she was settled under the covers, Kane came in and sat on his haunches, staring at my aunt. She lay back with her eyes closed. There’s little time, she’d said. Right now, she looked like someone with no more than a few grains of sand left in her hourglass. Kane lifted his muzzle. His nostrils flared, as though he were trying to catch the scent of what had happened.

Two people I cared about, both so drastically altered. Tears pressed at my eyes, and I pinched myself to make them stop. I couldn’t afford to cry. I had to figure out what to do.

“Myrddin stole Mab’s bloodstone,” I told Kane. He cocked his head, asking what exactly that meant. I wanted to know more, myself, but now wasn’t the time to exhaust Mab further.

I laid a gentle hand on my aunt’s arm. “Mab?” Her eyes fluttered open. They were cloudy with cataracts. “What can I do to help you? Are there herbs I can get? Roxana—the witch—should I bring her back?”

“No, child. None of that would help.”

“Can you shift? Would that bring back your strength?” But even as I asked, I knew that the feeble old woman lying in my bed could never summon the energy for a shift. Mab merely shook her head.

“Well, maybe you’ll feel better after you get some rest.” It was the lamest thing I’d ever said in my entire life, but I couldn’t admit there was nothing we could do.

“I taught you better than that, child,” Mab’s thin voice admonished. “Wishful thinking means nothing. Unless you can retrieve the bloodstone, I’m finished. I will continue to age until my body gives out.”

“I’ll get it back.” But how? I didn’t know where Myrddin’s safe house was, and I didn’t know if I could face Myrddin—and his army of Old Ones, vampires, and human servants—alone. Saying I’d get the bloodstone back felt like more wishful thinking. But I needed to try to comfort Mab. “I won’t let Myrddin . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Won’t let him what, child? Kill me? If only that were all he had in mind.” Her rheumy eyes closed, and her voice, barely audible, trembled with weariness. “Myrddin won’t kill me. He’ll bring me to the very end of life, to the point where death is the only thing still desired. And then he’ll use the bloodstone to imprison me, as I did to him fifteen hundred years ago.”

MY HEAD SPUN WITH QUESTIONS, BUT I COULDN’T TROUBLE Mab with them now. She was sleeping; a quiet snoring buzzed from my bedroom. Sitting on the living-room sofa, I listened, cherishing those snores. Each one meant another breath.

I checked the splint I’d put on my wrist. My kind heals quickly—the pain had already diminished—but it takes time for bones to knit back together. Keeping the wrist immobile would make sure they healed properly. Right now, though, I had more to worry about than a broken wrist.

Mab said she’d imprisoned Myrddin fifteen centuries ago. Was she telling me she was—or had been—Nimue? According to legend, Nimue had seduced Merlin and imprisoned him in a hawthorn tree. No, a yew tree, Mab had corrected. I guess she’d know. She also said she’d had many lifetimes. That was how she knew so much about Myrddin—she’d battled him before and won. No wonder Myrddin was obsessed with revenge.

He wouldn’t succeed. I’d promised my aunt I’d get the bloodstone back. And I would, somehow.

In forty-eight hours, the Reaper would claim another victim. The final point of the eihwaz rune was on the edge of Boston Common, near the Boylston Street T station. Myrddin would be there with his lidded jar. I couldn’t be sure he’d have the bloodstone with him—but I could be damn sure he’d expect me. He wanted my life force for Pryce.

It would be better if I could ambush him where he wasn’t expecting me: at the safe house. Myrddin must be there now, waiting until he could complete his ritual. It was probably where the Old Ones had taken Juliet, as well. But I didn’t have the slightest idea where the safe house might be. All Juliet could tell us was that it was in the basement of a brick town house—and Boston was full of those.

Kane settled on the cushion beside me, resting his head on my thigh. Gray eyes, a man’s eyes, regarded me from his wolf’s face. “How can we find the safe house, Kane?”

His head lifted, ears alert, and he jumped from the sofa and ran to the front door. He turned and looked back at me expectantly. When I didn’t move, he let out a frustrated yip.

“I can’t take you with me.” Even with Roxana’s charm to disguise him, it felt too risky to have Kane running around Boston in his wolf form. “I need you to stay with Mab.”

Kane barked again, more aggressively this time.

“Stop it. We promised Clyde that no one would know you’re here.” Besides, I wasn’t going to argue with a wolf.

Kane came back over, caught my sleeve in his teeth, and pulled. When I shook him off, he nipped my skin.

“Ow!” I rubbed the spot. No broken skin, but it stung. I glared at him.

Seeing he had my attention, he put his nose to the floor and ran around in circles, sniffing exaggeratedly.