I could not be the only one who had rebelled against that family law. Surely some of us had tried—tried to have a normal life. It would have been difficult, yes, but not impossible. Even my mother had fallen in love—loved deeply—although the circumstances of that union were so strange and tragic, I refused to let myself dwell on it. I couldn’t think about my father.
My grandfather was another matter entirely.
Old Wolf. Meddling Man. With eons of blood on his hands.
And yet I loved him. Maybe from the very beginning, when I’d first seen his photograph with my grandmother, and all the vast possibilities of what he and I could mean to each other were still fresh in my head. Before I’d learned the truth of what he was. Before a lot of things. I was so young, then. Desperate to have some part of my mother returned to me. My grandfather was the perfect surrogate.
But that’s what happens with family. Sometimes you love what you should hate. Sometimes you trust when you should suspect. My mother probably would have been smarter, more careful with her heart—she was the true warrior. Always perfect, always strong. I was nothing but a pale imitation.
But that’s the way it is with mothers and daughters.
Someone is always being left behind.
IT was lunchtime in Texas, the sun blazing hot. The void spat us out into a world that was sweaty, blinking with electricity, and smelled like the seat of a dirty toilet. It was also night—and the boys woke right the fuck up.
It was like being drowned in a vat full of acid and fire. No beginning, no end, just the slow peel of my skin from my body, every inch from my fingernails to between my legs. I staggered, already disoriented from the void. Hitting night like this was the worst. At least with sunset, I had some warning. I could prepare myself.
Tattoos dissolved into black smoke, flaying me from my toenails to the roots of my hair. I could not breathe. I could not make a sound. My mother had never made a sound. Just smiled, and laughed, so that I never knew the truth until it was my turn. I realized now the strength of her sacrifice—how she’d saved me a lifetime of fear and dread by making me think this shit would be easy.
Don’t ever let anyone tell you that immortality—even the half-ass kind—doesn’t come without a price.
The boys ripped free, a sliding, terrible heat that felt as though their sinuous bodies were petals hot with lava. Claws scraped. Whispers pattered. In small pieces, the pain eased. But I still shook, and when my vision cleared, I was on my knees. Dek and Mal clung to my shoulders, humming Sting’s “Every Breath You Take.”
“Maxine,” whispered Zee. “Sweet Maxine.”
“Hey,” I said, mouth so dry I could barely form the word. I glimpsed movement at the corner of my eye: Grant’s feet, and the bottom of his cane. His hand came down, and I grabbed it, hard.
He pulled me up into his arms. His breath was warm on my neck, and I kissed his throat. His skin tasted hot, feverish.
“We’re in Taiwan,” he said, pulling away. “Taipei. Been here before when I was young.”
I looked around. We were standing inside an unlit street so narrow I could have stretched out my arms and laid my palms flat against each opposing wall. Electric wires and other thick cables hung above our heads, along with laundry and birdcages. Raw and Aaz clung to the walls, claws dug in and hanging upside down. Both of them reached into the shadows and pulled out hand grenades. They yanked out the pins, and shoved the live explosives into their mouths.
Grant blew out his breath and looked away. “We better get moving.”
I touched Zee’s head. “We need Jack.”
But the little demon didn’t move, except to lean in and press his ear against my stomach. A tremor passed through him, and in moments Raw and Aaz gathered close, also leaning in for a hard, close embrace. I wrapped my arms around them, sharing their weak relief, and reverence. My heart, thick in my throat. Dek and Mal licked my ears, and Grant slid his hands against them into my hair. His brow pressed to mine.
“We’re okay,” I whispered.
“Yes,” Zee murmured, against my belly. “Her dreams still sing.”
Grant pulled me closer. I leaned against him, vision swelling in a slow burn that blurred the shadows with tears. Zee reached out and covered our joined hands, those claws soft as silk. Small sighs filled my hair.
“Family,” Zee rasped. “Strong as, deep as.”
“Family,” Grant echoed softly.
“Mine,” I said, but it didn’t make me feel better.
CHAPTER 9
IT was a bad night to be out. Hot, wet, with mountain-kissed thunderclouds and humid winds gathered thick over a red-light market slum in the heart of Taipei. We were far from home.