Labyrinth of Stars(65)

I charged up the porch steps, skipping around writhing piles of Shurik, who ignored me but lifted their fat little bodies off the old wood slates to hiss at the Messenger. Her lip curled with disdain. Her Mahati flexed his one good hand, the long tines of his fingers rubbing together with a steel-scraping sound.

Heart was in my throat. Prepared for the worst. But Grant was still stretched out on the couch, Mary seated beside him—stuffing fresh marijuana leaves in her mouth with one hand, dabbing his brow with the other. A machete was in her lap. At her feet, the crystal skull that my grandfather had been lugging around.

I looked at it and felt my stomach turn over. I didn’t know what that feeling meant, but it came from a deep place, and the darkness—the darkness that was flowing through me, even though I was myself again, myself as much as I could be—curled around that sensation and tasted it.

A window, it whispered. But light can distort sight . . . in ways that darkness cannot.

I ignored that, looking for my grandfather. No sign of him, and that dread growing inside me only deepened. I didn’t go searching the house, though. I sat beside Grant, taking his hand in mine. I felt the fever before I got close enough to touch him; his entire body radiated furious heat. His lips had cracked and peeled, and his face was sunken. The Shurik on his chest barely moved to greet me—all I got was a faint hiss. I almost patted its head but caught myself before anything embarrassing could happen.

“He dreams,” Mary whispered, sagging in her chair. I gave her a second, harder look, and felt my gut clench.

“You’re sick, too,” I said.

“Disgusting,” she muttered through gritted teeth, but she was staring at the Messenger when she said it. “Flesh, disgusting.”

“Move, all of you,” commanded the other woman, then glanced at the crystal skull and blinked. Disgust, dismay, touched her face.

“Barbarians,” she announced. “Leaving an artifact of power on the floor like a footstool.”

“Keep power close,” Mary rasped with defiance—and winced, touching her head. “Power never sleeps.”

The Messenger looked at the old woman like she wanted to argue. Or start a bare-knuckled boxing match that would end with someone’s head popped off. My bets, if it happened, were on Mary—but someone had to be the adult, and I guessed that was me. Fuck us all.

I stepped between the two women, blocking them deliberately from each other’s view. I had my own problems with the Messenger, but all Mary saw when she looked at her was the slave of a war fought and lost—the face of a child who should have been born free on a world that was now gone forever, except in her memories. And it always pissed her off.

I helped the old woman stand, which was harder than expected—mostly because she didn’t know how to accept my help. When she began to stumble, she punched me in the arm instead of letting me support her. Strong old woman—I felt the blow through the boys. Dull, but there. The rest of my body was still sore, too. I expected to see bruises on my skin later on.

I tried not to think too hard about that. It made me afraid.

I slid my hand under Mary’s elbow and led her to the kitchen. “Where’s my grandfather?”

“Still gone,” she muttered. “Shurik came to guard. Other demons staying away. Some sick. Rest are cowards.”

Maybe, I thought. But this was survival for all of them—all of us—and I couldn’t condemn a little cowardice when your entire species was on the line. I would give them all up to keep my daughter and husband safe, and they knew it.

When Mary collapsed into the chair, I knew she was sicker than she was letting on; she didn’t even give me a dirty look. I drank two glasses of water—gulped them down so sloppily that a small river ran down my chin and throat—and then placed a third glass into Mary’s hands.

Someone had turned on the television again but left the volume muted. I saw more images of the Mahati storming that cabin, but it didn’t make a dent in me. Right now, with all this shit raining down, a ham sandwich would have caused me more anxiety.

I pulled my cell phone free of my back pocket and called Rex. He answered on the first ring.

“What?” He sounded wary. “I haven’t found any more Aetar. And before you say another word, there are disturbing rumors coming out of that farm.”

“We’re all gonna die, we’re all gonna die?” I replied, wryly. “Pfft. I mock your rumors.”

Rex grunted at me. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Whatever. I need you to tap that network of little parasites and find out where my grandfather is, and what he’s doing.”