Labyrinth of Stars(73)

Jack said nothing. Zee held still, but I felt his tension; a mirror of my own. He rasped, “Not telling whole truth, Meddling Man.”

Even I could see that. My grandfather was distracted again, as if what he was saying wasn’t that important. He was telling me because he had to, not because it mattered.

Jack gave the demon a dirty look. I said, “All this time, you could have warned us. Why didn’t you say anything, right when I found you?”

“I told you, I thought the Aetar were merely planning an attack. I was as surprised as you to learn they’d already come after your child and Grant. What else was there to warn you about, after that?” He looked away, and muttered, “There are more important concerns.”

“More important than our lives?” I stood, and swayed, hit with dizziness. Zee pressed his claws against my leg, steadying me. My mouth was dry, my skin hot. A remnant of the fever, still in my bones. “Get up. I’m taking you home. We’ll sort it out there.”

I reached out to the old man, but Zee grazed his claws across my hand—a gesture of caution. I glanced down at him, but he was staring at Jack. All the boys were, even Dek and Mal, who slithered from the fire, smoke drifting off their scales.

“Lies,” he rasped again, so softly I could barely hear him; but Jack stared at the demon, stared and stared, and his jaw tightened.

“Lies are lives.” Zee’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Can smell it now. Drank poison to taste the trail, and the trail is strong inside us. Know where it leads. Know who hammered the arrows.”

A profound stillness fell over my grandfather. I studied him, feeling the last of my hope crumble. All that flippancy, that distance, had disappeared from his eyes. And it was chilling.

I tore my gaze from him to look at Zee—at all the boys, who had gathered around me. My wolves, watching the oldest wolf of all.

He is the hunter who slaughters worlds, the Messenger had said.

I couldn’t bear to hear what else Zee had to say. I was afraid I already knew what it would be. I grabbed my grandfather’s shoulder, and with my other hand reached for the demon. Raw and Aaz wrapped their arms around my knees. Dek and Mal had already begun slithering up my legs. I felt none of their usual strength—weak grips, no grace. But I didn’t give a shit. They were the family I could trust. That mattered more than anything.

“Maxine,” said Jack, but I closed my eyes against him.

Home, I thought, pouring my heart into the armor—pulling myself toward Grant. Home, before something terrible happens.

The void opened: a massive jaw unhinging, taking us into its mouth. I fell into the darkness, but it was the darkness inside me I felt, catching me softly.

Soon, everything will change, it whispered. You, most of all.

I was alone. I could not feel the boys or my grandfather, not my own body, not the child inside me.

No, I said.

It is already done, murmured the darkness, and found myself released into light, right where I’d left: the farmhouse living room, with its air smelling faintly of chocolate and marijuana.

But it wasn’t entirely the same. Because the floor was covered in blood.

And a man was being eaten alive.





CHAPTER 22




I heard the screams before I was fully free of the void. I was still listening to them when I snapped into the light, and the boys pressed hard against my skin—so hard my breath left in a gasp. It didn’t feel right. But not much did, anymore.

I saw Grant first. His eyes were still closed, that long, lean body sunk deep into the old couch cushions. Shurik covered him: like legless, hairless, cats. All of them, hissing. Past him, the Messenger—standing beside Mary, who was sitting up from her nest of blankets, machete in hand. The Mahati warrior crouched nearby, very still and sharp, as if his entire body were a knife about to fall into flesh.

I followed their gazes. I’d already seen what was in front of them, but avoiding it for as long as possible seemed like a good idea. Pregnant woman, psychic trauma, all that shit.

One of the robed men from the desert was sprawled on his back, mostly dead. I knew he was mostly dead because he was surrounded by a teeming, writhing mass of Shurik, all fighting for the chance to burrow into his pale skin. Invasion had already occurred; long bodies rippled beneath his flesh, sliding up his neck. His eyes were open, staring, leaking tears. His mouth still moved, but all I heard was a faint, hoarse gasp.

Beside him was the second man—but he was very much alive. Kneeling, covered in hissing Shurik that clung to his shoulders and wriggled over his waist. His pale, bony face was taut with barely controlled terror.

“They came for the Lightbringer,” said the Messenger quietly, her gaze lingering on Jack. “But the Shurik were fast.”