And you burn with it.
I was having trouble breathing, but only because I was so exhausted. Raw and Aaz crouched on either side of me, holding little electric fans that blew cool air on my face. They didn’t look too strong themselves, but they were alive and had already eaten one chain saw between them, which was a pretty good sign.
Dek and Mal coiled around my shoulders, lapping up a pile of M&M’s. Their purrs, hoarse. Zee crouched a short distance away, on top of the boulder covering my mother’s grave. He was very quiet and watched the old farmhouse, far away at the bottom of the hill—occasionally glancing to his left at the small fires burning in the wood. Signs of demon life.
“Won’t be back,” he rasped. “Won’t be the same.”
A chill settled over me. “You sure about that?”
Zee looked at me, his silence worth more than words. For once, I felt as though I could see in his face the weight of his life—thousands upon thousands of years, thousands since my first ancestor, thousands before. He seemed tired. Tired and old.
“Death before resurrection,” murmured Oturu, “but what is resurrected is never the same.”
I stared at his pointed chin, the long, masculine line of a hard mouth. Black hair curled past his jaw, the very tips twining and writhing like snakes. He had no hands. And though his eyes were hidden beneath the brim of his hat, I felt him looking at me. His stare, like a brand upon my face, the heat of his gaze pushing through me with unfathomable strength.
I tried to sit up. Raw and Aaz pushed against my back, little claws piercing my clothes and scraping cool against my skin. Tendrils from Oturu’s flowing, floating cloak wrapped around my wrists—also cool, cool as death—and helped pull me to my feet.
I sensed movement behind me. Tracker eased into my line of sight. His sweater was torn, and blood dotted his throat. But his eyes were sharp as ever, raking me up and down.
“You look terrible.” He glanced at the boys, frowning. “So do they. That’s . . . not possible.”
“Will survive,” Zee rasped, prowling close. “Others may not.”
“Are you hurt?” I asked Tracker.
“It was nothing. A human matter, and not Aetar.”
“He forgets himself,” murmured Oturu, “and hunts for those who are not his Lady.”
“You were a hero,” I said.
A disdainful smile touched Tracker’s mouth. “Someone has to be.”
I didn’t ask what he’d done, whom he had saved. I felt wistful, though. Had that been me, once upon a time? Had I ever really helped people? I liked to think I had, but I wondered sometimes. All those years, alone on the road, keeping to myself—the stranger, always passing through.
“No sign of the Aetar,” he said. “Found none of their creatures. It didn’t feel right, though. There was something in the air, everywhere we went. I haven’t felt that weight in a long time.”
“What did it mean before?”
His jaw tensed. “During the war. Before battle. We knew the demons were coming, and there was nothing we could do to stop them. We just had to be strong enough to stay alive.”
“Great,” I said. “It’s not going to get easier. We’re going into the Labyrinth. You’ve been there. You and Oturu, and the boys. I need all your help.”
Aaz hugged my legs, while Raw handed me a cold ginger ale. I took a sip and extended it to Tracker. After a brief moment, he took it from me—or tried. I held on, for a second longer than necessary.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I said. “How to enter the Labyrinth. I can’t afford to get lost. I don’t have time.”
Oturu loomed, his cloak writhing open, blotting out the stars as he surrounded us. Tracker shuddered and pulled away from me. I felt cold, but safe. It hadn’t always been that way—once, I would have been terrified, skin crawling. But hearts change. Monsters become beautiful.
“We would hear your heart across the universe,” Oturu said, in a voice as soft as death. “You will not be alone. But we might still lose our way.”
“The Labyrinth has a mind of its own,” Tracker added, rubbing his hand against his thigh. “We could wander for a thousand years and come back to this planet and find nothing the same. Or arrive just at the moment we left.”
“My husband is there. I have to find him.” The cure might be a fool’s errand—but Grant was flesh and blood, and mine. My man. My heart.
Shadows moved through Tracker’s eyes. I didn’t understand that look, or his silence. But Oturu murmured, “As the Labyrinth wills it, so we shall be,” then: “The hunt will be sweet.”