Pull, flash of pain, bitter taste in the mouth. Three. Now he had three. If three didn’t do it . . .
A huge paw sank into the muck next to him. Talons bit into his side and flipped him on his back. He kept the bombs clutched in his fist. The tiny bumps on the surface of the spheres sank in under the pressure of his fingers. The bombs would explode a second after he let them go.
The beast lowered his head. Drool dripped on Spider’s chest. He looked at the grotesque face. Red eyes stared back at him, deliberate, smart. They caught him. Mesmerized him. He sank deep into their depths, stunned by their ferocity and intellect and pain. One chance. He had one chance, or it would end right here.
The massive jaws opened wide, wider, cavernous.
“Hello, Vernard,” he whispered.
A low groan broke free of the beast’s mouth. It stretched into an ululating cry and suddenly shifted into a long coherent word.
“Genevieve ...”
“I fused her,” Spider said. “Took her from your family.”
The thing that used to be Vernard Dubois snarled in rage.
“I’ll take Cerise, too,” Spider promised. “I will kill you, and then I’ll find her and take her, too.”
The jaws unhinged and plunged down to bite. Spider tossed the bombs into the black throat and shoved himself to the side.
Vernard’s head exploded. A wet mist of blood and brains showered Spider’s stomach. Thick slabs of meat pelted him. The stump of the body toppled and crashed forward. Spider threw his hands out to shield himself, but the weight was too great, and it plunged on top of him. A wide gap glared where the beast’s neck used to be, and as it fell, blood gushed from it in a hot sticky flood, drenching Spider’s face.
With sick dread, Spider waited for the body of the beast to glue itself together.
A moment passed.
Another.
Spider strained, gripping the ground. The corpse pinned him down, and in the wide gash he saw the black, moist sack of the heart still pumping. He reached into the ruined body, ripped out the bulging organ, and bit into its flesh. The blood burned his mouth. He tore the still living flesh with his teeth and forced it down.
If there was any truth in Vernard’s journal, the beast’s heart would restore him. He choked down another bite and let it go before nausea made him lose it.
Spider clenched his muscles, thrusting himself into agony. His torso slid from under the beast. He dragged his hand across his mouth, wiping away the blood, unable to believe he lived. He breathed in deeply and savored the damp Mire air he so used to hate. It tasted sweet.
Spider rolled to his stomach. A mud field stretched before him, seemingly endless. An eternity away the southwestern path gaped. A mile and a half.
Spider clutched at the ground with dirty fingers and pulled himself six inches forward. Pain lashed him. He caught his breath and pulled again.
THIRTY
WILLIAM opened his eyes. Wooden boards ran above his head. He blinked. Pain swept through him in a torrent, ripping out a groan. Things swam out of focus.
A door banged. A dim shape thrust into the room. William struck at it, but his arm fell limp.
“It’s me, it’s me,” Gaston’s voice said. A hand restrained him.
William snarled.
“Come on now, friend,” Zeke’s voice said. “You’re safe, it’s all good. All good. Gaston, slide him back into bed, before he chokes himself. There we go.”
“Where is she?”
“Safe,” Gaston said. “She’s safe.”
Alive. Cerise was alive.
A cup bumped against his lips.
“Drink,” Zeke said. “You’ll feel all better after you drink.”
The liquid spilled into his mouth. It tasted vile, bitter, and metallic. William tried to spit it out but somehow it worked its way down his throat into his stomach. Warmth spread through him, dulling the pain.
Slowly his vision returned to normal, and he stared at Gaston kneeling by the bed, his face two inches away.
There was something on his neck. William reached over. His fingers grazed leather.
“Hang on.” Zeke reached over and unhooked something, lifting a large dog collar free. “Sorry about that. You went wolf on us a couple of times. Had to keep you put.”
William shook his head. His voice came out hoarse. “Where is Cerise?”
“She had to go home,” Gaston said.
“Where am I?” He tried to rise, but they clamped him down.
“Settle down,” Zeke told him. “I will explain everything to you, but you’ve got to lie still or we’ll tie your ass to the bed. You got me?”
Fine. William lay back down.
“They brought you to me four days ago. They had you in some sort of casket, and you were barely breathing. Apparently you were hurt bad, and whatever the casket did kept you alive, but you weren’t getting any better. Cerise said that we had to get you to the Weird because the Mire didn’t have enough magic, and if we left you where you were, you’d die.”
They put him in the Box. He’d died. He remembered dying and the mist and then nothing.
“We didn’t have a lot of time,” Zeke said. “You were hanging by a thread. The Hand’s freaks were still after the Mars, and we had to move fast. There is only one way out of the Mire into the Weird and that’s through Louisiana. We had to grease the Border Guard’s hand. It took everything I had and all the money the Mars had. Wiped us out clean, but we got you and the kid out, because she didn’t trust me alone. I better get reimbursed for this. We’re in Louisiana now, in the country, in one of the Mirror’s safe houses.”
Zeke reached to the table and lifted a square of lined paper. “Here. She wrote you a note.”
William clenched the paper in his hand, focusing on it with all of his will. The tiny scribbles solidified into words.