“But what about the blue-and-silver lady? Vicky said she was my aunt.”
Gwen looked so angry, for a moment I thought she would hit me. But she took a visibly deep breath, then another, and shook her head. “Just Vicky or me. If I find out you’ve been talking to anyone else, you’ll be grounded.”
“But why can’t I talk to her?”
Gwen picked up the bread knife and toyed with it, her knuckles white. “Because many years ago, when I was a little older than you, I saw that woman do a terrible thing.”
“What?”
“Gwen, it’s been almost twenty years. Surely after all this time you can let go of whatever Mab did to upset you.”
Gwen slapped the bread knife on the table, making Maria jump. “Let go of it? That woman should be in prison, not swanning around her fancy house in Wales. Not pushing her way into my little girl’s dreams.” Gwen shoved her chair back and went to the sink. She poured herself a glass of water and drank it in three gulps. She slammed the empty glass on the counter, fury seething in her eyes. “But I never could get anyone to believe what I saw. Not Dad, not the police—no one.”
She pointed to the side door. “Maria, go outside. Go to the Henleys’ house, ride your bike, do something. I need to talk to Vicky alone.”
“But, Mom, you said I could stay. You said this conversation concerned me.”
“You’re right, it does. But you’re still too young to hear what I have to say. Maybe later, when you’re older, I’ll explain.”
“But—”
“No!”
Maria knew when she was beat. She slid from her chair and trudged across the kitchen. At the door, she turned around and said reproachfully, “I’m growing up, you know. You can’t treat me like a little kid forever.” She tossed her head and went out into the garage.
Gwen’s laugh had an hysterical edge to it. “She sounds exactly like I did at that age—do you remember? If only I’d known then how good ‘little kids’ have it. I had to grow up way too fast, and I wasn’t ready for it. Thanks to your precious aunt Mab.”
“Gwen, what happened?”
“That’s why I never told you, you know,” she said, ignoring my question. “Christ, you were younger than Maria when it happened. I wanted to protect you, protect your innocence. And then later, you were so crazy about Mab and demon fighting and Wales that you wouldn’t have believed me.” She glared at me accusingly. “You won’t believe me now, either.”
“Try me. I promise I’ll listen, at least.”
Gwen didn’t sit down. She didn’t look at me as she spoke. She stood by the kitchen sink, staring at a spot on the far wall, seeing into the distant past.
“Thirteen. I was only thirteen years old. A child. That summer in Wales, I was so terrified of Mab I felt more like her prisoner than her apprentice. I used to imagine that I was Gretel and she was the witch, getting ready to eat me alive. I was so unhappy. I’d take long walks whenever I could escape from the house, and on one of those walks I met a boy from the village. Eric.” Her eyes softened. “I thought he was the handsomest boy I’d ever seen—black hair, dark eyes, and black eyelashes so long and thick I wished mine were like that.
“Eric was fifteen, and I knew Mab would never approve of him. So I’d sneak out at night and we’d meet. I thought I was being careful, but one night Mab must have followed me. I met Eric at our usual place, a stone wall where we’d sit and talk. It was all so harmless, so innocent. That night, he put his arm around me and said he wanted to kiss me.
“My heart was thumping like mad. I closed my eyes and waited for the feel of his lips against mine. Instead, something warm splashed onto my face. I opened my eyes. Eric clutched his neck, blood spurting from between his fingers. His throat had been slashed wide open. Mab stood behind him, holding a bloody dagger.”
Here eyes locked onto mine like laser beams. “She killed him in cold blood, Vicky. A fifteen-year-old boy. And all because he tried to kiss me.”
21
THERE HAD TO BE ANOTHER SIDE TO THE STORY. GWEN wasn’t interested in speculating about what it might be. As far as she was concerned, our aunt was a brutal killer who’d murdered a young girl’s first love. The set of Gwen’s jaw, the absolute certainty in her voice—her mind held zero doubt about that night.
No, I thought, sitting on the train back to Boston, there must be more to it. I knew my aunt. Gwen’s picture of her as a cruel butcher killing for spite simply wasn’t her. Mab had once reminded me that I didn’t know everything about her. But one thing I did know: She’d never do what Gwen accused her of. Mab was loved and respected by the villagers of Rhydgoch. She didn’t go around slaughtering them.
She killed him in cold blood, Vicky. A fifteen-year-old boy. And all because he tried to kiss me.
Yet Gwen’s words haunted me all the way home.
WHEN I WALKED IN MY FRONT DOOR, MAB LOOKED UP from the book she was reading. Kane came over and sniffed at my fingers, wagging his tail.
“You had a telephone message—” Mab began.
“I need to talk to you. Right now.” My voice sounded harsh as I gestured toward the bedroom.
“The caller did say it was important.”
“So is this.”
Mab didn’t argue. She stood slowly, her brow creased as she peered at me. She balanced her book on the arm of the chair and walked around the sofa to the bedroom.
Kane tilted his head, curious.
“I’m not trying to shut you out, but I need to talk to my aunt in private. It’s a family matter.”
He pressed against my leg, like he wanted to show his support, then went into the kitchen.
Mab sat straight-backed on the edge of my bed, hands folded in her lap. She kept her face blank, waiting.
I closed the door and leaned back against it. “Mab . . .” On the ride back from Needham, I’d imagined a dozen different scenarios of how I’d handle this conversation: a confrontation, a gentle question, a matter-of-fact request for her explanation. Now, it was hard just to get the words out. Gwen’s story, so vivid when she told it, dimmed, and suddenly I wanted to say never mind, it was a mistake, forget the whole thing. The idea of Mab as a murderer was preposterous. But I needed to know the truth. I blurted, “Gwen told me you killed someone in front of her. A village boy named Eric.”
Mab closed her eyes as if in pain. But then she nodded, once, and I had the feeling she’d expected my words. “Yes, I thought she might bring that up now. To enlist your help in keeping me away from Maria, I’d wager.” She opened her eyes and regarded me calmly. No hint of guilt troubled her gaze. “Frankly, I’m surprised she’s waited this long. She never told you before?”
“Don’t you think I’d have asked you about it if she had? I’m asking now. I need to hear your side of the story.”
“Well, your sister told you the truth. During the brief period of her apprenticeship, I became aware she was sneaking out of the house at night. I followed her, I saw her meet a boy. And I slashed his throat.”
She looked at me fiercely, almost defiantly, challenging me to judge her acts. I put my hands behind me to hide their shaking, but I waited. There had to be more coming, and I was keeping my judgment—and my emotions—in check until I knew the whole story.
“There was no village boy, Victory. It was Pryce.”
“Pryce?” The demi-demon who’d loosed the Morfran on Boston and tried to kill me had once upon a time courted my sister?
She nodded. “He somehow learned my niece had come to Wales to train with me, and his first thought was of the prophecy. He wanted to find out whether this young American niece was the Victory foretold in The Book of Utter Darkness.”
The Book of Utter Darkness was an ancient text, written in the language of Hell, that outlined the origin of demons and was full of slippery prophecies about the struggle between the Cerddorion and demonkind. Pryce had attempted to use the book as his personal road map to power, believing that “Victory,” mentioned in the book, was destined to be his mate and demon queen. In the end, though, his arrogance had caused him to misinterpret the prophecies and end up as he was now, “the sleeper.”
Mab continued: “Pryce altered his human appearance to that of a teenage boy.” Demi-demons can’t shift into animals, but they can take on whatever human shape they choose. “In that guise, he courted Gwen. It didn’t take him long to learn that she had a sister named Victory and to decide that you, not she, were the one foretold. Gwen was of no interest to him; he could have simply walked away. It would have broken the child’s heart—she was a silly, romantic girl—but Pryce saw an opportunity to injure me through her. He intended to kill her.”
I knew Pryce. I could believe it. But still I felt my jaw drop as I stared at my aunt.
“It’s fortunate I chose that night to follow her. At first, he looked like a human boy to me, as well. I almost went home, thinking I’d simply keep the girl too busy to sneak out. But when Gwen closed her eyes and leaned forward for her first kiss, Pryce pulled a dagger. Moonlight glinted off the blade. His shadow demon loomed behind him, and I realized who he was. I drew my own dagger and ran over to them; I swear I never moved so fast in this lifetime. I grabbed Pryce’s hair, yanked his head back, and slit his throat.” Her face showed grim satisfaction. “My only regret is that the blade wasn’t bronze. I could have destroyed that infernal demi-demon once and for all.”
Her fists were clenched. She opened her fingers and smoothed out her skirt.
“Poor Gwen,” she said. “All she saw was a mortally wounded boy. The look of utter horror in her eyes . . . I knew I’d lost her then. She ran back to Maenllyd and locked herself in her room. The moment she fled, Pryce disappeared into the demon plane to heal. Gwen didn’t see that, of course. He returned moments later in his demon form—at a safe distance, I might add—and announced he’d be waiting for you.”