Chapter 22. Jenny #2
He’d made copies of other items, too. Maybe he’d started out doing it to save them as trophies or souvenirs.
I told myself his original motives didn’t matter. We had to stop the threat he’d become.
I grabbed a laminated paper from another stack.
I hadn’t studied Latin in years, but I recognized the decorative border of thorns and blood, along with the three-headed dragon attempting to eat and/or mate with the large letter T at the top of the page.
Illuminated manuscripts got pretty weird sometimes.
“I know this one. It’s Novem Reges Daemonium. Felipe had a copy.”
I found three more papers I knew: instructions for summoning a hearth devil—Hob snatched that one from my hand and tore it up before I could read it; part of a Spanish tome on the history of the universe in the ten seconds before the big bang; and a first-person account of the Ritual of Artemis, written by a Hunter more than a thousand years ago.
“Hello?” Hob pointed to his chest. “Do you mind wrapping this up so I can get the fuck away from you people?”
I finished stapling the hearth devil. “Alex always liked to talk. You must have heard something that will help us find him.”
“I’d rather gag on a minotaur’s dick than have to listen to another minute of that asshole’s ranting.
” He touched the staples in his chest, then stretched until the skin pulled taut.
“He held his little scout meetings one deck up from my prison. He went on and on about how unjust it all was. How the wrong people had power and magic and the right people got shit on. I mean, he’s not wrong, but that doesn’t mean he had to keep whining about it. ”
I heard Temple approaching. Finally. Even his footsteps sounded weary. But his eyes were bright and alert as he entered the kitchen and looked things over. “Is that the Ritual of Artemis?”
“Alex is trying to make himself a Hunter of R’gngyk,” said Annette.
Temple adjusted his glasses and hummed to himself as he flipped through the three-page account of the ritual. Notes and annotations covered the pages in red ink. I recognized Alex’s handwriting, though it was rougher and more jagged than I remembered.
Temple unzipped his fanny pack and brought out Stuart Little. “I don’t have a copy of this one. Do you mind?”
Annette shrugged. “Go for it.”
He set the book on the edge of the table, then brought the three pages close. The book rustled.
The corner of the printout touched the book’s pages.
When the book fed, it was like a cross between an oversized piranha and Cookie Monster from Sesame Street. The book’s cover opened and slammed again and again, pulling in the pages. Tiny, torn scraps fell like crumbs. Temple yanked his fingers away as the book gulped down the last of the ritual.
“What in the name of Zeus’s feathered cock ring is that?” shouted Hob.
“Stuart Little,” said Ronnie. “It’s good. You should read it.”
Temple slid the book closer and opened it to the modified Ritual of Artemis, complete with Alex’s notes. In the bottom corner of the first page, a mouse—Stuart, presumably—had grown tentacles and extra eyeballs.
Temple pointed to one of Alex’s scribbles on the second page. “The original ritual establishes a partnership with Artemis and each of her Hunters. It’s like you become the goddess’s little sister. It’s not a relationship of equals, but you and Artemis both choose to bind yourselves to each other.”
Felipe hadn’t presented it to me as a choice. Not really. Oh, he told me he wouldn’t force me to go through the ritual, but he also went on about how much the Council had invested in me and how many innocent people would die without a Hunter of Artemis to protect them.
The day I’d become a Hunter was both thrilling and terrifying. Thirteen-year-old me had been too young to truly understand what was happening or what I’d become. I remembered the way the Council stared at me, like I was a prize-winning pointer at the Westminster Dog Show.
Much of the ritual was a blur. I know I’d prayed a lot, and they made me sacrifice a goat. I’d hated that part the most, but it hadn’t mattered, because then Artemis had spoken to me for the first time, saying, WELCOME, YOUNG HUNTER.
I’d felt strong and safe and loved and whole for the first time in my life.
“That wouldn’t work with R’gngyk,” Temple was saying. “You can’t have mutual understanding or partnership with no common frame of reference. It would be like trying to communicate with a particular shade of green. Alex’s solution is more parasitical. He’s a mosquito sucking up R’gngyk’s power.”
“How bad is that?” asked Ronnie.
“It depends on how greedy he gets.” Temple turned the page. “Did you ever do that thing where a mosquito bites you and you pull your skin tight so it can’t get loose?”
“Yeah. The mosquito can’t stop taking in blood, and eventually it explodes.” Ronnie’s eyes narrowed. “Oh . . .”
“Alex won’t stop,” I said. “He’ll want more. Annette hurt him.”
“Not as much as he hurt me.” Annette rubbed her neck and shoulder.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “In his eyes, he failed. He’ll be angry and humiliated. He’ll do whatever he can to make himself strong enough to win next time.”
Alex had always been sensitive. When Dawn Genzer turned him down for prom, he’d punched a dent into his locker, then proclaimed he was going to hand himself over to the nearest vampire nest to be, in his words, “their blood bitch.”
“His big sacrifice,” said Ronnie. “He’s going to feed one of you to Ringo.”
“Only, Annette showed him that he can’t beat us yet.” I paced the kitchen. “And we found the spells on Morgan’s shelf cards he was using to weaken the house’s protections, so he’ll have a harder time getting to us. He’ll need a backup sacrifice.”
“You think he’ll kill the kids?” asked Ronnie.
If drops of blood were enough for Alex to go head-to-head with Annette and survive, murdering children would certainly level him up. I shook my head. “I can’t believe he’d do that. I don’t care how angry and corrupted he’s become.”
“You think he’s like Darth Vader,” said Ronnie. “Fallen, but there’s still good in him? And you want to be Luke and save him?”
“If I can,” I said quietly. I owed him that much.
“Didn’t Darth Vader kill a whole mess of kids?” asked Annette.
“The whiny little titsuckers deserved it, if you ask me,” said Hob. “The whole Jedi order was a corrupt clusterfuck.”
I reached across the table and grabbed a yellow flyer for the Gauntlet. Alex had scrawled two words at the top: Salem’s Saverio’s?
“What in hell’s septic tank is that supposed to mean?” asked Hob.
I felt sick to my stomach. “Saverio’s was a bar in Oakland that catered to the supernatural. The owner, Willy Saverio, was human. The Slay Team raided the place three times.”
Hob snickered. “The Slay Team?”
“We were kids,” I snapped. “Temple, how much of R’gngyk’s power could Alex tap in to if he sacrificed an entire bar’s worth of magical creatures?”
“Depends on who’s there at this time of day, but it wouldn’t be good.”
Annette grabbed her phone. “I’ll call Duke and give him a heads-up.”
Ronnie stood up and slapped his hands on the table. “Let’s go kick Alex’s ass.”
“You’re not coming,” I said.
“What are you talking about?” He looked at me like a kid who’d just been told Santa wasn’t real. “This is why I’m here! I’m the one who had the prophetic dreams. This is the whole purpose of being a Kensington.”
“Your purpose is to protect people,” I said firmly. “We have two sick children who can’t be left alone. I need you here with them.”
“Can’t the hearth devil do it?” He looked at Hob and sighed. “Yeah, all right.”
He was making progress. A few days ago, he’d have fought to go after Alex with us. “Thank you, Ronnie.”
“Be careful,” he said. “The stuff I saw in my dreams . . . I know you were friends with this guy, but you need to end this.”
“We will,” I promised.
Hob hopped from his chair and headed for the door. He stopped to peek into the gifts area. “Hey, how much do these little skull pins cost?”
“Ten bucks, just like it says on the basket,” said Annette.
“How much after the discount for helping you ransack Alex’s pirate shithole?”
“Just take it,” I snapped.
Hob snatched the pin. “All of you piss-for-brains realize this could be a trap, right? Alex knows you’re onto him. He’ll be ready for you.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I thought of Morgan and Sage upstairs. Even the stupid cat. Strength and purpose filled me in a way I hadn’t felt for more than thirty years. “This is what we do.”
“Mggoka’ai ya ng nafl’fhtarl. Yar h’lli R’gngyk h’tungg il. Mggoka’ai ya— Sorry, let me grab a lozenge. This is murder on the throat.”