He pawed at his mouth, finally chewing on a mound of nearby grass until he threw up. I gagged again and turned away.
"Good god, those things are foul," Ryland said from behind me, his nakedness hidden behind a broken stack of bricks. He spat a glob of dark saliva at the hound and trotted away, returning a moment later, fully clothed again, but still spitting. "I need a damned beer."
"You and me both," I said.
He inspected Stacey, checking the two wounds on her. "This isn't good." He touched the wound on her thigh. Stacey moaned but didn't wake up.
"Why isn't she healing?"
Ryland frowned. "Hellhound wounds don't heal easily. They usually fester and kill a person, even if they're a fast healer."
Panic gripped me. I couldn't lose Stacey. True, she was a pain in the butt, but I cared for her all the same. "Someone must be able to help her."
He nodded. "I know someone."
I glanced back at the woods. "There was a girl who showed me where she was. Black hair, short, kind of Asian—oh, and naked."
"Where is she now?"
"She vanished. I didn't have time to look for her."
He sighed. "We don't have time to look for her if we're going to help your friend. Was the girl hurt?"
I shook my head. "She looked healthy, but I hate to just leave her out here."
"Did she have leaves in her hair? Did her fingernails look like polished wood?"
"What kind of question is that?"
"Just tell me."
I thought back and remembered leaves, but whether they were in her hair or not, I couldn't recall. "I think. Maybe."
"Might be one of the woodlanders who helped you."
"A who—what?"
"Nature guardians. There aren't many left, but a few remain to fight the war against civilization."
"Like a tree nymph?"
He chuckled. "No such thing as those, I'm afraid." He saw my expression and grinned. "Don't worry. I was just as disappointed as you. I always wanted to see what one of them would be like in the sack."
"Are we talking Greenpeace?" I said, following Ryland as he made his way across a shallow ditch and back onto the main road.
"They aren't human," he said, looking back over his shoulder at me. "They're something else. Not sure if they're spirit or flesh, to be honest."
"She sure was cute."
"Sounds like it. You got to meet a sexy lady of the forest. All I got was a mouthful of hellhound blood." He spat.
"Are we headed toward a supernatural hospital?" I asked, looking around for a clue as to our direction.
"Not exactly."
"You're sure we're going someplace that can help?" The only other person I could think of that might be able to help was Shelton. Maybe he knew some healing spells.
He stopped and gave the unconscious woman in my arms a wary gaze. "Can you run?"
I nodded.
"Whatever you do, let me do the talking."
"Why?"
"She's a Templar and might not be happy with me if she finds out you're spawn."
I cursed. "Why couldn't I have been something nicer? Like maybe a unicorn?"
He laughed. "Once you find out more about your kind, you'll probably understand why they have such a terrible rep."
"I've heard that one before."
We took off down the road, whizzing past abandoned buildings and through quiet residential neighborhoods until we reached a small house in the Druid Hills area near Emory. Small houses lined the winding road as it curved around hilly terrain cloaked by a dense canopy of trees. It looked like a nightmarish place to drive if the roads ever iced up.
Ryland approached the quaint house with its gray-stone chimney and a red-painted wooden door, the kind that curved at the top and had black-banded metal hinges. The back yard, what little there was, curved sharply downward and into a wooded valley. I remembered going on a bike ride with my family through here, years ago. Or had it been something else?
A woman stands outside the house, speaking with Mom in a heated voice. A young girl standing to the side of the house waves and smiles. The air flickers. Darkens. A deep boom vibrates the air. Wind whips against my tiny body, pulling it, dragging me toward a gaping black hole in the side of the house. The front door slams in a blur of red. A girl screams. The door opens and a wave of green malevolent energy pours outside. The door opens and shuts. Opens and shuts. Blood streaks down the sidewalk as if an invisible painter is dragging a brush. The door is red. The door is red. The door is red.
Someone shook me. Called my name from a long way away. A sharp pain stung my cheek and I stared into silver eyes.
"Justin? Are you okay?"
"Ryland?"
A young woman stood behind him, her blue eyes narrowed in concern. "What's wrong with him?"
"I don't know, he was fine a minute ago, and then he looked at your house and froze."
"I'm fine," I said, the fog in my brain lifting. I looked at the injured female in my arms and was glad I hadn't toppled over during whatever the heck had just happened to me.
"Why were you saying, 'The door is red' over and over again?" Ryland asked.
"Uh, it's red, right?" I looked at the red-painted door in front of me. I glanced at the sidewalk and felt a stab of fear in my stomach. It was here. I was here.
"Let's get her inside," the woman said. "Hurry."
The woman looked oddly familiar. So familiar, in fact, a name came into my head and I blurted it out. "Meghan?"
Ryland's eyes widened. "You know her?"
Her eyes flicked to me. "He didn't know my name?"
"No."
I shrugged. "You just look really familiar. I don't know why."
She looked at me for a moment before motioning me to set Stacey down on a cot near the fireplace. The inside of the house was open. Only a few articles of furniture took up space, among them a leather couch against a wall, two cots, and a large wooden table which looked solid enough to support a car. Light pastels colored the drywall and a set of stone stairs led up near the back. I spotted a small kitchen to the right of the small foyer.
Meghan inspected Stacey's wounds for a moment before giving a grim shake of her head. "I can't do anything for her."
My heart tightened painfully. "What do you mean?"
"Was she a friend of yours?"
A knot formed in my throat at her use of past tense. "Yes. She is a friend."
Meghan put her hand over mine, her blue eyes sad. "I'm so very sorry. I suggest you say your goodbyes because she'll be dead very soon."
Chapter 9
I glared at Ryland. "I thought you told me she could help!" The sorrow gripping my throat turned to anger. "We wasted all this time coming here and she's just giving up?" I pressed a hand to Stacey's feverish brow. The only other place I could think to take her was Shelton's.
"Why can't you help, Meghan?" Ryland asked.
"It's a hellhound bite, Ryland, and it's well past the point where I can clean the wounds and stop the infection from spreading."
"C'mon," he said. "You've got to have a spell somewhere that can do the trick."
"You're a sorceress?" I asked.
"More or less." She looked at Stacey. "I'm an arcane healer."
"There's got to be some spell that can work."
"At this stage of the infection, all I can do is postpone the inevitable. The only thing that would help is a willing…" Her voice trailed off and she shuddered. "No, it's too late."
"A willing what?" I asked. Good god, all she had to do was name it and I'd get it for her. "Tell me, dammit. Whatever you need I will find it."
"I doubt you'll be able to get this."
I resisted the urge to grab her and shake her. Stacey moaned and cried out, her body arching in pain. I braced her shoulders to keep her from falling off the cot. Hot feverish flesh met mine. Her face was pale, bloodless. Dark yellow lines ran in her veins, looking ghastly against her skin. A low moan rose in the back of her throat, and her hands curled and clenched so tight blood welled where her fingernails pierced the skin.
Tears burned in my eyes. "Please, Meghan. Tell me what you need."
She looked at me, her face soft with tenderness and regret. "Spawn blood."
I smiled. A hysterical laugh leapt from my mouth and did a jig. "That's it? That's all you need?"
She looked confused. "Do you have some?"
I nodded and held out my wrist. "I have all you need pumping right here."
Her eyes hardened as she backed away. "Is this a joke?"
Ryland's lips pressed together tight. "He's spawn, Meghan."
Fear blazed in Meghan's wide eyes to the point I thought she might pass out. Instead, she whipped out a pale rod and said a word. Pain tore through me as though my blood had turned to razors and was trying to slice its way free of my veins. I fell to the floor writhing in blind agony. My muscles locked and knotted so tight I couldn't breathe. Gray clouds gathered at the edges of my vision, and my view of the gaily-colored rug on the floor faded.
Ryland shouted. Meghan screamed back at him and then the pain abruptly vanished. I lay panting on the floor, my muscles aching from the spasms as my eyesight returned along with the oxygen to my brain. A yellow bird, one of many woven into the thick wool area rug underneath my face, gave me a cheerful look. I pushed myself to my knees and gazed warily at Meghan. Ryland had her wand in one hand and was saying something to her in a low voice, his tone fierce.
"Get it out of my house," Meghan shouted. "Get it out of here!"
I walked over to her, my body flushed with warm endorphins after the excruciating agony flooding it the moment before. "I'll leave after you heal my friend."
