Free Hellhound (A Deadtown Novel) by Nancy Holzner Page A

see them. They were
inside
Andy. And that meant there was no way to help him.
    The best I could do was trap the Morfran when it emerged from his body. I drew Hellforged and readied the slate.
    Bam!
The door shook as Andy threw his body against it.
    “Open the doooor!”
    Caw caw caw!
    A bulge appeared in the door where Andy had dented it.
    Caw caw caw caw caw cawcawcaw!
    More dents, faster. A crack of light opened at the top of the frame.
    I felt sick, waiting, my ears ringing with the racket of screams and caws. There was nothing I could do for Andy, no way to help.
    The crack of light widened as the door buckled. The guard braced, his gun pointed at the door.
    A moan, low and drawn out, then silence.
    “Andy?” Daniel said.
    “My head. Oh God, my head. I’m sorry. Tell my wife . . .” The words dissolved into another moan. The sound built in pitch to a scream.
    Hellforged felt slippery in my sweaty palm. I knew the agony Andy was feeling. But I couldn’t get the Morfran out of him. All I could do was wait.
    The screams came fast, a single, continuous sound. Like a siren, rising and falling and rising again without a pause. I wanted to cover my ears, block out the blare of his pain. So much pain. But I couldn’t. I had to be ready.
    Then it happened. With a
boom!
and a wet, tearing noise, the Morfran burst from Andy’s body. Black goo shot past the cell door and splattered the ceiling and walls. Furious cawing filled the air as crows the size of eagles shot out of the cell.
    I raised Hellforged in my left hand and circled it clockwise over my head.
Come on, you bastards,
I thought, drawing the deadly spirit toward me. The racket quieted a couple of decibels, and I felt a drag on the dagger. I glanced upward. The crows were circling, circling, following the motion of my arm. I concentrated, pulling them in.
    The drag on Hellforged increased as the dagger pulled more of the Morfran into its orbit. The crows moved closer to its blade. A tingle of cold whispered against my fingertips. The icy feeling crept into my hand. Next, my wrist ached with a cold so intense it burned. When the feeling shot up my arm, I transferred the dagger to my right hand.
    “Parhau! Ireos! Mantrigo!”
Pointing Hellforged at the slate, I shouted the incantation to bind the Morfran. A sword of icy pain slashed across my chest and down my right arm. A streak of blue lightning erupted from the dagger’s tip and slammed into the target. The slate jumped a foot in the air. It clattered to the floor, shuddering. It shuddered again and then lay still. A curl of bluish smoke, almost lazy, wafted toward the ceiling.
    Silence settled over the hallway.
    I sheathed Hellforged and rubbed the lingering cold from my arms.
    Daniel rose from where he’d been crouching against the wall. Spots of black stuff—the remains of Andy Skibinsky—dotted his tie and the side of his jaw. He took out a handkerchief and rubbed his face.
    The guard had fainted, but he was alive. We went to Foster. He lay on his back, gasping for breath. His suit was clean, no black goo, but there was a wet spot on his trousers where he’d pissed himself.
    “He’s all right,” Daniel said. He was too nice a guy for me to imagine there was disappointment in his voice.
    “Andy’s broken ankle,” I said. Daniel looked at me, uncomprehending. “It was a compound fracture. That’s how the Morfran possessed him. Last night after it exploded out of Malone, it entered his wound.”
    “But you got it, right?” He gestured toward the slate.
    I opened my senses to the demon plane. The dingy corridor grew dingier, smells of sulfur and brimstone assaulted my nostrils. The air was full of sounds—screams, cackles, howls, shrieks. Demons were out and about, tormenting their victims. But the sounds were all distant; there was no cawing, not even an echo. No trace of Morfran here.
    “I did,” I said, pulling back from the demon plane. “This is a certified Morfran-free zone.” A