Wolf Island (The Demonata 8)

“Juni Swan,” Beranabus echoes, with the guilty look that crosses his face whenever talk turns to his ex-assistant. “I’d never have thought poor Nadia could turn into such a hideous creature. I don’t know how she survived.” He looks at Bec. “Your spirit flourished after death, but you’re part of the Kah-Gash. Juni isn’t. Lord Loss must have separated her soul from her body some way, just before her death. That’s why he took her corpse when he fled. But I don’t understand how he did it.”

He mulls it over, then curses. “It doesn’t matter. We can worry about her later. You’re right — Lord Loss sent the werewolves. I cast spells on Carcery Vale to prevent crossings, except for in the secret cellar, where any demon who did cross would be confined. Even if he found a way around those spells, he would have been afraid to risk a direct confrontation. If he opened a window, the air would have been saturated with magic. You and Dervish could have tapped into that. You were powerful in the cave, stronger than Lord Loss in some ways. He probably thought humans and werewolves stood a better chance of killing you. But that doesn’t explain why the Lambs agreed to help him. Or, if they weren’t Lambs, how they got their hands on the werewolves.”

“Maybe he struck a deal with them,” Dervish says. “Promised them the cure for lycanthropy if they helped him murder Bec and me.”

“Would they agree to such a deal?” Beranabus asks.

“Possibly.”

“Prae Athim’s daughter turned into a werewolf,” I say softly, recalling my previous meeting with the icy-eyed Lambs leader. “She’s still alive. A person will go to all manner of crazy lengths when family’s involved.” I shoot Dervish a wink.

“An intriguing mystery,” Beranabus snorts. “But we can’t waste any more time on it. We have more important matters to deal with, not least the good h

ealth of Dervish and Miss Mukherji — they’ll both be dead soon if we don’t take them to the demon universe. Open a window, Kernel.”

Kernel eagerly sets to work on a window. His eyes have held up so far, but they won’t last indefinitely. The problem with building body parts in the demon universe is they don’t work on this world. If he stays too long, Kernel will end up blind as a bat again, with a pair of gooey sockets instead of eyes.

“I’m not going,” Dervish says.

“You can’t stay here,” Beranabus replies quickly, angrily.

“I have to. They attacked me… my home… my friends. I can’t let that pass. I have to pursue them. Find out why. Exact revenge.”

“Later,” Beranabus sniffs.

“No,” Dervish growls. “Now.” He gets off the gurney and almost collapses. Meera grabs him and holds him up. He smiles at her, then glares at Beranabus. He might be within a whisker of death, but that hasn’t affected my uncle’s fighting spirit.

“It would help if we knew,” Meera says quietly in defense of Dervish. “The attack on Dervish and Bec might have been a trial run. The werewolves could be set loose on other Disciples.”

“That’s not my problem,” Beranabus says callously. He’s never been overly bothered about his supporters, and always stresses the fact that they sought him out and chose to follow him — he didn’t recruit them.

“There’s been a huge increase in crossings,” Meera says, which is troubling news to me. “We’ve seen five or six times the usual activity in recent months. The Disciples are stretched thinly, struggling to cope. If several were picked off by werewolves and assassins, thousands of innocents would die.”

“It might be related,” Kernel says, pausing and looking back.

“Related to what?” Bec asks, but Beranabus waves her question away. He’s frowning, waiting for Kernel to continue.

“This could be part of the Shadow’s plan,” Kernel elaborates. “It could be trying to create scores of windows so that its army of demons can break through at once. We’ll need the Disciples if that’s the case — we can’t be everywhere at the same time to stop them all.”

“Maybe,” Beranabus hums. “But that doesn’t alter the fact that Dervish will last about five minutes if we leave him here.”

“I’ll be fine,” Dervish snarls.

“No,” Beranabus says. “Your heart is finished. You’ll die within days. That’s not a guess,” he adds when Dervish starts to argue. “And you wouldn’t be able to do much during that time, apart from wheeze and clutch your chest a lot.”

Dervish stares at the magician, badly shaken. I’m appalled too. “It’s really that bad?” Dervish croaks.

Beranabus nods, and I can see that he’s enjoying bringing Dervish down a peg. He doesn’t like people who challenge his authority. “In the universe of magic, you might survive. Here, you’re a dead man walking.”

“Then get him there quick,” I say instantly. “I’ll stay.”

“Not you too,” Beranabus groans. “What did I do to deserve as stubborn and reckless a pair as you?”

“It makes sense,” I insist calmly. “If the attacks were Lord Loss trying to get even, they’re irrelevant. But if they’re related to the Shadow, we need to know. I can confront the Lambs, find out if they’re mixed up with the demon master, stop them if they are.”

“Is the Shadow the creature we saw in the cave?” Bec asks.

“Aye,” Beranabus says. “We haven’t learned much about it, except that it’s put together an army of demons and is working hard to launch them across to our world.” He stares at me, frowning. He doesn’t want to admit that I might have a valid point, but I can tell by his scowl that he knows I do.