“Can the bloodstone’s power be renewed?” I asked.
“When I return to Wales, yes. I’ve drawn on it too much recently. First there was the injury to my heart”—Pryce had nearly killed her a month ago in a swordfight in a Welsh slate mine—“and then I used the stone to find you. And now this. I’m tired. The stone has dispensed much of its power without replenishment. When I get home, I’ll bury it deep in good Welsh soil for a few weeks, give it time to regenerate. And we’ll both be good as new.”
“We could find a place to bury it here.”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid that won’t work, child. The bloodstone’s power, and my own, is tied to the land of Wales.”
“Then you’ve got to go back.” Mab’s passport had arrived in the mail. Carlos could forge an entry stamp, and everything would be in order for her to leave. If being away from Wales weakened Mab, she needed to go home, and as soon as possible.
“I have business to finish here. With Myrddin. The bad blood between us goes way back.”
Way back. Myrddin was a fifteen-hundred-year-old demi-demon. “Have you really lived multiple—” I began, but Axel’s heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. Mab stuffed the bloodstone back inside her shirt and shot me a look that warned me not to talk about it now.
Axel reappeared, bearing a tray. He’d gone all out. Tea steeped in a delicate porcelain pot decorated with pink and white roses; a matching cup and saucer waited beside it. He’d put out cream, sugar, sliced lemon, and even honey in a plastic, bear-shaped squeeze bottle. I tried to picture Axel sitting downstairs in his lair, sipping tea from that cup. I failed.
As he set down the tray, Axel must have noticed me gaping at him. His face turned two shades redder and he disappeared behind the bar.
I poured a cup of tea, stirred in some honey, and handed it to Mab. She raised it, trembling, to her lips. She drained the cup and returned it to me for a refill. When she handed me the empty cup a second time, her hands were steadier.
“Ah, much better.” She did look better. Some of the color had returned to her cheeks, and her eyes had reclaimed some of their sparkle. But she still looked much older and more frail than the woman who’d entered Creature Comforts with me an hour ago.
How much of Mab’s vitality came from the bloodstone—and how much was left?
She stood, putting a hand on her back as though it pained her. “Now,” she said, “there’s no time to lose. We must speak with your roommate. Lives depend on it.”
She set off toward the storeroom, moving with the awkward gait of someone trying to hide a limp. Axel came out from behind the bar, said something in his troll language, and offered his arm. Mab accepted it, and together they went down the hall.
JULIET HAD BEEN SO CLOSE TO DEATH THAT I EXPECTED TO find her limp in bed, awake but weak. So I wasn’t prepared for the bundle of energy that paced the room like a tornado trapped in a box.
I was on the bottom step when Juliet ran over and threw her arms around me. She saw Mab behind me and cried, “‘O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you’!” And then she hugged Mab, too. My aunt stiffened, her face an almost comical picture of consternation. It was a pretty safe bet that Mab had never been hugged by a vampire before.
“That’s Shakespeare,” Juliet explained. Mab nodded and didn’t reply, although she knew the Bard’s plays as well as Juliet. “There’s more to it, of course. The line is from my play, from a speech by Mercutio. I’m afraid he’s not very complimentary of your namesake overall. But he calls you ‘the fairies’ midwife,’ and I do feel like you’ve helped birth me.”
Juliet kissed Mab on the cheek. Mab’s eyes went wide, and I had to turn away to hide my smile.
“Glad to see you’re feeling better,” I said. I’d never seen Juliet such a bundle of energy. “How’s your leg?”
“Oh, it’s fine.” She held it out, her arms positioned like a ballerina’s. Her skin was smooth and pale, as normal. Not even a scar. She spun in a pirouette. “All better. Thanks to good Queen Mab. You don’t mind if I call you that, do you?” She flashed a toothy grin at Mab, who was leaning heavily on the arms of a chair as she lowered herself into it. Axel went back upstairs to get her another cup of tea.
“So, when are we going to attack the Old Ones?” Juliet leapt around, shadowboxing. “Now that I know how vulnerable those bastards are to silver, I’ll kill them all. I don’t care if I burn myself to cinders doing it.”
I stared at her. This wasn’t just a surge of energy. This was like a whole new Juliet. And there was Mab, so drained. I hoped she hadn’t given away too much. “Did Mab tell you what made you so sick?” I asked Juliet.
“Plague virus. But I feel fine now. And I didn’t even turn into a zombie.” She scrutinized herself in the mirror over the dresser, checking for gray-green skin or red eyes. But there wasn’t a trace of zombie in her; she looked like Juliet. Pale skin, glossy hair. Even her curves had filled out again. “I feel better than I have in decades. Like I’ve started a whole new life.” She laughed. “Does that make me un-undead?”
Axel returned, carefully balancing a teacup in its saucer, and sat next to Mab. She took tea and tried to sip it, but her hands were shaking again, almost as badly as before. She rested the cup and saucer in her lap. How much of Juliet’s newfound vitality came from the bloodstone, I wondered, and how much from the Old Ones’ eternity virus?
“Did you know the Old Ones caused the zombie plague?” I asked her.
“Not until Queen Mab told me I’d been infected with a similar virus. Then I realized the original plague must have been the ‘failed experiment’ the Old Ones were always going on about.” She turned to Mab. “The Old Ones communicate psychically. I could hear their thoughts, but they didn’t know I was eavesdropping. Anyway.” She spun on her heel to address me again. “That was why they needed the wizard, because their experiment had failed and they were running out of time.”
“We know now who the wizard is. Myrddin Wyllt. He’s the father of Pryce, the one they call ‘the sleeper.’”
Mab managed to lift the teacup to her lips. When she set it down, her eyes had brightened. “Colwyn believes that Myrddin possesses the secret to immortality,” she said. “It took Colwyn centuries to find Myrddin and then centuries more to figure out how to undo the spell that held the wizard where he was. But the two of them are old enemies. I’m sure Colwyn would have greatly preferred to leave Myrddin there for all eternity.”
“And where was that?” Juliet asked. She’d finally stopped pacing and spinning and dancing and perched on the edge of the bed.
“A hawthorn tree,” I said. “He was imprisoned there by my ancestor Nimuë.”
“Actually, it was a yew tree. And . . . well, the literature gets many of the details wrong. But that’s not our concern now.” She turned to Juliet. “Colwyn released Myrddin but put a time limit on his freedom: ten days. If Myrddin doesn’t deliver the secret of immortality in that time, back he goes to the yew tree. In the meantime, they’re assisting Myrddin in his attempts to revive Pryce. That’s what’s behind the Reaper murders.” She gave a brief account of how Myrddin had attempted to transfer my life force to Pryce. “So, you see, we need to find where they’re hiding ‘the sleeper.’”
“I don’t know.” Juliet rubbed her chin. “The Old Ones have several bases in Boston. The one where I met with them is on Stanhope Street.” She jumped up and began pacing again, gesturing as she spoke. “There’s an empty lot there, across from that big parking garage, that’s supposed to be a construction site. But the construction trailer is fake. The lair is under it, underground. It’s set up like a big laboratory.”