Darkness Calls by Marjorie M. Liu Page A

said, “Wow. Those migraines are really bothering you, huh?”
    “Bitch,” Rex murmured.
    “Don’t fuck with me,” I whispered. “I want to know if a demon was responsible.”
    “I don’t know,” he snapped, staggering to his feet—one hand pressed to his face. “Doubtful. The smart ones all left town, and no one else would dream of trying that stunt. None of us could get away with—” Rex stopped, staring. “They got away with it?”
    “They just think they did,” I snapped, still peeved about his remark concerning my mother. “So if it wasn’t one of you, then who?”
    There was a gleam in his eye I did not like. “Nothing large has escaped the prison. Not recently. And anything powerful enough to break through those walls wouldn’t use a bullet to kill you.”
    I’d already had a sense of that. I would have felt a crack in the prison veil if a demon larger than a parasite had come through. “And before my time? Something already here?”
    “There were some breaks from the outer rings of the veil. But that was centuries ago. Again, a bullet would not be their style. Too human.”
    Demons did not lie. Even if the zombie had told an untruth, I would see it in the shadows of his aura, which remained steady, unflinching.
    I thought of Cribari, though the idea of humans hunting me was more disturbing than a demon. “You ever heard about anyone in my bloodline being called Dark Mother ?”
    “No. But all you bitches do is breed and kill. That’s plenty dark.”
    “Mouthy little parasite,” I replied. “I bet you wouldn’t like that body so much if it was missing its tongue.”
    His aura flared, though his expression remained flinty. “Try another one. You don’t harm hosts. Not like that. And you won’t kill me because that would mean breaking your word to Grant. You won’t even exorcise me, because I would just find another body to inhabit. No-win situation, Hunter.”
    “We’ll see,” I said, looking past him at Mary, who had finally stopped watering her plants and now studied me with that piercing, farseeing gaze that was all kinds of crazy and sane and otherworldly; a mixed bag for a mixed-up mind. She took a step toward me and held out her hand.
    On her palm, in ink, was an exact drawing of the pendant Grant had shown me only an hour before: his mother’s necklace, etched in neat coils and knots, tumbling into eternity upon her pale skin. My vision blurred. I swallowed hard, gut churning like I was riding a roller coaster on a full stomach.
    “Iron hearts make murder,” I heard her say, though her voice sounded very far away. “Those who eat sin will be cast away and burned.”
    The boys rippled. A chill raced through my bones. I said, “Mary,” and she shook her head, folding her hand into a fist that she pressed above her heart.
    “We are lost in the Labyrinth,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “We are lost.”

    DEMONS were not of earth, any more than a comet might be. Demons had journeyed to this world, as had the Avatars. As had humans, though I still questioned that particular revelation.
    Either way, the method for reaching this planet had not involved space travel—though it had involved travel through space. A particular space.
    The Labyrinth.
    I still did not understand, not fully. I could not bring myself to imagine the possibilities. Other worlds, doorways into alternate realities. A maze of interdimensional highways bound together by a neutral zone—a crossroad between here and there—a place of possibilities that was a world unto itself. Or so I had been told. I had traveled through only a fragment: a prison, a place where souls were thrown to be forgotten. I had fallen into the Wasteland. Walked the dark side of the Labyrinth.
    I had forgotten myself there. Forgotten everything. Buried alive. Nothing but a heartbeat in the endless dark.
    According to Jack, I was the only person ever to escape the Wasteland. And though I knew, intellectually, that the Labyrinth