“I felt the same way when I first saw it,” a man said. “Can you imagine what a monstrosity it will be once it’s done?”
“No, I can’t,” Lyca murmured. “What’s holding it up?”
“Each major claw is bolted into the ocean floor, and the support cabling is almost finished being established. From what I hear, once they’ve finished constructing parts of the hotel’s foundation, they will begin bolting them in. Everything else is going to be built on top of them.” He shook his head. “I’m just a welder. Fuck knows how the thing even stays in place.”
Lyca gripped the side of the ferry’s railing and hissed under her breath.
“What’s wrong?” Marco whispered.
“Everything. I can feel the magic of this place. The weaving of the traps under the water are holding it in its boundaries, like a massive spiderweb.” Her grin was sharp and sudden.
“Is that a good thing?”
“For me, not for them.”
The boat stopped at the largest island of the Joulter Cays, which had been overrun as a project site. The workers filed off the boat and went on with their various tasks, while Marco followed Lyca and kept his head down. In a demountable building marked ELECTRICIANS, Lyca produced two thin slivers of metal and picked the lock on a large metal cabinet. She pulled out two tool belts and passed him one.
“Try not to look so nervous, Marco.”
“I’m sorry I’m not as practiced breaking the law as you.”
Her smile was not encouraging. “You’ll get used to it, Inspector.”
They had expected surveillance, but Marco was surprised at just how many cameras were spread out on the laneways between buildings.
He pulled his cap farther down. “Why hasn’t Galenos hacked into these yet?”
“These are all on a closed circuit. Nothing is being transmitted off the island. Don’t worry, I have a little present from Galenos to give them.”
“Please tell me it’s not a bomb.”
“Nothing so primitive.”
Lyca had memorized the plans of the project site that they’d found in the office in Venice, and Marco trusted her sense of direction as they moved between demountable buildings, workshops, mess tents, and parked plant equipment.
Marco looked about at the city of construction. “This is so much bigger than I imagined it would be.” A scent caught in his nose, and he stopped, dread settling in his stomach.
“What is it?” asked Lyca.
“Do you smell that?” It was like church incense with an underlying fug of decay.
Lyca bared her teeth and followed the source of the smell, Marco stumbling to catch up with her. She halted in front of a marquee made of black canvas.
“Keep a lookout,” she commanded, then gripped a metal tent peg and, with incredible strength, pulled it out of the ground. She rolled under the flap of the canvas before Marco could even think to tell her to be careful.
Not knowing what else to do, he pretended to tie his boots before he went through his tool belt to “check his equipment.” Just when he was about to risk calling out to her, Lyca appeared. He helped her up and brushed fine white sand off her back.
“Fucking priests,” she muttered.
“Is that blood?” He snatched at a stained sleeve.
She sneered. “No, it’s oil.”
“Lyca, we can’t leave any bodies for security to get suspicious over.”
“There was only one priest, and he was a small man. No one will find where I stuffed him before we bring this place down.” Lyca turned Marco around and gave him a small shove. “Move. Stop gawking at me.”
They hurried back to the makeshift road. “What was inside?”
“Nothing much. An altar, where he was burning incense, and there was a hand, carved with symbols, but there was no sign of the body it came from or any other sacrifices.”
Marco’s stomach turned. “Where do you think it came from?”
“I don’t know. It was freshly severed, though. Maybe a day old. It’s not our immediate problem.”
Marco never thought he would see the day a severed hand wasn’t an immediate problem, but he trusted Lyca to get him off the island alive, so he followed her without further complaint.
“This is the building,” she said a few minutes later.
It looked like the twenty other beige-colored buildings they’d just passed. She pulled a yellow box from her pocket—it looked like some kind of frequency reader—and crawled under the half-a-meter clearance under the building. Marco did his best to ignore the sweat dripping down his back. He smiled at two women in neat skirts and polo shirts, and desperately wished for a cigarette.
Lyca reappeared with a wide smile. “It’s done. Galenos will take it from here and access their security feeds. Let’s get the next ferry back.”
“Just like that?” He’d expected to be there longer than an hour.
“No point hanging around when we’ll be back tonight.” Lyca dumped her stolen tool belt under the building. Marco followed suit. “Did you see anything of note?”
“Nothing. Everyone seems to be too busy to pay much attention to anyone else.”
“Good. The less memorable we are, the better.” She looked about at the rushing workers and hooked her thumbs around her overall pockets. “Almost seems a shame to rip it apart.” Marco would’ve believed her if it weren’t for the huge grin that spread across her face.
IT WAS almost midnight when Lyca kissed Galenos goodbye. She and Marco climbed into the inflatable dive boat and headed back out to the islands. Lyca seemed to have a sixth sense for sandbanks, because she drove as if she had night vision.
Maybe she does. Marco wouldn’t have been surprised. His handguns rested in leather holsters over his shoulders, and two more knives were fixed to his belt. All of the weapons had been gifts from Lyca. Marco still dreamed of Kreios climbing off the ground after he’d shot him. Lyca had assured him that her bullets would be more effective against the priests than his regular ones.
“How can you be sure?” he’d asked her.
“Shoot a priest and find out if you don’t believe me.”
“Ever the pragmatist.”
Lyca beached the boat on the southern tip of the main island. The metal claws of the hotel shone in the light of the full moon, making them look even more like a monster’s mouth.
“Search the beach caves,” Lyca said. “Galenos spotted another two priests on the surveillance feed heading down to them this afternoon. I haven’t forgotten about that hand, and I want to make sure there’s no trace of the priests left.”
“The island is empty of workers. What makes you think the priests will still be here?”
“Call it a hunch. I don’t need you to watch over me, and you can’t help in what I’m about to do.” Lyca stripped off her hoodie and pants. Underneath, she was wearing a black dive suit, with only a single blade strapped to her calf.
“What are you about to do?”
“Use the magic that Abaddon has so lovingly collected for me.” Lyca took two steps into the waves and paused. “If there are more than two priests, wait for me. Don’t be a hero and get yourself killed.”
“Worried Alexis will get angry if you don’t take care of me?”
“Alexis? No. It will be Penelope that will try to kill me.” Without a word of goodbye or good luck, Lyca dived under the waves and vanished.
Marco had barely gone a hundred meters when the sand shook underneath him. His eardrums popped as an invisible wave of power pulsed across the island. He’d been warned that high tide made the magicians more powerful. It had been astonishing enough to see what Alexis could do when the tide was down, but nothing could have prepared him for what was unfolding before his eyes.
Penelope had said that Lyca’s magic was killing and destruction, that she could travel through shadows and manipulate them. Neither Penelope nor Marco had seen her use her power, and he’d assumed that was because she didn’t have the need to destroy anythi
ng in Venice. Now, she did.
Black shadows boiled out of the ocean and wrapped around the floating hotel’s frame like a kraken’s tentacles. Metal groaned as the shadows tightened, ripping the scaffolding apart like petals of a flower, sending a wave of water toward him. Marco turned and ran up the beach, resisting the urge to look back as another earsplitting crash roared through the night. He made it to a scrubby tree line, breathing heavily, when a girl screamed. Marco’s hand rested on one of his guns as he crouched down and crept toward the sound.
From an opening in a rock formation farther down the beach came a light. Marco waited, watching for guards. When none appeared, he kept to the shadows and crept toward the opening. The earth shook again, and he managed to dive behind a cluster of shrubs just as someone shouted, “Go see what is happening. We will finish up here and make sure this sacrifice isn’t wasted.”
Bastards. Marco promised Lyca that he wouldn’t hesitate, that he would kill if he had to, but as the priest passed him and headed down the beach, Marco remained unable to move. He was sweating, adrenaline dumping down his spine as he worked up the nerve to follow him. Then another scream jolted him into action.
He moved quickly down into the sandy cave mouth with his gun raised, and headed toward the light. The short trek between rough stone walls soon opened up into a cavern fifty meters wide. A girl that could’ve been no older than six was strapped to a slab of rock. There was a woman beside her, but all that remained of her was carved and bloody. Marco didn’t hesitate again. Gunshots echoed through the cave, and both priests slumped to the sand.
“Don’t be scared. I’m here to help,” Marco said in English, hoping the girl would understand. He pulled out his knife and cut the leather cords that held her. The ground shook, and a spray of rocks fell from the cavern roof. He bundled the frightened girl into his arms and ran. They made it out and onto the beach just as the cave collapsed in on itself.
A swathe of shadow in the shape of a woman strode toward them, blood dripping black from the blade in her hand. The girl sobbed and buried her face into Marco.
“Who is this?” Lyca asked. Her silver eyes glowed with magic.
“She was in the cave. I killed the men who had her.”
“Look at me, girl,” Lyca demanded, and she obeyed, her brown eyes wide. “Do you have parents? A mother or father?”
“Mama.” The girl pointed at the collapsed ruin of the cave before bursting into tears again.
“Oh, no. She was sacrificed beside her. The girl saw everything,” Marco told Lyca in Italian.
Lyca placed a hand on top of the girl’s matted hair, and silvery light poured over her like a halo. The girl slumped unconscious in his arms.
“What did you do to her?”
“A kindness,” Lyca replied, and they walked back to the boat in silence.
Alexis woke with the dawn. The villa was suspiciously quiet as he roamed his way through the halls. He wasn’t surprised when he found Constantine working out in the gym. It would seem that at least some of the emperor’s habits were still the same. Weapons were mounted on the walls, and new equipment was scattered about the room.
“I was wondering when you were going to wake up,” Constantine said from the treadmill. “I suppose Penelope would be a good excuse to sleep late.”
Alexis smiled pleasantly. “Yes, she is. The villa’s empty. Is that your doing?”
“Phaidros and Aelia went back to Venice about an hour ago. They left a note; they didn’t want to wake you.”
“What did you do to them?”
“I didn’t do anything, except tell Aelia a truth she already knew.” He gave Alexis a tired look. “You know she’s only ever loved Phaidros. Everyone else has just been a plaything, and I’m done with it.”
Alexis pushed a hand through his hair and swore. “Do you think she admitted it to him?”
“She admitted enough that he was willing to hurry her back to Venice and risk your displeasure.” Constantine slowed the treadmill to a steadier pace. “You brought her here as bait, and I would like to know why, Alecto.”
“Actually, I told them both not to come. When have they ever listened to me? Aelia said she missed you, and you ran her off because you were jealous that she wasn’t fighting with Phaidros. It’s always the same with you two.”
Constantine stopped the treadmill and toweled down his sweaty face and chest. “I’m not jealous. After sixteen hundred years, I’m done chasing that woman. I did us both a favor and let her go.”
Alexis’s eyes narrowed. “That seems very mature. Who are you, and what have you done with Constantine?”
“Very funny. Even I get tired of some battles. It’s better those two are out of the way. Now I can commit all of my energy to wooing Penelope away from you.”
Alexis folded his arms. “You don’t have enough experience to keep a woman like her interested.”
Constantine flashed a charming smile. “I’d rather let the lady decide that for herself.”
“She already has. Stop trying to irritate me because you’re in a bad mood.” Alexis took out his phone and messaged Phaidros: Why did you leave?
The reply was almost instant. Aelia was upset and wouldn’t wait. I didn’t want to leave her alone when she was so volatile with the tide only making it worse.
I thought you were here to support Penelope if Poseidon’s magic spikes?
You’re powerful enough to protect her. You won’t hurt her, though feel free to hurt Constantine as much as you like.
“They will already be in Split by now. It’s too late to call them back,” Constantine said.
“I wasn’t trying to. It’s better this way. Venice will be better protected if Aelia and Phaidros return to it.”
Constantine grunted. “You always did love that city like it was your mistress.”
“That’s rich coming from a man who travels to the same four places every year and will always return to Istanbul like the tide.”
“Constantinople,” came Constantine’s automatic correction. “You got my letters after all.”
“I did.”
“And you never wrote back to me. Not once.” Old hurt and anger burned in Constantine’s eyes.
“I used magic to send them out of sight. I thought you would stop writing after I ignored the first few.”
“Why would I stop? You are my brother, Alecto.”
“You didn’t think so the last time we saw each other.”
“You put me in a jail cell! Of course I was upset.”
“I saved your life, and I won’t ever apologize for it.”
Constantine shook his head. “You’re still as stubborn as ever. I hope Penelope knows what she’s in for with you, praecantator.”
“She does,” said Penelope. Alexis didn’t know how long she had been standing there, but her mere presence diffused the brewing argument. “If you boys are done bitching at each other, I could do with some coffee.”
Even with a frown, Penelope looked beautiful, her hair out in a wild bounce of curls that made Alexis want to bury his hands in it. A faint glimmer of magic tinged her skin, and he felt the vibration of it in her aura. The raw potential of it drew him like an excitable moth to a candle flame.
“I’ll make you all the coffee. If Constantine doesn’t have any, I’ll go find you some,” Alexis stammered, unable to look away from her.
Constantine stared at him, thoroughly amused. “There’s coffee. I’m not a Philistine. Make enough for me, Alecto. I need a shower, and you need to pull yourself together.”
Penelope’s frown deepened, as if trying to determine whether or not Constantine was insulting them.
“What was that all about?” she asked once they were alone.
“Nothing. Constantine’s building up to an argument with me, that’s all.”
“Maybe it’ll help clear the air, and we can get on with it. Now, about this coffee you’re going to make me.”
Alexis lowered into a short bow. “I am my Archivi
st’s humble servant.”
Penelope smiled mischievously. “Oh, I like the sound of that.”
In the kitchen, Penelope made toast as Alexis brewed coffee and told her of Phaidros and Aelia’s hasty retreat back to Venice.
“I hope Zo manages to get some clothes on before they arrive. Perhaps we should warn him.” Penelope smirked. “Nah, let’s let him find out the fun way.”
“Wicked girl.” Alexis grinned. “How are you feeling after your dip in the ocean?”
Penelope’s smile turned brilliant. “Better than I have in weeks, which I suppose means you were right about the tide starting to affect me.”
“And the Living Language? Has it given you any strange messages?”
Penelope looked at her hands, turning them over. “Not as yet. I haven’t had a chance to use that little piece of you since I left the Archives.”
“The little piece of you,” Constantine echoed from the doorway. “What does she mean by that, Alecto?”
“Here it comes…” Alexis whispered.
He and Penelope shared a look. With that look and without words, she asked for his permission, and he reluctantly nodded his head.
“Yesterday, I told you I found Alexis’s tablet,” Penelope began. “I didn’t tell you what happened when we put it back together… A part of the Living Language jumped into me.”
Constantine’s expression darkened. “You shared your magic with her—this woman, that you barely know—yet you refused it to me after everything we’d gone through?”
“I didn’t share my magic with her, Con. The Living Language is exactly that—living. It chose to gift itself to Penelope. The magic—”
“If it was your tablet, it was your magic. Don’t you dare blame this incident on an inanimate object.”
Penelope stepped between them. “That’s enough. You weren’t there. Neither one of us had any control over the magic transfer. Even Nereus didn’t understand why it happened.”
Constantine looked her over, eyes narrowing. “Why you? What’s so special about you that an ancient, magical language would give itself over to you?”
The King's Seal Page 8
