“I didn’t use magick on you, Amy,” Ted replied and gasped. The purple flared tightly around his waist. “No magick, but I did try to persuade you. To show you there was a way.”
“You insisted Amy get scanned,” Mira accused, glaring at Ted.
“Yes. I couldn’t be sure, of course, that she would have a sub-optic nerve, but given her heritage, I knew it was a possibility.” Ted’s eyes smoldered as he looked at Mira.
“Lighten up, Mira. You’re holding him too hard,” Devin called out. Mira’s face reddened, and she broke eye contact. Amy could see the pulse leaping in her throat as she turned away. Who was doing the seducing here? It was more than a little disconcerting to be in the same room with her mother while she worked her magick. Amy focused instead on Devin. His cold stillness centered her on the issue at hand.
“The MRIs, the poetry, the enchanted glasses? Really, Ted? How can you say you never influenced me?” Amy asked.
“I didn’t make you have the surgery, Amy. I wasn’t even in town when you decided to do it. You can’t blame me for that. Blame the Oracle. I didn’t even really try to seduce you. I’m not a whore.” Ted replied with a hint of his former arrogance.
“Why do the Danjou want Amy to go to Arabia?” Devin asked, his clear focus a balm for everyone in the room.
“They don’t—” Ted began, but Jonah interrupted with a weary fatalism.
“The elders wanted Amy’s sight restored so she would willingly bind herself to the Danjou. After the press conference, the Djinn Dictator personally requested Dr. Bant’s attendance. Which is maybe the real reason we were unbound,” Jonah said, inhaling deeply on his pipe. “In case Dr. Bant decides to go.”
“Well, she isn’t going,” Mira declared. The water in the harbor coursed high, and Amy decided not to argue the point. Her mother was right anyway. The Danjou had broken their side of the bargain with their deception.
Mira was no truth-teller, but she knew Ted wasn’t telling the full truth about his manipulation of Amy. She looked into his navy-blue eyes that shone with compelled passion. “And you? If you’re such a failure, why would the enclave send you back?”
“I’m not a failure, siren,” Ted said without a hint of his past arrogance. His voice caressed her, and Mira shivered in response. “I’m a Class Five via-enchanter who’s developed more counter-spells than even the elders know. I worked with your daughter in good faith, as best as I was able. Amy left dozens of voicemails which the elders would not let me answer, but which proved I had not completely alienated the pivot, despite our many arguments.
“Most likely they’ve let me return because the Danjou prognosticators have seen a greater chance for success if I’m here than if I’m not. Whether that’s because a counter-spell will be needed, or because they think I can woo her for them, I don’t know.”
Ted’s full attention centered on Mira, as if none of the rest of them were present. Amy felt like an intruder in her own home, and she was grateful when Devin broke in with his calm observation.
“If the Danjou wanted Amy dead, they would have sent battle mages or even mundane assassins. I’ve worried about this possibility since Atlantea sent me here. Your daughter is the pivot, the axis on which the world will turn. But instead of combat mages, they’ve sent these two. And unbound at that.”
Mira looked at Devin, and he nodded. If he thought he could handle the mages, that was sufficient. Amy needed help, and going to Arabia was out of the question. In any event, it was perhaps better to know where the Danjou agents were, than to worry who the elders might send if Amy refused the assistance of these two.
“The enclave wants Amy casting spells on the side of the Danjou,” Ted finished, as if Devin hadn’t spoken.
“I’m not on anybody’s side,” Amy insisted.
“Why would you support the Danjou after all they’ve done to you? I’m doomed. Would that I were re-bound and safe home in the enclave than free and at the fulcrum of this war!” Jonah covered his face in his hands.
“Shut up,” Ted snapped, wrenching Jonah’s hands down with a shake. “Enough of your drama. No one is doomed. If the pivot turns, we’ll turn with her. You’re not bound to the Danjou! If she chooses the Dictator, you can become his man and hide behind his djinni. No one is safe. Rachael wasn’t safe. But you’re not going to die today. So get a hold of yourself for once and shut the fuck up!”
After a moment, Mira looked at her former spy with compassion. “Jonah, I promised you sanctuary once, and I remain true to my promise,” she said in a soft voice before narrowing her eyes to take Ted’s measure. Despite his harsh words to Jonah, there was a brittle fragility about him that called to her.
Mira spoke formally as she offered him a bargain: “And you, via-enchanter. To you I’ll give that same pledge. Renounce the Danjou. Help Amy gain control over her magick and you can join my house. In Brazil, the were-jaguars defend my household, and the fae extend their mantle over me and mine.”
Morgan le Fay was part mage, part fae. Scholars believe that her mixed heritage is one reason why her binding was so spectacularly effective on the sirens, who are also a mixed breed of fae and mage. In addition to causing confoundment, Morgan le Fay’s spell diverts a portion of the sirens’ intrinsic magical power into linkages that fuel the geas. Some speculate that modern sirens are generally less powerful than those of prior generations due to her last spell.
– Sirens: An Overview for the Newly-Transitioned, 3rd ed. (2015), by Mira Bant de Atlantic, p. 36.
Chapter 37
After days of preparation, they were finally ready to leave the island. The fae assembled on the shore, as a pale orange glow burgeoned on the horizon. Cordelia knelt down in the surf, as she had every day since she had vowed to bring the Aos Sí out.
No one had ever asked so much of the sea before. The ocean loved her, but did it love her enough? Could it truly understand what she needed? What they all needed? The water swept around her, encapsulating her in a translucent veil before bursting into a trillion droplets that caught the dawn light in what she hoped was a promise. The cresting waves in the distance reflected the sun in a reddish-orange warmth that Cordelia could feel baking into her very soul. That glimmer of light on the ocean was pure love, and Cordelia knew it was time. She strode quickly from the water to find Titania.
The remnants of Morgan le Fay’s army were a mixed group: from the aristocratic seelie to tiny will o’ the wisps, whose firefly-like incandescence could erupt in flame at the least provocation. The vila, who called the winds and walked on currents of air turned solid as the ground itself, pulled themselves out of the treetops to wait on the rocky shore. The wood wives and dryads tried to stay off the beach and remain in the heather, but were pushed forward by the jostling of the fae behind them. Surprisingly, Cordelia saw moss folk and bolotniks waiting next to each other; given the enmity of the forest folk with the swamp dwellers, she counted this as a victory for peace.
Finally, Cordelia spotted Titania among the mass of red-booted Aos Sí, many of whom carried others on their backs.
“Are we ready?” Cordelia asked. Dawn was an auspicious time to set off, and she needed to get started before she became too terrified to try. Even with the baked heat of the morning sun on the waves still stored in her heart, and even with the hope of seven-league boots to speed their way, Cordelia feared she wouldn’t be able to hold the sea for the length of time it would take to walk to Africa. Perhaps Titania heard the doubt in Cordelia’s voice, because her response was certain.
“We are ready, siren. No matter what comes next, we are all prepared. Not a faerie has chosen to stay, despite the risk. None of us has chosen to endure a moment longer of torture in this iron-soaked land. Even the dryads have left their trees, mourning their loss, while praying for their own salvation.” Titania’s voice was firm and carried over the assembled masses.
Cordelia admired Titania’s sense of drama, while continuing to worry. A moment ago, she had felt so certain. Now, sh
e felt the weight of all the lives depending on her to take them safely beneath the sea. “You’ve tested all the boots?” she asked. She’d asked this question before, but needed to hear the response again.
“Yes. There were a few whose magick had failed, which we discarded. We can all keep up.” If Titania was impatient with the question that had been asked and answered before, she showed no sign.
“The rain forests are sparsely populated, and the people of the Congo have already been devastated by numerous wars,” Cordelia cautioned.
“We will remember our promises to abide in peace.” Titania raised an eyebrow mischievously. “But we will see if the humans there want to play.”
Cordelia wondered if it was fatalism that had Titania so unworried about this journey, because it was clear that the Aos Sí had truly reached their limit. She remembered the vila’s spell from more than thirty years ago: that feeling of not caring was the scariest thing she had ever experienced. Perhaps for Titania, even the slightest breath of hope was better than that emptiness, even if they ultimately failed to escape. But Cordelia couldn’t drown in the sea, so even if the Aos Sí perished, she would remain. She couldn’t bear the thought of that kind of failure, so began to drown in worry.
She worried about holding the sea around them while they marched. She worried about keeping an air flow so deep to the ocean floor. She worried about their journey, and she worried about what would happen after they arrived. She worried about worrying too much. Cordelia had to mentally jerk herself out of the whirlpool of useless worry before she got trapped again. She went back to her mental checklist of preparations, but had a hard time remaining on task.
Cordelia wished again that she’d had the time to speak with some of the Congolese in preparation, but of course she didn’t speak French. Thinking about French reminded her of Thomas, and she wondered for a moment if she should see if she couldn’t pry him away from his hideout in Brazil to come help her integrate the fae if they arrived. At the very least, he could mail her some books of fairy tales in French to distribute among the people living near the rainforests.
“The illusions are set? I can’t see them,” Cordelia said. Fae illusions often did not work on sirens, so Cordelia couldn’t be sure the fae had properly disguised their presence from human observers.
“We’re ready,” Titania said simply. She looked closely at Cordelia’s pale face and added: “We know the risk. Do your best. That’s all we ask.”
Cordelia nodded. “I’ll have to lead, so you should probably be last off the island. Seven abreast, as we discussed.” Titania nodded and strode off to the back of the gathering. Cordelia looked at the seelie, the strongest of the Aos Sí. “Perhaps you could scatter among the crowd? Everyone needs to stick together and pace themselves.”
She walked to the front of the massed fae, where the ocean lapped invitingly at the shore. Cordelia supposed she ought to say something. Make some grand statement or speech. But she didn’t know what to say. So she simply turned and looked at the sea and said a Hail Mary. Then she watched the sun on the horizon glowing ever-brighter and murmured, “‘The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?’”
Whispering her prayers, Cordelia knelt into the water, which lapped joyfully around her. A wave reached out and embraced her, stroking her face with its misty spray. Kneeling in the ocean’s love and feeling the sunlight filtering through, Cordelia thought she felt a blessing, a blessing on this endeavor of restitution, and she cast her doubts aside.
Standing up, the ocean parted around her, hovering above like a tunnel. She had never understood how the Atlantic knew what she needed, but counted it as a kind of miracle. A miracle that the Aos Sí needed today.
Cordelia beckoned to the first group, who strode into the tunnel with less trepidation than she would have felt in their place. She backed into the parted sea, and as the first group descended into the tunnel, Cordelia felt the ocean tug her backwards. Cordelia relinquished herself into the Atlantic’s care, and watched as the fae mob began its swift march to the bottom of the sea.
“I prefer to cast in the open,” Kyoko said, demurring Professor Wanda’s invitation to use her lab. They had spent the morning touring the university with the professor, and Kyoko was tired of the woman’s fawning over Thomas. Fortunately, Bo-Long was with them, and Thomas was able to side-step her attention by ensuring Bo-Long remained in her view instead of him.
Professor Wanda was an older woman with short gray hair and a sturdy figure, wearing comfortable clothes and sensible shoes. She exuded competence. She’d clearly not reached menopause, though, because the impact the two sirens had on her was obvious. “For all that she’s an expert, she doesn’t seem smart enough to recognize she’s under a spell,” Kyoko whispered nastily to Thomas as they followed Bo-Long and Professor Wanda towards one of the open casting centers. He loved her jealousy, and squeezed her hand with a smile.
Thomas was glad Kyoko had agreed with his suggestion that she attempt to break the geas on Bo-Long while the Australian expert observed. Given how shy Kyoko could be, he had worried that she wouldn’t want an audience.
Unlike the professor, Kyoko still seemed far less interested in Bo-Long. Bo-Long could compel her interest, Thomas supposed, but he was too smart to do something that would arouse Thomas’ immediate wrath. While Kyoko’s love for him might be grounded in his nature as a siren, she must feel something special for him to not be flitting from one of them to the other, as a flower follows the sun (quite unlike the professor, who fixated on whichever one of the two male sirens caught her eye).
Thomas noted the vape-pipe Kyoko was inhaling with displeasure. George had presented it to her at the conclusion of their state dinner, along with a box of what he claimed was the most refined, highest-quality ambrosia available in Australia. Juliana had whispered that if it was the highest quality, then it didn’t come from the Great Sandy Desert.
Eloise had picked up on the mild dig without more than a raised eyebrow. “Of course it is from the Arabian Desert, Julianna. Everyone knows the best ambrosia is from Arabia.” Thomas didn’t know enough about mages or ambrosia to know whether it was addictive or not. But it was common knowledge that ambrosia amplified the power of a mage.
“Do you think Aphrodite could have constructed you sirens without ambrosia?” George had mocked when Thomas raised an objection. Thomas hated being mocked. But Kyoko had told him not to worry; one use wouldn’t be enough to make her an addict — if indeed vaping were addictive. And she also seemed intrigued by the possibility it would enhance her casting strength, so Thomas let his objections go.
The outdoor casting field reminded Thomas of a small stadium. It was an oval sand-covered expanse, perhaps three hundred feet long by one hundred wide, surrounded by tall white-washed concrete walls. He wondered what the walls would look like to mages, and supposed a little wistfully that it must be much more beautiful than the barren barricade he saw. He could have sat on one of the sets of bleachers that were scattered around the field for spectators, but Thomas had no interest in being that far away from Kyoko.
Kyoko sat down, and gestured for Bo-Long to lie on the sand in front of her. Not quite in the middle of the field, but far enough away from the walls that there was no risk of shadow, even if Kyoko’s casting took several hours. It was early afternoon, so the sun was just past its zenith in the sky. The thin layer of white clouds wasn’t enough to shade them from its intensity, and the white walls and sand floor seemed to magnify its strength. Kyoko had pronounced the day perfect for spelling, and Thomas could see she was genuinely happy with the location.
Professor Wanda sat a bit further away from their small group. Thomas stood behind Kyoko, and she leaned her back against his legs for support. The last time she had done this spell, the experience had been too intense for him to observe, so he was curious how it would be to watch Kyoko do what she loved best. She looked lovely, as always, and Tho
mas felt a twinge of jealousy as Bo-Long scooted up to place his head in her lap, her hands resting gently on his shoulders.
Kyoko inhaled her pipe once more, then handed it back to Thomas. Bo-Long’s eyes were closed and Thomas didn’t need to see Professor Wanda’s reaction to know Kyoko had begun to cast. He might not see what the mages saw, but he smelled the sea; he felt the water coalesce out of the dry air around them.
People think that the ocean doesn’t have a sound of its own, without the wind and moon to pull waves out to crash on the shore, but Thomas knew it had its own music. The small, brassy sound of bells, overlaid with the soft whisper of a flute and linked together by the sweetness of the strings. The ocean was an orchestra, and it was playing to Kyoko’s conducting.
The music tickled the back of his memory, and as Thomas kept trying to recall where he had heard the song before, time passed almost without him noticing. Watching a mage cast was incredibly boring for mundanes, who couldn’t see or understand what was going on. For mages, of course, it was almost like watching a sporting event; so it was no accident that the outdoor casting grounds resembled a small stadium.
Perhaps Thomas had gotten lost in the music, because it ended with an abrupt crack — not quite a cymbal ringing or a discordant note, but more like the snapping of a string. The music stopped, and somehow the sky seemed brighter, if that were possible. Bo-Long hadn’t opened his eyes, but Kyoko had collapsed against Thomas’ legs, her arms slack. Thomas heard the sound of the ocean swell again, and looked up just in time to see a wave of water cresting over the wall, reaching for them.
Thomas gasped.
He extended his hand, but the ocean had never loved him as much as it did his sister, and he worried that he wouldn’t be enough. Professor Wanda gaped open-mouthed as the water started to crash down on top of them. But at the last minute, the sea condensed into a rope of water to reach down and envelop Bo-Long. Thomas wanted to pull Kyoko away, but instead knelt down to embrace her, to make sure the Pacific didn’t take her with Bo-Long, if that was what it was going to do.
Sirens Unbound Page 41
