by Molly White
Brendan jerked his shoulders. “None taken. And it works just fine, thank you.”
He reached for another beer and was suddenly overcome by a vision of Cordelia, his poor Cordelia, with a gun to her temple. She was glaring up at someone with that expression he knew could only mean impending trouble. It was that old man, Walt, the one from the pie shop who was always a little too flirty with her. He was holding her at gunpoint in the rift trailer, talking in a stream-of-consciousness supervillain ramble Brendan didn’t care about. All he could see was Cordelia in danger and if he was seeing her, that meant—
“I’m not going to let you take it. You’ll have to kill me first,” she told him again, making a grab at the gun, closing her fingers around the barrel near the slide stop. She swiped her hands down, as if she could knock it out of his hands, but Walt was stronger than he looked. He smashed her head against the metal light table case and pushed her back. He pulled the trigger and Cordelia’s forehead imploded to a ruin of bone and blood.
“Cordelia!” Brendan roared, dragging the last syllable out in his agony as she collapsed to the floor.
When he came to, he was on his knees in the trailer, a broken bottle at his side as Bael attempted to haul him up.
“What in the hell was that?” Zed yelled, his fingers in his ears.
“Cordelia. We have to get to the rift site. Walt’s got a gun on her. We need to go! Now!” Brendan yelled.
“What do you mean—you mean you just saw Cordelia die?” Zed demanded, his face paling. “Does that mean it’s already happened, or it’s about to happen?”
Brendan launched himself out of the trailer with the other two close at his heels. Vaguely, he heard Bael’s phone ring behind him.
Bael was running through the village behind him as he spoke. “Jillian, honey, you need to send someone out to the rift site right now—yeah, I know Walt has Cordelia. OK, OK, good. We’ll meet you out there. You stay at the house. Saferoom protocols. Jillian, don’t argue. You agreed to this, elskede. Sonja! Saferoom protocols!” He ended the call and informed them. “They’ve got a team on their way out there,”
“That will take too long,” Brendan croaked. “She’ll be dead by the time they get to the trailer.”
Zed laid a hand on Brendan’s shoulder. “We’ve got a faster way, trust me.”
Bael walked out toward the town square fountain, unbuttoning his shirt.
“What the fuck is he doing?” Brendan cried.
“You might want to turn around,” Zed said as Bael dropped his pants and secured his clothes around his ankle with his belt. He rolled his neck and stretched his arms.
“We don’t have time for—” Brendan said.
Bael’s body melted away and suddenly a green and gold dragon was standing in the town square, unfurling its massive wings.
“Holy shit,” he breathed as the dragon lowered its head.
“Come on, man,” Zed called, climbing up the dragon’s neck, holding on to the spikes along its spine. Brendan scrambled to follow. As Bael took flight, Brendan couldn’t spare a thought to the fact that he was achieving a childhood dream, riding on the back of a dragon. All he wanted was for Bael to fly faster and get him to Cordelia.
14
Cordelia
Cordelia knew she’d made a mistake the moment she reached for the gun. Her hands were sweaty and slipped over the metal as she tried to smash Walt’s hand against the light table. Walt turned the force of the motion against her, cupping her head in his hand and smacking her head against the metal casing. She stumbled back. Just as he raised the gun, she heard her name being screamed and turned her head towards what she swore was Brendan’s voice. She could feel the bullet whistle past her ear.
Even as she screamed, she could feel the images she’d picked up from touching Walt’s gun. He’d killed so many people with so many faces. The horrible slimy satisfaction he felt settled over her belly, making her want to vomit.
Yelling, she slammed into his side, grabbing at the gun again and forcing his hands through the light table glass this time. A jagged shard pierced his hand, making him yowl in pain. He snatched his hand away and she grabbed the gun, slicing her fingertips in the process. She whipped the gun against his temple, returning the concussion favor, and then kicked him in the knee.
With Walt on the ground, groaning, she placed her thumb on the keypad and opened the Plexiglas box. Holding the shoebox-sized casket was like cradling fire between her hands, but she ran out of the trailer, shouldering the door. Through that icy burn, she could feel a pulse of pleasure from the casket, as if she knew it had been released. Cordelia could feel fingers combing at her mind, trying to find a weakness and a way in.
In her rush out the door, Cordelia hadn’t bothered to grab Walt’s car keys. How far could she run like this? She felt like her chest would seize up from the pain in her hands and the ringing in her ears. Her feet slipped in the slick, muddy grass and the casket tumbled out of her hands.
Behind her, Walt stumbled out of the trailer door, gun in hand. The fingers questing at her mind became claw hammers and she could feel her defenses crumbling.
“I don’t want to do this. I can’t do this right now,” Cordelia whispered as she dropped to the mud face-first.
She felt like she was tumbling through a well, all darkness and empty space, until she landed on the grass again. It was the rift clearing, but not. Cordelia was inside her own mind, sitting in the grass before a dark-haired woman. The woman’s cheekbones were razor-sharp and her eyes bright as tiny galaxies. She wore a shapeless dress of undyed linen like a queen. Walt was right, she was older than known culture. She wasn’t even a person. She was a personification of the casket. She was made for people to pass by and touch and leave their pain and sadness behind. She wasn’t evil. She was made to store evil and keep it out of the world.
The woman, Pandora, smiled at Cordelia as she showed the earliest gathering around the casket, people touching her, worshipping her because she took their pain and left them feeling lighter. But one day, others found the casket on her altar and threw her into the ocean. She’d been pushed along by currents and time until she found her way into what would eventually become Mystic Bayou.
“I don’t know how long I was under all that muck,” Pandora said bitterly. “Centuries, eons. Far too long.”
“Look, I’m really sorry about that, but I have to get out of here, there’s a man behind me and he’s going to kill me and take you—” Cordelia said.
“Don’t trouble yourself. Time moves differently here,” Pandora told her. “We’ve been together for less than a breath. We have a bit of time to talk.”
“I don’t understand,” Cordelia said.
“You’re the only one who has understood me, who’s even tried. I wasn’t made to be hidden, child. That’s why I reached out, you see. To pull shifters and all manner of creatures to me to pull me out of that mud and bring me into open. And when that didn’t work, I reached for any human I could reach so they might come to me. And then when I finally attained my release, I’m put into another little box—that awful little ‘trailer’ as you called it. Do you have any idea how frustrating that is?” Pandora asked.
“I suppose that I do,” Cordelia said. “And I’m sorry that happened to you. I really am. But you have to stop pulling the way you have been. You’re creating tears in the fabric of the universe as we know it.”
For the first time, Pandora’s expression varied from serene control. She looked genuinely distressed that she’d accidentally caused a potential cataclysm. “Really? I didn’t realize.”
“Yes. It’s causing a bit of problem,” Cordelia said.
“Oh, well, I didn’t mean to do that. I’ll stop immediately,” Pandora offered.
Somewhere in the back of her head, Cordelia could feel the pressure from the rift ease. She shook that head as if clearing her ears while breathing a sigh of relief. “Great. Thanks. Can you also stop genetically rearranging people, because that i
s also causing a sort of a panic?”
“Well, I suppose I can…” she trailed off, her tone heavy with an unspoken “but.”
“Is there something we can offer you in return?” Cordelia asked cautiously.
“As I said, I was made for the light. I was made to be admired. I was made to help creatures like yourself,” Pandora said, smiling gently. “I was made to see many faces pass by me every day. If you could find a way to display me somewhere—secure enough that I couldn’t be stolen —but open enough that I could have a view and sunlight and visitors again, I would be content. So content that I wouldn’t need to pull creatures to me as I have been.”
“Really? That’s all it would take? This isn’t a trick?” Cordelia asked.
“This is your mind space, darling girl, you would be able to sense if I was lying,” Pandora countered.
“You might have to be placed inside another glass case, for your own safety. You swear you wouldn’t act out?” Cordelia asked.
“As long as I could see the open sky, I would be silent and harmless as any other stone,” Pandora swore. “You have my word.”
“I think I could arrange that,” Cordelia said. “I will speak to my superiors as soon as I can get out of here.”
“Well, you should make it sooner than later because that man you mentioned is getting closer,” Pandora noted.
Cordelia nodded. “Thank you, Pandora.”
Pandora grinned, showing a mouth full of sharp teeth. “Pandora. I’ve never had a name before. It’s lovely. Thank you, Cordelia.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And Cordelia, if you ever feel the need to release some of those memories in your head, you could come to me,” she said. “That’s my purpose in this world. But I think maybe someone else might deserve it, all that weight.”
With a deep inhalation through her nose, Cordelia came back to reality…just in time for Walt to kick her in the ribs. Squealing, she sprawled across the grass. The casket tumbled out of her hands.
“Dick,” she spat, pushing to her feet.
In the distance, she heard a strange sound, like the beating of enormous wings. Walt was still aiming that damned gun at her. “Pick it up. We’re getting out of here.”
Instead of cowering, she strode forward, hands extended. Her expression had to be terrifying because Walt stumbled as she grinned at him.
“You deserve this more than I ever did,” she said, pushing the gun aside and cupping her hands over his cheeks. She pictured her mind palace, all of the little apartments she’d built and filled, and all at once, she pictured all of the leases breaking, the doors disappearing. She didn’t want to contain them. She wanted to evict them all together. Using Bonita’s lessons, she let those memories loose and pushed every awful image she’d ever absorbed into his head. The killings, the abuse, the pain. Walt screamed, dropping the gun and falling to his knees. She only stopped when she felt his mind at the brink of cracking. And now, she couldn’t feel the weight of those memories, free in her mind. They were Walt’s burden now. The mind palace stood, but the sad little apartments were empty. She was free.
Walt was crouching, weeping at the storm of chaos in his head. She felt the wind of dragon’s wings just before she saw Bael in his terrible shifter form, hovering over her. Zed shifted mid-jump and landed on the ground as a bear, rolling to his feet and running full speed at Walt’s crouched form. He planted a giant paw on Walt’s chest and pinned him to the ground, roaring at an ear-shattering volume. Cordelia clapped her hands over her ears as Bael dropped gracefully to the ground.
“Showoff,” Bael yelled, shifting into a human as Brendan ran across the grass. Her banshee practically tackled her, throwing his arms around her and crushing her to him as he covered her face in kisses.
“Oh, you’re alive,” he whispered against her forehead. “You were dead. I saw you dead. I never want to see that again.”
“I’m a self-rescuing princess,” she chuckled weakly. “Also, I hurt a lot.”
“I love you, I love you so much, you mad, self-rescuing princess who is bound to one day give me a fucking heart attack,” Brendan panted.
“Love you, too. I’ll try not to do the heart attack thing anymore,” Cordelia promised.
“Walter Benson, or whatever your name is, you are under arrest for attempted murder, assault, burglary, destruction of private property, and whatever else I can come up with,” Bael said, clicking handcuffs around Walt’s wrists.
Walt offered no resistance. He was too exhausted from crying.
Across the clearing, a fleet of League vehicles screeched to a stop. A full SWAT team came pouring out onto the grass, guns raised. Sonja ran with them—in stilettos—a clipboard in her hands.
Zed, who had changed back into his (naked) human form, wiggled a finger in his ear while looking around. “Has anyone else noticed the lack of head-splitting pressure from the rift?” He turned around, searching the sky. “Where is the rift?”
“Pandora closed it. She’s sorry. She didn’t realize she was doing that,” Cordelia said.
“What’s that, Cordy?” Zed asked.
“I’ll explain, Zed. I swear, but could you put some pants on?” Cordelia asked.
“No can do. Shredded them when I shifted,” Zed said, shrugging.
“I am scarred for life,” Brendan whispered.
“Would someone please get the mayor some pants!” Sonja yelled at the SWAT team as they took Walt into custody. Some League enforcement officer had apparently anticipated this, tossing Zed a pair of sweatpants.
Sonja pulled Cordelia into a quick hug. “I’m so glad you’re all right. Jillian says you are the best hostage-detail-revealer she’s ever heard. And it makes me sad that we have a scale for who’s the best hostage.”
“Thank goodness for old man phones,” said Cordelia.
“What did you do to him?” Bael asked.
“Made him see every awful thing that’s ever come to me through my gift. He’s going to be having nightmares for…ever,” Cordelia said.
The group of SWAT team personnel parted, making room for Darwin Messina. Dressed in a crisp beige suit, he didn’t bother with greetings or social niceties. He merely looked down at Walt’s crumpled form with disdain. “You’re not going to escape questioning, Mr. Benson. You will answer their questions thoroughly and we will get to the bottom of this situation. You will give me the name of every single person involved and some who just thought about being involved.”
Walt’s raw voice grated across Cordy’s abused ears. “Why would I do that?”
“Because if you don’t, all of those things that Cordelia made you see? Just a preview,” Sonja said.
The League officers hauled Walt to his feet and Darwin Messina stalked off without so much as a “good evening.” Cordelia wondered if maybe he knew she suspected him of being the person behind all this madness.
Cordelia muttered out of the side of her mouth, “Sonja, I don’t know if I could do that to Walt again. It might kill him. Also, as of right now, my head is sort of empty…of psychic memories, not brain cells.”
“I would never make you do that,” Sonja assured her. “I can’t believe you did it the first time. But as you can see, it’s a very effective threat.”
“Sonja, is Jillian safe?” Bael asked.
“Yeah…she fought me really hard when it came to shoving her in that closet. Some of your stuff may be burnt when you get home,” Sonja said, wincing.
Bael nodded, resigned. “I expected that.”
“Closet?” Cordelia asked. “Why would you shove Jillian into a closet?”
“I instituted ‘saferoom protocols’ when people kept getting taken hostage and almost-murdered. Jillian agreed to it and now that she’s pregnant it’s even more important. ‘Saferoom protocols’ means Sonja shoves her into a closet and locks the door,” Bael said.
Cordelia nodded. “Oh, yeah, she’s going to be pissed.”
Bael jerked his shoulders. “Worth it
.”
15
Cordelia
Cordelia was feeling no pain.
Well, that was an exaggeration. She was feeling mild amounts of pain, but she was surrounded by people who would—at any second—scramble to get her a snack or an extra cushion or whatever her heart desired. Sonja was in her kitchen, making some herbal tea that she promised was full of antioxidants and all sorts of healing properties. Siobhan had dropped off a half-dozen full pies of varying flavors, which Zed was considering carefully. Siobhan had insisted chocolate-rhubarb would be most restorative for Cordelia.
Dani was monitoring this activity to make sure Zed didn’t eat the pies himself. Jillian was sitting in her recliner, filling out all of her online report paperwork about “the incident at Afarpiece Swamp,” on her tablet, because Cordelia’s wrists wouldn’t allow typing. Bael helped with this effort, because he was sure that Jillian describing Walt as a “bedsore on the ass of humanity” was not a term the League would appreciate in an official report. Brendan had her feet in his lap and seemed to be watching her every movement, just in case she suddenly launched herself into a life-threatening situation from her couch. Will just tried to stay out of the way and occasionally checked her vitals.
It was strange, having all of these people at her home, in her space, touching her things. But she’d lived too much of her life alone. This was the life she wanted, surrounded by people she trusted, people who loved her, who would come running—or flying—when she was in trouble.
“So, if I don’t die like I was supposed to in a banshee vision, does that mean I live forever?” she asked as Brendan rubbed her socked feet. “Am I immortal?”
“Let’s never find out,” Brendan told her. “You took ten years off my life, woman.”
“I would say I’m sorry, but we both know I’m not, because I’m a certified badass. And I don’t like lying to the love of my life,” she said. “But I will try not to get held at gunpoint in the next six months, for your sake.”
