Within the Flames d&s-11

by Marjorie M. Liu

  She lunged toward Betty, claws out. An entire room separated them. Betty had time to blink, and raise her knife—

  — and then Lyssa was on her, claws slashing downward as she aimed a blow at the witch’s perfect, startled face.

  Betty moved aside at the last moment, graceful and inhumanly quick. Her empty hand turned into a blur as she tried to punch Lyssa in the gut — but her dragon reflexes saved Lyssa, and she blocked the blow.

  Betty lashed out again in a series of precise kicks and hand-strikes. She did not use the blade. No permission. The first cut, and every cut after, would belong to the Cruor Venator.

  She had training, though. Her fighting style was too polished. Time in a gym or dojo, no doubt at the encouragement of the Cruor Venator. Lyssa knew within moments that she was outmatched.

  Betty’s fist caught her across the face — the blow hard enough to knock her back. She would have fallen if Eddie hadn’t caught her. His hands were strong and hot as hell, and his gaze was furious.

  As he helped her stand, Lyssa caught a glimpse of the rest of the room. Lannes had dragged Lethe away from the door, holding her out of sight behind him. She could smell the stink of his fear — though it was a little less strong than the stink rolling off every other witch in that room, who stared at Betty like she was Satan personified: evil, more evil, and shitting in the pants evil.

  It was just the projection — the infection of fear — but it was as potent as a death ray. Morgana was already sinking to her knees, sweat pouring off her face as she trembled so violently her teeth chattered.

  Eddie, though, stepped in front of Lyssa. His hands were on fire.

  “You,” he said a deadly soft voice. “Will never touch her again.”

  Betty stared at him with total, unaffected calm, her gaze thoughtful, and assessing. “I told her about you. The Cruor Venator wants to know what makes you tick. Why you’re not afraid of us.”

  Lyssa pushed past him, fire pulsing at her fingertips. “She’ll never find out.”

  Betty frowned. “Lizard. Do you even know what she is? What I am?”

  Prey, whispered the dragon, coming awake.

  And Lyssa whispered, “Dead.”

  Betty snarled, raising the obsidian blade. Lyssa stepped forward, ready. There was a sour taste in her mouth, bitter and metallic. A thread of power. The aftereffects of tasting Lethe’s blood.

  She wanted more. More blood. More power. More than just a taste. It was like the lightest brush of an ice cube on her tongue after dying of thirst in a desert.

  In other words, torture.

  And here was Betty, served up on a platter. It was almost too easy.

  It is too easy, she realized.

  “Where’s your friend?” Lyssa asked, but Betty had already begun her attack in a frenzied blur of deadly movement. She braced herself, ready to block those blows—

  — but they never came. Eddie stepped in front of her, fire still raging around his hands, and rained down one single blow that sent Betty to her knees. He was unbelievably fast — as if he were a shifter himself, or fueled with the same blood magic that infused Betty’s muscles.

  The witch hit the floor, stunned, nearly unconscious. Lyssa heard, behind her, a deep release of breath — everyone in the room freed from that infection of paralyzing fear.

  Do it, she told herself. Right now. End it. Betty can’t go free.

  But once again, she was too slow.

  Lyssa got knocked into Eddie’s side as Lannes stormed past and grabbed Betty off the floor.

  His hands were massive around her throat, and she was limp as a rag doll, almost swinging from his grip. Half her face was burned. Her eyes cracked open, and she gave him a slack, half-conscious stare — just before he snapped — and then crushed — her neck.

  The sound was loud, crunchy, and final. Lannes dropped Betty and backed away, staring at her body. Pure silence filled the apartment.

  “Oh, my God,” someone whispered.

  And then Lethe said, “Lannes.”

  The gargoyle exhaled and looked at his wife. Gaze terrible, and haunted. He reached out to her with a trembling hand.

  She went to him without hesitation. Lyssa released her own breath — realizing that Eddie did the same.

  Without a word, Lannes picked Lethe off her feet and carried her over Betty’s dead body — which blocked the doorway. In a heartbeat, they were gone.

  Eddie moved close. Fire gone from his hands, though his eyes were filled with the same haunted remorse that she had glimpsed on the gargoyle’s face.

  “I was going to kill her,” he whispered, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

  “So was I,” Lyssa told him, just as softly — still able to taste the resolve that would have kept her fighting until the bitter end. A tremor raced through her, and she swallowed hard, feeling nauseated. Part of her was disappointed she hadn’t been the one to make the killing blow — but mostly, she was relieved.

  Lyssa turned in a slow circle to study the witches behind her. The girls who seemed to be sisters had fled down the hall, and the woman seated beside the old man was helping him to his feet. Both looked pale, shaken. A heart attack, perhaps imminent.

  Morgana had gotten off her knees. Ursula seemed surprisingly calm, except for the fine sheen of sweat on her wrinkled face. It was rare to see a witch who was physically old. Which meant Ursula was very, very, old, and accepting of it — enough, so that she felt no need to cast an illusion of youth.

  Old witches usually also had balls of steel.

  “We’ll take care of the body,” she said. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “Come on.” Eddie touched Lyssa’s hand, something in his voice and movements undeniably shaken. “We should leave.”

  But she remained still. Morgana gave her a grim, wary, look. “What now?”

  Cutting Betty and tasting her blood would only expose Lyssa to every murder Betty had ever committed. Unlike Lethe’s blood, which was easily read, the Cruor Venator’s woman would carry only one message in her veins: death.

  And that would tell Lyssa nothing she didn’t already know.

  “I need to find out where the Cruor Venator is taking her kills,” said Lyssa. “Have you heard anything? Even rumors?”

  Morgana pointed. “Maybe you should have asked. As if you don’t already know.”

  “Ma’am,” said Eddie. “Go to hell.”

  Ursula touched Morgana’s arm. “You and the others should leave this room. Right now.”

  For a moment, Lyssa thought there would be an argument. But Morgana took another look at Betty’s corpse — her gaze lingering on the obsidian knife — and she backed away, jaw tight, eyes slightly unfocused. The old man and his companion had already left the living room. Morgana turned, and staggered down the hall — leaning heavily on the wall.

  Ursula sighed and rubbed her face. “My God. No wonder we are a dying race.”

  “Because you’re cruel and stupid?” said Lyssa wearily. “Yes, that’s a problem.”

  The old woman gave her a look that made her feel small and slightly ashamed.

  Eddie flexed his hands. “I see suitcases lining that wall. You planned on running.”

  “Of course. The Cruor Venator prefers to kill witches and those with power. It was only a matter of time before we became targets. We would have left already, except Alice. . Lethe. . chose today to visit, and it became clear after spending some time with her that she was with child. We could. . feel it. . even though she couldn’t.”

  Lyssa didn’t want to be here anymore, and she really didn’t want to be near a dead body. Especially this one.

  “Do you know where the Cruor Venator is?” she asked again, in a sharper voice.

  “No,” said Ursula. “I have something else to discuss with you.”

  “What?”

  “Kara. Your mother.”

  “My last name is Hadrada,” she said. “Is that familiar to you?”

  Lyssa shook her head, u
nable to find her voice. Hearing this woman mention her mother by name had formed a knot in her throat that seeing Betty, fighting Betty, and standing over Betty’s dead body couldn’t come close to touching.

  She seemed disappointed. “Ah.”

  “How. .” Lyssa stopped, wetting her lips. “How did you know her?”

  “Kara saved my life.” Ursula smiled. “Much too long a story for a time like this. But you have her face. When I saw you. . I thought at first it was her.”

  Again, it was difficult to speak. “She’s dead.”

  Ursula’s visible surprise — and regret — did painful things to Lyssa’s heart. No one had ever been sorry her mother was dead. Quite the opposite.

  “I’m sorry,” whispered the old woman. “She was. . a good person. Few understood that, and she was unfairly treated because of it. As you are, I suspect.”

  “She understood why.” Lyssa looked deep into her eyes, memorizing them. Some rainy day, when or if anyone ever disparaged her mother’s memory, she would recall this old woman, and her compassion. “So do I.”

  “And yet, you haven’t fully embraced. .” Ursula stopped and looked past her at Eddie. “Never mind. I wanted to know if there’s anything I can do for you.” She looked down at Betty. “You’re here because of the Cruor Venator, aren’t you?”

  Eddie’s shoulder brushed against hers, hard and warm. “She’s hunting Lyssa.”

  “And so you become the hunter,” said Ursula softly, glancing down at Lyssa’s gleaming claws. “A formidable one, I expect.”

  She pulled the jacket sleeve over her hand. “Not formidable enough to keep them from killing my friends, and. . tracking me.”

  “Tracking you.” Ursula paled. “Ah.”

  Lyssa thought about Estefan and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. That’s how Betty found this place. We should leave, and so should you. Right now. Before anyone else comes.”

  “We will,” said the old woman firmly. “But how are they tracking you? It shouldn’t be possible.”

  Lyssa was keenly aware of Eddie listening, and was afraid of how much he might hear that would damn her. But the truth had to be told, because she sensed Ursula might be able to help. She had nothing to lose, at this point.

  And, Ursula had spoken her mother’s name. She had looked Lyssa in the eyes, without fear. No other witch in that room had been able to do the same.

  That had to mean something.

  Lyssa swallowed hard, and looked at Eddie. “Can you. . bring out the. .”

  Skin, she could not say. Estefan’s skin.

  Compassion filled his eyes. He slid off the backpack and pulled out the paper parcel. When he began to hand it to her, she shook her head and backed away.

  Tight-lipped, Eddie unwrapped the brown paper and revealed the leopard hide.

  Ursula leaned forward but did not touch.

  “A shape-shifter,” she said, after a moment. “And so are you. I understand now. That’s the blood they’re sniffing.”

  “I need to break the link. I’m not sure how.”

  “If you’re Kara’s daughter, you know how. But I think you know the medicine will be worse than the disease.”

  “What does that mean?” Eddie asked.

  Lyssa finally reached for the parcel. “It means I can’t just grieve like a normal person.”

  He hesitated, holding it back. “You know what you’re doing?”

  “No.” She tried to smile for him, but the burning had already begun in her throat and eyes. “I don’t want any more knocks on the door, though. Do you?”

  Eddie gave Lyssa a sharp look but handed her the parcel. She sat down on the couch, just as his cell phone began ringing. He answered tersely, his gaze never leaving hers. She was dimly aware of him speaking to Lannes, but her focus was mostly on Estefan’s skin.

  Betty’s body was a surreal exclamation point on the floor, but it was easier to ignore her — or feel nothing at all but relief. Especially while holding part of her friend’s corpse.

  Ursula murmured, “If you need blood. .”

  Lyssa gave her a sharp look. Eddie hung up his cell phone, and said, “If she needs blood, she can have mine.”

  It was like offering cocaine to a drug addict. He had no idea what that meant to her. She closed her eyes and shook her head. The remnants of Lethe’s blood would have to be enough. Before she could change her mind, she placed her hands on Estefan’s skin and opened her mind.

  Images slammed like a hurricane, stealing her breath and squeezing her heart until her world was reduced to nothing but endless suffering — a life teetering on the edge of death.

  From this maelstrom rose the memories of two women: one of them tall, lithe, and dressed in crimson; and the other, whose pale face was surrounded by a tumbling mass of glossy black hair. Betty and Nikola.

  Both held curved obsidian blades in their hands. Their eyes glittered, and their smiles were white and sharp.

  “I wish you had a child,” said the black woman, Nikola. “I’ve never had the blood of a shifter-baby. It must be sweet. So. . succulent.”

  Betty rose from her couch, and glided across the floor. “Would it taste like spring?”

  In her memories, Estefan trembled. Lyssa trembled with him, lost in his skin, lost in the pounding fear that fell upon him in throbbing waves. A primitive, violent fear, overwhelming, paralyzing — and dehumanizing. No fear could match it. No fear could be as powerful. No one but a Cruor Venator and her women could tear a brave heart to pieces with nothing but a look.

  Estefan was untied in her memories, but still helpless, wearing his leopard body as he pressed his belly to a concrete floor and groveled. Frightened into paralysis.

  Betty and Nikola surrounded him, obsidian knives flashing.

  The first cut was shallow, across his side. The second cut deeper, over his heart. Betty sank to her knees, licking his blood off her blade. Nikola did the same, throwing back her head with a shuddering sigh. Lyssa hated them with a terrible fury.

  From behind Estefan a familiar, leathery voice whispered, “I will wear your skin as my own, leopard. I will hunt your kind and make them live as animals until I am ready for their blood. I will take their power, and my empire will stretch into the fire when the new world comes.”

  His terror sank like a sick root into his soul. It did not matter that it was out of his control, nothing but an illusion induced by evil. Being forced to endure such a violation of emotion was the same as rape.

  Her friend, tortured to death. Estefan, whose only crime had been showing kindness to a lost girl with no home, no family, and a lot of loneliness.

  Leave these memories, whispered the dragon, finally stirring. Do what you came to do and let it be over. Find the link. Sever it.

  Whatever spell the Cruor Venator had cast would be linked to Estefan’s skin. Not the physical skin, because otherwise, burning it to ashes would be enough. The spell was linked to the essence, to the spirit and blood.

  Shifting magic was a unique magic. All shifters could sense one another if close enough. The Cruor Venator would now have the same ability, simply augmented by her own power.

  Guide me, she said to the dragon. Please.

  A wing stretched through her soul, gathering her close. Here. Follow.

  Lyssa flew through a vast darkness dotted with golden stars.

  Each star is a shifter, whispered the dragon. There are not many stars, but that could yet change.

  How?

  Time, replied the dragon. And those like your mate, who are their allies.

  He is not my mate.

  You will have babies with him.

  Focus, she growled, and the dragon laughed with a sibilant hiss, before her voice dropped again to a whisper.

  We cannot shield all these shifters from the Cruor Venator, but we can hide you.

  That wasn’t good enough. No one could be allowed to suffer.

  Then you will kill her, said the dragon, sensing her thought. And no one will suffer.


  Lyssa ignored her, focusing on her own light. How do I shield myself?

  Like this, it murmured, and spread its wings around her.

  Darkness fell down. She fell with it.

  And heard, on the other side of those wings, a pounding fist. It had to be the Cruor Venator. The witch knew she had lost the link and was trying to find her again.

  Fear laced through Lyssa’s heart but lasted only long enough for her anger to consume it.

  I want to see her, she told the dragon, and without a word of argument, warning, or caution, those wings pulled back — and let the Cruor Venator in.

  Lyssa was ready for her, and attacked.

  It was like trying to tangle with the breeze off a garbage dump. The witch’s spirit smelled like it was rotting. Except Lyssa was the wind, too, made of claws and fire, and she wrapped around that unclean spirit with a power born from grief, fury.

  The Cruor Venator snarled, but before the witch could react, Lyssa bit her soul — and tasted a different kind of blood.

  She drank, and a maelstrom blasted through her like dynamite exploding. Images flashed, forests and mountains, men in Nazi uniforms, a strange woman with black eyes and blood on her teeth. . Lyssa’s mother, except younger, much younger. .

  Lyssa didn’t want to see any more. She tried to wrench herself away, but the Cruor Venator held tight with frightening resolve.

  Your mother was so very pretty, whispered the witch, with satisfaction.As are you, I’m sure. After all these years, Lyssa. . what took us so long to find one another?

  Go to hell, she snarled, but her heart was thundering, and hearing that smug voice reminded her too much of that night in the woods, when the witch had murdered her parents. Snow and moonlight flashed, the forest in a blur—

  Suddenly, unexpectedly, she heard another voice inside her mind.

  This voice was stronger than the Cruor Venator. . and surrounded her in a burst of fire and blazing light that cracked the shell of darkness.

  Eddie.

  Lyssa, she heard him think, as the connection bloomed between them. It was just her name, but that was enough.