by Zoe Chant
Jen opened her eyes and peered at the luminous clock on the bedside table. She still had a couple hours until dawn.
She launched off her perch and arrowed through the window. Mindful of her luminosity, she zipped down the mountain on the side away from the harbor, all the way to the shore. Then, gliding so low that the waves plashed nearly under her feet, she flew along the coast and approached the harbor from beyond the promontory that formed one of the horseshoe ends. This side was too rocky for buildings and so was completely dark, except for a few fishing boats rocking out on the quiet Aegean waters, with no lights aboard as the fishers slept.
She flew quietly, holding that dot in her mind like a compass. And, yes! As she moved, it moved. Either she was getting closer, or else Cleo was on the move. Either way, she was learning how to locate someone in the physical world.
When she glimpsed the lit buoys out in the water, she slowed, then perched on a barnacle-covered rock sticking up on the shore. She reached for Nikos to report, and found him in the middle of action—another wave of Medusa’s invaders, all flying shifters, had come up from the back side of the mountain. All the free hetairoi not actually guarding something or someone had been called in, including Ezios and Orelle.
Jen’s feathers ruffled all over. She’d just missed running into the invaders!
All right. Find Cleo—actually get eyes on her—then report. She skimmed along the empty boardwalk below one of the inns, the least expensive one, she’d been told. It was more likely that a cook would stay there. Keeping her dot firmly in her mind, she glided low, below the dark windows, and then, as nothing stirred and she didn’t sense Cleo, she tried rising.
She had circled the entire building when a glance out at the water made her soar up above the roof. Was the weird color she couldn’t name infrared? Because she could see a small boat tossing on the waves, heading out toward where the yacht was parked in the harbor. Three large shapes and one small sat in it, pulsing with that non-color, which was reflected in the small shapes of sea birds.
Her dot shivered, as if the compass in her mind had made a leap. Those were people in that boat, one of them small. And it was headed for . . .
The yacht.
Jen didn’t think. She launched into the air, and flew as hard as she ever had. She skimmed low over the water, noting vaguely that it was no longer black, but had lightened to blue ripples. A sudden thought occurred, and she glanced toward the east. Shock rang through her when she saw the milky pale shade along the ocean. Dawn was only minutes away. Maybe seconds.
She flew hard, but the boat had an engine and it reached the yacht first. A hundred yards . . . fifty . . . the big figures yanked the small round one up a ladder onto the deck. Ten yards . . . the bees-walking-on-skin feeling blurred over Jen, and she cleared the rail of the yacht and tumbled to the deck. Years of practice in falls had her rolling to her feet.
A fast glance revealed Cleo’s tearstained face as she was pushed onto the deck by one of the three huge guys who’d brought her in the boat. Two more guys stood on deck, their heads turning sharply.
“Grab her,” a woman said.
All five charged at Jen.
Jen used her momentum to grab up a carved wooden deck chair, and smashed it into the first guy. His head snapped back and he tumbled to the deck, out cold, leaving her with a broken chair back. She wrenched apart the ribs, and now had double sticks.
Another glance at the four still coming. The way they ran, shoulders forward, big fists doubled, revealed they were used to relying on their size. She charged the middle two, and as one’s fist whizzed past her head, she turned, tapped him smartly behind the ear with the stick in her right hand as she whirled and used the momentum to sweep the feet of the guy at her left—who fell heavily, tripping the one next to him.
Her thoughts ran ahead, working out the calculus of the fight.
A hard strike to the solar plexus followed by a crack to a vulnerable collarbone, a spinning sidekick to a knee, and the last two went down.
But when she turned, there stood Cleo in the grip of a tall, lethally thin woman with slowly writhing hair, the locks gleaming with an oily sheen. This had to be Medusa. Her long fingers gripped Cleo’s arm, digging into her flesh. But why didn’t Cleo shift and fly away? She was a hippogriff!
Jen flung the thought at Cleo—to smash into that icy wall. Behind it she heard Cleo, but faintly, as if she were miles away.
So Jen raised her sticks and advanced on the two of them.
Before she could speak, Medusa lowered her sunglasses with her free hand as she turned a scornful glance at poor Cleo. “You’re too old for puppy fat,” she said poisonously.
Cleo’s cheeks reddened, and she looked away, her lips parted.
Jen snapped, “That’ll be enough crap about her size, or you are going to wish that scrawny butt of yours had a decent cushion when it meets my size eleven.” She wiggled a foot suggestively.
“A Valkyrie, it seems,” Medusa said in a marveling tone, her heavy-lidded eyes bored, Jen was distracted by that long curling dark hair. No, those locks had open mouths—they were snakes. “Or would Hulk be more up to date? What label are those shoes?”
Jen tore her fascinated gaze from those writhing snakes, which were mesmerizing in their way. “I don’t remember. I bought ‘em years ago,” Jen retorted. “Oh! Wait! You actually think I give a hoot what brand my stuff is? Do I look like I’m still in high school?” She gave a great belly laugh, inadvertently meeting those glowing green eyes to see if Medusa was really that shallow—
And was caught.
Awareness of the rocking deck, the groaning bad guys, poor Cleo shivering in Medusa’s grip, and Medusa herself all faded as Jen’s tired mind was forced back through memory images.
“Ahhhh,” Medusa sighed with satisfaction.
Jen no longer stood on the yacht. She knelt in a pool of spilled coffee on the worn linoleum of her kitchen floor, desperately trying to do CPR on Robert—
Her mind flinched away, as it had for four years. But Medusa’s whisper seemed to come from everywhere. “You didn’t save him . . .”
And beneath that, Jen’s own agonized thoughts, over and over, I should have called 911 first, I should have repeated the CPR class, I did it wrong . . .
I killed him.
The memory she had refused to look at gripped her with all the strength of immediacy: the EMTs arriving. Their shaking heads. Their mutters, Dead on arrival, and Put it down as eight fourteen a.m. . . . She, standing there, numb, sick, trembling in her coffee-soaked jeans, as they covered him up and wheeled him out . . .
She tried with all her strength to shove the memory away, but the inexorable voice whispered louder, speaking every guilty, horrible thought she’d had about her uselessness, her stupidity, maybe she somehow even secretly wanted him dead . . .
And she was jerked back again, watching him standing at the sink, filling his coffee cup, taking a sip, then frowning. “When did we wash the percolator last—”
Flinch.
“You killed him, you killed him. You don’t deserve to live—”
And there was the memory again, every detail as remorselessly clear as day. Robert standing there in yesterday’s jeans, his chin covered in graying stubble as he frowned, then said, “When did we wash the percolator last?”
His frown turning to a grimace of pain, then slackening.
See, whispered a tiny, crystal voice deep within Jen. See.
No, Jen wailed, her mind curling in on itself. Never again.
Medusa’s insidious whisper filled the world with whispers of guilt, shame, failure, regret, humiliation.
See, said the small voice. It was Jen. But not Jen.
Jen’s mind roused a little, in question. Who are you?
I am you, you are me. See the truth. The voice as pure as the sweetest bell. See.
And there it was again, the memory that cut like glass: Robert throwing out a half-drunk cup of coffee, muttering about how it
tasted like rust, then pouring another cup. He sipped, then frowned. “When did we wash the percolator last?” he asked, and then the slackening of his face as he slowly crumpled to the floor. He landed on his side, the hot coffee splashing over his legs, the mug spinning away across the floor.
Jen’s mind readied to flinch away, but SEE! The crystal voice called, louder than Medusa’s repeated accusations. The old pain squeezed Jen’s heart as she dropped to her knees in the coffee, babbling, “Are you burnt? What’s wrong?”
Robert gazed up at her, lips moving . . . then he went totally slack . . . Her shaking hands as she straightened him out and whispered the CPR rules, but her hands shook so, precious moments were slipping away before she could get them to function—too slow—failed—
See, the voice insisted, a higher note.
And she was back again, seeing him fall, the coffee spilling, the mug spinning away. And there was Robert’s ashen face, his lips moving as he gazed up hazily at her.
She forced herself to hold still, to look at the memory.
Then she saw it: he whispered, “Live.”
Then he was gone.
It was all there in memory, But she’d been too desperate at the time to comprehend it.
Live, he’d said, his last word. The last thing on his mind was her. His last wish was to give her back her life. Two, three seconds, and then he was forever beyond pain.
Now she understood.
Even if she’d raced to her phone and called 911 it wouldn’t have mattered. If she’d been a newly recertified expert at CPR, it wouldn’t have mattered. Everything the doctors told her about sudden blood clots and hearts—nothing had shown up at his last checkup—she understood now.
Yes, the crystal voice said, and Jen knew that voice. It was her, and not her. There was nothing you could do. He was in pain, and then beyond pain. His last living thought was to set you free.
The last of the guilt burned away.
Phoenix? she said cautiously.
You have healed, the phoenix replied. And we are one. Come!
The two of them swept through the sticky web of Medusa’s spell and vanished in a starburst, drawn straight to that mighty furnace that had been pulling her ever since she first flew over it.
She shot down and down into the heart of the island’s volcano, reveling in the living rock, the fountain of heat, of life. It was here that a phoenix, a firebird, could be reborn.
It only took a heartbeat, then she soared skyward, pausing long enough to locate her mate’s mental signature on the mythic plane. Phoenix reached for unicorn, and wordlessly sent back that part of himself he had gifted her. She and her phoenix were now truly one.
Then Jen streamed back to her body, all between one heartbeat and the next.
TWENTY
NIKOS
“No sign of Keraunos,” Calix reported bitterly. “He slipped away.”
“We didn’t see him either,” Ava admitted. “Went to ground.”
Nikos sighed—and then staggered as what felt like a burst of sunlight erupted inside him. Strength, energy. His unicorn surged up.
We are whole again! the unicorn trumpeted. Our mate and her phoenix have merged. She has given us back our strength, for she has found her own. But—I cannot reach her—
Sharp fear ripped through Nikos. Was she dead? No! His greatest fear, back again.
With his restored qi, he could shift again. Without a word, he leaped into the air as he shifted to his unicorn. He left his astonished hetairoi standing open-mouthed as he dropped like a comet over the castle wall, straight for the shoreline. When he passed that, he flew over the breakers, homing on Jen. Still alive, her sun-bright aura lustrous in his mind and heart, but she was in danger.
She stood on Medusa’s yacht in her human form, and yet she blazed as bright as she ever had as a phoenix. Brighter. Outrage, anger, and tension exploded through him, then died away as fast as fireworks winking out when he saw Medusa step away from Jen, who stood in the middle of the giant yacht’s foredeck, arms crossed.
He could feel as well as see the powerful impact of qi, as if the early morning sun just topping the horizon gathered all its light around her. The golden light caught in her bright hair as she took a step toward Medusa, who let go of Cleo and backed away warily, the snakes in her hair writhing as if in a high wind.
Jen’s voice rang. “You could do, and be, so much.”
Medusa’s lips twisted. “Why?” she said bitterly. “Why not take what I can? Everyone else is.” A couple of her minions appeared from belowdecks, one holding a pistol.
Jen lifted a hand. A sun-bright spear of light shot from her palm to the pistol, and the minion dropped the melted weapon. He cursed, flapping his hand wildly.
Jen turned to Medusa. “That, you’ll have to figure out for yourself. But you won’t do it here on this island,” she said gently.
Medusa took another step back. “No. I can see that,” she said, recovering a semblance of her mocking poise. She slid her sunglasses up, hiding her face, and her snakes rippled back into long, curling hair. The only betrayal of the turmoil Nikos sensed her trying to hide were the ends of her hair twitching like a cat’s tail.
“Tell Lem to start the engines,” Medusa said to her team, who were painfully picking themselves up, sending somber and even fearful glances at Jen.
Nikos shifted to his human form, standing next to Jen. He spoke. “I’ll send your wounded to you.”
Medusa lifted a shoulder with a sharp shrug. “They’re on their own.”
“No,” Nikos said, aware of the flyers among his hetairoi now catching up, and circling overhead in perfect formation.
The yacht’s crew as well as Medusa all looked up.
Mateo and Bryony swooped down along the rail of the yacht, heads turned toward Nikos, waiting for his signal.
Nikos said to Medusa, “You brought those people. You take them away again.” He looked up. “Dru. Disable the engines.”
Jen turned a bright smile toward Medusa, all the more terrifying for its gentleness. “I can melt them.”
“No, no, no.” Medusa raised a hand. “I’ll wait. Send them.” She turned her mirror shades toward Jen. “But you, get off my ship. And don’t come back.”
“Deal,” Jen said evenly. Her outline blurred until she hovered in the air, a phoenix nearly as bright as that sun creating a trail of molten gold over the water. Then she lifted her wings and soared aloft, long tailfeathers fanning. As she lifted, her thought came to Nikos, I’m actually faking it. I shot my bolt melting that gun. And Cleo is in trouble—I can’t reach her.
She’s been poisoned by shiftsilver. I’ve got her.
Medusa turned to Nikos. “Where did you find that . . . that Valkyrie?”
“She found me,” he replied. “The harbor patrol will return your passengers. Until then, Dru will remain on guard. I don’t think you want to know what he’ll do to your ship if you change your mind about staying. It might even be worse than melted engines.”
He shifted to his unicorn again, and Cleo shakily pulled herself onto his back. Then he took a couple of steps, and when he was certain Cleo was steady, he sailed out over the yacht’s bow, and flew toward the castle, Cleo trembling as she held on tight. The shiftsilver she’d been poisoned with breathed through her skin, causing his back to ache where she sat. She had to be in a lot of pain; he veered, and flew toward the infirmary.
Jen was there waiting. She’d shifted back to her human self. Already the unearthly glow around her had faded, her eyes returning to the calm sea shade he loved.
He lit as lightly as he could. The staff gently eased Cleo onto a waiting bed, and he stepped up beside her, bowed his head, and touched his horn to her brow. Shiftsilver was especially vicious when taken internally. But he found the source . . .
Cleo gave a great cough, gasped, and the tiny silver pellet scarcely bigger than a grain of rice landed on the ground.
As a human staff member picked it up with a tong and to
ok it away to be disposed of, Cleo’s color flooded back, and she burst into tears. “I’m so stupid! I thought Ariadne was my friend! It was nothing but a trap!” she wailed. “Medusa sent that horrible Keraunos to keep Kyrios Nikos busy, and those men made me get into a boat because I couldn’t shift, couldn’t do anything, and Medusa said that someone would show up for me, and she hoped it would be his mate, and there was nothing I could do!” Her chin wobbled.
Jen dropped down beside the bed. “It didn’t work,” she soothed. “In fact, thanks to Medusa and Ariadne, my phoenix and I are whole. I think Medusa was very, very sorry to see that.”
Cleo gave a small smile through her tears. “You were so powerful! Will you be like that all the time now?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t think anyone could live like that all the time.”
“Medusa was scared! But . . .” She hiccoughed. “I had such a fun day, until the picnic, and then I started feeling sick, and I didn’t know what it was. And Ariadne was so nice. Even at the end, she apologized. S-said she h-had to put that poisonous stuff in my food, or else they’d do something to her family . . .”
Nikos shifted to his human self and backed away as Jen spoke to Cleo in a low, affectionate voice until the sobbing halted, and Cleo lay back with a sigh.
“Now, promise me you’ll sleep,” Jen said.
“You’re lucky,” Tassos spoke up from behind. “You won’t be on rock duty when we fix the path.”
Cleo chuckled weakly.
A half-circle of hetairoi had gathered around Cleo’s bed. As they all wished her fast healing and made encouraging noises, she smiled mistily up at them, then let out a tired sigh, closing her eyes.
Nikos turned to his group and tipped his head toward the door. Outside, he addressed Mateo. “Are the would-be invaders on their way down the mountain?”
“Delos and his team are just handing them off to the harbor patrol right now.” He scowled. “But Keraunos is still at large.”
