It was a necklace.
From a gold chain of links more robust than most modern chains, dangled what appeared to be a thick pendant—a portrait on a silver disk, crudely engraved by modern standards, of the heads of what appeared to be a Renaissance couple, the disk itself set within in a gold setting. The pendant spun slowly, revealing that there had once been an engraving on the gold back as well, but it had been burnished away, leaving only the uneven surface to betray that something had once been there.
Scope felt Harmony shiver again, and with a sudden lurch, she lunged for the necklace, throwing Scope aside in her mad desire to possess it.
“Wait,” Jack said, and drew a pistol with his other hand, leveling the barrel at Harmony’s head. “Just wait.”
Harmony stopped…and hesitated.
“A gun won’t stop me…”
“You sure?” Jack said. “Just hear me out.” He held the necklace up higher. “I know what this is to you. I know what you are, and what it means for you to have found this.”
“You couldn’t know,” Harmony hissed. “No one could know…”
“Victrix did,” Jack said. “Victrix seems to have figured you all out.”
“And she told you, didn’t she?” Harmony growled.
“She did,” Jack answered. “Didn’t believe her at first but, hell, we live in a strange world, don’t we? And after today, I can’t see there being many people who would scoff at the existence of magic, and hell if this doesn’t lend some credence to the old stories. When she told me the tales of the Lamia, it all fit. Everything you can do, it all fits. Except how you even exist. The ancient Lamias all died out. They were brought down in the Dark Ages, as were most demons of the time, by the Venatores Et Tenebrae. Although there were rumors, like always, of tarnished bloodlines from breeding with humans. You were human once, weren’t you, Harmony? To acquire your birthright, it required a bit of sacrifice. Your soul, for one thing, ripped from you and placed in a prized, personal, connected possession.” Jack’s eyes lingered on the pendant for a moment. “Pretty thing. Careless of you to misplace it. You must have been pretty hungry without it.”
“Starving,” Harmony muttered. “And is this the part where the backstabbing mercenary reneges on his deal?”
“No,” Jack said. “Like I said, I’m a man of my word. I know what this can do, what horror I might be unleashing on the world, but a deal’s a deal. But you know, too, how this has to go. You can’t simply take this from me. This must be freely offered and freely received.”
Harmony leaned back, stared at Jack, and laughed.
“Of course,” she chuckled. “My, my, you have done your homework. I commend you, Jack. Well done. You know, ever since that time in Tesla’s office, I have wondered…what is your meta-power? It is delicious, that much is certain. Telepathy, perhaps? Did you lift these stray fragments from my mind?”
“Nah, most of this is from Victrix,” Jack said. “And as for what I can do, well, I assume once you get your hands on this, you will be able to see all of us a lot clearer. Am I right?”
“Oh yes,” Harmony smiled. “You will be as transparent as glass.”
“Then I willingly part with this,” Jack stated. “Will you take it up without reservation?”
“I will,” Harmony said. “Oh yes, yes, I will!”
“Done then,” Jack said, and released the necklace into the air.
The necklace glittered as it spun through the air, the clasp parting, Harmony’s eyes fixed on it, as if she was mesmerized by it. She snatched for it, but it seemed to pass through her hands, and flew towards her neck as if it had been drawn there. The two ends whipped around her neck and the clasp fastened; there was a brief flash of light as the spell Vickie had spent weeks in crafting activated, a spell that had required an actual piece of a long-dead Lamia, binding the necklace in place.
Harmony gasped, and clawed at the chain—but her hands did pass through it; she had accepted it without reservation, and now there would be no breaking the spell. Evidently, it had never occurred to her that someone could weave more magic into the spells already on the piece so seamlessly that she couldn’t even see them until it was too late. But then, as Vix had told Scope, “When you see magic as math, you can manipulate the math as much as you like until you get the answer you want.”
And that wasn’t all that Victrix had said to Scope that day.
Scope gasped and fell to her knees as the fog lifted from her mind.
“You sure you want to do this?”
She felt herself nodding, reluctantly at first, but then with conviction. She looked up at all of them. At Jack, at Khanjar, and finally, at Victrix.
“Yeah,” she heard herself say.
“I’m going to need more than that, Paris,” Victrix had said. “This won’t work without your full cooperation. I know what we’re asking is a lot, but to get her in place, we’re going to have to feed you to the wolves.”
“I get it,” Scope had said. “I’m in.”
“Then let’s hear it.”
“You have my permission to bury my memory,” she had said. “Until such time that Harmony is bound. I will have no recollection of this meeting, or our plans to imprison her.”
“Thank you, Paris.”
“My name is Scope.”
“Thank you, Scope.” Vickie had smiled then, and embraced the young woman. “I promise this is temporary, and necessary. With this memory fog in place, she won’t see you coming. She’ll be able to detect any tracer we plant on her, but not one we plant on you.”
“Just make with the hocus pocus, Victrix,” she had snarled. “And let’s take this bitch down.”
Scope shook her head as the memories flashed back to her. She looked up, feeling groggy, and froze as Harmony glared at her, her eyes filled with hate, her thoughts probing…
You! Harmony screamed at her across the expanse of their minds. You did this to me!
I did, Scope thought, throwing a mental image of a middle finger back at her, and laughed. Suck on that, bitch.
As weary as she was, Scope felt an intense elation as Jack approached Harmony and gripped her by the binding chain.
“Okay, I lied,” Jack admitted. “Just a little. Still can’t stand you, don’t want to be anywhere near you, but that’s just too bad. I’m not really going anywhere. You wanted to know what my meta-power is? You remember when you drained me in Tesla’s office? You really shouldn’t have touched me; it made you something of an open book. So buckle up, Harm. You’re going to have a long time to figure out what that means.”
Harmony began to fade. A sort of dim, glowing umbilical connected her and Jack. She tried to scream, but it seemed she couldn’t; her mouth opened, but nothing came out. She flung herself at Jack, but her hands passed through him. She was now a kind of ghost, and Scope could feel her desperation in her own gut; the ties that bound them worked both ways now.
But then…it stopped. Scope felt a flash of Harmony’s triumph, as the spell started to reverse and Harmony took on more and more color and substance, drawing her own essence back from Jack.
“Oh, dear,” Harmony purred. “Did we forget to read our mystical instruction manual?”
“Can’t be…” Jack gasped. “Victrix worked this mojo backwards and forwards. You should be stuck, imprisoned inside me!”
“You know,” Harmony said, shaking her head, “I can’t say I remember anyone ever being disappointed that I wasn’t inside them.”
“You know why it didn’t work, don’t you?” Jack said.
“Of course I do,” Harmony replied, sneering.
“Any chance you’ll give us a hint?”
“She doesn’t have to,” Scope said, and wobbled towards them. “It’s ringing in her head like a bell.”
“No! You can’t!” Harmony cried, her head whipping to the side to glare at Scope. “Paris! You don’t have to do this! I can give you Bruno! I swear it! Release me and you will have him with you, forever!”
&
nbsp; “You swear?” Scope asked drily.
“I swear it!” Harmony screamed. “You need only keep quiet and release me! Just think of it, Paris! Think of Bruno! You will be together, always!”
Scope stopped in her tracks, and returned Harmony’s look of desperation with one of serene satisfaction.
“I will always have Bruno,” she said. “With or without you.” Scope turned to Jack and gave him a weak smile. “Sorry, little big man. You’ve got the wrong chemistry. Harm can’t be held by anyone with man meat. This one’s going to take a little girl power.”
“Paris!” Harmony screamed. “Please!”
“The name is Scope. Or Warden. Either will do.”
And with a flourish, Scope grasped the chain around Harmony’s neck. Harmony tried to scream again, but it died out as her form was consumed by an immense flash of light.
Scope winced and looked away, then shut her eyes resolutely. She felt a calm serenity wash through her, and became acutely aware of the sound of her own heartbeat. It had slowed, and then, she heard it echo. No, not echo.
It had been joined by another.
When she opened her eyes, she took in her surroundings with a bemused smirk. The sun had almost set, and Jack’s face seemed particularly amusing: open astonishment bathed in a fiery, orange light.
And next to Jack, Khanjar was laughing.
“Man meat,” the wiry warrior chortled. “That’s a good one.”
* * *
Throughout the ECHO medical facilities, those who could move and assist without being in the way maintained a steady level of activity to support the healers and hospital staff. Those not of ECHO or CCCP who could be moved to their home base of operations for recovery flew out on an hourly basis. Those with more severe injuries remained in Atlanta under the supervision of ECHO Med, occupying the operating rooms and intensive care units to capacity.
With little reason to be elsewhere, Ramona kept herself occupied at the hospital in support of the healers and doctors, keeping the coffee strong and updates brief. Yankee Pride had set up a place in one of the nurses’ stations where he could work with Spin Doctor on the appropriate press releases and correspondences to the families of the living. If she didn’t have any place to be, Ramona stole a nearby chair and kept Pride company. There wasn’t any small talk, just the quiet and solid reassurance that each was there for the other, waiting until the last of their comrades was cleared to go home.
One of the nurses assigned to Gilead approached them sometime after midnight and gently touched Ramona’s forearm. She jerked up, the skin beneath the older man’s fingers immediately silver. “Doc mentioned that your friend Rick is out of recovery and should be waking up in a bit. Room 2007, just down the hall.” He glanced past her to Pride and winked. “Doc also said that you need thirty minutes on a cot so she doesn’t kick you out. Nothing personal, just policy.”
Ramona patted her boss on the shoulder and stood. “C’mon. You go close your eyes, I’ll wake you after I check on the speedster. Promise.” She didn’t wait for him to follow Gilead’s orders, but turned the corner and made a beeline for the room. In the hours that had followed the retreat and transport back to Atlanta, she had lost track of Mercurye and a few others who had survived the horrific assault. Eight had given her updates throughout the day and night, but they weren’t the same as seeing him with her own eyes and sitting by his bed.
The door to 2007 was cracked open, and she could hear the hum of machines from the hallway. Steeling herself, Ramona took a deep breath and pushed the door open. They had put him in a room with another ECHO patient, their identities hidden from each other by the heavy white curtain in the center of the room. In the hospital bed, a groggy young man lay against white sheets, one leg held in a complicated support mechanism that Ramona had never seen before. Bandages covered his chest and bruises mottled his skin upward from his chest. She winced at the particularly colorful spread on his jaw and neck.
Mercurye offered her a dopey smile as she came in. “So metal,” he slurred. “Did you know that’s the third surgery since I’ve been here? I should get a punch card or something. Fifth one is free, or I get ice cream. Or maybe both.”
At least he had the really good drugs. It made sense for the guy with the hypermetabolism. Ramona pulled up a metal stool to the edge of the bed and rested a tentative hand on his arm. “Both. I’ll make sure that it’s both. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for hitting you so hard. It left a bit of a mark.”
“S’okay. Chicks dig scars, right? By the end of this, I’m gonna have so many, you’ll have to beat all the admirers off of me.” The dopey grin widened and Merc shifted closer to her. “You. Look. Beautiful. And that’s not all the stuff they got in me, that’s all the truth. But I figure that you should hear it, because I don’t think I told you before we got on that boat. Uh, ship. Uh, the thing in the water before we met those giants…wait, are you crying?”
Was she? Ramona scrubbed at her face with the back of her hand. Damn it. “Stress, and I’m just glad that you’re here and able to make stupid jokes.”
“Beautiful wasn’t a joke.” He studied her face for a long moment, and Ramona thought he was going to break down and cry with her. Instead, Mercurye chuckled and gave a contented sigh. “I’m glad you’re here, but I’m sort of sleepy. Be back when I wake up, okay?”
Ramona nodded, the lump in her throat making words impossible. The gesture had a near-immediate effect and his eyes fluttered closed, his breathing slow and even. She stayed still, lips barely moving as she gave the soft subvocal command. “Overwatch: Eight, give me a rundown of Mercurye’s injuries and prognosis, please.”
The list popped up in her HUD overlay, and she read through it with some small bit of relief. With extensive therapy and rehabilitation, he might return to ECHO in some capacity. The most recent surgery had put his pelvis and lower back together like a jigsaw puzzle, with enough metal rods to make his insides resemble a kids’ construction set. She flipped through Gilead’s notes and lingered over the short paragraph at the end. Requires ongoing neurological assessment to determine if full metahuman capacity can be regained. Recommended psychological evaluation due to Thulian attack.
“Eight, ping me in twenty-five minutes so I can nudge Pride awake.” She repositioned the stool to rest her forearm further from the expanse of bandages. Merc shifted and his hand moved over her wrist, the touch dry and warm. Ramona allowed herself a few tears of relief and lay her head down. “Unless it’s Spin or Bella, I’m just going to stay here.”
* * *
So many memorial ceremonies…too many. Others might still be soaking in the euphoria of victory, but Bella, and virtually every other commander of any size of force, was, only three days later, deep in the planning of a memorial ceremony. CCCP had already had theirs: Nat’s body had been shipped back immediately to her father in Moscow, where she had been buried with full honors in a military cemetery, next to Molotok and the rest of the CCCP fallen, going back to the Great Patriotic War. Yank wasn’t handling the losses well, so Bella had simply taken over the planning of the ECHO memorial.
So many dead, from every branch of ECHO all over the world. Some were only names to her. Some she knew from the attack on Ultima Thule. But some…some had been her friends from here in Atlanta. She’d shared blood and drinks with them. She’d healed them. Their faces kept coming between her and the computer screen. Ramona had offered to help her, and so had Mel…but Mel needed to recuperate herself, and Ramona needed to be with Merc. And Vickie, who would have been a tremendous help, was…somewhere unknown. With Red, she said, although Red was still officially dead. “The Colts and Eight can do whatever I could do that will need doing for a while, I promise you. And if Eight can’t, I’ll come back, but unless the world is on fire, I need away time.”
So much bravery. So little time to say anything about it. And not just from those who were lost, but those who had lost parts of themselves. Corbie’s wings were never going to lift
him into the sky unassisted—but he was already consulting with Silent Knight and some of the other tinkerers about a sort of folding lightweight framework, like power armor for wings, that would let him soar again. Merc was still out of it…and faced months, if not years, of rehab and, instead of despairing, was planning on binge-watching every episode of every SF series, ever, during rehab sessions and was already writing his schedule. And Bear…actually complaining that the new body was letting him sleep at night for the first time in over half a century.
But it was hard to hold back tears, so Gairdner was patiently sitting with her, quietly handing her tissues when she choked up, and providing arms and a shoulder when she had to stop long enough to get herself back under control. My big, darling Bulwark. I could never do this without him.
She finished adding the last of the “L” names to the list, and worked her way steadily through the “M” section. Ramona was going to read this part of the list; Ramona was the one who’d paradoxically had the least to do with the Murdocks. She felt Bulwark rest his hand comfortingly on her shoulder as she reached…those names. “Dammit,” she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Gairdner, would you hand me the tissues? My box is empty.”
“Here ya go, miss.” A hand that wasn’t Bulwark’s stuck an open box of tissues over her left elbow. Her eyes went from Bulwark—sitting there, open-mouthed—to the box of tissues, to the hand…and the fingerless glove it wore…
She spun the chair around so fast she almost gave herself whiplash. Wha?—
She couldn’t come up with a coherent thought. Because…it was Johnny. No, not Johnny. Younger, this was a late-teenaged version of Johnny. Leaner. None of the darkness in his eyes, but that same damned lopsided smile. And no scars, physical or mental. She sensed nothing in him that wasn’t…cheerful. Sunny, even. Still intense and earnest. But not the damaged-and-then-healed that Johnny had been, in the end.
“J-J-J-” she stuttered, as Bulwark continued to stare in shock.
“John Murdock. Junior,” he added, setting down the box of tissues and offering his hand. “Pleased t’meetcha, Ms. Parker, Mr. Ward. I’ve sure heard a lot ’bout y’all.”
Avalanche: Book Five in the Secret World Chronicle Page 81
