by Lyn Benedict
“What is it? What do you see?” he asked, leaning forward.
Trouble.
Serious trouble.
Not only had Lupe changed independent of the lunar cycle, but there was absolutely no way this change could be passed off as normal. No “zoo escapee” excuse was going to cover this.
Lupe raised her head; a long forked tongue flickered out, tasting the air. Tasting Sylvie’s presence. The mane of feathers around her neck shifted and fluffed. She shrieked again, and lashed her long, tawny tail. She sprang forward, and Sylvie slammed the door just in time to avoid a clawed paw.
“I’m going to need a nonlethal weapon,” she told him. “A Taser, stun gun, or a tranq gun. Something.”
He looked at her blankly, and she said, “Get me one.”
“Shadows, I don’t know what you—”
“Toro, your hotel clients are 90 percent violent offenders of one kind or another. You’re telling me you don’t have an entire armory in your office?”
“I got an Uzi?”
“If I wanted to shoot her, I’d use my gun,” Sylvie snapped. She knew she was being irrational, that most of her anger was self-directed—she just didn’t have things under control.
“I got roofies.”
Sylvie grimaced. She hated the people she interacted with sometimes. “Fine. Get me a handful and a steak.”
“Five dollars each—”
“Toro, I could walk away and leave her to you. Make her your problem.”
“Fine,” he said, and slunk off.
Sylvie shuddered. She was so going to call Suarez and sic him on Toro. There was sketchy, and then there was sketchy.
Demalion joined her on the second-floor balcony, ignoring her scowl. “I left the motor running. What’s taking so long?”
Lupe hiss-purred through the door, and Demalion said, “What is that?”
“My client,” Sylvie said. “She’s having a bad day.”
Toro returned with a handful of pills going chalky and damp in his hand, and a steak a couple of days past fresh. Sylvie could smell him coming.
She wasn’t the only one. The door shuddered again in the jamb, the hinges jolting. Toro crushed the pills into the steak, and Sylvie took it with one hand. It took more concentration than she expected to hang on to the slimy, heavy mass, and that was the beginning of the end.
She took her eyes off the crack in the door to focus on the meat’s getting away from her. Demalion stiffened like he’d been electrocuted and swept her down to the concrete walkway, scraping her arm, numbing her elbow, and knocking the breath from her.
Lupe’s claws closed on empty air, and she leaped down to the parking lot. In the sunlight, she was a beautiful monster. She had a huge catlike body, tawny and stippled with tropical bird colors, blue, green, red. A ruff of bright feathers stood out around her serpentine head like an Elizabethan collar, and the scales on that massive snake head glimmered with an oily green sheen. Like a poison-arrow frog, everything about her screamed toxic.
“Lupe!” Sylvie yelled, hanging over the edge of the balcony. She hurled the steak down in front of her. It landed with a wet, messy splat and spread out across the concrete like a rooftop jumper.
Lupe flickered a skink blue tongue at the steak, then dismissed it.
“No, no, no,” Sylvie muttered, scrambled to her feet, and headed downstairs, Demalion shouting behind her. Maybe if she could get Lupe into her truck, the situation could be salvaged.
Traffic on the road outside the hotel suddenly bottlenecked as first one driver, then another, saw Lupe and slammed on the brakes, and got rear-ended for their pains. Horns filled the air, and Lupe let out her freaky howl-shriek again and headed straight for the traffic in a ground-eating lope Sylvie couldn’t hope to beat. Maybe with the truck, but the road was blocked.
Her breath seesawed in her chest, panic striking hard and deep. Lupe was going to get killed. Or kill someone. Or both. And it would be her fault.
Sylvie raised her gun, belatedly thinking even a flesh wound would slow her down, be better than this, but there were too many people around, and Lupe was so fast. …
Sylvie closed her eyes, shut out Demalion shouting at Toro, the sounds of panic and excitement on the street, the sounds of Lupe’s life being destroyed step by step. There had to be something she could do.
Whether it was exhaustion or panic or the catastrophe about to happen, she could only think of one thing that might work.
“Erinya!” she shouted. “Erinya!”
Her breath felt like it was torn from her, and she didn’t even know if it would work. If Erinya was listening. And if she was, if she’d come.
Lupe gained the roadway and the stopped cars, lunged atop them, and flared her neck feathers. Her clawed feet crashed through a windshield, and the carpoolers inside hurled themselves out, one man clutching a bloody shoulder.
A second later, he was convulsing in the street; Lupe was, apparently, as toxic as she looked.
Demalion said, “Shoot her. Sylvie. You don’t have a choice. She’s killing people.”
Sylvie lined up the shot, blinking sweat out of her eyes, her vision blurring. She scrubbed her face, scented the lingering aroma of putrid meat on her skin, and gagged. The gun shook in her hands.
Demalion took the gun from her, aimed, and Lupe dropped between the cars, showing that, animal or not, she still recognized danger. Sylvie got a glimpse of that snaky head peering at them beneath the SUV she’d just trashed and had only a moment to realize that Lupe was coming for them at speed.
Demalion held his ground, took the shot—head shot, too high. The scales furrowed back, exposed thick bone—another scar for Sylvie’s client should she survive turning human again—but Lupe didn’t even slow.
Sylvie swiped her gun back, holstered it, and shoved Demalion toward the truck.
“Lupe,” she said. “Lupe.” Like the name was a spell to return her to herself.
Lupe slowed in her advance, tilted her head. Listening, Sylvie hoped.
“C’mon, Lupe. You don’t want to kill anyone, right? You don’t want to hurt anyone else. Remember how bad you felt when Jenny—”
The chattering blast of Toro’s Uzi cut through her words, sent her seeking ground, seeking safety. Lupe leaped, slashed at Toro with a casual paw, and sliced flesh to the bone. He screamed in pain and kept screaming.
Lupe whined, her side torn by at least one bullet. Then her feathers ruffled; her scales shifted color, shading dark, and she lunged for the next nearest person.
Sylvie.
Sylvie had one terrifying glimpse of Lupe’s soft underside, wished she hadn’t holstered her gun, then Lupe went crashing across the parking lot, hurled away by a larger force.
Erinya had made the scene.
A BARE SECOND AFTER ERINYA’S EMERGENCE, SYLVIE’S RELIEF faded. Erinya had come ready to kill; and more, she brought the jungle with her. Vines and lianas burst from the concrete and asphalt, crumbling the ground beneath her. Scarlet flowers fell out of the air, spreading petals that oozed a sickeningly sweet scent.
“Don’t kill her. Don’t hurt her. Just stop her,” Sylvie breathed out. Her back hurt with a growing dull heat; she put a hand to her side, felt perforated flesh and liquid, something slippery inside and out. Toro’s fucking Uzi. Friendly fucking fire. She was too tired to tell how bad it was.
Erinya didn’t even glance in her direction, just sprang on Lupe, rolled her over, squalling, hissing, and snapping. Greenery erupted around them, entangling them.
Demalion’s hands latched tight on Sylvie’s side unexpectedly, and she struck at him, hurting and half-crazed. She laughed when he swore at her, came away with his hands stained wet with her blood. “Marah thinks I’m immortal,” she told him. “Guess not.” Her body throbbed. Her vision blurred.
He manhandled her into her truck, dragged out the first-aid kit, and she tried to push him off. “Got to tell Erinya. Tell her to take Lupe away. Tell her to—”
“Shut u
p,” he said. “They’re on their own.”
His lips were white, pressed tight between his teeth, and she said, “You’re worried about me?”
“Everybody’s got a hobby,” he said. He leaned forward, kissed her forehead. “Now, shut up. Let me get you bandaged before you bleed out.”
A thunderous crash resounded in the back of the truck, rocked them both violently in the cab, slammed her truck’s nose into the wall, and the animal shrieking cut off all at once. Demalion looked up, wild-eyed, and Sylvie let out a startled yelp as Lupe’s snake head crunched through the back window. But, despite the unlidded gaze, she was out. Unconscious or dead.
Erinya slid behind the wheel, all human delight. “Sylvie! Where’d you find her? She’s wonderful.”
“Drive,” Demalion said.
“I don’t take orders from you,” Erinya said.
“Sylvie’s in no shape to give them. Get us out of here,” Demalion snapped.
Sylvie winced against the seat; the wound was beginning to feel less hot and more hurt. “Erinya—”
Sirens were thick in the air, the approaching cops, ISI—everyone she didn’t want to talk to. Everyone she needed to protect Lupe from.
“Take us to Alex,” Sylvie said, trying to get a last bit of thought out. If things were going to hell this fast, she needed to make sure Alex knew about it.
“Heal her first,” Demalion said.
Erinya hesitated. And Sylvie thought, Dammit, Erinya might have healed me, except that Demalion was the one to ask for it.
Demalion slid out of the truck, and she grabbed at him, wondering what the hell he was thinking, but the effort jolted her and sent her, finally, into unconsciousness.
When she came to, she was still in the truck, and she wanted to scream in frustration. She was tired of fighting—
Never tire of fighting, her inner voice declared—
—and she just wanted to get some fucking sleep. Even as she complained, she realized she felt … better. Not good; still exhausted, shaky, wiped out, and stinking of blood, but better. Also, the world outside the truck had changed. Not the hotel parking lot but someplace cooler, dimmer. Someplace without screaming and panic.
Someplace that smelled strongly of exhaust and oil, a faint overlay of mall perfume.
A parking garage?
The passenger door next to her hung open, and crouched in it, a blurry shape in the dimness, was Erinya. “Don’t be mad,” she said.
Sylvie threw her head back and groaned. “Erinya, what did you do?”
“Healed you,” the Fury said.
“I thought I felt better,” Sylvie said. “Why would I be mad at you for … did you kill Lupe?”
“Lupe is the monster-girl? No. I like her. She’s fun.”
Sylvie swallowed hard, cleared her eyes enough to see that Erinya’s face was bloodstained from cheek to chin. “Demalion—” Sickness churned in her; her breath felt suddenly fragile. Ready to shatter.
“I’m here,” Demalion said from behind Erinya. He sounded all right, but when she saw him, she wasn’t so sure he was. His hands were bloody to the elbows, and his gaze had some of Erinya’s hangdog quality to it. Don’t be mad.
“What happened?” Sylvie said, pushing herself upright. “Where’s Alex?”
“Hiding,” Erinya said. “She doesn’t like me much without you around.”
“Where are we?”
Erinya huffed. “Questions, questions, questions. I’m bored with that.” She leaped into the bed of the truck, stroked Lupe’s battered feathers to smoothness, slid her hands down along Lupe’s velvety hide. Sylvie wasn’t the only one the Fury had healed.
Demalion reached into the truck, tugged Sylvie out. “Easy. She fixed the wound, but I think you still lost the blood.”
“What happened,” Sylvie repeated.
“I ripped out Toro’s heart and offered it to Erinya in exchange for healing you. I—”
“Worshipped her,” Sylvie said. “Gave your allegiance to a god who hates you?”
“You were bleeding out,” he said, “in my arms. I did what I needed to.”
“Your afterlife,” she said. “Oh God.” She leaned up against him, felt useless tears start in her eyes. An afterlife with Erinya, where she’d chase and torment and hate him for eternity. “I don’t know that I can get you out of that.”
“I won’t die anytime soon,” he said. “Give you time to work on it.”
Sylvie sniffed hard, raised her head. “Yeah. If we get the chance. Where the hell are we?”
“Dadeland Mall,” Demalion said. “You told Erinya to find Alex. She was shopping.”
“At the Apple store,” Alex said. She sidled around the truck with a wary glance at Erinya, still crooning over her unconscious playmate. “Amazingly enough, having a Fury pluck you out of it makes things tricky. On the bright side, I’ve got a new toy. Since I was holding on to it when Erinya grabbed me? I’m trying to figure out if that makes me a shoplifter or what.”
Sylvie said, “The mall, Alex? With all that’s going on?”
“The ISI took your sister out of the airport. I felt a little exposed at the office and at home. I’ve been here since it opened, waiting for you to call.”
Sylvie found herself sinking more heavily against Demalion, and he said, “We need to get you a place to rest.”
“I’ve been saying that for the last twenty-four hours,” Sylvie muttered. “But Zoe, Graves—”
“Riordan’s just going to have to wait,” Demalion said. “We need a bolt-hole. Your apartment’s not safe enough. Hotel?”
“I know where to go,” Alex said. “I’ve been thinking about it. Enough space for all of us and maybe even safety from memory modifications? From Riordan’s haranguing you to get busy?”
“Yeah, yeah, cut to the chase,” Sylvie said.
From the truck, Lupe emitted a strange groan, then began to collapse inward, shifting back to human. Erinya sat back on her haunches to watch, head cocked, curious.
“Val’s place,” Alex said. “She’s in Ischia. Which means there’s an estate with both magical and high-tech security going to waste. Plus, if Zoe somehow manages to give Riordan the slip—”
“Zoe would head for Val’s if she got free,” Sylvie said. “You’re brilliant, Alex.” She grinned, but it felt weak. “Can’t take Erinya, though.”
“You want her around full-time?”
“Nice to have a Lupe-wrangler.”
“Val’s estate will have at least one safe room,” Demalion said. “If she’s as high-tech as Alex says.”
“Great, we’re all for it. Let’s get there and stop talking about it.” Sylvie pushed off Demalion’s solid chest, staggered a bit but stayed upright, waving him off.
“We’re not taking your truck,” Demalion said. “Too many of us, and it’s full of blood.”
“Fine,” Sylvie said. “Go fetch a car, then.” She leaned up against her truck while he disappeared farther into the parking garage. Grand theft auto, coming up, committed by a rogue government agent. What the hell had their lives come to?
Alex said, “Are you really going to kill Graves on Riordan’s say-so?”
“Demalion filled you in, then?” Sylvie said. “I don’t know. If Graves is the one siccing monsters on the world? Probably. I’m just not sure. Something about the whole mess doesn’t sit right. But I can’t think straight. I’m making bad choices. Careless choices. There’s a hotel in Homestead that’s proof of that.” At least two dead men, car wrecks, witnesses to a monster-brawl, and she really doubted Erinya had tidied the jungle away without Sylvie to harass her into doing it.
Demalion rolled up a minute later in an enormous, gas-guzzling Escalade, big enough to hold them all and ostentatious enough to be unnoticeable in Val’s fancy driveway.
Erinya transferred Lupe’s unconscious shape into the back bench seat, strapped her in with careful precision, and said, “When can I see her again?”
“Later,” Sylvie said. “We�
�re trying to fix her. I don’t suppose you—”
“Fix her? She’s wonderful,” Erinya said.
“Yeah,” Sylvie said. “Never mind. Eri, can you do one more favor for me? Get rid of the truck?” If they left it here, bloodstained and battered, the cops would be looking for her, either as victim or as a criminal. She didn’t have time for it.
Erinya waved a hand; Sylvie’s truck dissolved. It stung, watching it go. She’d loved that damn thing, battered as it was.
If she was immortal, if Marah was right, then it’d only be one of a thousand things she’d lose in her eternal life.
She stood there, shivering in the garage, blaming blood loss, until Alex tucked her into the second seat and shut the door on her. Alex took the passenger seat, and Demalion drove them smoothly into the afternoon.
9
Regrouping
LUXURY HAD ITS PLACE, SYLVIE THOUGHT AS SHE SETTLED MORE comfortably in the leather seat. The motor hummed quietly, the ride was smooth, and the car was pleasantly dim in the midday heat. Sylvie fumbled out her cell phone, found it cracked through, and said, “Alex. Phone?”
“Calling Val?” Alex asked, passing her phone back.
“Yeah. Her estate isn’t going to be much of a safe haven if it kills us as we try to get in.”
Demalion grunted from the driver’s seat. “We’ve had enough near-death moments today. I’m forbidding any more of them. My nerves can’t take it.”
“Aw, poor baby,” Alex teased.
Demalion’s glance toward her was not amused.
Sylvie ignored the start of their bickering and dialed Val. Usually, Val refused to answer Sylvie’s calls, but Sylvie was betting that with Zoe AWOL, Val would answer, no matter the time. Sylvie turned her watch, thought, actually her timing wasn’t that bad. Ischia was about six hours ahead. Dinnertime.
“Sylvie,” Val said.
She sounded so calm and competent that Sylvie felt strange, choking tears rise in her throat. “God, Val, I need your help.”
