by Lyn Benedict
“Fuck,” Sylvie swore. “We have to move, now.”
“My men—”
“We’re not waiting,” Sylvie said. “Let’s go—”
Too late, of course. Even as she pushed away from the desk, reached for her gun, five ISI agents were spilling in, John Merrow leading from behind, sheltered by their collective bulk.
“Bang, bang, Dad,” he said, and the room erupted into gunfire. Sylvie lunged for the dubious shelter of the kitchenette, saw Suarez fling himself toward the understairs panic room.
Dominick Riordan stood his ground in the bullet fire, then raised his own weapon and shot himself in the head. His brains pulped out against Alex’s desk. John Merrow grinned.
“Give it up, Shadows, come out and be shot like a good little troublemaker.”
Sylvie felt the words move around her like a fisherman casting a net, compelling her to obey. It felt … oddly familiar.
Dammit, he’d compelled her way back when, when the water was rising, when he insisted she hold on to him, keep him above the waterline. Bastard.
Stupid bastard. Once exposed, her resistance would kick in. She shrugged off the compulsion easily, now. “I don’t think so.”
Bullets stitched a ragged line across her wall, hit the fridge, shot metal-and-plastic shrapnel into the tiny kitchenette. Sylvie felt her skin burn and pop as the shrapnel tore into her clothes.
Small wounds. She’d heal. She poked her head out, aimed low, shot two of the invading ISI in their legs, took one in the thigh, splintered one man’s knee. They crashed down, still firing. Determined.
Guess Riordan wasn’t the only one under magical commands. Neither of the injured gunmen made any attempt to get out of her line of fire, to staunch the bleeding. They were going to die shooting, obedient to Merrow’s will to the last.
Suarez stepped out into the room, reading the situation the same as she did. He squeezed off two shots, and the men’s gun hands dropped. More brains on her floor. Sylvie shuddered.
Adrenaline made her mouth sour; her heart raced. Merrow grimaced behind his remaining two men. “Aim better, boys. And hurry it up. You. Cop. You’re shooting at the wrong person. Shoot Sylvie.”
Sylvie froze; Lio was in perfect position to shoot her. Instead, he shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
Merrow muttered, “Dammit. Name, name, name. Juanez? Anyone here know his name? Shadows, tell me his name.”
“Don’t pay enough attention to the little people, huh,” Sylvie said.
Merrow had met Suarez once, but he hadn’t paid attention to him. Thought him insignificant.
“Tell me.”
Sylvie felt the force of his will batter at her, but it had its match in her Lilith core. She shook it off, breathed out.
She jerked out of her shelter, huddled between wall and open refrigerator door, put three bullets in the next agent’s stomach, felt her hair tug and pull and burn. Her ear felt wet and hot. Her cheek scalded. She rubbed her face against her shoulder, left a smear of blood behind. Creased. Not even that. Just a friction burn. From a bullet. Her stomach turned. She couldn’t die here. Not and leave Yvette to her games.
Merrow backed toward the door. His lips moved, the words unintelligible beneath the continuing gunfire. Sylvie said, “Aim for Merrow! He’s spell casting!”
Sylvie focused, tried to get her bullets where they needed to go—Merrow’s throat, but her head was spinning. Friction burn or not, she’d been knocked for a loop. Her eyes weren’t focusing quite right. Her bullets went wide. Suarez’s never reached Merrow at all, impacting instead against a magical shield.
Suarez said, “He’s your problem,” and went back to picking off the remaining agent’s shelter bullet by bullet, with a quick pause for reload.
Merrow’s spell casting reached a high note; Sylvie felt the air in the room change, grow charged. The wall behind her burst into flame. She rolled forward, hitched up at the far-less-safe juncture of half wall and open office. The fire could be illusion. Witches loved their illusions. Given Merrow’s steady retreat, Sylvie was laying bets that this fire couldn’t be ignored.
The remaining agent panicked, jerked to his feet, atavistic fear of burning alive momentarily trumping Merrow’s mind control, and Suarez and Sylvie shared the killing shots.
Now, for Merrow.
The wall to Sylvie’s right bloomed with fire, another ignition point. Merrow angled to get the third wall, too impatient to retreat and pick them off as they tried to escape the fire. His spell casting stopped short, his muttering voice cut off midword, and he went rigid before twitching and collapsing.
The fires continued, but Sylvie barely noticed them, real as they proved themselves to be. Her attention was all for the woman who’d brought Merrow down.
Girl, rather.
Zoe yanked the buzzing stun gun away from Merrow’s neck, breathing heavily. “Take that, asshole. Leave me tied up in the trunk, will you?” She held the stun gun in her Cain-marked hand, and Sylvie thought that combination would cut through any magical shielding. Zoe kicked the man while he was down, and only then turned her attention to the room.
Sylvie’s relief was so enormous she couldn’t muster a single word; her voice locked, her eyes watering. Zoe looked good. Alive and healthy and pissed. Her hair was a tangle; her fancy clothes were creased and stained and about two days past laundry time. But she was alive. Not brainwashed. Not broken.
“Sylvie, you’re on fire,” Zoe said.
Suarez lunged at her, rolled her over, smothering flames. Beneath his shirt, she felt rigid material and groaned. She really did have a bad reputation if the cops came to her office wearing their bulletproof jackets, and the government agents came wired.
Throughout it all, Zoe didn’t leave her position near Merrow, ready to zap him again. When Sylvie rose, singed, a little bloody, tugged up by Suarez, Sylvie was so proud of Zoe she could burst.
She hugged her close, and Zoe leaned back into her for a long moment before she shoved Sylvie off. “Ugh. Your clothes are wrecked and you smell.” Despite her words, her free hand lingered on Sylvie’s sleeve, fingers tangling in the dirty fabric.
“Love you, too, sis,” Sylvie said.
Two walls of the office were fully consumed now, the fires licking upward, climbing into her private office, rolling forward, reaching for the front. Sylvie thought of all her files, the computers, the upstairs office, the whole of her life’s work going up in ash and flame, and said, “Lio. Grab Merrow. Let’s get out of here.”
13
Manipulations
THEY ERUPTED OUT ONTO THE STREET, THREE OF THEM COUGHING IN the smoke that billowed out after them, Merrow a silent deadweight at the end of Sylvie’s arms. Her shoulders protested, even with Zoe taking his ankles. Suarez had refused to arrest him, saying, “I can’t hold him securely. I won’t put my colleagues at risk. We’re in enough trouble.”
“I wasn’t going to give him to you anyway,” Sylvie said. “He’s got info I want.”
For once, something was going their way. Streets that were normally busy and crowded with pedestrians were all but empty. The only witness to their exodus was a gull that shrieked and flapped toward the sea.
Sylvie said, “Where is everyone?”
“Staying home. Trying not to catch the plague,” Suarez said. “Didn’t you notice that traffic was lighter than usual?”
“I just thought I caught a break,” Sylvie said. She shook herself. “Yeah. I should have noticed.”
“You two get out of here. Talk to him. Find out how to stop the plagues.”
“You’re not coming?”
“I discharged my weapon. I shot and killed federal agents. If I want to keep my job, I need to stay here and call it in.”
“All right,” Sylvie said. Zoe whined about Merrow being heavy and to hurry it up. “Be careful, Lio.”
“Y tú. Cuidate.”
Sylvie rubbed blood off her cheek, and said, “Yeah.”
Merrow twitched and mumbled; Zoe d
ropped his feet, grabbed the stun gun and zapped him again. His eyes rolled up in his head as the newest jolt left him partially conscious but in no shape to be casting spells. Good enough.
“Zoe. Leave him some brain cells,” Sylvie said.
“Whatever. Where are we taking him?”
“Val’s is home base.”
“You asked her first, right?”
“Of course I did. Couldn’t have gotten everyone past the wards without her permission.” Sylvie winced. Those wards were toast. Had been ever since Lupe ushered Erinya in. Magical wards had been replaced with a jungle that seethed and hungered. They were on the road, driving the ISI car along a pleasantly deserted highway, almost to their destination when Sylvie did a little mental head slap. She was bringing two witches to a god. While she didn’t care if Erinya burned every last drop of witchcraft back out of Merrow, Zoe was another story.
“Zo, you absolutely cannot do any magic while you’re at Val’s,” Sylvie said. Her voice cracked, the first thing said in long miles. Zoe was huddled up on one seat, her hand clenching tight on the stun gun, her gaze never leaving Merrow.
At least, Sylvie thought, she’d given her contrary sister an escape hatch from obsessively reviewing the wrongs Merrow had done her. Zoe erupted into instant protest.
“What? No! Why?”
“Because Erinya’s there. The moment you fire up your magic, you burn out.”
Zoe made a face. “So not fair. Gods are such bullies.”
“And try to be polite. To everyone. We’re all on edge.”
Merrow coughed laughter in the backseat, rattled his cuffed hands behind him. “Polite. Your little witch is a stone bitch. I wanted to rip out her tongue after twenty minutes in her company. I give your bad-tempered, impulsive god less than two minutes before Zoe’s a smear on a wall.”
“Don’t make me send her back there with the stun gun again,” Sylvie snapped.
“Won’t change the truth.”
“Did you ever consider that I might be nicer to someone who didn’t kidnap me and keep me tied up in a basement, then a car trunk?”
“Let me go,” Merrow said. Compulsion underscored his words, striking out like a lash.
Sylvie and Zoe laughed at the same moment, and Merrow subsided into a dark scowl.
“Sorry,” Sylvie said. “You’ve lost your edge. Where’d you pick that talent up anyway? It doesn’t really seem witchy. It’s not a spell you cast. It’s just you.”
Zoe said, “He’s half-blood monster. I think Merrow’s not just his name. It’s genealogy. A half-blood. Val says that a lot of the water monsters have a way with compulsion enchantments. Like the mermaids’ song, like the kelpie who makes you want to ride even if you know better.”
“Like the Encantado,” Sylvie said.
“Yeah. That’s the big gun,” Zoe said. “The strongest of the water magics.”
“Really?” Sylvie said. The creature she’d met had been pissy, tired, and losing ground on a battlefield he hadn’t chosen. He hadn’t struck her as particularly powerful. But she’d been behind wards when she talked to him at length. If he was that strong … damn, she wished she had a way to contact him. Add one more monster to her mundi allies.
“So Val says.” Zoe looked over her shoulder at Merrow.
Merrow said, “That woman’s not worthy of the title witch. All she does is hole herself away from any conflict and waste her talent on academics. She deserved to get her talent burned out.”
“It’s coming back,” Zoe said. “Better not be rude to her, or she’ll make all you Society witches cry.”
“Watch out!” Merrow shouted.
Sylvie almost reflexively stomped on the brakes, bound both by basic driver instinct and by the sudden wave of compulsion. Almost.
“Don’t!” Zoe snapped at the same moment.
Sylvie pressed down harder on the accelerator, taking them off of Virginia Key and onto the short expanse of Rickenbacker Causeway which connected to Key Biscayne. Merrow lunged for the side door, determined to get out, whispering spells to override the door locks, and Zoe flailed at him with the stun gun.
Merrow screamed and went limp.
The SUV bumped gently onto the key.
“I didn’t even hit him with it,” Zoe said.
“He got hit with something bigger. Take a look.”
Key Biscayne had gone jungle. Erinya’s will exploding outward, corrupting and changing everything in its path. There was little left of Crandon Park from what Sylvie saw. All the buildings drowned in an impossible vegetation and red flowers that snapped and bit. Shadows, spotted like jaguars, ghosted through the greenery, and brought to mind the dapple of sunlight over leaves. Zoe sucked in a breath and slid toward the middle of the SUV as if its steel walls could protect her.
Merrow had been spell casting when they crossed, head down, focusing all his energy into a spell, and found himself abruptly at the mercy of a magical tide he couldn’t bear. Scoured out from within. No wonder he’d shouted.
Sylvie kept the SUV to the center of the road; the jungle encroached fast on either side. At least, Merrow wouldn’t be a threat now. At least, they’d be able to question him without worrying about him spitting out spells instead of answers.
BY THE TIME SYLVIE STOPPED AT VAL’S ESTATE, SHE WAS DRIVING purely by GPS guidance. Nothing looked familiar. Or rather, it looked all-too-familiar—all of the world coated with Erinya’s heaven reaching down to her. Chaotic jungles and lurking predators. Once you were out of the city proper, Miami’s evening air always smelled sweet and salty—night-blooming flowers and the ever-present bite of the sea—but when Sylvie opened her door to get out and open the gate, the air was wet and heavy and rank with crushed vegetation and animal musk.
When she reached for the gate, the iron scrollwork writhed and hissed and drew back after flickering dark, forked tongues over her sweating skin. Sylvie tried not to wince. This was Erinya’s world, her psyche. Like her, it would reward fear with predation.
“Erinya,” Sylvie said. “We’re coming in.”
No response, but a tangle of dark flowers bent slowly toward the distant house. It seemed far more distant than was possible, a tiny glimmer on the horizon instead of a mansion three hundred feet off the road. Sylvie returned to the SUV gratefully. The night felt full of predators.
“Zo, you come up front and hang on to me.” She didn’t want there to be any misunderstandings. Bringing a witch into Erinya’s realm … She wished she had another recourse.
Zoe clambered up, dug her fingers into Sylvie’s arm without protest. Behind them, Merrow lolled in the middle seat he had dropped into, half-conscious, panting with either fear or effort.
“What about him?” Zoe said.
Sylvie wanted him alive, wanted to question him, but if he vanished from the car, if he got sucked out and devoured, she wouldn’t cry.
She wanted answers, but more than that, she wanted Merrow to pay for kidnapping Zoe. Zoe was running on pissed, but whenever she stopped being cranky, Sylvie saw her hands shake, her shoulders tense, her lips bow down in that close-to-tears pout Zoe had had ever since she was a toddler. When this was over, Zoe was going to fall apart, and Sylvie wanted to be able to say, Merrow can never hurt you again because I made him into shark chum.
The driveway warped on them as the SUV hit concrete and brickwork. One heartbeat took them someplace that was bitterly cold with thin, gritty air and a sudden cliff to their left. Erinya’s realm, Sylvie thought, and tried not to jerk the wheel in panicked reaction, and the next heartbeat saw her slamming on the brakes just before they impacted with Val’s front door.
Sylvie felt Zoe’s tourniquet grip on her arm, patted her fingers in relief, and turned to see if Merrow had made it. He had, though his eyes showed white all around the irises.
She couldn’t blame him. There was basic god leakage, and then there was this. A remodeling that rearranged space and time. Erinya wasn’t even trying to restrain herself. Couldn’t be.
>
Erinya’s presence in Miami was no doubt making the Good Sisters work overtime on the memory spell. Might be why it seemed to be the hardest-hit city.
Lupe opened the side door of the SUV, and Zoe bit back comment though her eyes widened, and her grip on Sylvie’s arm tightened at the sight of Lupe. Sylvie felt her own breath catch. Lupe was stuck, seemingly midchange. Her skin was rippled with brightly patterned scales; her legs were … gone. She moved forward on a thick, snake tail, and the hand that held open the SUV door had talons that were leaving gouges in the metal.
“Coming out?” she said.
“Yeah,” Sylvie said.
“Fuck no,” Merrow said. He clung to the seat. “You kill me now, Shadows, and leave me out of this freak show of yours—”
A second later, he was torn from the SUV, dragged inside the house, and—by the time Sylvie scrambled to follow—gutted across the foyer, his blood wet and scarlet and dripping over Val’s pale Italian marble. Erinya, in fury-god form, pawed at the remains. Lupe, hot-eyed, stared at the mess and tucked her coiled tail tighter to avoid the blood.
Zoe, on the doorstep, shrieked, turned to run, remembered the world-warp outside, and pressed up against Sylvie instead. Sylvie put an arm over her shoulders, and said, “Bring him back, Erinya. We need to question him. We need him to find Yvette.”
“He was rude,” Erinya said. “He came into my house, and he was rude to my chosen. I won’t. Find another way.”
“What, like sticking a pin in a map? Here be witches?”
Erinya lashed her tail, turned, and disappeared into the recesses of Val’s house. Erinya’s house, now; it bore little to no resemblance to Val’s art deco mansion.
The marble floor, now drinking in Merrow’s blood and bone, was the only thing left of Val’s once-open foyer. The ceiling was close and stony, like the mouth of a cave. It led toward darker areas behind it, one swallowing Erinya’s angry form. Sylvie stared after her, kicked at an encroaching vine. It snapped at her, and she shivered.
Lupe grimaced. “Sorry, Sylvie. I’ll see if I can talk her ’round.”
