by Amy Sumida
A bedroom door on the far side of the main living space was open, the flashing light of a television set painting the frame in muted colors as the murmur of a movie drifted out to us. I waved Freya's guards to stay back, while I crept forward with Torin. When I reached the bedroom, I waved Torin back too. He nodded and took up a position in the doorway.
Osiris was lying in bed, naked, watching television . . . as one does. His bed was placed against the wall, beside the doorway I'd entered, so he didn't see me right away. By the time he caught my movement within his peripheral vision, I had already begun to sing.
To sway Osiris from continuing to steal Freya's customers/worshipers, I'd chosen a song that most people viewed as romantic. Sad, but romantic nonetheless. I liked reworking a solid love song into other purposes; words used to describe the more tender emotions were often easy to translate into a different meaning entirely. So easy, in fact, that some songs which were written about sadness are often taken to be the opposite by the masses. People hear the sweet music and automatically judge the song to be either happy or sad. They can even sing the chorus and not truly comprehend the words they're singing. I blame this on the movie industry, who has trained humans to feel a certain way depending on what type of background music is played. An upbeat tempo equals an upbeat song, despite whatever the lyrics may be. It's how the Dixie Chicks got away with singing about murder and still keeping their wholesome image. “Goodbye, Earl” was damn catchy.
In defense of the human race; half the time, even when you pay attention to the lyrics, it's not clear what the artist was intending. Which was exactly the case with the song I'd chosen for Osiris. I don't know for sure what the songwriter had intended, but all that mattered to me was the words themselves, their basic definition, and how they could be employed. This song had the words that would work for me, whether it had been intended to be positive or not.
The sound of a lamenting guitar rose and fell in my ear, the notes almost soothing. It was a cruel falsehood against the accusation in the words themselves. “Let Her Go” by Passengers. It seemed so sweet, a swaying melody to lull you into relaxation. The dream of a perfect lover formed with those lyrical promises. But that was all a part of its deviousness.
My magic rose inside me, drawing on the song, and my own intentions, to fuel itself. It took the curse of truth within the words and lashed it out at Osiris like a whip, compelling him to take another look at his life; at himself. Why was he really targeting Freya? Perhaps there was more to it than rivalry. Was his life a series of uninspiring events which left him lacking –searching for more? Did he truly appreciate nothing until it was gone?
Osiris growled, his hands going to his head in an attempt to block out the sound. He rolled from the bed, slipping to the side furthest away from me and slamming back against the wall. He was a gorgeous man, but I'd expected nothing less from such a prominent god (generally, humans didn't choose ugly men to lead their pantheons) and it didn't sway me. Still, it wasn't his beauty that I needed to worry about. Osiris was one of the greatest gods of the Egyptians; a pretty face was the very least of what he had going for him. And I should have thought more on that –researched him more– before I waltzed into his home and spellsang. If I had, I may not have accepted Freya's bargain in the first place.
Because even as my magic surrounded him, even as it sank into his mind and started to alter his very thoughts, Osiris fought back. He lifted his furious face; the light from the television illuminated it and emphasized the dramatic angles. His eyes seemed black in the shadows, his beard –cut into a modern point– looked sinister. One bronzed hand lifted and pointed at me; not in accusation, but with intent.
“Shh,” he barely whispered. Just a breath of sound, like one would make to a crying child.
But it wasn't the sound that mattered. Osiris was merely directing his magic . . . around my throat. It didn't suffocate me or constrict my flesh; it simply stole my voice. I gaped at him as my song was cut off in mid-stride. The music played on mockingly in my ear as Osiris smiled maliciously.
“Freya is a fool, to send a spellsinger after the Lord of Silence,” Osiris declared as he straightened to his full height. “And you're a fool to have come against me alone. Silly spellsinger, you've forfeited your immortality for a vain slut who wouldn't even do her own dirty work.”
“She's not alone,” Torin growled as he stepped in front of me.
Torin's grounding magic instantly began to drain away Osiris's silencing spell. But silence wasn't the only power Osiris had. Torin's appearance had barely caused Osiris to blink. The Egyptian just smiled serenely and waved his hand. Torin focused on Osiris, preparing to launch some kind of onyx magic at him while continuing to ground the silencing spell. Osiris didn't stand a chance.
At least, that's what I'd thought.
A rumbling started within the marble floor, but it wasn't coming from the building or even the land. There were potted plants in the room, several different types that I hadn't thought were important enough to notice. It turned out that not only were they some lovely, air-producing adornments, they were also weapons. They shot out of their pots, wrapping roots and branches around Torin. The attack distracted Torin enough to break his control over the grounding spell. Osiris's magic closed tighter around my voice, just as I'd thought I'd be able to snatch it back.
As if losing my voice wasn't bad enough, Osiris added more. I'd attacked him in his own home, and he was intent on making me suffer before he killed me. Images started to form around me: illusions which quickly took on a feeling of reality. Osiris was a god of the dead, the afterlife. I'd never really considered what that meant. Evidently, it meant that he could see all of the lives a soul has lived. Information is a power all of its own, and Osiris combined the information he gathered about me with his illusion magic, to crush me.
Banning appeared before me, his hand reaching out to gently stroke my cheek. I froze, losing all ability to determine reality from illusion. The sounds of struggle faded away as Banning's voice washed over me. Then the room disappeared entirely. I was in London, England; reliving my past –the very worst part of it.
“Fortune, lay down with me,” Banning was standing beside a bed hung with cream silk, the posts gilded gold. “I'm weary, are you not?”
I was. I was suddenly very tired.
“Banning, I think something is wrong,” I whispered, this horrible feeling coming over me.
“Nothing is wrong, darling,” he pulled me down onto the bed. “We are together, that's all that matters.”
The bedroom door crashed open, and several blooders rushed into the room. I screeched and Banning jumped off the bed to defend me. Despite his strength, he was overpowered quickly and was held flailing in the hands of four men. Banning bared his teeth, snapping at his oppressors. He looked vicious, but not as vicious as the woman who strode past him and up to me.
Cosmina.
My heart sank, and I knew my life –my long life– had finally come to an end. Banning had been right, we should have left London. But I was surprised to find that I had no regrets. Facing this crimson-haired death goddess, I was strangely unafraid. There was a sense of peace in my bones, some sublime knowledge that this was meant to be. I needed to die here today.
So that I may live a different life.
I looked to Banning, and he stilled. Maybe he saw the acceptance on my face, maybe he saw the love. Whatever it was, it made him cry. I shook my head at him and smiled.
“Remember your vow.”
“I will remember,” he sobbed brokenly.
Then I faced Cosmina with a lifted chin and a smile. She frowned, pausing to consider me, but the pause was brief. This wasn't a woman who doubted herself when the time came for action. Cosmina lifted her hand, fingers bent into claws and brought it down swiftly across my throat.
I barely felt a thing. I was standing one moment, and then lying on the thick rug the next. The feel of the silk fibers on my cheek was lovely, but the despair in
Banning's face was tragic. His pain was the only darkness in my death, the only aspect which made me hesitate, made my soul linger. I looked over his beloved visage, absorbed every aspect of his beauty, from head to toe, so that I could take him with me. I'd remember Banning forever, no matter how many lives I lived. I would return to him. There was nothing that could stop me. I knew it as surely as I knew this life was meant to end.
“I love you,” I whispered to him and closed my eyes. “I will find you again.”
My body started to grow cold, the shadows of death coming for me as Banning cried out for me to stay with him. I took one final breath, prepared to let him go for now, when his voice started to change. It went deeper, as deep as stone within the earth, with a power no blooder could ever have. I frowned when I realized it called me by another name.
“Elaria!” Torin shouted. “It's an illusion! Egyptian magic! Remember who you are, spellsinger!”
My eyes shot open to see Torin, still struggling under the web of roots and vines covering him. His hand was outstretched to me, all of his magic pouring out at me, to free me from the past Osiris had thrust me into. Osiris stood rigid, shivering, all of his strength was being used as well; in fighting the magic of a Shining One king while he tried to silence a spellsinger. It was too much for him. Osiris's magic broke, the past pulling away entirely. I stood up from where I had laid down to die, and growled. My past had nearly pulled me down into death with it.
I lunged at Osiris, resorting to a physical attack, as Torin tore plants from his body like living snakes. They were tenacious; as soon as one was gone, another replaced it. Torin couldn't clutch at one without it clutching him back. He looked like a cat shaking off a piece of tape –a lot of pieces. Plus, Torin had sacrificed a lot of energy to help me; to pull me out of my memories. I was pretty certain such a skill wasn't a property of onyx, which meant that Torin had to resort to an old-school slam of power instead of a more direct application. Now, he was paying for that power-drain.
I had to make Torin's sacrifice worthwhile. I had to get to Osiris and spellsing him before he could recover. But I barely made it five inches before something grabbed me around the waist and threw me into a wall. Another damn plant. I lay there gasping as a palm frond flicked my face tauntingly. Flick, flick, flick. That fucking bastard. The fronds were the last straw.
Frustration and fury lifted inside me and gathered around my voice box. I felt it growing: a hard lump of energy just looking for a direction to launch itself in. Except how could I launch the spell without my voice? Well, my magic didn't seem to believe in that limitation any longer. My voice gathered itself around my magic and cast itself out of me along with the spell. I literally threw my voice at Osiris like he was some kind of wooden dummy.
I watched in wonder as the magic exploded in front of Osiris in a showering fireworks display of sparks. My voice burst out of that light-show, into song, and Osiris fell backward under its sway. Embers sizzled over his bare skin and then began to fade. Luckily, I had enough sense to realize that I needed to focus the spell mentally in order to continue weaving the enchantment. It didn't really matter, though. Within minutes, Osiris was subdued, his plants just decoration once again, and his magic faded into ineffectiveness. I had my voice back.
I went to stand above Osiris as I hit the Back button on my iPod and started the song all over again. No musician liked to be interrupted, but it was especially important for me to sing this particular song fully. I wanted to make sure this spell was set so Osiris never thought to seek revenge upon me. Battling him once was enough for a lifetime. There wasn't going to be a repeat performance if I could help it.
I let the lyrics carry me up with them once more, and then we plummeted into the mind of a god . . . and changed it.
Chapter Eighteen
We left Osiris lounging luxuriously across his rumpled bed with a smile on his peaceful face. The least I could do after changing his whole attitude toward Freya, was give him some happy thoughts. He looked damn good in that bed; I almost took a pic and posted it on Instagram. But that would have been unprofessional . . . no matter how pissed I was about him attacking Torin. I mean, we did attack him first; I suppose his self-defense was warranted. Still, no one messes with my man. I snapped a dick-pic as a bonus for Freya. Hey, she at least deserved to have her curiosity appeased.
And it was both whole and attached, by the way. The removable penis rumor was pure propaganda. I may have given Osiris's rod an experimental tug just to verify this –much to Torin's horror. When I explained why I'd gotten so familiar with the Egyptian, Torin lightened up a bit. But he still didn't enjoy watching me grab another man's package. So I told him if he ever ran into a goddess, rumored to have removable breasts, I was totally okay with him testing the theory. That got me a bit of a chuckle.
Anyway, we left Osiris and exited his casino with Freya's guards –who looked damn impressed with us. As we walked across the street, Torin kept casting amazed looks in my direction. I knew exactly what they were about, and it had nothing to do with Osiris's magic rod. It was that puppet show I'd just put on. Throwing my voice like a ventriloquist; now that was something new. I don't think any spellsinger had ever had that ability . . . and I knew just who –or rather, what– to thank for it: the relic. I knew the relic had left me with a little extra oomph, I just hadn't been sure what form this oomph would take. It seemed to have finally revealed itself.
“I'm going to be a hit at parties,” I said to Torin as soon as our escort left us at Freya's door.
“Elaria,” Torin whispered and pulled me down the corridor a bit, “don't you realize how momentous this is? One of your greatest weaknesses has been the fact that someone can extinguish your magic with the simple employment of a gag. That weakness has now been eliminated.”
“Oh”–I blinked–“I hadn't thought that far ahead.”
“Ahead?” Torin's eyes went wide. “This is the present; you just did it.”
“Well, he didn't exactly gag me.” I frowned. “His magic silenced mine.”
“It was a magical gag,” Torin insisted. “Which means you can't be silenced magically or otherwise. Your power just went up several notches on the spell scale. Maybe several hundred notches.”
“I love it when you talk human.” I smirked.
“Elaria, focus!” Torin took me by the upper arms and shook me a little. “Your power was phenomenal before, but now it's . . .”
“Astronomical?” I suggested. “I've always liked that word; astronomical. It carries the weight of outer space with it. And that weight is unlimited. So it's a really heavy word. My power is astronomical!”
“Did I ever find your humor endearing?” Torin mused to himself as his hands fell away. “I can't seem to recall in this moment.”
“Hey, now”–I pointed a finger at him–“my sense of humor is cute. Quirky. I'm fucking adorable.”
“Yes, little bird”–Torin pulled me in for a hug–“you're fucking adorably scared out of your mind, aren't you?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“It's going to be okay, I swear to you.”
“Thank you,” I sighed. “I needed to hear that.”
“We aren't going to tell anyone,” he said. “Not even –in fact, especially not– Cerberus.”
“What? Why not Cerberus?” I pulled away from him.
“Because Cerberus, as much as he loves you and has your best interests at heart, has the mind of a businessman. He will immediately try to use this new ability to make money, and we can't have your talent getting out. We need to keep it secret for as long as possible.”
“Why?”
“Sweetheart”–Torin kissed my forehead–“what do you think will happen when the Beneath learns that a spellsinger has lost her one weakness; the only thing that gave them the slightest bit of comfort?”
“They'll panic,” I whispered.
“Yes, and what happens when powerful supernatural beings panic?”
“Things die
. . . usually, it's whatever panicked them. It's never a good idea to spook the herd.” My eyes widened with horror as the image of a herd of beneathers, all running angrily at me like the bulls of Pamplona, entered my mind. “Okay, I see your point. It's a good thing those security guards waited outside Osiris's suite.”
“Yes, it would have been a shame to have to slaughter innocent men.”
“Holy fuck!” I gaped at him. “You just went straight for the bloodshed. No other options even occurred to you.”
“I would do anything to protect you,” Torin vowed solemnly as his brilliant blue eyes flashed. “Anything.”
“I love the hell out of you right now,” I growled, and then pulled him into a kiss.
It turned a bit violent, with Torin lifting me and slamming me against the wall. Hands roamed, hips rolled, and we moaned together as we let our passion wash away the anxiety of the fight with Osiris. I shoved my fingers through Torin's long hair and yanked him closer, glorying in the fact that this incredible man loved me enough to kill anything and anyone who threatened me. I know it sounds violent, perhaps even psychotic, but in my world, it's just plain hot.
Finally, we edged apart, both of us breathing brokenly. I stared at Torin a moment longer, then slid down the wall and pulled him in tight. I comforted myself with the sound of his heartbeat and let go of worry over what may or may not happen with my magic. Then I stood away from him and smirked.
“As romantic as your declaration is, we don't have to kill people to ensure their silence.”
“Of course we don't.” Torin huffed self-consciously.
