But if I were right …
It was time to risk a gamble.
“You,” I said, “were never my mother.”
Meg turned just in time to see me pull the trigger.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Sam
“No!” I screamed, lurching forward until Casey caught me by the arms.
Dulcie crumpled where she was, collapsing backward and landing in a pool of blood and dust. Meg forgot about the rest of us at once and lost herself in a scream, an abyssal lament, loud and heartbreaking, a pitiful sound of fury combined with every grief in the world.
Half a second later, the ceiling fell inward, and the dragon landed on the floor with a loud crash.
Floor tiles began splintering and shattering, forming a deep crater around its feet. The wretched beast cast its eyes around the room, no longer black and red, but a deep, iridescent blue. Its wings, now neatly folded at its sides, previously managed to collapse the wall pillars and snap the stair rail right down the middle, showering the unconscious Odyssey with bits of stone and wood.
The dragon turned slightly, its shoulders shifting, its head thrashing. Then I saw the person on its back, buck naked! Eyes glowing an icy blue, and rippling with magic that didn’t belong to him.
“Knight, what the hell?” I shouted, but he didn’t hear me. Nobody could for all the cacophonous cracking and rumbling the dragon created.
Knight had his hands on the dragon’s neck, and he was whispering to it. It leaned back and seemed to listen before taking three steps backwards into the building. It stepped over Odyssey carefully, driving its hind legs through the walls in the conference rooms and the hallways beyond.
Meg didn’t pay the dragon any mind. She was on the floor beside Dulcie, hefting Dulcie into her arms and wailing, her eyes shut tightly. Knight turned and spotted Meg, then Dulcie, and the blood on her face and her throat, along with the gun in her hand …
But Dulcie was breathing. Albeit slowly. Meanwhile, Meg, who was drowning in her own panic, didn’t notice.
I couldn’t tell if Knight saw it, but he leaned forward and whispered a command to the dragon, which opened its mouth, blowing out a flame at Meg. Then it wrapped its teeth around her and bit down hard.
It lifted her into the air, letting her head thrash back and forth, snapping her limp body hard enough to break all of her bones. The beast’s throat stretched and convulsed—gathering fresh fire, ready to incinerate her to ash. Its teeth were lit from within, a pulsating red and orange light that gleamed on its tongue. Meg thrashed and screamed, her puny arms helpless and as useless as a bag of bones.
The fire roared, rumbled, and blasted through the dragon’s teeth, enveloping her. Her scream vanished in the thunder and she disappeared in an orange flash.
The world went still. Frozen solid for a miniscule fraction of a second. Long enough and slow enough, however, to see Meg’s fingers curl up, and an arc of razor-sharp shadows form in her hand. As the fire faded around her, she drove her shadow straight into the dragon’s snout.
The dragon opened its mouth, screaming, and spewing what remained of its fire skyward. Meg dropped and fell hard, splashing down in a crimson puddle of blood. Ankle deep, she was burning up, a shrieking pillar of fire, spinning like a top. She fell, rolling in red, and drowning the blaze with her blood.
The dragon’s head reared back, dropping its mouth open and ready to strike her again. Demolishing the building behind it, the poor beast struggled to gain purchase on the slick floor.
Meg sprang to her feet, whirling on the beast, her eyes yellow and wild. Her skin was all red and blistered, melting like wax. “No!” she protested, her voice breaking. “No!”
It sprang forward with teeth and claws before collapsing to the floor, rolling sideways, and pitching Knight into the wall. The impact was hard enough that we all heard something crack. The dragon twitched and screamed, steaming, and dissolving from within—its green scales turning black as ink before evaporating. The muscles began to peel away, drifting up like blackened ash in the wind. Blood streamed from a wide gash in its throat, black blood. Shadows were coiling up from the edges of its wound like smoke, floating through the air into Meg’s open hand. Glinting like steel, and sharp as cold wind, she was drawing the whole room into itself, using the shadows for concrete weapons, powered by an unholy presence.
The manifestation of the Abyss. Empty, cold, dark. The icy wrath of the void.
Five seconds later, the dragon vanished. No bones, no blood. Just a dark spot on the ground where a single shadow now lingered, waiting.
Meg stood there a moment, panting and smoking. Her hair was burned half off, and her clothes hung in greyish-black tatters. She stared at the huge crater the dragon made when it landed, seeing something that wasn’t there. Her eyes had a vacant expression.
“No,” she whispered. “No. No, no, no, no-no-no. No. No.” Her hand curled into a fist. “No. Never again.”
“Well, she’s not very nice.” Kent blinked at Meg. He appeared rather entranced, either by Meg’s bloodstained appearance or the awful ruckus she was making. If Meg heard him, she didn’t look up. Kent’s eyes flashed as he lit the fuse of his grenade, cackling with joy to finally set it off. He wound up his arm, preparing to throw the device. Meg suddenly snapped back to reality, her eyes going wide—then narrowing and turning a violent red when she saw us.
Before he could throw it, she dematerialized in a rush of black shadows. Kent waited.
“Where’d she go?” Casey asked, turning around the room and pointing his gun at anything that moved. Judy mirrored him, guarding his back.
“Shh!” said Kent. Grinning, he turned around and threw the grenade straight at the open front door.
A split second before Meg rematerialized.
Hades only knows how Kent timed his action so well.
Her plan was to catch us off guard, and flank us, so she never expected to encounter the little ball of fire and fury. She realized what was happening a split second too late—and by reflex, reached up to catch it.
“Boom!” said Kent.
The grenade happily obliged.
Meg was consumed in a burst of white-hot flames. We dove out of the way, our ears ringing. Those of us who were armed pointed our weapons at Meg, firing over and over and over again into the cloud of dust. The doorway collapsed around her, the walls buckled, and everything began to cave into the swampy foundation far below. The roof above us trembled and shook, raining debris outside as the façade continued breaking off in chunks. I briefly wondered if I could sue an organization that didn’t exist anymore for property damage.
The powder-grey cloud vanished, and Meg was definitely gone—but she reappeared a second later on the other side of the room. She was babbling frantically, rolling around in pools of blood to put out flames that clung to her coat.
“No,” she muttered, “No, no, no, no!”
The fires were finally extinguished, and she pushed herself to her feet, panting! Since that was a human reflex, I had to assume it was a sign of her desperate fear. She looked at us and laughed, sounding like the frenzied pizzicato of a lonely coyote. She was bleeding from everywhere, green and red and black, signifying her own bad magic. But she refused to die.
She continued to twitch like a malfunctioning android, turning her back to us. She gave us a crooked smile and choked on a laugh as she cocked her head.
“I tire so quickly of your games,” she said as she opened her arms, as if she were stretching. Her voice changed, turning deeper and more abrasive, echoing too. Then her eyes rolled back into her head, and she dragged the room into the Abyss.
A wave of force shot us backward before pinning us all to the walls. Ribbons were swirling and dancing in the air, their tips dagger-sharp, their spears aimed toward us. They cocooned us, like spiders spinning webs around flies. The air evaporated, turning to dry ice that burned when I tried to breathe it in. It stuck to my lungs like wet sand, clogging the air ducts, and leavin
g me choking. My skin tightened around my bones and began squeezing, then I was burning, stretching, tearing … The lights dimmed until we could hardly see our hands in front of our faces. The only light came from the fires beyond the collapsed door, a shivering, red flicker that cast long shadows on the floor.
The will of the shadow plane seemed to be caught in the emptiness of space. The vacuum became oppressive, crushing us into specks of dust. Meg remained standing in the middle of it like the self-proclaimed goddess of chaos, screaming, laughing, but making no sounds.
I snapped my fingers and concentrated on fire, lightning, ice, the cosmic pull of gravity, anything but what I saw. My mind went blank. I had no magic, no light. And no air. Nothing for a fire to consume, or lightning to travel through, no moisture in the air to freeze so I could sharpen the droplets into tiny daggers that I could throw. I had nothing I could call on.
My lungs shriveled and shrank. They dried up, empty and vacuous because there was nothing for me to inhale. For two seconds, nothing changed. Everything came to a standstill. A hush of sound that seemed without end, everyone waiting to see who would be the first to drop.
I looked around when there was enough light to see. The barest remnants of the real world indicated where everyone was. Meg was spitting toxic shadows, aiming them at us, suffocating us by vacuuming our oxygen. Kent, Judy, Casey, and Christina were plastered to the wall like decorative dolls, their arms splayed, staring at the cold, empty darkness or just waiting for it to swallow them whole. Everyone’s limbs were straining, reaching for guns, or throats, or anything they could grasp.
Rowena had her arms out and her eyes closed. She seemed totally removed from the blackness, standing in a spotlight, an untouched circle of tile. Her shadow stretched on the wall beside her, morphing into something tall and thin, almost skeletal. She was ringed in suspicious light, which probably wasn’t light at all. Glowing with a power that shouldn’t have existed, it was older than alchemical magic.
Rowena’s skin stretched, ripped, and bled, turning from talcum white to grave-dirt black. Her eyes glowed, and light poured from her mouth. It was shining in the depths of her being, swelling inside her, filling her body with an ancient power, the parting gift of the creature that burned her so long ago.
Changing. An iridescent green glow, like the prismatic rainbow shine of a bubble—seemed only seconds from bursting. Casey’s eyes went wide as he realized what she was doing. He mouthed, No! But if he made any sound, it was swallowed up by the ether. Not that it mattered. Rowena was already past hesitation. The light pulsed and shrank before it exploded from her in a rush of burning, emerald fire.
It wasn’t like any other fire. It could burn where there was no air. The shadow plane dissolved, and we dropped to the floor, all of us sucking in breath, or trying to. The light returned, orange and grey, the colors of sunrise and fire.
Meg screamed and fell before she scrambled backwards, shrieking and wailing. When she hit a wall and the persistent fire reached her, her skin was the first to regret it. Her clothes were green and glowing, feeling hot even from a distance. Sulphur and brimstone, Greek fire, something that could not be put out. It fed on the blood of others, spreading, devouring, and filling the room with towers of contorting color.
“No, no, no, no!” Meg screamed before she started tearing off her clothes. Ripping the fabric, shredding it with her nails, she bit all the latches and buttons that stubbornly refused to come off on their own. Her eyes were alive with panic, and the fire itself left her trembling. The human part of her still remembered how it felt to fear death.
She began to stammer, screaming wordlessly, slamming herself against the wall and rolling on the floor, but the fire clung tenaciously to her. Blistering her skin before slowly melting it, she was turning to charcoal despite her dire attempts to frantically push it away. She lost the battle and all of the homicidal impulses drained out of her. There was nothing left but raw fear.
Until she simply vanished. Wrapping herself in dark shadows, she began screaming at the top of her calcified lungs. Then she popped, fizzled, and strangled herself on her own dark chords. She just disappeared, leaving behind a smoky silhouette and no more than a whisper of white fire.
Gone!
The light gradually diffused in Rowena, contracting into her core. The skeleton shadow vanished in a rush, his purpose fulfilled. The flames that remained snuffed themselves out. Rowena collapsed beneath a lingering shadow, a darkness with no tangible form. It caught her and set her gently down—staying only long enough to kiss her forehead and stroke her hair.
Then it faded, washed away like sidewalk chalk in the rain. Rowena lay motionless on the cold, broken floor. Still breathing, yes, but out cold, and the steam radiated off her skin. For ten blissful seconds, we all just sat there. Breathing. Observing. Listening.
Dulcie got to her feet slowly. She tossed the gun aside and looked down at herself, scowling at her dress and the pervasive bloodstains.
“Dulcie!” I shouted.
She looked at us. Then, specifically, at me. “She’s gone,” she said. I got up and walked over to her, wanting to run but I was hardly able to stand. Dulcie met me halfway, tackling me in a bear hug. We gripped each other and I started crying, listening to Dulcie shush me, loving her smile, laughing all the tension away. My legs buckled, but she held me up—without a flinch, she supported me, like I weighed no more than a paper doll.
“Dulcie, what … what the hell …” I said through my blurry tears. “You … you shot … you shot yourself—”
“No,” she said, sounding sleepy. “I didn’t. I just pretended to. I’ll, um, explain later.” She smacked her lips and looked around. “She’s gone?”
I nodded. “She’s definitely gone.”
Dulcie nodded slowly, squeezing her eyes shut like her head hurt. “Ow,” she said, pressing her hand on her temple.
“Dulcie?” I said. A thousand questions filled my head, cramming themselves into my mouth, and I started stammering. “I can’t believe … what happened … Meg and you, and … Knight …”
“Dulcie?”
Landing on my feet, I was ready to support my own weight again, and I graciously stepped aside. Knight was not far behind me, and blood crusted one side of his face. Still naked and gleaming with sweat, the blue glow was gone from his eyes. It was replaced by the molten copper glow of a Loki’s claim when he sees his love, the greatest source of his terror, and his chosen mate, Dulcie.
“Dulcie,” he said again, his voice sounding heavy. His eyes began watering.
“Knight,” Dulcie said quietly as she turned to face him. Then they both just stood there, staring at each other. For a moment, neither of them moved until they began embracing. They remained totally silent, just breathing each other’s scent in and holding on tightly, as if by letting go, they risked losing each other again.
“Dulcie,” Knight whispered. “I … I’m so sorry.”
She squeezed him tighter. “Not now. Please don’t say anything now.”
Knight nodded, resting his chin on her head. He didn’t say anything else, but he kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes, clinging to her like he’d never release her.
The room became very quiet and the rest of us stood up. My shoes were sticky with blood, and the distant fires made grey shadows dance across the broken walls, spilling in from the busted ceiling.
I felt warm hands on my shoulder as Casey turned me to face him. He was smiling, despite being covered in dust and dirt and blood. His glasses were crooked on his nose, and one lens was shattered beyond repair.
“Hey,” he said, placing a hand on my cheek. “Are you okay?”
I nodded and met his hand with mine before I squeezed it. I just wanted to soak up his warmth. “Yeah. I’ve been better, but I’m all right.”
He nodded and kissed me. Slow, cozy, and still recovering from the sudden calm.
I pulled away first—we had work to do. “Odyssey,” I said, suddenly rememberin
g why we were here.
“Right.”
We ran to the stairs where the president was still pinned to the floor, a knife buried in her shoulder two inches deep. A fine, red line was scored on her cheek, and she had scratches damn near everywhere. Blood was oozing from around the knife in pulsating, scarlet waves.
“This is going to hurt,” Casey said.
Odyssey was barely conscious or breathing, like a heavy weight was crushing her lungs. “Just … do it.”
Casey nodded, grabbing the blade by the handle.
“Hang on,” Christina said as she pushed herself to her feet. She walked over to the stairs on quivering legs, sitting down hard next to Odyssey, and shook her fist, conjuring a mound of fairy dust.
“Dulcie,” Knight whispered behind us. “There’s something I have to tell you …”
“Okay,” Christina said. “Go.”
Casey nodded and slid the blade free. No serrations, thank Hades—just a flat, sharp blade. Christina let the dust fall over the wound before she closed her eyes and began humming softly. Slowly, the skin stitched itself back together. Odyssey sighed and sat up. She looked around at the brave, dead bodies, and her expression was grim.
She sized up all of us. Turning her eyes to the door and the city that was being torn to pieces, she said, “I need to make a call.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Sam
Justin Trudeau is a remarkably accommodating man.
President Odyssey returned to the Oval Office with us—the same one which Meg had ripped and shredded and torn to shit, but that didn’t really matter. The phone was still intact and, thankfully, secure. Odyssey sat on the desk and dialed the number. Within hours, we had the entire Canadian militia helping what was left of our home-base military sweep the streets of more than a dozen cities, arresting all the creatures who surrendered and killing the ones who refused to surrender.
Nobody called it a loss.
Pride and Poltergeists Page 30
