by Dixie Lyle
“You don’t understand a damn thing,” he snarled at her. “In pain? I’m more than in pain. I’m destitute.” Despite his inebriation, he pronounced the last word perfectly (if somewhat carefully).
“She didn’t leave me a thing,” Hayden continued. “Turns out she knew about me and you all along.” He pointed an accusatory finger at Teresa. “That was the last thing she said to me, you know. She told me she was leaving me and that she’d already cut me out of her will.”
“You said you wanted to be free of her,” Teresa said calmly. “Now you are.”
“Free. Sure, I’m free as a bird. A bird with no place to live and nothing to eat. Sooner or later ZZ is going to throw me out on my ear, and then I’ll be a … homeless bird. With a busted ear.”
“Then I advise you learn how to walk,” said Teresa. She rose from her chair. “Time to turn in. I have quite the day ahead of me tomorrow…”
I stared after her as she left. Hayden killing Anna made far less sense if he didn’t stand to profit from it. Unless …
Unless the news itself had been enough to drive him to murder.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I went home after dinner, but I didn’t sleep much. Mostly, I lay awake wishing Ben were with me. I got up, dressed, and slipped out of the house when the sky was just starting to lighten. Whiskey hopped in the car with me and we drove out to the graveyard in silence.
They didn’t have to meet on this plane at all, of course. They could have just whirlwinded themselves right to Thunderspace and done the whole thing there—but they didn’t. Dueling is always ritualized, and part of that ritual is meeting your opponent face-to-face beforehand. I’m pretty sure that part was invented to give both parties an excuse to reconsider and maybe even settle things peacefully.
I parked at my regular spot beside the mansion and entered the graveyard via the same wooden gate I always used. Tango darted out from beneath a bush and joined us without a word as we marched along. It felt a bit like going to meet a firing squad, only it wasn’t us that was about to be shot at.
“Any luck on the ghost python front?” I asked.
“Theodora’s case? How do you figure?”
[Reincarnated, I would guess.]
[By the ghost python, of course. A brilliant theory, except for the fact that we both know that’s impossible.]
[They’re going to fight, Tango. Surely you’ve grasped that much?]
“Good point,” I said. The grass was cold and wet with dew. “Maybe they’ll throw hailstones at each other. Or blizzards.”
“Not quite.” Teresa Firstcharger stepped out from behind a tree, something she was apparently quite good at. She wore a loose-fitting track outfit and sneakers, looking more like she was dressed for jogging than a battle. “Thunderbirds are as immune to cold as they are to lightning. Both are only by-products of what really creates weather.”
“Weathermen?” I said.
“Air,” said Ben’s voice behind me. He walked up, dressed in jeans and a plain white T-shirt. I guess this duel wasn’t as formal as I thought. “Hurricanes, tornadoes, snowstorms, cloudbursts … they’re all just the result of air moving around. Wet air, warm air, cold air, whirling air. It’s all air.”
“Air and energy,” replied Teresa. “Fimsby had that much correct. He simply failed to acknowledge there are other kinds of energy at work in the world that aren’t quite as predictable as heat.”
“Whatever,” said Ben. “I didn’t come here for a lecture on metaphysics. We gonna do this or stand around talking?”
Teresa smiled. “My, how alpha male of you. Let’s see just how hot that air of yours is, shall we?”
“That,” I said, “is possibly the weirdest, most self-referential compliment/put-down/come-on I have ever heard. And I have a telepathic cat.”
[Excuse me,] Whiskey said. [Will the duelists require persons to fulfill the role of seconds?]
Strangely enough, nobody was confused about Whiskey’s use of the term seconds, which in this context meant someone to provide assistance or support to the people doing the actual dueling. I’ve never been all that clear on what a “second” was supposed to do, other than open the wooden, velvet-lined box that contained two pistols and offer them to the combatants. Help clean up the blood afterward, I guess.
“You may have one if you wish,” Teresa said to Ben. “The traditional role of a second is to ensure that the conditions of the battlefield and the weaponry are fair to both parties. I’m already satisfied that this is so.”
“Well, I’m not,” I said. “You’re clearly more experienced with your abilities, and more familiar with the terrain. Plus, as the challenged, Ben should be the one to choose the battlefield.”
Ben shook his head. “Experience is never equal. What matters is that we both have the same abilities, and the venue is fine by me. I don’t want our scrap starting tornadoes in downtown Manhattan.”
“Well, then,” I said. “The other traditional role of a second is to bear witness. And that’s exactly what I intend to do.”
Both Whiskey and Tango stared at me like I’d gone crazy.
[
“Fine by me,” said Teresa. “You can watch from the Aerie. But I can’t promise you’ll be able to see everything that happens, or that it’ll be safe.”
“Absolutely not,” said Ben flatly. “Are you insane? Do you have any idea how dangerous this is going to be?”
“Do you?” I countered. “Look, I still don’t trust her. The role of a second is to keep the duel honest, and that’s just what I’m going to do.”
“No, you’re not. You’re going to get yourself killed, because while you’re busy looking out for me you don’t have anybody looking out for you. The only way I’d allow you along is if you had a second yourself—and they’d have to have wings.”
[A flying third. Lets me out, I’m afraid. Four paws, no wings.]
“Lucky for me,” croaked a familiar voice. “Three’s my favorite number.”
A white shape flashed through the predawn light and landed on a nearby headstone. Eli, my ghost crow boss, had decided to put in an appearance.
For the first time, Teresa didn’t look quite as sure of herself. When she spoke, there was genuine deference in her voice as opposed to amusement. “Ah. I see we’ve attracted the attention of the local authorities. Greetings, Venerated One.”
If a crow could snort, that’s the sound Eli made. “Me? I’m just an old bird that’s too stubborn to quit flying. Foxtrot here is the closest thing the Great Crossroads has to an authority figure.”
It was my turn to smile. “Thank you, Eli. I do my best to maintain some semblance of order.” That was a blatant overstatement, but when your boss shows up to back your play, you’re allowed a little leeway.
“Yes, you do. Replacing you, should you come to harm, would be a lot of work. And I hate work. In fact, I’d probably take up a new hobby just to have an excuse to avoid doing said work. Any guesses what that hobby might be?” He fixed a beady eye on Teresa as he said this, but of course it was Tango and Whiskey who chimed in with suggestions.
[Cooking, perhaps? Wi
th a focus on poultry-based dishes?]
[Or there’s always quilting.]
[Who doesn’t like a nice quilt? Especially one stuffed with feathers.]
[Thank you.]
“If you two are quite done,” Eli said, “I think my point has been made. Don’t you, Miss Firstcharger?”
“It’s Ms. And yes, I understand perfectly. No harm will come to Foxtrot at my hand.”
“Hold on,” interjected Ben. “Don’t I get a say in this?”
“I doubt it,” said Eli. He launched himself into the air and flapped away.
Ben gave me an exasperated look, then threw his hands in the air in defeat. “Fine. Who am I to argue with a magic albino crow? As long as it’s safe.”
“Nothing’s safe, Ben,” said Teresa. Stray bits of grass and leaves began to gently swirl around her feet, rising higher and higher as the air moved faster. “Time for you to find that out, firsthand.”
I took a step closer to Ben, and he took my hand. He looked into my eyes as the winds began to spin around us. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he muttered.
“Me, too,” I muttered back, and squeezed his hand.
* * *
The world I knew got farther away, and a new one took its place. The ancestral home of the Thunderbird race, a realm of mostly sky. Teresa Firstcharger was nowhere in sight, which worried me. “Keep your eyes open,” I said. “I don’t trust—whoop!”
Without warning, he dove straight down, me hanging on to his hand for dear life. I don’t think he was happy with me.
Too bad. If it would save his life, he could stay mad at me as long as he wanted. Forever, if it came to that.
We plunged into gray clouds heavy with rain, and the combination of rushing air and humidity had me drenched and shivering within seconds. I didn’t complain, though; it takes more than a little physical discomfort to make me give in. I grit my teeth and did my best to pretend this was just a ride at an amusement park. Whee! Look at all the fun I’m having!
I didn’t think Teresa would outright attack us, not while Ben and I were together. She may have been arrogant, but she wasn’t dumb—and I saw the wary respect on her face when Eli showed up. She probably had a better idea what he really was than I did.
It didn’t take long to get to the Aerie. The clouds broke a few hundred feet shy of it, a vast, curving green-and-gray sphere. I looked around nervously as Ben came to rest on a large, flat-topped rock gripped by the thick, gnarled fingers of a dozen tree roots.
Before he could say anything, I grabbed him and kissed him, quick and hard. “Go kick her tail feathers,” I said. “Don’t worry about me.”
“I’ll do my best,” he growled, and took off like a rocket. In a few seconds he’d disappeared into the clouds.
“Hey,” I said. “Wait a minute. How the heck am I supposed to observe anything like this?” For some reason it had never occurred to me that he might simply fly away; it wasn’t like I could chase him, after all. No wonder he didn’t put up more of a fight.
I was alone. Just like last time … except this time he might not come back. Or he might return minus his Thunderbird powers.
I sat down on the rock and thought about it. Was that really such a bad outcome? He could go back to being a chef, which was something he loved. Hopefully, a chef that would still be working for ZZ—but I’d settle for a chef that I was still dating. And one that was, you know, still breathing.
Then someone set off the biggest flashbulb in the universe.
KRAKKOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
I nearly jumped right off the rock. That was, without a doubt, both the loudest sound and the brightest light I’d ever experienced. My ears rang like car alarms and my vision was full of jiggling black spots. The air smelled like burning ozone—okay, maybe that isn’t scientifically accurate, but that’s what my nose was insisting—and I swear I felt an actual shockwave ripple through the air an instant after the sound hit. I found myself gripping two tree roots and wishing I’d thought to at least bring along a rope to lash myself to something.
The wind picked up, going from a gentle breeze to a blustery gust in seconds. Maybe I wasn’t going to get to eyeball the action itself, but I had a ringside seat to the consequences. I scuttled farther back on the rock and tried to find a more secure place to wedge myself into, which turned out to be easier than I thought; there was a natural little cave at the base of the tree, hollowed out by nature. I ducked inside and found that I still had a pretty good view of the sky out the entrance.
And what a sky it was.
The gray clouds were retreating, churning as they went like some kind of upside-down landslide in reverse. When they got high enough, they tore themselves in two and the sun blazed out of a blue rift in the middle.
The clouds piled themselves up on either side, two huge tidal waves of dirty gray poised to crash into each other. I expected the thunderbolts to start crackling between them any moment—but that’s not what happened.
The cloud fronts surged together instead, two sumos made of smoke trying to outbelly each other. They met, merged, and began to spin. A storm cell was forming right above me, the eye of a developing hurricane. The wind howled outside my little shelter like a crazed animal.
Then the lightning started crackling. And the eye, instead of expanding, got smaller and tighter and turned into a tornado. Which was then attacked by another tornado, except the second one seemed to be full of hailstones, and then it started raining really hard. Sideways.
I was starting to get the picture. This duel wasn’t so much about inflicting personal harm on the other guy as it was about demonstrating who was better at flinging weather around.
I sat back and sighed in relief. “Okay. This isn’t a fight, it’s a dance-off.”
One that still had dire consequences for losing, but at least I could be reasonably sure Ben would survive it. And hey, it was pretty amazing to watch.
Ever seen snow flurries with a rainbow in the background? Me neither. Or sheet lightning flashing through hailstones, turning them into a skyscape of brilliant, falling diamonds?
But it wasn’t all about flashy moves. Some of it was about power, pure and simple, and when I saw one of the storm fronts abruptly recede across the sky, pulling back all the way to the horizon, I thought I might be seeing a surrender.
I was wrong.
Something was forming, out there beyond the curve of the Aerie. Something big and black and circular. It almost looked like a gigantic mouth.
Opposite this was a wall of white, an endless expanse of cloud that reached from the surface of the Aerie to the top of the sky, a huge blank piece of paper.
I could see the shape of the thing on the horizon now, a long, writhing tube of black and white that looked very much like a gigantic serpent. It was a tornado traveling lengthwise, a whirling tunnel of wind and hailstones carrying a terrifying amount of kinetic energy. It charged forward, lightning spitting from the depths of that dark maw, and in the instant before it slammed into the wall of white I saw the silhouette of a large winged shape above it.
And I knew, in my heart, who that winged shape had to be.
The tornado ripped the wall of white apart. Shredded it, consumed it, made it part of the tornado itself, until there was nothing left but a huge, whirling funnel cloud writhing overhead. It withdrew, back toward the horizon, and a second later I saw an almost identical tornado appear on the other side of the sky and get closer. A retaliation?
No. It drew closer and merged seamlessly with the first tornado, forming an unbroken loop of whirling wind encircling the entire Aerie, an orbiting vortex of air. And a declaration of victory.
The winged shape had been hidden on the other side of the tornado ring, but now it swooped around into sight, one wing tip almost grazing the to
rnado’s edge. It made a few lazy circuits around the funnel cloud, then dove into the rushing winds like an osprey hunting a salmon.
When it emerged, it held a still figure in its enormous talons.
Ben.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Thunderbird—what else could it be?—swooped down to the flat rock Ben had deposited me on and dropped Ben on it. She was fairly gentle, but I rushed out of my hiding place and over to him immediately. “Ben! Ben, are you all right?”
“He’s fine,” Teresa said. I looked up into the face of the giant bird of prey a few feet from me and did my best not to glare. Up close, she looked a lot like a bald eagle, except her head was more of a silver color than white, and her beak was black as night. Part of my brain was marveling at the fact that only a few short months ago this would have boggled my mind, and now it seemed almost ordinary. Almost.
“What did you do to him?” I demanded.
Teresa cocked her head at me and blinked. “Sucked all the oxygen out of his lungs through rapid depressurization,” she said. “He’s unconscious, but he’ll recover quickly. You don’t have to worry.”
“No? You just used a tornado to beat the crap out of my boyfriend and now you’re looking at me like I’m a fish dinner. In a world, I should mention, that seems remarkably devoid of fish.”
She chuckled. “Is this form bothering you? My apologies.” Her beak began to shrink, her feathers became skin and hair, and her body shifted from avian to humanoid. In less than a minute there was a naked woman standing in front of me instead of an oversized falcon. It didn’t really make me any more comfortable.
“So now what?” I said. “Did you suck all of Ben’s abilities out of him along with the air? Or is that some whole other ritual?”
Teresa shook her head. “Foxtrot, do you know what counting coup means?”
“I do, actually. The Plains Indians used it to commemorate acts of bravery—usually touching an enemy with a hand or coup stick, then escaping without injury.”
“That’s right. The idea, as my first husband explained it to me, was that it took more daring to not harm your enemy, while proving that you could have. By choosing not to hurt them when you could, you demonstrate not only that you have power over them but that they have none over you; by giving them their lives you assert your superiority. It’s a strategy I have a great deal of respect for.”
