Harsh Gods

by Michelle Belanger

  She didn’t scream—just loosed a tiny startled sigh as she slipped from the head of the gargoyle. For an awful, breathless moment, she seemed to hover on the air, her wide, dark eyes locked to my own.

  I reacted before my brain could tell me it was a bad idea.

  With faster-than-human movements, I leapt and spread my wings. They were useless on this side of reality, but that didn’t register. I vaulted over the gargoyle, slamming into Halley before she’d dropped below its open jaws.

  I caught her in my arms and she clung to me—but now we were both going over, and there was nothing but concrete and death stretching ninety feet below.

  Behind me, Malphael made a derisive sound—maybe it was words, maybe not. I lost the meaning to my racing thoughts.

  There was only one place where I could fly, but nothing like a Crossing hung upon the air. Even if I could shadow-walk, that wouldn’t help Halley. I’d save my own hide, leaving her to die.

  Two thoughts occurred to me in the milliseconds that passed as my feet traded stone for empty air.

  I had a relic in my pocket.

  Terhuziel had called Halley the child of my tribe.

  That made sense—so much sense. From the start she’d done things that I did. Channeled languages. Peered through the Shadowside. Plucked thoughts and emotions from others with just a touch. Even her reactions to the cold—she shivered, but she shouldn’t have been able to function this long in such ill-suited clothes. But I was so used to my own reactions, it had failed to register as unusual.

  Anakim blood beat in her veins—diluted perhaps, but still potent. We were the only tribe who could bodily make the transition. So what of our descendants? I thought at her in a rush, thrusting layers of complicated concepts through all the words. The message flashed in the space between one heartbeat and the next. I knew from my own experiences with Terael how bad that felt, but there was no time to be delicate.

  The wings you can see aren’t here where your body is. There’s another direction. Follow me.

  Her panic hammered against both of us.

  I kept one arm around her, digging with the other in my pocket. Time raced and the ground rushed up. The warded silk tingled against my fingers, but the ring was lost in its folds. Halley clung to my neck, burying her head against my chest. Her hair lashed my face.

  Don’t die with me, Wingy.

  Visions of her tower, Rapunzel, a cat I hadn’t even seen at her house, her little brother—treasured things, laughter, regrets, all cascaded through her head. Books and stories and lost goodbyes, all so fragile.

  I won’t let you die, I promised.

  I tore at the silk. Finally my fingers brushed the ring, and the power of the relic hummed beneath my touch. I closed my hand around it, and there wasn’t even time to gulp a breath.

  Here we go.

  I held my mind open to hers as I reached through the relic’s connection to the other side of reality. My body stuttered on the verge of transition, and I experienced the mechanics of crossing in excruciating detail—the sense of the veil, pushing to rip it, fighting to drag all that I was from one side to the next.

  I felt every iota of what I attempted to pull across—my jacket, the deadly blades strapped to my wrists, the heavy steel-toed boots.

  And the girl.

  Frail as she was, she hung like an anchor wound around my neck. I struggled against that resistance, while the tower streaked past.

  It wasn’t going to work.

  I need your help, I thought.

  My wings beat uselessly against the pummeling air.

  Like a curtain. Rip.

  Everything flew by, faster than thought. Too fast.

  I shoved against the veil again, thundering directions at Halley with an urgency that defied words. The bent railing, the woman’s broken body—all of it was terribly, fatally near. I could see where the fallen rifle had cut its shape through a nearby drift of snow.

  Zaquiel!

  With unexpected power, she intoned my Name—the same way that I did, each syllable a spell. Light and meaning surged within me, and together we rode that rush. The relic burned against my hand, little shards of precious gems embedding themselves into my fingers as the stones shattered with the effort of dragging us both across.

  Together, we broke through.

  The ground flickered, snow replaced by a memory of grass, leached of all color. I shouted my exultation, though I barely had breath for it. Halley twined around my torso and I dropped the shards of the spent relic to cradle her with both arms. My wings caught the wind of our free fall and I guided us into an arc.

  “Wow,” she breathed. I felt more than saw her head tilt up, tracking the motion behind my shoulders.

  “Pretty fucking cool, right?”

  She nodded, shivering against me. I shifted my grip on her, climbing higher to avoid the naked branches of twisted Shadowside trees. I aimed us toward the Mayfield Gate, far beyond Malphael’s reach.

  “Way quicker than walking, hunh?”

  That time, I couldn’t feel her nod, though I heard the chatter of her teeth even over the rhythmic sound of my wings. She was such a frail thing—she weighed next to nothing. Even so, I felt the strain the longer I kept her aloft—I wasn’t exactly built for passengers. The ground sped by beneath us, exhilarating now that the worst threat was past.

  As I closed upon the cemetery gate, her hands went limp and slid from my neck.

  “Halley?”

  I shook her. She sagged in my grip. Her head lolled back.

  From the tail of my vision, I could see her eyes, half-lidded. Only white peered through the fringe of dark lash.

  “Halley!” I cried. I moved to support her head, one arm under her shoulders, the other under the small of her back. Her legs dangled, dragging the air.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I hissed, angling toward a clearing.

  Dead weight now, she made it hard to maneuver. As I tried to land, her legs tangled in my own. I hit, hard and awkward, curling my body around hers as I rolled into the fall. I tucked one wing in time, wrenching the other nearly out of joint as I skidded across the ground, taking the brunt of the impact on that wing and shoulder. I bit my tongue as the top of Halley’s head banged against my chin.

  I tore back to the flesh-and-blood world with a cry that was anger and panic and frustration all thrust together in one excruciating sound. Halley lay limp on the snow beneath me.

  She wasn’t breathing.

  53

  I heard Bobby Park before ever seeing him.

  “Where did you even come from?” he gasped. The young detective’s words barely registered. He stood maybe twenty feet away, his service pistol drawn in gloved hands. His grip wavered as he aimed in our direction. Shock grayed his features.

  “Zack?” he called. “That’s you, right?”

  I crouched over Halley in an open stretch of undisturbed snow.

  “No… Halley,” I cried. “No!”

  Her lips were already turning blue.

  “There aren’t even footprints,” Park muttered. He pointed the muzzle of his weapon toward the ground as he approached.

  “Bobby!” I yelled. “Do you know CPR?”

  His eyes grew wide, only now taking in the prone form of the girl. He holstered his weapon and rushed over.

  “Sorry. I didn’t see her.” He ducked his head as he breathed the apology. “Yeah, I do.”

  Struggling out of my leather, I lifted Halley’s shoulders to slide the jacket beneath her. Bobby peeled out of his own coat, shuddering as he shoved it my way. I wrapped the girl’s legs as he bent an ear to her mouth.

  Frowning, he flicked his eyes to mine.

  Without saying anything, he cleared her airways, tilting her head back and lifting her chin.

  “Hold her like this,” he said. “Forehead back, chin up.” He spoke rapidly as he matched word to gesture. “Pinch her nose. Close your mouth around her mouth and breathe. Two full breaths, not too deep. I’ll do the ches
t. That’s the tricky part.”

  “We have to get her out of the cold,” I said.

  “We have to get her breathing first,” he insisted. “Now.”

  While I bent over and breathed for Halley, Bobby picked off his gloves and moved his fingers around the base of her ribs, searching for the place to begin compressions. He found it.

  Two breaths from me, and then Bobby shoved hard against her sternum. Ribs crackled, but he didn’t even blink, just pushed the heels of his hands about halfway into her thin torso, repeating the gesture with swift and steady speed as he kept a whispered count.

  I bent to breathe for her again, but he shook his head sharply.

  “I reach thirty, then two more,” he said. “Next round, grab my cell off my belt and call 911.”

  “I thought you were 911. Where are the others?”

  Evasion darkened his features. “I came alone.”

  “What the hell?” I demanded.

  “Breathe—now,” he hissed.

  Two more breaths. Bobby started back up with his thirty-count, muscles on his neck cording.

  “You were supposed to be the cavalry,” I said. “Didn’t Father Frank tell you to bring backup?”

  He didn’t look up from Halley this time.

  “Garrett’s involved in this, isn’t he?”

  My silence was all the answer he needed.

  “He’s a good man, Zack. You know that.”

  I didn’t bother with the tired refrain. Between us, Halley lay pale and unresponsive. The blue tint around her lips had lessened somewhat. That was something, at least.

  “Shit went wrong the minute we walked into that house,” Bobby continued. His voice vibrated a little with each compression. CPR took real work. Despite the chill, beads of sweat stood out on his brow. “I can’t explain it, but it’s not him doing these things. I know it. I had to give him a chance to make it right, before calling it in.”

  I held my silence, bending once more to breathe. Mentally, I reached for Halley, seeking any sense of her locked within her body or drifting as a spirit nearby.

  Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your long hair.

  The faintest contact brushed my mind in response, clinging like strands of spider silk.

  This time, Snow White, she corrected.

  With that uncomfortable symbolism at the front of my thoughts, I locked my mouth around hers and filled her lungs with breath.

  Halley’s body jerked with a spasm. Bobby stopped the compressions. She sucked air on her own, then sputtered, choking.

  “Turn her head, turn her head,” Park instructed. He drew back from his work, swiping a hand across his brow.

  I rolled her onto her side, and just in time. She vomited into the snow.

  “That happens,” he said. “It’s normal.”

  All our focus was on Halley when Lil’s voice rang through the air.

  “You wrecked my car, you bastard!” she yelled.

  Both our heads snapped up. The Lady of Beasts stood about ten yards away, legs spread in a firing stance. Her wild curls blew back from her brow, revealing a purpling bruise at her hairline. The wound was shocking—I’d never seen Lil with so much as a paper cut. She straddled the path to the front gate, holding not her Derringer, but a much larger pistol. It looked a lot like Bobby’s gun.

  “What the hell?” Park demanded.

  From the opposite direction, a familiar voice boomed, deep and flat.

  “A fair price for your interference, bitch.”

  Malphael strode toward us, wearing Garrett’s body, a blood-smeared messenger bag slung across his chest. With each step, it bounced heavily against his thigh. There was little doubt what it contained.

  “Zaquiel,” he called. “I am holding to our bargain. You will give me the girl, and then I will leave.”

  “That’s close enough,” Lil called. The gun never wavered.

  “Zack, what’s going on?” Bobby hissed.

  Mutely, I hunched over Halley. She curled around herself, still spitting weakly into the snow.

  “Call off your woman, Anakim,” Malphael boomed.

  “His woman?” Lil barked. “I will feed you your balls.”

  She sighted the pistol a little lower.

  “Drop the gun, lady,” Park called. He grabbed his own weapon again, and held it at the ready.

  “She’s on our side,” I hissed.

  I mostly believed it.

  “He’s unarmed,” Bobby insisted.

  “Hardly,” I replied. To Malphael, I called, “You got what you came for. Now get the hell out of my city.”

  Bobby’s grip on his pistol wavered. He looked pleadingly toward his partner. “What’s he talking about, Dave?”

  Malphael didn’t even spare him a glance. His smoldering eyes remained fixed solely on me. “I will take her by force.”

  “Like hell you will.”

  I leapt to my feet, the daggers drawn before I even thought about it. Blue-white fire danced on honed curves of steel.

  “Holy shit!” Bobby choked, nearly losing his gun.

  Malphael beckoned me closer, his cruel smile spreading wide through David Garrett’s battered features. The scent of sulfur grew thick upon the air as he brought his hands together to call his own flame-kissed blade.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Lil spat. “Not this again.”

  She shot him.

  54

  The bullet crashed into Garrett’s shoulder, right at the joint. Blood flecked with fragments of bone speckled the drifts at his feet. He staggered back, bellowing in pain, arm dangling uselessly. The coalescing energies of his two-handed blade dispersed like smoke on the morning air.

  “Jesus, no!” Bobby cried.

  The basso notes of Malphael’s unearthly voice drowned out Garrett’s as he howled with wordless rage.

  “Aw, did I break your meat-sack?” Lil taunted.

  Halley shrilled in the wake of the gunfire, arms curled round her head.

  “Bobby, get her out of here,” I said.

  “Your friend shot my partner!” he yelled.

  “You gotta know that’s not Dave any more.”

  Bobby faltered a moment, avoiding my gaze. Shuddering with more than the bitter temperature, he holstered his pistol and bent for Halley. He cradled her awkwardly, struggling to keep her wrapped in both of our coats. She was nearly as tall as he was.

  Lil chambered another round.

  “His vessel’s a cop, Lil!” I warned.

  “I haven’t killed him yet, flyboy,” she snapped. She kept the gun trained on Malphael, stepping sideways in a wide arc until she had a clear line of fire well away from the rest of us.

  Bobby paused in an ankle-deep drift halfway to the main path. Halley clung weakly to his neck.

  “You can’t let her kill him,” he pleaded. “There’s a good man in there. You don’t remember, but—”

  “Get the kid to a hospital. I’ll handle this.”

  Still, he hesitated.

  “Go on, Bobby,” I urged. “You’ve got to trust me on this. It’s not safe for either of you while he’s still here.”

  With a doleful glance toward Garrett, he turned with his burden, hurrying toward the cruiser parked further up the hill.

  Beyond us, Malphael fumed as the body he’d overtaken teetered awkwardly. Blood sluiced freely down the wounded arm. His good hand twitched to put pressure on the wound, but in the next instant it jerked away. His features warred with themselves.

  Lil drew ever closer.

  “I will see you bound in the desert for your interference,” he spat.

  “Shut up and bleed on the snow,” she replied.

  Malphael tried moving the injured arm as he called his power again. I held my blades at the ready. Garrett’s face went a doughy gray as Malphael struggled.

  “Joints are such a bitch,” she taunted. “Don’t you need two hands for your favorite toy?”

  The Gibburim raised an infuriated cry. His vessel’s knees buckled. Sput
tering curses, he sank heavily to the ground. The figure of smoke and flame that overshadowed Bobby’s partner reared back, hatred spilling from his twinned sets of eyes.

  “Can’t get it up?” He didn’t respond, and Lil kept the gun trained on him, circling in an ever-tightening spiral. “Stretched yourself too thin. Even left your pistol behind after you tried to off me. Sloppy.”

  Malphael muttered scathing imprecations. Closing now, Lil jammed the muzzle of the weapon against the back of his head. At the contact, one of them—the Gibburim or Garrett—twitched.

  “Better jump ship now,” she said breathily against his ear, “unless you want the full experience of a bullet through the brain. If the vessel dies with you still in it, don’t you get stuck here till some new sucker comes along? How long you think that’ll be?”

  “Just knock him out, Lil,” I said. “We can deal with Malphael later.” I moved to put action to words. As I leaned closer, a spasm rolled through the muscles of the fallen man’s face. His whole body seized and for one brief moment, Detective David Garrett looked up at me with eyes that were wholly his own.

  “Kill me,” he choked.

  “You don’t have to ask me twice.” Lil slid her finger over the trigger. “Zack, move out of the way.”

  “No—there’s got to be a way to save him.” I fumbled for something to tie off the bleeding arm. Abruptly the body went rigid as Malphael struggled to reassert his control.

  “You are the honorless cur, and I refuse to count you as my brother,” he snarled, lips and words now jarringly out of sync. “This isn’t over. I will come back for what is mine.”

  A terrible cry ripped from his throat, and he vomited a gout of black, sulfurous smoke. Lil danced to the side as the man’s spine bowed, his head practically kissing his heels.

  The shadow of the Gibburim rose up, spreading tattered wings. He launched himself heavenward, his shape more like a dragon than a man. His bottom half spooled out from the body like thread being yanked from a badly stitched seam.

  As the last bit unwound, the fiery shadow tore free, and Garrett crumpled empty at my feet.

  EPILOGUE

  David Garrett lived. He wished he hadn’t.