Above, the fireworks continued to go off in tremendous blasts, the pyrotechnicians atop the tall buildings unaware of the disaster unfolding so far below. The sky was choked with streams of colored fire, burning like a host of new suns. Amidst the smoke and the flame, something moved.
“Rook!” shouted Dominic, pointing. “He’s coming this way!”
As Rook crossed above the small park opposite city hall, a dark shape arrowed out of the sky and struck him.
Molly.
Dominic screamed, a sound of pain and horror. Rook tumbled from the sky, disappearing into the shadows of the park, and Molly followed him down.
Tom raced across the street to the park, dodging the remains of the disintegrating crowd as best he could. His feet slipped in blood, and he leapt over a motionless body. Cicero took cat form and streaked ahead of him, his black fur lost amidst shadows that jumped and shifted with each explosion overhead. The air stank of fear and gun powder, and concussive blasts shook the air as the guns on the Battery added their salute to the new city.
Red, white, and blue paper tape hung from the trees of the park, streaming in the wind. Fire flickered amidst the branches, from lanterns either dropped or thrown by the panicking crowd. Smoke began to drift into the air like an unnatural fog. Sheet music lay crumpled in the park’s grass, and a platform similar to the one on the steps of city hall stood not far from the street.
Noah stood in front of the platform, holding something dark in his arms.
“Rook!” Dominic shouted.
“Not another step further.” Noah’s eyes were narrowed into slits, his lips pulled back from his teeth. Rook’s wings flapped weakly, and he tightened his grip on the crow’s neck. “Come any closer, and I’ll twist his fucking head off.”
Tom froze, as did Dominic. Dominic’s face was white with fear, and he half-raised a hand, as if to stay Noah. “Please,” he said, then fell silent.
Noah ignored him, his gaze fixed on Tom. “How the hell are you still alive? Are you literally too stupid to die? Or was it all a trick—did Cicero only pretend the bond was severed, so he could lead you to the tunnels?” His hand flexed on Rook’s neck. “He should have been an actor instead of a dancer.”
Tom held up his own hands. “Let Rook go.” He was painfully aware of his heart beating in his chest, of Dominic silent and afraid beside him. He couldn’t see Cicero, but he could feel his familiar’s presence, moving through the shadows.
Stalking.
“If you want a hostage, take me,” Tom went on. Keeping Noah’s attention fixed on him. “Think about it, Noah. You’d rather have me at your mercy than Rook, surely.”
“Tempting. But he’s easier to control.” Noah took a step back. “I’ll just have to take satisfaction from knowing you’ll be dead soon enough, along with your treacherous whore of a familiar.” His eyes widened suddenly. “Where is—”
A black shape exploded from the branches of the nearest tree, launching itself directly at Noah’s head.
Noah instinctively let go of Rook, raising his hands to protect his face. But he was just a moment too slow, and he let out a startled scream as Cicero’s claws and teeth sank in.
“Get Rook out of here!” Tom shouted, although he doubted Dominic needed the encouragement. Dominic scooped Rook up, cradling the injured crow to his chest. Then he ran back the way they’d come.
Noah had fallen to the ground; Cicero shifted back to human form and straddled his chest. The fire was drawing nearer, and smoke billowed wildly around them, accompanied by floating ash.
Cicero’s fingers locked around Noah’s throat, and his yellow-green eyes reflected the flames. “Fottuto bastardo,” he snarled into Noah’s reddening face, “te ne pentirai—”
“Cicero, stop!” Tom grabbed Cicero’s shoulder.
Cicero hissed but released Noah. As Noah heaved in great gasps of air, Tom seized him by the collar and hauled him to his feet. Blood streaked Noah’s face, leaking from deep punctures in his forehead, cheek, and chin, and his left eye had swelled shut.
“Please, don’t kill me!” Noah cried. He looked utterly terrified, all his sneering bravado gone now that the situation had turned against him.
Tom gave him a hard shake. He wasn’t going to kill Noah in cold blood—but Noah obviously didn’t know that. “Give me one good reason not to,” he growled.
“I know things,” Noah babbled, his one good eye rolling wildly. “About the ones who planned all this. The ones who are pulling Molly’s strings. I can tell you—”
There came the loud crack of a gunshot. A spray of warm, wet blood struck Tom in the face. Noah went limp, half his head gone.
Tom let out a cry of horror and disgust and let the body fall. “Tom!” Cicero shouted in warning, and Tom wrenched his gaze from the dead man to find himself looking into Molly’s eyes.
The flaming streamers sent sparks through the air, and smoke rippled as she passed through it. In her hand, she held a gun, which she lifted and pointed at him. “Such a disappointment, Liam,” she said.
Cicero stepped to his side, so they stood shoulder-to-shoulder. “His name is Tom.”
Despite the fear gripping him, Tom felt a flash of gratitude. Molly tossed her head, hair streaming like the fire behind her.
“All I see is two traitors,” she said. “One to his family, and the other to his kind. Tell me, cat, how long did you have left before the witches pressured you into bonding with one of them? Or was a cozy bed and hot meals enough for you to whore out your magic?”
“At least I’m not a murderer,” Cicero replied, his voice steady, though Tom could feel him trembling.
“What are a few deaths in exchange for a new age? The time of the witches is over. We are in the ascendant now. Too bad you won’t live to see it.”
Tom stepped forward, putting himself in front of Cicero. “Molly, don’t.”
Her aim shifted slightly, the bore pointing right between his eyes. “You should have stayed dead, Liam.”
Two shapes burst from the thick smoke and collided with Molly. Cicero shoved Tom, hard, and he stumbled to one knee even as the roar of the gun sounded.
Molly screamed. Two maddened shapes crouched over her—the woman, Leona, her eyes bloody and her suit torn to shreds, accompanied by the man who had been painting the nude model in Noah’s apartment. Molly swung her pistol at Leona’s head, attempting to use the heavy steel as a bludgeon.
Leona’s teeth sank into Molly’s arm. Molly shrieked in pain, thrashing wildly, but the two hexed attackers ignored her struggles and pinned her to the ground.
Tom staggered to his feet. He had to go to Molly—had to break the hexes on Leona and her companion, even though it would kill them.
Molly’s scream ended in a wet gurgle as the man sank his teeth into her throat.
“Molly,” he said dumbly.
She would have killed them—had been responsible for the deaths of innocents tonight, and probably before. She’d let Isaac be tortured because it fit her purposes. And yet he felt oddly hollow.
He’d thought her gone for so many years. Believed he was the only one who remembered Danny, and Da, and Ma, and the rest. She might have been his enemy, but they’d been close, once, and he’d never wanted her dead.
Cicero grabbed Tom’s arm, pulling at him. Smoke billowed more thickly around them now, fragments of burning paper tape falling like rain. “It’s too late!” he shouted. “We have to get out of here!”
Tom drew breath to answer, but ended up with a lungful of smoke instead. His eyes stung and streamed, and a burning branch fell from a tree, dangerously close to Cicero.
“Aye,” he managed to gasp.
Together they ran from the park. Once they were in the free air again, Tom halted, taking gasps of the cold night wind and wiping tears and soot from his face. Cicero was filthy, Noah’s blood on his mouth and beneath his nails, his hair disarranged and his skin covered with ash and dirt.
“Are you all right?” Tom asked, when he could speak withou
t coughing.
Cicero nodded. His smoke-reddened eyes went to something over Tom’s shoulder, and he stiffened. “We’re not out of it yet.”
Tom turned to peer down the street. Screams and shouts sounded from all directions, and he saw a man desperately fighting to hold off two victims of the Viking curse. “We have to help him. Help as many as we can.”
There came the sound of footsteps behind them. Tom turned quickly, half afraid they were about to be set upon themselves. Ferguson and Yates jogged out of the billowing smoke. Ferguson wore his dress uniform, but it was smeared with blood and filth. “Halloran!” Ferguson barked. “That is, O’Connell. Can you break the hex?”
“I’d rather Halloran, if it’s all the same to you, sir,” Tom said, though he had no claim to the name. “And aye. I don’t see why not.”
Cicero’s eyes widened. “But they’ll die! Tom, they’re innocent! They didn’t know what Noah gave them. Leona…”
Was probably already dead, given the fiery blaze consuming the park. Tom wanted to pull Cicero into his arms, to shield him from the world. To give him a safe place to mourn.
But there would be a great many more to mourn before this was over.
“A lot more people will die if we don’t stop them,” Ferguson said. “Come along, you two. We’re going to—”
“Breaking the hexes one at a time seems inefficient,” Yates interrupted. “More people will be injured in the meantime.”
Ferguson frowned. “Do you have a better suggestion, doctor?”
“Two, in fact.” Yates turned to Tom. “If you had one of the hexes in hand, do you think you could use its resonance to get a sense of the others? Destroy them all at once, using Cicero’s magic to boost your native ability?”
“Devil if I know,” Tom said honestly. “I broke a bunch at once in the warehouse, but they were all packed in together. Not spread out like this.”
Cicero bristled. “You mean kill them all at once? No. I won’t be party to the murder of my friends. Not without at least trying something else first.”
“Do you think I wanted to kill my brother?” Tom demanded. “Or my da? He tore off my ma’s face!” Tom pressed his hands to his eyes, as if he could blot out the memory. “Your friends ain’t been out there drinking tea. They’re monsters now, and I’m damned sorry for it.”
“I know.” Cicero’s voice was soft, and he leaned his slender body against Tom’s. “But there has to be another way.”
“There ain’t!”
“There might be, if you’d let me finish,” Yates snapped. Startled, Tom dropped his hands. “The original hex, yes, you’re no doubt quite right when you say there was nothing else to be done. But when it comes to the chained hex, there might be a way around it. If you were to break only the second part of the chain—the absinthe hex—it might return them to the state they were in before. Any effects of the modified Viking hex would still be active, but they wouldn’t be murderous killers.”
Could it work? Tom glanced at Cicero’s hopeful face. “Then they won’t die?”
“In theory.” Yates took a hex from his pouch and handed it to Tom. “Here is the absinthe hex. Concentrate on it, on any hexes like it, and break them using the power Cicero gives you.”
Tom hesitated. “Would that even work?”
“Of course it will work.” Cicero folded his hand over Tom’s. “I’m Cicero the cat, and you’re my witch. We can do anything.”
Tom almost wanted to laugh. “No one ever said you were modest. But this is big. Bigger than any magic we’ve done yet.” He hesitated. “I ain’t going to be like Noah, hurting you for your magic.”
Cicero’s green eyes seemed to glow in the night. The fireworks had at last ceased, and it seemed they stood alone in a small bubble of peace amidst the chaos. “I know.” He smiled. “I trust you, Thomas. And you can trust me.” His grip tightened gently. “We’ll always keep each other safe.”
Tom nodded, afraid his voice would break if he spoke aloud. Instead, he focused on the hex in front of him.
It vibrated like a plucked string, or a fast-beating heart. His awareness of it sharpened, and he knew he could break it with ease.
But he needed more.
Magic flowed, like a river of light, like a second heartbeat nestled against his own. His awareness expanded, and he could feel other vibrations against his skin, even though they were nowhere near him. He pushed, farther and farther, found more and more of them…until there were no more to find.
Then he stilled their song.
“It worked!” Yates shouted, almost in his ear.
Shocked, Tom opened eyes he didn’t remember closing. At the end of the road, the hex victims had ceased their attack. Instead, they stood clutching each other in shock, eyes wide with terror as their erstwhile prey fled.
“I told you,” Cicero said. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed into Tom’s arms.
“Just look at you,” Cicero said from his perch on the edge of their new desk in the detectives’ area. “All official with your shiny badge.”
Tom glanced up from the silver Witch Police badge he’d been examining. A slow grin spread over his features. “Aye. But I’ll miss my big stick.”
The smile made Cicero’s heart beat faster, just as it always had. “Just be sure you keep the uniform, darling,” he said with a wink.
It had been two weeks since the New Year’s Eve celebration. The number of dead and wounded had been less than feared. Mainly thanks to Tom and him, of course.
Even so, it had taken a while for the MWP to figure out exactly what to do with Tom. He was a wanted criminal, thanks to his involvement in the Cherry Street Riots…and at the same time, the new mayor meant to pin a medal on him for heroism.
In the end, Ferguson had taken what seemed the simplest course of action. The official story was that Tom Halloran had been the victim of mistaken identity. Liam O’Connell was confirmed dead these last eight years, his picture removed from the rogues gallery, and his files mysteriously gone missing.
As for the violence and mayhem at the celebration, one part of Molly’s plan was coming to fruition. She’d meant to pin everything on the anarchists, and, in the absence of anyone else to take the blame, that had indeed happened. An extensive search of the tunnels beneath Cherry and Water Streets had turned up no sign of the other familiars who had worked with her, and no hint of the conspiracy she’d been involved with. As for the traitors within the MWP itself…
Perhaps there had only been two. More likely, others lurked within their ranks. Waiting to strike a blow for their cause.
Theriarchy.
Tom tilted his head slightly. “What’s wrong?”
“Just thinking that ruling the world sounded a lot better in my head.” Cicero admitted. “If the theriarchists had approached me before I met you…I’d like to think I wouldn’t have joined them, of course.” He swung his legs idly, heels thumping the side of the desk. “But if Ferguson had tried to force me to make a decision, pick a witch even though I wasn’t ready…I don’t know.”
“Well, there’s the problem,” Tom said as he arranged notepads, pencils, and a small calendar atop their desk. “You wouldn’t be the one in charge. It would be people like Molly.”
“You’re absolutely right, darling.” Cicero slipped off the desk and stretched. “Rule by cats, that’s what we really need. My first decree would be for more naps.”
“And the second for cream fountains in all public buildings,” said Rook.
Cicero sighed dramatically. “So much for the peace and quiet.” In truth, though, it was a relief to see Rook back on his feet. Rook’s face was thinner, but his brown skin had lost the awful grayish hue it had the first few days, when they’d visited him in the hospital.
Dominic was thinner as well, the lines more deeply graven in his face. “Got your badge, then?” he asked, peering over Tom’s shoulder.
“Aye.” Tom held it up, but didn’t move to pin it on.
“Good idea.” Cicero reached for his coat. “It’s been a day or two. I’m sure he’s languishing from my absence.”
They left the Coven, but Tom seemed in no particular hurry to get to the hospital. Cicero wasn’t either. He fell in by Tom, walking close enough that their elbows brushed. A mixture of snow and rain drizzled from the sky, much as it had on New Year’s Eve. The bleak weather had driven as many people inside as could manage it, and left Mulberry Street less crowded than usual.
“What’s wrong?” Cicero asked when they’d gone a few blocks without speaking.
Tom’s breath steamed in the freezing air. “I don’t know. I suppose…I’ve spent so much of my life looking over my shoulder, afraid of my past catching up to me. I don’t know what to do now that I don’t have to worry about it any more.”
“How about enjoy your life?” Cicero suggested. “If you need some suggestions on how to accomplish that, by the way, I’ll be happy to provide them.”
It brought a reluctant grin to Tom’s face. “I’m sure you will. Let’s wait until we get home tonight, though.”
A few days ago, they’d found an apartment in a tenement occupied mainly by other witch and familiar pairs, where no one would so much as glance at them twice. It was small, but it was theirs, and that was the important thing.
Tom took the new badge out of his pocket and turned it slowly over in his hands. “Truth is, I can’t help but wonder if I really deserve this.”
Cicero sighed. “Of course you do. We do. We stopped Molly and Sloane. We broke the Viking hexes without killing the victims. You personally saved the new mayor’s life, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“But whoever was behind it all…really behind it, I mean…is still out there.” Tom ran his thumb across the face of the badge, as if memorizing the feel of the engravings. “Noah said someone else was behind all of it. Giving the orders and pulling the strings. Other theriarchists, I’d guess.”
Hexbreaker - Jordan L. Hawk Page 25
