Eddie thought about his sister and felt a pang in his heart.
“You were happy then,” he said quietly, thinking that was something he should remember, too. “Don’t forget that, no matter what happens.”
Some of the tension left her shoulders—but when she glanced at him, her eyes were red-rimmed again, and bright.
“Seems like since I met you, I’ve been crying nonstop,” she said, and stroked the bag covering the photo. “You’re right. I was happy. If there was a kid who had a better childhood, I’d like to meet her. My parents were the best. There was so much love in our family.”
“I’m sorry you lost them.”
She gave him a heartbreaking smile. “I was going to have a brother. My mom was pregnant when she died.”
Eddie’s breath caught. Lyssa looked again at the photo, and her smile faded.
“Sometimes . . . I think my mom knew she wasn’t going to last long. Or maybe she was just paranoid. She tried to teach me as much as she could, even when my dad thought she went overboard.” Her hand began to shake, and she set the photo down in her lap. “I miss them.”
I miss my sister, he wanted to tell her. I miss her every day and think about all the ways I could have done things differently. If I could turn back time . . .
Eddie carefully took her hand in his. He felt wounded, touching her. Heartsore, grieving for his losses . . . and for hers.
She snuggled closer, without hesitation, resting her head against his chest as though she’d done so a million times before. The familiarity of that gesture, the trust in it, made tenderness burst inside him in a rush of heat that went deeper than any fire.
No person had ever done this to him. He wasn’t even sure what this was . . . except that it wasn’t just infatuation. It wasn’t just his lonely self, reaching out to the first woman who could meet and withstand his fire.
Fire was nothing but a chemical reaction releasing heat and light. Fire could be struck with a match, or lightning. Fire was common.
This . . . what he felt when close to Lyssa . . . was something else entirely. Losing her would mean losing his life. As ridiculous as that should have been, it was truer than anything in his life.
How was he going to protect her? Was there any way to keep her safe that wouldn’t end in killing?
She made a small hissing sound and touched her nose. Blood dotted her fingertips.
“Are you sick?” he asked, alarmed.
“Side effect,” she muttered. “Don’t worry. I haven’t done any magic in almost ten years. It puts stress on the body.”
Anger made his voice sharp. “Anything else you want to tell me?”
The cab driver swerved to the right and braked hard, nearly sending them into the divider. But Eddie never took his gaze off Lyssa, who—for one moment—gave him a haunted look that chilled him to the bone.
“We’re here,” announced the cab driver. “Close, anyway.”
Close enough to see Lannes, less than half a block away. Even though it was dark, his size made him stand out. The gargoyle, clad in his illusion, waited on the Central Park side of Fifth Avenue, leaning against one of the old, slightly bent trees growing from the sidewalk. Dead leaves littered the ground, and the park woodlands stretched behind him on the other side of the wall. It was all very idyllic—except for the worry on Lannes’s face as he spoke into his cell phone.
Eddie and Lyssa slid out of the cab. The gargoyle strode toward them, and they met beneath another tree—a tangle of hearts and initials carved into the bark.
“They’re here,” Lannes said into the phone, his massive frame strained and rigid. “No, I’m coming for you. It doesn’t matter anymore, baby. Just . . . hold tight.”
He did not hang up but tilted the receiver from his mouth and gave them both a sharp look—especially Lyssa. “There are eight people up there, ranging in ages from twenty to seventy. All family. All upset.”
“Not because of Lethe?” Eddie asked.
“No. I think it has to do with the Cruor Venator.” He gave Lyssa a significant look, and she raised her brow.
“In a perfect world,” she told him, “you wouldn’t even know I exist. Don’t think I wanted this.”
Lannes grunted. Eddie stepped closer to her. “Lethe can’t tell them she needs some fresh air?”
“She tried that. They’re being especially protective.” Lannes pressed the phone to his mouth again. “Okay. I love you.”
They waited for traffic to pass and crossed the road to an elegant building constructed from pale stone. On the other side, though, Lyssa held back and flagged down a cab.
Eddie watched her pass him a twenty.
“I’ll give you another forty, plus fare, if you wait here,” she told him. “We shouldn’t be more than ten minutes, and we’ll want to leave fast.”
“Gonna rob a bank?” teased the man.
“Family reunion.”
“Holy shit,” he said. “I’ll buckle up.”
Eddie gave her an amused look. Lyssa shrugged, rubbing her eyes. “What? You think I want to be stuck here?”
Lannes grunted. “Come on.”
The doorman eyed their faces but didn’t give them any trouble going in. Lethe’s family lived on the top floor. The elevator ride was short, and claustrophobic. Lannes took up most of the space and kept fidgeting.
All while staring at Lyssa. Not with a pleasant look on his face, either.
“There’s something different about you,” he said, just as the elevator reached the tenth floor. “You’ve done magic, haven’t you?”
Lyssa tensed. “Does that bother you?”
He frowned. “Let’s get my wife, then I’ll let it bother me.”
There was only one door on the tenth floor. Eddie heard shouts on the other side.
“What a crappy day for visiting people,” Lyssa muttered.
Lannes dragged in a deep breath, and banged his fist on the door so hard, the entire frame shook. Silence fell on the other side.
And then, very distantly, they heard a woman shout, “LET ME GO!”
Lannes’s entire frame shuddered.
Eddie reacted instinctively, grabbing Lyssa and pulling her out of the way—just as the gargoyle stepped back, his massive hands flexing with loud cracks of bone.
The look in his eyes was pure death, and, with an ear-deafening roar, he slammed his foot into the door—and kicked it in.
Wood splintered everywhere. Eddie heard shouts and gasps of surprise, and followed Lannes into the apartment—fire already burning in his hands. He checked for Lyssa and found her behind him, her eyes glowing, mouth set in a hard line. Fresh blood dotted her nostrils and upper lip.
Five men and women were ranged around the room, all tall, fair-haired, with chiseled cheekbones and slender bodies. None wore bright colors, which reflected the apartment—decorated in white, black, and gray. Books lined tall shelves, and a grand piano sat in the corner. Suitcases lined the wall.
All those people looked stunned, and not at all dangerous. Three more women came running from the hall, of such similar appearance they could have only been sisters. Lethe was behind them, slender and blond, and very pale.
She was the only one dressed in color: a sea-blue silken blouse, with dark jeans and emerald green ballet flats. Golden earrings dangled. Her face was flushed, furious. Eddie had only met her once before, the previous year, during a rooftop barbecue in San Francisco. Sometimes shy, but with a wicked sense of humor, and deep, deep love for the gargoyle who rarely left her side.
When she saw Lannes, a tremendous smile broke out on her face.
“Oh, my God,” said an old man, staring at the gargoyle with disgust. “What is that thing?”
Lethe burst out laughing, but it was sharp and hard, and brittle. Some of her family flinched, but not one took their gaze off Lannes�
�or him and Lyssa.
“Uncle Douglas,” said Lethe, pushing around the women surrounding her, “that thing is my husband.”
Finally, the entire room did look at her.
“Oh, my God,” said the old man, again.
“I apologize for breaking your door,” rumbled Lannes, with an incongruous politeness that Eddie, under other circumstances, would have found amusing. “I’ll pay for the damages, but my wife is coming with me now.”
No one said a word.
Lethe, who had been running toward Lannes, stopped moving—so suddenly, it was as though her feet were caught in quicksand. Eddie didn’t understand at first why she seemed to hang forward, as if on puppet strings.
It wasn’t until outrage flickered over her face that he realized it wasn’t her choice. Lannes growled, and strode toward her—or tried to. He took one step, and the same thing happened.
His illusion disappeared, as well.
Stripped into nothing but air, revealing his silver skin and massive bound wings. His eyes glowed red, and the tips of his fingers were sharp. His entire body was rigid and straining.
The men and women in the room leaned forward and stared at Lannes as though he were some circus freak.
Eddie scanned their faces. The old man was rubbing his jaw, clutching a cane between his knees, and the middle-aged woman seated on the bench beside him held a glass of red wine in a white-knuckled grip. The three sisters pressed closed together, noses wrinkled as though they smelled something bad and wanted to say, “Ew.”
An elderly woman stood behind Lethe. She was dressed in a loose black dress, and gold bangles jangled on her birdlike wrists. Elegant, graceful, with silver hair tucked up in a small bun. She placed a gentle hand on Lethe’s shoulder.
But that was all. If there was a fight, and magic was involved . . .
An odd chill raced over Eddie, as though he stood in an ice-cold river, waters rising over his head. A rippling, lapping sensation.
Energy, came the unbidden thought. This is magic.
Lannes’s muscles strained, and he edged forward another step—though it seemed to cost him a great deal of strength. “You don’t want to do this.”
One of the woman, tall and dressed in black, folded her arms over her chest. She was extremely thin, more so than could be healthy. Eddie hadn’t seen anyone that close to starvation since looking at pictures of concentration-camp victims in World War II.
Her collarbone protruded at painful angles—so did her cheekbones. If her body was cadaverous, however, her eyes were a brilliant shade of green and the most alive and vibrant part of her. Loose blond hair flowed down her back, so perfectly styled she might have just come from a hairdresser.
She gave Lannes a piercing look. “It has been fifty years since I saw one of your kind. I heard rumors that you still existed, but frankly, I thought the world had become too small for gargoyles.”
“Not yet,” he muttered, but there was a note of strain in his voice that made Eddie recall his stories of imprisonment: locked in his body for years, unable to move. “Let my wife go.”
“Wife,” said the woman heavily. “You cannot possibly be married to my daughter.”
Lethe made a furious sound. “Mother.”
“Shut up,” she snapped—and the young woman’s jaw shut. Muscles worked in her throat, and she made a choked, snarling sound that was short and furious. But her mouth . . . her mouth would not open . . . and it was clear that she was trying.
Her mother swayed, staring at her. “How could you be so stupid? Don’t you know this is impossible? Even . . . thinking about it . . . God. It’s an anathema.”
The old woman standing beside Lethe stepped forward with a disapproving frown.
“Take care with your temper and insults, Morgana,” she said in crisp, quiet tones—and then, much to Eddie’s surprise, she stared directly at Lyssa. “Your power in this room is infinitely small right now.”
“Don’t lecture me, Ursula.” The woman’s pale features smoothed into a cold, hard mask—and she focused that heavy, glinting gaze on Lethe. “I understand now why you wouldn’t give me a name, why you refused to say a word. And why you were so shocked.” She took a deep breath, pale hands smoothing down her dress. “Tell me honestly. Is it really his?”
Lethe gave her a hateful look. A trickle of understanding filled Eddie, but it was so unexpected, so entirely impossible, he wasn’t sure he could be right.
“Yes,” she said, growling the word.
The old man muttered to himself. The sisters exchanged disgusted glances. The elderly woman, Ursula, only sighed—and watched Lyssa with puzzlement and sadness. Eddie’s gaze slid to Lyssa, but she was studying Lethe and didn’t seem to notice the others’ scrutiny.
“God,” said Morgana, closing her eyes with visible revulsion. “How could you? I thought, at least, your baby was human . . . but this?”
Eddie’s gut clenched. Lannes sucked in his breath with shock and stared at Lethe. His wife’s eyes were filled with determination—the answer there as she stared back at him.
She was pregnant.
“Lethe,” whispered Lannes, and the reverence in his voice should have melted even a stone heart. But Morgana’s mouth twisted with disdain, and a shudder raced through her that was pure revulsion.
“Her name,” she said in a clear, granite tones, “is Alice. And she will never bear your child. Not now. Not ever. I will rip it from her myself if I have to.”
Lannes said nothing; he might as well have screamed, given the crackle of raw, pure energy that suddenly coursed through that room. He lurched forward one step, and the three sisters winced and touched their heads. He took another step, muscles straining, gaze burning with disgust and resolve.
And then Morgana made a slashing motion with her hand, and he stopped, again.
Lyssa cursed to herself, but Eddie stayed quiet, burying his heart so deep he could barely feel it. Lethe was quiet, too, but it was a deadly, simmering silence that was murderous, and cold.
Morgana said, “If you leave now, gargoyle . . . I will not hurt you.”
“Keep him,” muttered the old man, tapping his cane on the floor. “In case the Cruor Venator finds us. Perhaps we can trade his life, or use him as a distraction. It might make all the difference.”
“You don’t bargain with the Cruor Venator,” murmured Lyssa, but no one seemed to hear her but Eddie.
Ursula stepped forward, golden bangles chiming. “You can’t be serious, Morgana. This is absurd.”
“It’s survival. And not a bad idea.”
“It’s disgusting. She loves him. It’s obvious he loves her. If you kill her child . . .”
“No,” Lannes spat, while Lethe made a furious sound, deep in her throat. “Don’t you touch her—”
“—you might as well kill Alice,” finished the old woman. “I won’t let you do that.”
Morgana gave her an icy look. “Are you going to stop all of us? With what? A sharp word?”
Eddie listened, sickened. Were these people actually talking about his friends as though they could be imprisoned and sold? Were they really discussing whether or not to kill their child?
He tested his hands and found he could still move. Fire filled his fingertips, hot, mixed with anger. He was just about to speak, when sharp laughter filled the room.
It was Lyssa.
She stared at Morgana—at all of them—with pure, rock-hard disdain. It took Eddie by surprise because up until then he hadn’t imagined her confronting these witches, not when she’d been so hesitant to come in the first place.
Her scorn, however, was a shocking, beautiful thing.
“Look at all of you,” she said, with withering contempt. “Look at how ridiculous you are. You think a little power means something? You think it gives you the right to control another living bein
g?”
Morgana narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”
Ursula shook her head, looking at the other woman as though she was a fool. “Morgana, be smart. Don’t say another word.”
“Why?” She waved a bony hand at Lyssa. “She’s a little girl. Nothing but a shape-shifter. Give me a real challenge.”
A slow smile touched Lyssa’s mouth, and it was dark and chilling, and reminded Eddie too much of that cruel hardness that had transformed her face when she talked about killing Estefan’s murderers.
“A challenge?” she echoed, too softly. “You will not keep this woman against her will. And you are not touching her baby. Over my dead body.”
Everyone but Ursula shifted—sideways and forward, at the same time—though not with quite the same movements. Close enough to be eerie, though.
Morgana unfolded her arms, staring. “I can rip you apart with my mind.”
“Then why do you need six minds to hold one gargoyle and your daughter? I can feel the link among you all. Without it, you could never hold either of them.” Lyssa shook her head and stripped off her glove, exposing her right hand. “No. You can’t touch me.”
She walked toward Lethe, and Eddie fell in beside her, silent as her shadow.
She gave him a brief, startled look. He didn’t understand why, and he didn’t care. Everyone in that room was staring at them with the same surprise—though their gazes were equally torn to her hand, with its glinting golden claws and crimson scales.
Morgana stepped in their path. Again, a wash of air rippled and undulated against his skin, but the fire rose from his heart and consumed the cold—swallowing that watery sensation until it was nothing. Lyssa stepped up to his side. Both of them faced the witch.
“Ma’am,” he said. “Move aside.”
Morgana frowned. “No.”
Eddie gritted his teeth and strode toward her, fire sparking off his hands, flames licking his wrists and threading into the air. He never engaged in deliberate displays of power, but his anger was too rich.
Within the Flames Page 18
