by Sierra Dean
I hadn’t thought we were looking for people. The way Parker and Bill had discussed the Sisters, it sounded like an object. Or several objects. They’d used the phrase goods.
“Who are they, then?”
“Who were they.” As always, it was a matter of asking Calliope the right questions, only now she was feeding them to me.
“Who were they?”
“The Seven Sisters were the wives of a great Italian alchemist named Giuseppe Mastropietro. These are not the same Seven Sisters of the Pleiades mythos, though there is often some confusion there, naturally. Giuseppe’s wives were all young, beautiful noblewomen. This was a time when alchemy was not mocked, but revered, and the families of these women believed they were destined to live lives of wealth and immortality. The ultimate goal of alchemy, as you know, is the ability to create gold and an elixir of eternal life.
“What many do not understand was the terrible outcome of the failed experiments these alchemists performed. Each of Giuseppe’s wives was little more than a lab rat to him. The philosopher’s stones he attempted to create—vessels for supposed eternal youth and immortality—were never quite right. They did not kill the women, but turned them into monsters, more living dead than truly alive. He would pretend they had passed naturally and would soon take a new wife. And so this continued for almost fifty years.
“It was his eighth and final wife, Marcela, who learned the truth, though history only claims he had seven wives. With Marcela, the experiment was a success. He created a true philosopher’s stone and the key to eternal life. But when he tried to take it from her, she killed him. She killed the other wives, as well, which was a great mercy at that point, since they were prisoners in their own bodies. She left their home in Napoli and took with her Giuseppe’s seven failed attempts at immortality.”
Marcela.
My heart stopped as the story sank in, and I glanced to Holden, who had been with me in the biker bar.
“What happened to the seven failed stones?” he asked.
“Over time, she sold them off. They had the appearance of fine jewelry, and as you can imagine, a woman with immortality in front of her comes to encounter expenses. It took her hundreds of years, but the necklaces were sold off and scattered. Only, recently, a young curator became quite interested in the gruesome story of Giuseppe, and has seen fit to bring all the necklaces together for a display.”
Of course. Of course. It all made sense now. Profound, hideous sense. Marcela, the biker bitch, was the same Marcela who had been granted immortality by her foolish alchemist husband however many centuries earlier. And now that she had an opportunity to reclaim her lost goods, she was bound and determined to get them, whatever the cost.
“You said the other necklaces made his wives like the living dead,” Holden said. “Is that how she is able to do what she does?”
Calliope shook her head. “Necromancy predates Giuseppe’s experiments. It is older than modern society, and it will continue to be practiced long after she is dead and gone herself. I believe, though, her connection with the other wives may have made her better able to find those like her, those who can manipulate the dead. And being around his other wives, who were not alive but not dead, may have also been what helped her understand her gift. Regardless, the necklaces have nothing to do with necromancy. They are, however, dangerous and powerful in their own right, and I think it ill-advised that Marcela be allowed to have them back.”
“She destroyed an entire city to get back some cursed necklaces?” I asked, stunned at the revelation. No excuse would have been good enough to justify what the necromancers had done, but this one enraged me more than others I had imagined. The selfishness of it was astonishing. “Why would the other bikers care?”
“As you pointed out to me not five minutes ago, immortals have little concern over what mortals do. Marcela has lived longer than most vampires, and she cares much more for her own wants than she will ever care about the people of a city. Mortal lives come and go in a blink. She saw an opportunity to get what she believes is rightfully hers, and she is taking it. As for the others, it’s amazing what the promise of wealth and money can do. Not to mention she likely offered them their own taste of life everlasting. Imagine what that might drive a man to do.”
I didn’t have to imagine it. I knew the madness that accompanied the drive for eternal life. I’d seen people do and say things they would have thought they were incapable of.
“Where are they now? The necklaces?” I asked.
“I believe they arrived at the Met earlier this week. Whether they remain there still, I’m afraid I cannot say. Determining the fate of objects is not something I’ve ever been skilled at.” She shrugged.
“How did you know all this?” Such specific history wasn’t something Cal usually offered.
“I knew Giuseppe once.” She gave me a soft smile. “I told him he ought to stop at seven. He should have listened to me.”
“Reason will rarely hold a man back from love,” Sig said, staring at her.
“And love, it seems, will rarely lead a man to reason,” she replied.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Back on the street in front of the coffee shop, the rest of our group clamored for details, but without getting into the sordid history of the Seven Sisters, it was difficult to explain what we’d learned. The abbreviated version was that Marcela was immortal and she was likely at the Met.
Her immortality threw a cog in the wheel of my plans to murder her. She must be wearing the philosopher’s stone somewhere on her person, and I would need to strip her of it before I would be able to kill her once and for all. Sounded nice and easy in theory, but in practice I doubted she would just sit back and let me kill her.
People were so selfish about staying alive these days.
Another difficulty presented itself as we started our trek towards the art museum, which was located on the edge of Central Park. Three helicopters were circling overhead, and though none of them seemed to notice us, I suspected they were on the lookout for survivors.
If they were scouring the city searching for people to pull out, this might be their last pass before they came in full force. If they were going to launch their assault soon, they would try to mitigate the losses.
“Won’t they see that the dead are dead?” Cedes asked, following my gaze up to the chopper passing close to a nearby office tower. “They can’t still be planning to move in if there isn’t a threat anymore.”
“I don’t know what they’re planning,” I admitted. “Maybe they’re seeing if it’s safe to let ground troops come in. Either way, we need to be done by the time they act, otherwise we lose our chance. And I can’t let her get away.”
But as Cedes had pointed out, the dead were for the most part dead now. With only three of the necromancers remaining, most of the hundreds of thousands of bodies were lying still in the street, beginning to rot again thanks to the heat. It was only a matter of time before people started to come out of hiding and the military moved in.
We were running out of time.
I was running out of time.
There was only so much night left, and when it was over, the city would be reclaimed, and I would have to live up to my end of a fool’s bargain. I hadn’t done any of the things I’d meant to do with Aubrey’s power. I had planned to use it to rebuild the city, to restore things to the way they’d been before.
Now I’d be happy if I could use it to kill an immortal bitch and keep her from stealing her awful, evil jewelry back. Even now, knowing what she had done all this for left a sick taste in my mouth. I’d lost beloved friends and a husband I’d cherished less than I should have, all because she wanted some necklaces back.
My city had been reduced to burning rubble over pretty stones.
What kind of hideous reality did I live in, that people were willing to go to the extremes she had, for a money, power and trinkets?
The more I thought about it, the angrier I became.
Huge banners were mounted in front of the museum, one depicting Giuseppe Mastropietro’s face, as illustrated by one of his contemporaries, and the other showing the beautiful necklaces he’d made that had doomed his wives. In the center was a third banner proclaiming, Seven Sisters: the Cursed Wives of Giuseppe Mastropietro, the Mad Alchemist of Napoli.
It was exactly the kind of sensationalist exhibit that would draw crowds in droves, like the Hope Diamond times seven. People loved a good story of madness and intrigue.
Another dead giveaway—no pun intended—we were in the right place was the dozens of risen milling around on the front steps, blocking our entrance.
“Is anyone else sick of looking at corpses?” I asked.
Reggie, Nolan and Cedes all lifted their hands while a few others nodded or mumbled their protest.
“Any objections if I just get rid of them?”
While the rest of the group didn’t seem to understand what I meant, nobody protested except Holden, who asked, “Is that the best idea?”
“In for a penny, in for a pound. It’s not like I can give the powers back.”
He said nothing and didn’t argue further, which I took as his tacit permission. Fire had worked remarkably well last time, but I didn’t want to force the group to try getting around a hundred burning bodies. I also didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention from the choppers overhead. Not until I’d done what I came here to do.
Instead of burning them, I decided it was high time to test the outer limits of my borrowed gifts.
Dead, I thought, and once again the blue-light string fanned out from one of the bodies to the next, until they were all tethered together like a giant spider web. “Everyone, step back,” I ordered, and my group did as they were told, moving back onto the sidewalk.
Dead. This time I put real command into the word, and the bodies all went still. They turned their vacant gazes to me but did little else, because of course they were already dead.
Gone.
This did the trick. As with the fire before, it started with one, then flowed through to the rest, only now instead of turning into walking pyres, the dead simply vanished, one by one. It took less than two minutes for the steps to clear, and all that was left behind were a few loose shoes.
My hands shook, and when I lifted my fingers to my nose, they came away dark red, the blood troublingly dense. I wouldn’t be able to keep doing this for long, but if I had enough energy left to take out Marcela, then I would have used Aubrey’s gift for what I had intended.
I jogged up the steps to avoid any questions, because I didn’t know how to explain myself. I could tell them I had borrowed the fairy king’s power easily enough, but the wiser among them would know a fae didn’t do anything just to be nice. They’d want to know what he asked for in return, and that was the one question I wanted to keep from answering right up to the bitter end.
The lobby doors were open, and pamphlets and museum maps were scattered over the floor like autumn leaves. A big sign in the front entrance said the Seven Sisters display was in the Special Exhibits section on the second floor. More dead milled around inside, but there weren’t enough of them to block our passage. We made our way up to the second floor, following the signs towards the Special Exhibits section.
Try as I might, it was impossible not to be distracted by the museum. It was one of my favorite places in the city, and it relieved me beyond measure to see it was relatively unscathed. Nothing here was burning, and all the masterpieces we passed were unharmed.
The paintings loomed over us in the dark like beautiful sentinels, some depicting scenes of horror, others of great beauty. They all served as a reminder that the world before us had witnessed triumph and tragedy, and had come through it on the other side.
This city, too, would make it through this, though I hoped none of it ever lived on in art. What was the world going to make of this once it was all over? I wouldn’t be around to find out, but still the thought hung above me, nagging at me. Things would be different, and finally the world’s eyes would be opened. And I wouldn’t be around to see it.
I was going to miss one of the single most life-altering events the world had ever experienced—the revelation that monsters were real—and I was going to be left out because I had offered up my own life to save a city of strangers.
The closer we got to the exhibit, the denser the bodies became, and more than once I was forced to will them away. By the time we reached the exterior of the exhibit hall, I could taste blood in my mouth.
If she had already found what she was looking for, why hadn’t she taken it and run? Why was she still waiting around?
I got my answer sooner and in a much more obvious fashion than I’d anticipated. When we entered the hall, I was struck by the size of the place. It was a huge viewing area with banners hung depicting each of Giuseppe’s wives and an illuminated glass case beneath each of them with a necklace from each woman displayed on a black velvet stand, like one might find in a jewelry store. In the center of the room, near a lovely canary-yellow necklace, Marcela was holding a crowbar in one hand as she panted, clearly breathless from her exertion.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, announcing our arrival. “Did they forget to leave you the keys?”
Her main squeeze strode up to her side, looking ready to attack at a moment’s notice, but she raised her hand to stop him. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”
“Why not? I cut your army off at the legs, sent all your little necro friends on a one-way trip straight to hell, and now I’m here for you. Isn’t that exactly what I promised?”
She smiled and brushed her sweat-soaked dark hair back off her forehead. How long had she been fighting with these cases?
“When you’ve been around as long as I have, you learn very few people are good on their word. They’ll promise you the world, but they always fall short. You said you would kill us all. That’s a big promise for a little girl.”
Her boyfriend was vibrating with barely restrained energy. He wanted very badly to prove he could protect her, but he ought to worry more about himself.
“Did she tell you what she wants these for?” I asked him. “Because she’s not going to sell them. If she offered you a fortune to help her, you’ve been lied to.”
“You think I don’t know her? Know what she is?” He sneered at me, and the expression was too reminiscent of Morgan’s right before she pushed Genie over the edge. It was the kind of hateful self-assurance that made me want to slap the look right off his face.
“Whatever you think you know, it’s not the whole story.”
“She loves me, and she wants to be with me forever. What more do I need to know?”
I smiled back at him, trying to equal the cool, homicidal quality of his grin. “She has a different idea of what forever means than you do.”
He faltered, and it was Marcela’s turn to smile. She appeared pleased with me, and I suspected that was an awfully hard feat to manage.
“Where’s the other Viking?” I asked. “It would be nice if I could kill all three of you at the same time.”
“I think you’ll find Marty won’t mind having a chance to take you on himself. He left once he discovered what you did to his brother. I’m told twins can feel those things.”
“Good. I hope he felt it all. Then he’ll know what to expect when I find him.”
“You enjoy bandying threats about, don’t you? You are awfully good at them. And it appears you have a spirit of violence to match them. But if you value the lives of those you’ve brought with you, I do suggest you take them out and leave me be. Nothing will keep me from taking what’s mine. Not you, your pretty threats or your friends who I will burn li
ke kindling if it suits me.”
“Funny you should phrase it like that,” I said, itching to light her up. She was immortal though, so it made more sense to get rid of the easier target in the room. I turned my attention to her man candy.
“What’s funny about it?”
“You say nothing will keep you from getting what you want. But it looks like a little security glass is managing to endure your wrath.” I stepped forward, distancing myself from the others. “And what did you say you would do to my friends? Burn them?”
“Every last one.” So smug. So sure of herself.
I’d wipe that look off her face.
“Like this?” I raised my hand, palm flat like I was saying stop. I stared at her boyfriend, and he glared back at me, lifting his own hand to flip me the bird. I blew him a kiss, then thought, Burn.
Just like at the castle, the flames engulfed him from the inside out. His face contorted in pain, and he coughed once, letting a cloud of black smoke escape his lips. He had enough time to glance down at his stomach before the fire ripped through him. Unlike what Genie had done to Morgan, though, his death was quick. He burned so fast I doubted he had time to know what was happening, let alone really experience the full extent of the pain.
“Anthony?” She’d barely gotten past the last vowel of his name when he became a pillar of gray ash. I stepped closer and blew out a long stream of breath, sending the motes of his body right into her face.
She sneezed back a cloud of Anthony.
“Burn them like that?” I asked.
Marcela stared in horror, looking at the crumbling wreckage of her former lover. She swung out, catching me off-guard, and clawed once at my face with her sharp nails. The cuts stung, and she probably drew blood, but when she went back for a second blow, I grabbed her wrist and squeezed.
At the height of my strength I would have easily been able to crush her bones with my bare hand. But Aubrey’s magic had taken its toll. My werewolf was gone, and my vampire strength was wilting away. She winced in pain as I squeezed, but I didn’t have the physical power to break her wrist.
