The Talon & the Blade

by Jasmine Silvera

  “It’s alive.” Gregor followed a pace or two behind, pausing to take in the stripped room. “Redecorating?”

  Ignoring him, she stepped out of the sweatpants on her way to the closet.

  “You haven’t yet showered?” His voice held something that sounded like wonder.

  She turned to him, jeans in one hand and heat rising in her face. “Why do you care? And why does everyone know about this fucking sea monster before I do?”

  He crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway, and stuck out his thumb. “One, I don’t think an hour is going to make a difference in us catching up to this thing.” His index finger rose. “Two, you’ll feel much better after a shower. Three.” He ticked off his middle finger. “Azrael spoke with the consort’s pet phoenix. And it’s going to take much more than an improvised bomb to kill your mythical beastie.”

  She paused, astounded. “Azrael’s consort has a phoenix. For a pet.”

  “He’s more man than a bird now.” Gregor waved his hand. “It’s a long story.”

  Ana faltered.

  Necromancers didn’t forge alliances with other grace bloods. Until Azrael made a god vessel his consort and allied with wolves and witches. Now she kept a phoenix, rumored extinct after the godswar. No other grace-blooded creature possessed the kind of knowledge a phoenix did.

  Raymond would need to know that Azrael was involved. The thought made her pause again. Did he?

  Doubt churned in the pit of her stomach. The cold waffle she’d gnawed on earlier didn’t help the sensation.

  It was all Gregor’s fault: his easy camaraderie with Azrael hinted at the possibility for a different sort of bond. She suspected Azrael kept little from his Aegis. She’d bet he never sent Gregor on missions with as little information about what he hunted.

  And yet he hadn’t refused. Instead, he’d met her eyes, seeking permission, laying his vow not at Raymond’s feet but hers. And it wasn’t just his word. She had traveled with him, fought beside him. He’d covered her back enough times to reveal how normal he found it, expected it even.

  Whatever Gregor had done, he’d been the one thing she could trust in all this. Tension fled on a long exhale. Without looking back, she stepped out of her underwear.

  “Maybe I will catch that shower.”

  “Have you reached out to him?” Gregor said when his wits returned. “Raymond.”

  Focusing with her standing around in the scraps of lace sold as women’s underwear in this age proved challenging. Bright fucking pink. As if the peekaboo provided by lace and the strategic cut wasn’t attention grabbing enough. He should to take it as his opportunity to go back to his room. He should pack his things, or clean his guns, or jerk off to clear his head.

  But whatever she had been thinking before she’d turned her back to him left a haunted, uneasy look on her face.

  He had enough sense to know this mess hadn’t distracted her from being furious with him. But they still had a job to do. He gave one last thought to making an excuse and leaving. If she was going to put on a show, he’d be damned if he missed it.

  He rummaged through the open bag of takeout and plucked a waffle from the cardboard container before trailing her into the bathroom. It wouldn’t have been half bad under better circumstances. Maybe her taste in food was redeemable after all.

  “He’s not answering,” she admitted, stepping under the water. “What did the consort’s pet phoenix have to say?”

  “That it must be destroyed by that which created it,” he said, shaking his head. “Which, I take it, in this instance was not a cobbled-together propane-tank bomb.”

  “A lovely stroke of creativity, by the way,” she called.

  “I do my best.”

  When she stepped out, he had a towel waiting. She dried her hair. “It needs to swan dive back into the fires of whatever Mordor spawned it.”

  “Exactly.” He leaned back against the counter sink, wondering who or what was a Mordor.

  She marched past, leaving a trace of lilac in her wake and his brain shuttered. He closed his eyes. He paused. They might still have a job to complete, but first he needed to make this right between them.

  Whatever this was. Whatever right meant.

  “Ana, this morning,” he said, filling his lungs for an explanation or an apology.

  “You broke protocol and my network,” she said from the bedroom. “Which might have been considered a violation of your vow to Raymond, but since you haven’t been struck down, I’m assuming whatever you said was indirect enough not to trigger the Retribution. Lucky you.”

  He shoved off the counter, stalking after her. She wasn’t going to make this about his vow or their work. Not now. Not when a few hours ago they’d been… The wreckage of the bed made sense now. A flicker of something resembling hope leaped in his chest before he could squelch it.

  “I said nothing to compromise my vow to Raymond.” Gregor started, dodging a pair of pants flung past him.

  “Ah, just a personal call,” she said. “Showing off your bedmate.”

  He came around the corner to find her buttoning up black jeans before disappearing back into the closet. “Ana, that is the most ridiculous—”

  “Is it?” She emerged, bearing a pair of chunky ankle boots and a thin black top.

  A flush rose in her breasts above a lacy black bra with crimson satin cups. The small voice in him, probably the one that made everyone think he was halfway insane, noted her underwear matched his tie.

  Shut up, he snarled at it.

  She threw down the boots and fought her way into the shirt one sleeve at a time. Her tousled, damp head emerged as the stretchy material molded itself to her chest. The wide neck fell off one shoulder.

  He took a breath. “When I woke up and you were gone, I assumed—”

  “Ass. U. Me.”

  He threw up his hands. “Raymond sent us into this thing blind. We needed help. Information. Azrael has resources—”

  Her phone rang.

  Gregor sighed and swiped it off the bed, tossing it her direction. He folded his arms and paced across the room to the big window.

  “Where is he?” she said, pausing for the response. “And you accepted that?”

  Ana switched to Japanese to reveal her dismay. Sometimes only one’s mother tongue would do. He caught every third or fifth swear word, but he liked the sound of it coming from her small, lush mouth. The same mouth that had been like warm honey on his cock.

  He slammed the door on the thought. He prided himself on his ability to compartmentalize. This whole situation was en die Hose gegangen, and all he could think about was the next time he could get Ana Gozen between those creamy sheets. Or bent over a chair. Or riding his face to the floor.

  “You are to stay by his side.” Ana’s voice reached a toneless fury he’d never heard before. “When you hear from him, I need to know. Am I understood?”

  She sighed once but he kept his back turned, giving her a moment to compose herself. He tested the waters. “Raymond is gone?”

  “Did your pet phoenix happen to know anything about Barnabas Huxley?” Deceptive calm softened her tone. He had a brief flash of her interrogating Jax in the bar as the were’s lifeblood stained the floorboards.

  Gregor turned, brows raised. “No, but after you… left… I spoke with Dante, Azrael’s progeny. I figured since Barnabas wasn’t a known entity when I took the vow, it wouldn’t trigger Retribution to ask a few more questions.”

  Ana paused. “You’d risk Retribution…”

  Gregor shrugged. He didn’t care to linger on how carefully he’d worded his request, aware that the wrong ones would end his almost-immortal adventure quite painfully. “He’s been categorizing necromancers by power. Barnabas is a water and licensed in Azrael’s territories to perform exorcisms and release trapped ghosts. He got into some trouble with the Sevillan satrap, and then he disappeared. I’m assuming he worked his way here.”

  The powers of necromancers were not as defi
ned as they liked to lead humans to believe. Raising and communicating with the dead was energy work, pure and simple. All had some affinity with a classical element: water, wind, fire, earth. More indistinct were the skills that, like control of their element, strengthened with time, practice, and power. Barnabas was an unknown factor.

  He had several theories about Huxley’s sudden appearance in Raymond’s territory. All led to an uncomfortable conversation about Raymond’s strength, which he did not want to have while she was already the iciest version of apoplectic he’d seen in almost two centuries. He resisted the urge to glance at the swords in their place of honor above the small altar. In close quarters he made an awfully big target. There was probably some fault in his wiring for why he found that thought as arousing as foreplay.

  The chime of the house security system saved him from answering. “Intruder?”

  She shook her head, reaching for the longer of the two swords as she started for the front door. “We have company.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Gregor recognized the elderly woman from the wreckage of the longhouse. Amelia. Accompanying her, a cluster of women not much younger, the sheriff, and the two young men, Jamie and Atl. They all wore jeans and flannel under puffy vests, in service to the damp chill of the Seattle air, except Amelia, resplendent in her wool cape of black and white geometric patterns over a denim dress, skin leggings, and moccasins. The men removed their hats as one when they stepped inside, casting him a few wary glances. He retreated to the edge of the room, trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possible.

  Ana situated Amelia in the most comfortable chair and went about making coffee with an air of ritual that filled the silent room while her visitors surveyed her quarters with open interest. Once the coffee had been served, Ana knelt at the woman’s feet.

  She bowed her head. “Grandmother.”

  Amelia’s face, an assemblage of deep creases and soft speckled skin drew itself into a look of great regret. A single tear rolled down her cheeks. “I come to beg your forgiveness, Auntie.”

  “There’s no need, Ame,” Ana said, rising to catch the tear. She stroked the old woman’s graying hair away from her face like she would a child’s.

  Before the Allegiance assumed world leadership, necromancers had lived among humans, in the shadows. Whenever Azrael settled in a place, it would be for no more than twenty years, just long enough for people to begin to question why they did not change. Then they would move on. Gregor had relied on it to keep him distant from any mortals they engaged for any length of time.

  But for this family it seemed normal that Ana should remain unchanged while they were born, aged, and died. She slotted herself into their hierarchy of respect for day-to-day purposes, but no one forgot it was she who did not change. He wondered what acceptance might have felt like if he’d made different choices.

  “I am an old woman,” Granny said, eyes shining with emotion. “But I remember being a girl. You have been my Auntie since those days. You held my hands when I took my first steps. My children, my grandchildren, all look to you. Thunderbird’s Son, we honor as our protector. Our loyalty must be to him first. But you we love. You are our family.”

  Ana sat back on her heels, her empty hands resting on her lap and bowed shoulders making her look small and fragile for the first time since Gregor had known her.

  “I can no longer keep his secrets,” the old woman said. “No matter what the punishment might be.”

  Her escort clearly disagreed based on their subtle, restless shifting and the taut lines of their mouths and frustrated, clenched hands. A few more glances went his direction, and Gregor realized they were assessing the likelihood that he would be their undoing.

  Ana caught his gaze.

  “Amelia, I have been lax in my introductions,” she said. “This is Gregor Schwarz. He is the first of his master as I am of mine. He has come to help me track the creature. He is my ally, and I trust him with my life. Amelia, she carries the old stories.”

  Gregor kept his face even under Amelia’s solemn, assessing stare. He stepped forward and made his bow. Amelia reached up imperiously, and he placed his hand in hers. She gave him the kind of shake he expected from a man half her age and twice her size.

  “I may be old,” she said, dragging him closer for an inspection. “But my eyes are as good as ever. This is a fine man you have taken, Ana.”

  Gregor couldn’t remember the last time a human had dared to touch him, never mind jerk him around like a puppet.

  “Ame,” Ana cautioned, ready to intercept.

  Gregor crouched before the matriarch. He cupped her small, wrinkled hand in his, and it disappeared in his larger palms. “Our focus must be on the creature now.”

  “Forgive me then.” The old eyes danced. She dropped her voice, her eyes sliding to Ana. “I reckon he could be yours if you wanted him.”

  “The creature,” Ana repeated dryly.

  “Not a creature,” the matriarch said. “A woman. She’s trapped… same as you. This is what I tried to tell you, but you were too bent on the kill to listen to an old woman.”

  Mute, Ana flattened her mouth to a hard line.

  “Raymond charged us with killing it. You might understand our confusion,” Gregor suggested.

  Amelia shook her head as he looked between them. “There must be a mistake. You cannot kill her. What she is must be undone by what was the creation of her.”

  Mordor again. Ana’s gaze flickered to his. Did confirmation of the phoenix’s words surprise her?

  “We thought she meant you harm, Ame,” Ana said. “The longhouse and the dead man.”

  “Poor boy.” Amelia shook her head, then her voice hardened. “But I told him not to run from her. She knew you wouldn’t listen to her, but the orcas told her you were coming, and she hoped I could intercede on her behalf. Which I intended to do until all the damn shooting started.”

  The men in her escort all busied themselves staring at various points in the room.

  Gregor sighed. “Maybe you should start from the beginning.”

  Amelia nodded at him. She tapped her half-empty coffee cup, her brows raised.

  “Mama,” the sheriff said. “Too much caffeine. Doc said—”

  “I am an old woman.” She interrupted him with thunder in her voice. “And my throat is dry.”

  Gregor took the hint. She beamed at him before taking a sip. The matriarch began to speak.

  “In the time of this story, Thunderbird’s Son had wandered far from his home and his people for more years than a natural man’s life held. When he returned, he looked as young as before.

  “At a great potlatch to celebrate a successful whale hunt, he met a beautiful young woman called Laughing Girl of the Quilotes. She was born with great power, believed brought forth from a great whale spirit, because her mother had gone into the sea and returned swollen with child. She would sing and fish would fly into the nets of the fishermen. Many fine men made suit for her. But she had eyes for Thunderbird’s Son.

  “Thunderbird’s Son surrendered his heart to this woman. He too had been touched by something not of this world, and he saw himself in her, though she did not command death, as he did, but living things.”

  “A witch,” Gregor whispered. “She—“

  Amelia silenced him with a hard look. “When the first great boats of the Europeans began to contact the villages, there was much trade and celebration. Raymond had witnessed the decimation of the People of the east in his long travels and spoke caution. But his words were dismissed by the young. The trouble began soon after. The young men took to stealing items of little value from the newcomers, trying to top each other. For sailors, these small acts were seen as a threat. They grew wary, anxious, so far from home.

  “A party of canoes met a Spanish ship to do trade, but the ship fired on canoes, and the warriors struck back. In retaliation, the soldiers destroyed the village. Laughing Girl’s heart broke.

  “Thunderbird�
�s Son urged her to look to those left behind. He promised her safety and love and long life if she would stay with him. But she could not rest. She begged for help to avenge her people. Thunderbird’s Son could not deny her. In those days he was still human enough to love. And love makes fools of us all.”

  Point, Gregor acknowledged.

  “What they did together was anathema. The spell corrupted, and she became something unnatural. Unable to survive on land, she fled to the depths. Thunderbird’s Son called to her, tried to restore her to what she had been. But the spell had diminished him, withered his body with age and left him hollow. The transformation hardened her heart to his cries.

  “Rumors of a many-armed monster they named Whale Eater traveled with every band. It is believed that she mated with the creatures below, and many of the stories of giant squid seen by men are her children.”

  “You were forbidden to tell this story to anyone,” Gregor said, trying to make Ana see the truth of how much Raymond had hidden from her.

  Amelia nodded without answering, but Gregor registered the plea in her eyes.

  “Why is she back now?” Gregor asked.

  “She’s been caught up in something.” Amelia sighed, looking into her own hands. She held up the left, a simple gold band on her third finger. “Bound by a trick to help another. The ring she wears is her vow and her chain. This is why I have come to you. You see her as a beast to be hunted. But if she still lives, you must help free her.”

  “Ana,” Gregor began, his eyes trapped in the old woman’s worried gaze.

  “Thank you, Amelia.” Ana kissed Amelia’s hand, then her cheek.

  “You cannot kill her,” Amelia tried again.

  Ana shook her head. “There will be no repercussions for what you have told me. Now go back to your home and family. You must leave this to us.”

  Ana showed them to the door. Amelia held back at the end, fussing with her blankets. While Ana reassured the others, Amelia sidled in close to Gregor.

  “You’re not as tough as you let on, are you?” She squinted at him.