by Ramy Vance
The guard went down, releasing me. And although I was free of his grip, I saw dozens of shocked eyes look over at me.
I think this is where the expression “Out of the frying pan and into the fire” comes from.
↔
Literally the only thing I had going for me was the fact that Japanese police do not carry guns. What wasn’t going in my favor was the terrifying fact that most police were extensively trained in the martial arts—specifically, aikido.
Which meant they were experts at subduing. And grappling. And generally incapacitating.
Turning on my heels, I ran in the direction I had come from.
Two guards tried to stop me, and using a technique I had learned from multiple martial arts masters through the ages, I kicked the first guy in the balls before dropping to one knee and punching the next one in the exact same spot.
Sometimes I wonder why the gods gave them such an obvious weakness.
They both fell to their knees, and I ran past them and into the main area of the airport. Ahead of me I could see the doors to the outside. I just had to get through security—in the opposite direction as was intended—and out the door.
I ran to the baggage x-rays, where a female guard with a baton swung at me. Seeing that her anatomy didn’t allow for the same trick, I ducked under her swing and kicked her in the shins. She went down with a yelp, but recovered with surprising quickness as she swung her baton, cracking me on the shoulder.
“Oww,” I said. It took every ounce of my will to not curl into the fetal position and whimper.
She might have been trained in aikido, but so was I … and I had centuries to practice it, too. Using a fairly common wrist technique, I managed to get the baton out of her hands and knock it to the ground, where I was able to pick it up.
I crashed through the human metal detectors, which rang with baton-inspired alarm. Two more guards charged at me, and I could see several police gathering at the front entrance.
Escaping a place with so much coordinated security wasn’t going to happen. Not without a miracle. And those disappeared the day the gods left.
Seeing that I was beat, I got to my knees, dropped the baton and lifted my hands up in surrender.
At least this way, I might escape any beatings from more batons.
But not all the miracles were taken, it seemed. There were still a couple around. And a miracle came swooping in, grabbing the two security guards that had been descending on me and throwing them both at the baggage x-ray with an alarm-beeping crash.
A hand hoisted me to my feet as a concerned voice uttered, “Milady. Did they harm you?”
Deirdre. My fae miracle incarnate.
Airport Security Really Sucks
Deirdre offered me a hand and said in a completely unfastidious, deadpan manner, “Come with me if you want to live.”
I had known my fae warrior friend long enough to understand that she had never seen any of the Terminator series, nor understood the joke. She was serious—as in, deadly so.
I took her hand.
She hoisted me to my feet with an effortless pull and turned to face several guards who had appeared on the scene. As far as I could tell, they were all human, normal-looking Japanese security. None of them had a Raspy-Man’s-henchmen vibe to them.
“They’re civilians,” I said.
Deirdre nodded in understanding. “Hospitalization only. I understand.”
I groaned. I’d preferred that no one got hurt, but the reality was you didn’t escape an airport without someone getting hurt. My only hope was that anything the fae warrior broke would be mendable with modern medicine.
Three male guards charged at us, and Deirdre picked up one of the metal tables used to repack your stuff after the x-ray. It was bolted to the ground—not that it mattered to her.
With a single pivot that made my chair-golf-swing from earlier look positively amateurish, she swung it at the guards, sending them flying. None of them looked too hurt (thank the GoneGods for small miracles).
But after that little display of power, none of the other guards dared charge at her. Instead, they tried to form a human shield of sorts, preventing our exit. They were buying time, and given the current state of affairs, I knew what their play was.
They were waiting for some of the anti-Other weaponry to appear on the scene. Since the Others arrived, so had a whole new industry centered on Other-defensive weapons. Nets for valkyrie and angels, supercharged cattle-prods for minotaurs and centaurs, and souped-up tranquilizers for just about everyone else.
We needed out, and we needed out now.
Deirdre knew it too, because without asking, my little fae warrior did something that hurt me in unfixable ways. She picked me up like a football and—quite literally—ran me through and onto the other side of security and out of the airport.
The sun hit a relatively unbruised, unhurt body … but my ego? Boy oh boy, my ego ached.
↔
Outside, I scanned the area for our next move. I was considering … ahem … “borrowing” a car conveniently left by one of the many drop-offs that were happening.
My attention was caught by a red Toyota I had never seen before (probably a Japanese-only product). It looked fast. And best of all, it already had Egya in the driver’s seat. Go team!
“Here I am again, thinking and saving. Saving and thinking.” Egya leaned over and opened the passenger-side door. “Your chariot awaits.”
“Yeah … thanks,” I said, mentally groaning. Egya was going to lord this one over me for months to come. “Come on, Deirdre,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”
Deirdre didn’t move.
“Come on, girl. We got an out,” I repeated.
But the fae warrior didn’t move, her back to the road as she diligently watched the insides of the airport. She was quite literally watching my back.
“Deirdre,” I said, urgency in my voice. “Now!” I turned to see that, whereas the fae warrior was facing the airport, she wasn’t watching anything. She was frozen, her face void of all expression as her arms hung limp at her sides.
“What the—” I started when Enoch walked outside. He held what looked like a silver coin the size of a tea plate in his hand, and I would have dismissed it as such except for the rune on its surface.
“The Celtic god, Alator, knew that his creations were particularly willful,” he rasped, strolling out of the airport like he had all the time in the world.
Not only did he stroll out like he wasn’t in the middle of a fight, but no one else exited the airport with him. No security, no henchmen … Hell, there weren’t even any tourists or travelers. No one.
That isn’t to say that no one was around. A family was hugging goodbye not ten feet from where we stood. Another couple bickered within earshot. Meanwhile, a taxi drove up and let out a woman with way too little luggage to be travelling anywhere far. She strolled right past us like we didn’t exist.
Hell, I could even see an Okinawan security guard pacing on the other side of a sliding door.
This guy must have cast some serious mojo on this place to hide us like that. He was one seriously souped-up villain. But that wasn’t what scared me the most.
He was alone because he wanted to be alone.
And he was completely unafraid. Which meant that either he was overconfident … or he knew without a shadow of a doubt that we posed no threat.
“You see, elves, halflings, changelings—all of the fae,” he rasped, “they possess great power and even greater passion. For unlike most Others, they were built on the principle of love. And love, as you well know, makes us do very silly things.” Then, as if contemplating something esoteric, added, “In many ways, I believe that the fae are humans’ closest cousin. Evolutionarily speaking.”
He chuckled at his own joke, which given his condition, sounded more like a flooded engine turning over.
“Whether I am right or not, there is no denying that the fae, like humans, are oft led astray by their principle
s. So Alator knew it to be inevitable that, from time to time, a few upstarts would challenge his dominion. That is why he created this.”
He lifted the silver disk to the middle of his chest, and with every inch that stone rose, Deirdre lowered herself until she was on her knees.
“No fae can resist this spell, with this side subduing the upstart. And as for this side …” He turned the coin, revealing another rune. This one looked like a child’s drawing of a tent with stick-figure people hovering above. As soon as Deirdre saw it, she stood up, clenching her fists. “Subservience.”
“Deirdre,” I said, trying to get her to move. But dragging a changeling who didn’t want to be dragged was like trying to drag a mountain. Deirdre didn’t even budge.
Enoch looked at the kneeling fae. “My dear changeling,” he whispered, “bring me the Kat.”
Without hesitation or warning, Deirdre turned on me, grappling me into submission and squeezing.
↔
Egya. I knew my Ghanaian friend was lurking in the background. He was an accomplished hunter and warrior. In our first true battle together, he managed to remove a magic ring that controlled a troop of mindless (but very powerful) jinn creatures. He did it by cutting off that Big Bad’s finger.
I figured he had something similar up his sleeve. And all I needed to do was serve as a distraction. “Let me go,” I said in as helpless a voice as I could muster. “Please.” With that word, I managed to squeeze out a few tears.
“Crying, Katrina? That is so unlike you.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t just have to fight three dead gods. That’s after losing your soul after regaining it and becoming human again. An event that, might I add, took place while I was in the middle of feeding. Feeding as a vampire.” I put in as much confusion and pain as I could, going for the frantic, out-of-control-crying approach. I figured that if this guy really wanted to marry me, then seeing me like this was bound to raise an eyebrow. And, if I was really lucky, some empathy.
As I continued my barely coherent, tear-filled rant, I was surprised by how easy it all came out. I mean, I had wanted to do it as a rouse, a distraction so Egya could get into position, but this … this hit home far more closely than I’d expected.
What can I say? Mortality truly does bite.
“And to top it all off,” I finally let out, “my best friend has betrayed me for you, and all because you have the gods’ greatest hits on DVD in your hand.”
As soon as those words left my lips, Egya sprang from behind Enoch. He had a knife and was going for the former archangel’s hand. Any second now and this guy would lose a finger, drop the disk and then it would be my turn to subdue.
With a couple fists in his face.
But Egya’s blade paused about three millimeters from Enoch’s thumb. The Ghanaian hunter was frozen in an awkward crouching position. I had no idea what magic Enoch was using this time. Another contact lens? A shiny disk hidden somewhere? For all I knew, he had paralyzing sunscreen on his bald head.
“Ahh, the were-hyena comes out to play.” Enoch didn’t even look down at him. “You can stop your babbling now. As you can see, I am not so easily distracted.”
My face went cold. “Apparently not.”
Enoch tilted his head. “Much better. Now, what should I do? I could slit his throat. He wouldn’t move while bleeding out—his body would go into rigor mortis in that position. Or I could just leave him thus, forever.”
“Well, that might be his preference. After all, he does do yoga.”
Enoch chuckled. “Gallows humor. Endearing.” Then he shrugged like a parent giving in to his toddler’s demands. “You do love the boy, so killing him would put a permanent black mark on our upcoming nuptials. Instead, I shall offer him as a gift to you. Your very first pet.”
And with a wave of his hand, I watched in horror as Egya’s body contorted and writhed, turning into a hyena before my very eyes.
Fae Slaves and Pet Hyenas
I once saw a hyena at a zoo. They were lanky canines with a hedgehog-like mane and a permanent resting I-know-something-you-don’t-and-it’s-hilarious face. They were also quite small, not much larger than an average-sized labrador.
Egya, on the other hand, was huge—easily the size of, well, the six-foot-nothing, muscular young man that he was. Unlike other hyenas I’ve seen, he wasn’t brown, either, but black as night with pearly white teeth. Also, his mouth carried the same mischievous, half-cocked smile that he always wore, and I knew he was still in there.
“Oh great,” I said. “He was annoying enough as a human. But now he’s going to shed, too.”
Enoch chuckled. And so did Egya, his hyena lips pulling back in that way they did whenever he found something really funny.
“It’s good to see you’re still in there,” I said. “And as for you, Mr. I-Was-An-Angel-and-Now-I’m-Not … what’s the plan?”
“The Soul Jar.” He put out his hand.
“And what? I hand it over and you’ll let us go?”
Enoch’s lips curled. “I wouldn’t be—how did you put it?—the Big Bad if I did. No, I will not let you go, but I also promise not to kill your pet.”
He placed a hand on Egya’s scruff and the damn overgrown canine just sat down. I mean, he literally just sat down. Like a good dog.
Crap.
Enoch had some mojo going on with him, too.
So, let’s assess. In the span of ten minutes, Enoch had managed to charm both my best friends, using them against me. One of them ended up sitting before him, prone, and probably wouldn’t move a muscle while Enoch broke his neck.
The other said best friend had me in a grip that made Hulk Hogan’s signature move seem like a hug. (What? Not a WWF wrestling fan from the 1980s? Google it. Trust me, you missed out.) Annnnd … he had enough of a magical arsenal on him to literally make this entire airport do his bidding.
And what did I have going for me? He seemed to have an, ahem, interest in fornicating with me. I could try to seduce him, but my weak-and-helpless tack had failed. Somehow I don’t think my Oh my, you are so powerful and handsome that I am suddenly overcome with lust routine would work, either.
Besides, from what I could tell, he wasn’t interested in possessing me. He actually wanted me to want him.
Otherwise he wouldn’t have given me that gooey contact lens and—
“OK,” I said. “OK, I get it.”
Enoch lifted a curious eyebrow.
“I get your awkward proposal—your plan to destroy the world and your desire to take me with you.”
“Enlighten me.” He folded his arms over his chest. At least he didn’t have a menacing hand on Egya’s scruff.
“You were Enoch. Then you were Metatron, the Witness.”
He feigned a yawn. “We’ve been over this, Darling. If this is some kind of stalling technique, don’t bother. My spells will last for as long as I need them to. We could literally stand here until we’re old and gray, and no one would come to save you.”
“I know, I know. You’ve made it perfectly clear that you’re in charge. But that’s just the thing: you’re in charge. And that’s the problem, isn’t it?”
He tilted his head, an appreciative smile crawling across his face. “And?”
“And that’s a problem for you … sort of.” I paused. He was impressed, which meant he was curious. And I’d played the captor-captive game enough times to know that meant I had leverage.
I waited for him to speak. But he didn’t. Not for a long time. Instead, he just stared at me like he was trying to unravel a puzzle. Good luck, buddy. Tons of guys have tried to figure out this puzzle, I thought (in my head. Hey, I might have a weird quirk, but even I can control it in life-and-death situations … most of the time).
Just when I thought he was never going to speak again, he nodded, the debate in his head evidentially over. “Deirdre, my fae warrior, please let Kat go. But do be so kind as to keep a hand on her shoulder, should she try … well, anything.”
/> Now it was my turn to stand dumbfounded.
“What?” he rasped. “Isn’t that what you wanted? To use my curiosity to procure your release? Well, there you have it—you are free of her grasp.” He gave me one of those slow, mocking claps.
An Other who got sarcasm. He was going to be a formidable foe.
“Yeah, fine. But no lies, right? Isn’t that what you said? Tell me: just now, were you reading my mind?”
Enoch narrowed his eyes. “Yes and no.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is also not a lie.”
“Not answering is lying by omission,” was something my mother always said. And look at me now, using her annoyingness to my advantage.
“Humph, very well. As you mentioned, I was the Witness for eons, observing thousands before me. Granted, most of my observations were of angels and gods and powerful Others. My experience with humans is limited. But you are not a human. Not anymore, at least.”
I didn’t want to get into a debate with him about the meaning of humanity and my desire to renew my membership. Instead, I just conceded his point with a nod. No lies, remember?
“So now that your little gambit of silence has paid off … continue.”
“You were an angel. And angels all have their ‘thing,’ right? Michael is the Protector. Even after the gods left, that’s his thing. A thing he chose to fulfill by being a cop in Paradise Lot.” As I said the archangel’s name, I wondered if I’d ever be able to get to Paradise Lot and fulfill Gabriel’s request. “Penemue knows all that is written. Miral is the Angel of Mercy.”
He snorted at that last example.
“And you … you were the Witness. But witnesses are inherently passive, never taking the lead role. Despite that, here you are, taking a decidedly proactive role. You know, bringing about the apocalypse and all.”
He nodded. For the first time, I saw genuine excitement paint his face. “Yes, that is exactly correct.”
