by J. Kenner
He blinked, trying to see past the thick liquid that filled his eyes. Blood. He must have cut his forehead in the accident. Not that it mattered. All that mattered right then was getting Izzy out of the car and to safety.
He thrust his arms under her, then tugged her toward the driver’s seat. The nose of the car was completely submerged now, and water was fast rising toward the open window. He needed to get Izzy and himself out of the car before water filled the Ferrari and dragged them under.
The water rose, and the river poured in, filling the space under their feet. He sat on the car door and tugged at Izzy, but her foot lodged under one of the pedals. With a quick glance out the back window—one of the cyclists was dusting himself off, and the other two cars were on the embankment, headlights burning like evil eyes as their engines revved—he scrambled down. If they came, they came. But he had to try to get Izzy free first.
Her foot was completely submerged, but he managed to pry it free. Her ankle had swollen to the size of a grapefruit, but he didn’t think it was broken. He didn’t want to hurt her, but they had no time for gentleness. As soon as her foot was free of the pedal, he curled his arms around her chest, locked his hands, and tugged.
She made a slight moaning noise, but she slipped along the seat toward him. Up he dragged her, up to be propped on the door. The car was sinking faster now, bobbing at almost a right angle to the water’s surface. The river was still invading, flooding the interior with even more purpose than before.
And still, Izzy didn’t wake.
The water was up to Mordi’s knee now, warm and dark and determined to draw them under. Mordi kept a tight hold on her with one hand; with the other, he grappled in the backseat for his cooler. His fingers found the handle and he tugged it forward, then dumped out the sodas and sandwiches he’d brought. They bobbed in the water in the car.
He shoved the cooler out the window, watching as it floated. Good. Then he scooted out the window himself. His legs were hanging in the river, and he stretched, trying to find the bottom. Nothing. He grabbed the door and pulled himself up, then leaned forward at the waist until he had a hold of Izzy again.
He had her halfway out the window when he heard the howling. It was a high-pitched keening sound, one that he knew. He should know it; he’d heard it often enough while working for his father.
It was the sound of a Henchman, changed back into its native, squidlike shape, and letting out its native yelp . . . right before it attacked.
Hopping Hades, this was not going to be good.
He didn’t waste time looking at the river’s edge. He needed to get Izzy free of the car; he needed to make sure she was safe.
The car was almost under now, and the extra water actually made it easier to pull her free. She moaned, her eyelids fluttering, as he held her tight around the waist and kicked off toward the cooler. “Hang on,” he said, wrapping her arms around it. She started to sink, but the Styrofoam did its job, and she bobbed there, forehead furrowed, eyes fluttering in half-consciousness, her mouth curved into a question.
A schlurp sounded a few yards downstream as the Ferrari finally succumbed to the weight of the water. Behind Mordi and Izzy the keening sounded again, echoing across the river. The Henchman had fully transformed, and now he slipped into the water, his squidlike body moving with unusual grace as he swam toward them with undeniable menace.
Anger burned in Mordi’s gut, and Mordi fought the urge to swim forward and meet the squid halfway. He wanted to sink his hands and feet into that soft flesh, to rip the creature apart, to do anything and everything to end this episode and keep Izzy safe.
That wouldn’t do it, though. The only thing to do—the only smart thing—was to swim away. In the opposite direction. To try to get to the far side of the river and then race for safety.
He kicked backward, then grabbed the cooler, clutching it as he kicked toward the far shore. In the distance, he saw the Henchman slither through the water, closing the distance between them.
He’d shoot a ball of flame, and then—
What the . . . ?
Suddenly the horizon was filled with the writhing, slimy creatures. They marched forward, filling the sky, outlined against the setting sun, like something out of Night of the Living Dead.
Suddenly, staying and fighting seemed even less like a good plan. Getting the hell out of there seemed the only option. If they could manage it.
“Izzy,” he hissed. Nothing. He splashed water in her face. “Izzy. Wake. Up.”
She blinked, her eyes opening, groggy and bloodshot. “What? Where are we?”
“You got conked in the head,” he said, kicking for all he was worth. “You passed out. But right now I need you to stay awake. I need you to kick.”
“The chase,” she whispered. Then she peered over her shoulder, saw the Henchmen, and the little color that had remained in her face drained away.
“Fire?” she whispered.
“Not enough. No way can I conjure enough to get us out of this mess.”
She started kicking.
It helped some, but not enough. The gap was closing fast.
“Can you shapeshift?” she asked. “Turn into a shark or bluefin or something and swim us the hell out of here?”
He frowned. “I don’t do fish,” he said. “I can’t.”
“A whale? A dolphin? Some other water mammal?”
“Sorry.” A wash of disappointment filled him. He’d failed her.
Then the corner of her mouth twitched. “Well, nobody’s perfect,” she said. And idiotically, even though the Henchman was closer and they were still trying to kick their way out of an endless river, he felt better.
Something cold and slimy gripped his leg, and then he was yanked underwater, Izzy’s scream echoing in his ears. Another Henchman. He’d been watching the first, and somehow another had sneaked up on him.
He twisted and managed to grab hold, his fingers digging into the thing’s squishy flesh. The monster flipped him over, and he gulped, swallowing a gallon of water. He struggled to right himself, but a tentacle lashed out, twisting around his leg and pulling him down, down, down.
Mordi shifted, trying to use the squidlike thing to climb out of the water and suck in air, but the Henchman was holding him under. This wasn’t a mere threat; the creature meant to kill him.
With a burst of energy, Mordi rolled to the side, pulling the creature with him. Not for the first time, he wished he were more like his brother. Now, though, he simply wished that he could breathe under water. His powers, shapeshifting and fire, were no match for the Henchman. Not here. Not now.
Unless . . .
He’d done it once before, and it had worked. Could he do it now? Did he have the strength to conjure?
Above him, he saw the second Henchman slither along the surface of the water, approaching Izzy. She’d probably strangle him for the thought, but there was no way in Hades that she was able to protect herself. Not now. Not with that knot rising on her forehead.
He was her only chance, and he wasn’t about to let some slimy, water-slicked, smelly squidman keep him from protecting the woman he loved.
Loved. The word lashed through him, surprising him, but also giving him strength. Perhaps it had started as lust, but it had grown into so much more. He loved Izzy; loved everything about her. Her dedication, her sense of humor, her protectiveness of her dad. Heck, he even loved that wall of ice that she hid behind, the persona that he’d been privileged to glimpse past.
Yes, he loved her. And he would protect her. Even if, in the end, he had to protect her from himself.
The Henchman was gripping his forearms, tentacles wrapped around him and trussing him up like a pig. The creatures were slow and cumbersome on land, but in the water, they moved with terrifying agility.
Still, Mordi was pissed. He might not be able to shift into a sea creature, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t shift at all. With a burst of energy, he lashed out. Relief flooded him as conjured fire env
eloped the writhing Henchman. He heard the creature’s squeal of surprise, and wasn’t about to hang around long enough for the creature to realize that the fire was fake—nothing more than a pyrotechnical illusion.
He shifted, transforming himself into a long, slick snake. Then he dropped like a stone, the Henchman’s slimy grip no match for his smooth scales.
As soon as he was free, he shifted back to human form, fighting against the wave of disorientation that always accompanied a transformation. He kicked to the surface, arriving just in time to surprise the other Henchman, who was approaching Izzy from behind.
Mordi dove down, tucking his feet in, then lashed out in an awkward donkey kick. He got the squid-creature somewhere in the gut, his feet sinking with a satisfying slurp into the doughy flesh. The creature howled and rolled away. Then Mordi broke the surface, clutching the cooler as he and Izzy again started kicking for freedom.
“They’re still coming,” Izzy said.
A booming laugh echoed over the water, and Mordi turned toward the sound, only to see a dark shape standing on the hill above, between the Porsche and the Viper. “It’s over, Mordichai. Don’t worry about the girl. I promise, she’ll be well taken care of.”
Mordi strained, trying to place the voice. So familiar, and yet . . . not.
“Go!” Izzy yelled beside him. He turned to her in question, and she rolled her eyes. Evidently she was feeling better. “You heard him. It’s not me he’s after. It’s you. Now go!”
“Not happening,” he said. “We both go, or we both stay.”
She didn’t waste time arguing, just started swimming toward a tree stump that poked out of the water about five yards ahead.
The dazed Henchman was still behind them, trailing them on the right. His companion—the one Mordi had surprised with the fire—had surfaced on the left. It too was tracking their progress.
The creatures were dumb, but they obviously weren’t stupid. Mordi and Izzy both had powers—amazing by some standards, nothing special by others. But the one thing neither of them had was any particular ability to live in or breathe water. Which meant that the best way for the Henchman to beat them was to keep them in the river . . . and bide their time while their targets tired themselves out.
If he and Izzy wanted to win, they needed to turn the tables. They needed to do the unexpected. And they needed to do it soon.
“Can you run?” he asked, a plan so ridiculous it just might work forming in his mind.
She didn’t miss a beat in her swimming, but she did manage to send him a look that suggested she thought he was losing his mind.
“If there was a surface,” he explained. “Could you run?”
“I think so.” Her brow furrowed. “I don’t feel dizzy anymore. Yeah. But what—”
“Ice.”
For a second, her face clouded with confusion. Then her eyes lit. “Running? More like slipping and sliding,” she said. “You ever try to run on ice?”
“Even crawling will be better than trying to fight in the water,” he said. “At least we’ll have some sort of advantage.” He narrowed his eyes, looking at her battered face. “Are you up to it?”
“I can’t do the whole river,” she said. “Or enough to keep them imprisoned. But yeah. I think I can do enough to get us out of here.” She slowed her swim. “For this, though, I’ll need both hands.”
Mordi nodded, holding her around the waist and kicking like a fiend to keep them both afloat and fleeing. She stiffened. He knew what she was doing; he’d done it enough times himself—drawing the power in so that she could let it right back out.
A few feet in front of them, the surface of the water rippled. But the Henchmen were drawing closer.
“Not to rush you or anything, but . . .”
Izzy nodded, her body stiff and warm in his arms, filled to bursting with power. “Right about . . . now.” She lashed out, and ice spewed from her fingers, creating a frozen platform in front of them. “Hurry!” she cried. “Hurry!”
They scrambled on, him lifting her at the waist to help her up, and her scrabbling forward on hands and knees as he piled on behind her. Behind them, the Henchmen approached, still in squid form; but as they rushed forward, Mordi saw the change come upon them. Suddenly they were coming out of the water in droves—fat, thin, tall, short, each some mockery of human form, and all as ugly as sin.
“Faster,” he said, taking Izzy’s hand. They were half-sliding, half-walking on the icy surface. “We need more,” he shouted, seeing the water churning in front of them.
“I know. Can you slow them down behind?”
He could. As he and Izzy raced forward, her hand outstretched to become an ice-making machine, he reached backward, all of his power concentrated on melting the ice in their wake. Behind them, the ice crackled and buckled, finally falling off into the water—and taking the following Henchmen with it. The evil creatures floundered, struggling to again change shape.
Mordi and Izzy didn’t slow down. They just kept racing along, Izzy building their bridge and Mordi destroying it behind them. When they finally reached the other side of the river, both collapsed, exhausted, onto the bank.
All Mordi wanted to do was rest, to spread out on the soft grass with this woman at his side and watch the sun dip below the horizon.
What he wanted, unfortunately, severely clashed with reality. The Henchmen reached the water’s edge, and were even now emerging from the river like bog monsters.
Mordi reached for Izzy’s hand, too tired to care that she might sense his desperate thoughts. “We need to move.”
“Can’t. Pushed too hard.” Her voice, thin and weak, barely reached his ears.
He’d pushed too hard, too, and it was so hard to conjure the strength. But he had to. He had to keep her safe. He knew without a doubt that it was him they wanted. Izzy was in the cross fire, but he’d die before he’d let any harm come to her.
Anger spurred his adrenaline, and he rolled to his side, not getting up because he didn’t want to waste the energy. His body felt like molten metal: without form, without strength, but with a billion possibilities bubbling beneath the surface. He was bubbling. And he only had to harness his strength.
The Henchmen were fully out of the water now, moving closer. And closer. Their heavy footsteps squished against the muddy bank, a thick slurping sound punctuating their increasing proximity.
Almost . . . Almost . . .
Mordi held his breath, trying to wait until the last possible minute. They’d been too far away before. But now, perhaps, if he just let them come a little bit closer . . .
He closed his eyes, searching for strength and praying for success.
He wouldn’t fail. He couldn’t.
And then the Henchmen lunged and Izzy screamed and Mordi erupted. Fire enveloped the creatures, their squeals of pain filling the sky. The evil creatures raced round and round in blind circles, then dropped to the ground, rolling as they tried to smother the flames. Too late. Their oily bodies began to melt, and as they burned away into nothingness the flames started to recede.
Across the river, still on the bank, Mordi could see the Porsche and the Viper. Their headlights flashed once, as if in silent acknowledgment that Mordi had won this round. Then the cars backed away. Mordi understood.
This wasn’t over yet.
With that final grim thought, exhaustion overtook him, and Mordi collapsed to the ground, holding Izzy close. He forced himself to stay awake, keeping a silent vigil in the swiftly darkening night.
34
Isole awoke in total darkness, her heart pounding furiously and her breath coming in short, shallow bursts. Where . . .
“Izzy.”
She relaxed, Mordi’s soft voice washing over her like a caress. She didn’t know what had happened, didn’t know where they were, but she knew that she was safe. Mordi had taken care of her.
With a groan, she sat up. Her body felt boneless, and she rolled her neck, trying to will the exhaustion to leave
and some semblance of energy to refill her body. Beside her, Mordi shifted, then reached out to stroke her back. She realized that she was warm and dry and sitting on a bed. She frowned. The last thing she remembered, she’d been cold, damp, and set upon by Henchmen.
“I think I need a debriefing,” she said.
He gave her a quick rundown. After he’d rested, he’d pondered what the heck to do since their car was at the bottom of the river. In the end, he’d picked her up and carried her up the embankment and to the road. Across the tiny road he found a ramshackle motel, and decided to take advantage of it. He’d checked them in, used the phone to report in at headquarters, then used the last of his strength to hang and dry out their clothes.
“Thanks for that,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
She licked her lips. “And thanks for saving us. The last thing I remember is those Henchmen melting like the Wicked Witch of the West.”
His mouth curved into a grin. “Again,” he said, “you’re welcome.”
His tone was light enough, but she caught the rising scent of something else underneath. Fear, maybe? She wasn’t certain. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
He grimaced, then lay back down, interlacing his fingers behind his head. “You thanking me. That’s what’s wrong.”
“Excuse me?” She shifted on the mattress so that she was sitting cross-legged on the threadbare spread, peering down at him. “Why shouldn’t I thank you?”
“The fact that I put your life in danger leaps to mind.” She raised an eyebrow, then laughed.
“I forgive you.” She rubbed her legs, trying to get the blood flowing again.
“Accident of birth,” he added.
His voice was low, almost monotone, and a finger of ice raced up her spine. She knew what he was implying, that Hieronymous was the one responsible. They didn’t have proof, and she wanted to argue with him, but she knew it would be futile. They’d been down that road before. Instead she simply said, “It could be someone else.”
“It could,” he said. “It isn’t.”