by Lyn Benedict
“No,” Zoe said. “She squished Merrow.”
“She won’t squish you,” Sylvie said.
“You’re sure? I mean, really sure. Mom would be so pissed if you got me squished.”
“She hesitated to kill Marah on the grounds of being family, and she’s not even close. You should be fine.”
“Marah? The ISI agent that the witches were tracking?”
“Is that how they found Demalion—never mind, answer’s obvious. Yeah. Marah. The point being, she actively tried to kill Erinya, and Erinya didn’t turn her into chunks. But … don’t try to kill Erinya. Just to be safe.”
“Why am I doing this?” Zoe said. “What are you going to be doing?”
“Ostensibly, taking my own shower,” Sylvie said. “I need some private space to talk to someone she doesn’t like. I want her distracted so she doesn’t notice his arrival.”
“Who?”
“No names,” Sylvie said. “At least, not until Erinya’s distracted.”
“This is important?”
“Yeah, Zo. It is. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Eri’s out of control.”
“And you think provoking her will help keep her under control? Sounds sketchy. I mean, I’ll do it. But this had better work.”
“It’s a total gamble.”
Zoe grimaced. “Great. Hand me a towel.”
“Where—”
“They’re growing from that tree.”
“Ah, so they are,” Sylvie said. She wondered when she was going to stop feeling that dull shock of surprise. Probably around the same time her low-grade discomfort faded. Too much power in the air for the Lilith’s blood in her veins. All this loose magic. It set her teeth on edge.
“Towel?”
Sylvie tossed her one and headed out. Val’s mansion had six bathrooms last count. Sylvie wanted to find one as far from Erinya as she could get.
The guest room where she’d stayed with Demalion was at the back of the house, and Sylvie aimed for that with good results. Found it and its attached bath both empty, and more pleasingly, not completely changed over to Erinya’s world yet. The bathroom still had a shower, still had recognizable dials amidst the twining vines. She turned on the water, stripped down, figuring she might as well get in a shower before she had to use a waterfall, and closed her eyes. She listened for magic, listened for any shivering sense that Erinya was approaching and, instead, got a sudden screech of outrage.
Zoe had distracted Erinya successfully, it seemed.
“Dunne,” Sylvie said. “I need to talk to you. Now. Hurry up.”
One minute she was alone in the shower, the next she was way too close to an increasingly damp god of Justice. She hadn’t thought that through as well as she might. She fought the urge to leap for a towel of her own; he was a god, a towel meant nothing, and, besides, he wasn’t inclined to look. Hell, he was all but wed to Eros, and no mortal could compare to him.
He shook his head, and the shower water stopped falling on him.
“You travel by storm and lightning, and you’re annoyed by the shower?”
“You asked me here for that?”
“No,” Sylvie said. “Look. I need your help.”
“I asked for yours and you haven’t done it and now you ask me for a favor? Another one? I sent you to Dallas. To Graves. I tweaked time so you’d reach him before he died.”
“Thank you,” Sylvie said. It didn’t stick in her throat as much as she thought it might. That really had been a generous act. “I can’t do it.”
Dunne sighed. “You can.”
“I can’t kill her. Not now. I don’t have the time, the energy to waste fighting her, and honestly, I don’t have the heart. She’s fucked-up and awful and dangerous and amazing and she’s my friend. She’s creating coffee for Alex whenever she wants it.” Sylvie retreated into the spray, hid the flush of tears on her face with heated steam.
Dunne wrinkled his brow. “I can’t do it,” he said. “Not without causing an uproar in the heavens. We can fight to our heart’s blood within our own pantheons and we do. But when you took her out of my pantheon, you took her out of my hands.”
“You’re no longer thinking like a human,” Sylvie said. “You were going to be different. Justice. Not godly vengeance. Think back. Think to when you were human. When you caught a criminal, what did you do with them? Execute them? Every single one?”
“No,” he said. “We jailed them.”
“So jail her.”
“I can’t attack—”
“You’re not harming her. I’m not suggesting chaining her to a mountain while eagles eat her liver. You’re just confining her. Come on, she’s alone in her pantheon. Tepeyollotl’s a shattered shell. He’s not going to even notice, much less care.”
“And the other gods? Those not in my pantheon or hers?”
“They probably won’t notice,” Sylvie said. “Right? I mean, if I killed her, they’d notice; there’d be a huge flare of power. If you killed her, the same. There’d be a fight. But they’ve been watching her trample Miami for months now. They haven’t done anything.”
“They’re still debating.”
“They’re slow debaters, then,” Sylvie said. Immortals tended to be slow about some things. She was grateful to it right now. “Which means, if you cage her, they’ll debate that, too. Probably for generations. You can buy me time. You can teach her a lesson that she might listen to. You know she’s not subtle. It probably hasn’t occurred to her that there are other ways the gods might choose to deal with her beyond straight-up attacks.”
Sylvie’s nerves jangled. The gods might have time, but she didn’t. Every second that Dunne was here was a second Erinya might notice. A second longer that Zoe courted disaster.
“It’s a risk, I admit,” she said. “Is it one you’re willing to take?”
Dunne vanished in answer. Guess that was a no.
Sylvie punched the shower stall, winced as her knuckles impacted and shredded on the grout. She had washed the blood off and had just rinsed the shampoo from her hair when Alex came barreling into the room. “Syl, you gotta … Zoe and Erinya…
Sylvie shook soap out of her hair, grabbed a towel, and ran, tripping over her feet, the vine-matted floor, the soil, and stone.
WHEN SHE HIT THE LIVING ROOM, SHE FOUND THAT ERINYA HAD CORNERED Zoe, was snarling into Zoe’s turned-away face. Lupe was coiled in the corner, returned to the snake-woman shape, caging a frightened nutria between her palms, watching with unblinking suspicion as Erinya and Zoe faced off.
“Aren’t you going to use your witchy powers against me? Try to save yourself?” Erinya taunted Zoe.
Zoe had closed her eyes, but her face held none of the fear Sylvie had expected. Instead, she looked utterly blank, as serene as a painted doll.
“Erinya, back off,” Sylvie said.
“I don’t like witches,” Erinya said. “I don’t like her.” A huge paw crashed into the stone beside Zoe, cracking it and shedding rock dust over Zoe’s damp hair.
Zoe opened her eyes. “I don’t like you either. But you can’t bait me into using magic. Into letting you burn me out.”
Erinya breathed out magic. Sylvie, who’d felt the entire island like an itch against her skin, suddenly felt like she’d stepped into poison ivy. Zoe closed her eyes again but kept talking.
“Val Cassavetes trained me. You know Val. Woman whose home you’ve turned into a Yucatán jungle. She’s good at what she does. She taught me more than how to scavenge power. She taught me how to refuse it. Told me that sometimes the best skill a witch had was not sucking up the available power.”
Erinya huffed. “So you’re not only a thief, you’re a picky one?”
Zoe grinned nastily. “I am a discerning shopper. I am educated and elegant, and I like the finer things. And you’re all blunt-force power, unthinking and crude—”
“Zoe!” Sylvie shouted. “Shut up.” Before Erinya stopped trying to burn her out and just bit her head off. Sylv
ie didn’t understand why Erinya seemed so pissed. She’d heard worse before. Sylvie chalked it up to Zoe’s special ability to needle in just the right way.
“I could bring Merrow back. Let him do all the things to you he promised he would. His little pet.” Erinya’s teeth were coated in blood, her voice thick as if she were savaging her own tongue.
Lupe had picked up the nutria and was staring at its furry face with an expression that veered between it’s so cute and I could eat it. Finally, Lupe set the rodent down, watched it scamper for a bolt-hole near the river—when did the living room get a river? And did it run fresh or salt this close to the sea? Sylvie shook the irrelevant thoughts away in time to hear Lupe say, “Eri. Don’t be silly. She’s just a girl.”
“So are you,” Erinya snarled.
“No, I’m not,” Lupe said. “She’s in high school. I’m a junior in college. Was a junior. Now, I’m a monster.”
“This place is a madhouse,” Alex said, trying to add her own distraction. “Erinya, the TV just spat out little snake things. You want to go clear them away? It’s freaking me out.”
“No,” Sylvie said. “Everyone chill out. Focus. Erinya. I need you to find Demalion for me. Then I need you to send me and Zoe there. The nice way.” It was a bad idea, but it was the only one she had left. Dunne hadn’t even let her ask him if he could find Demalion.
“Send me, too,” Lupe said.
Erinya’s teeth flashed, and she beat Sylvie to the reflexive “No!” The howl made the stones shake.
Zoe slipped away from Erinya’s gaze and sidled over to Sylvie. “You owe me,” she whispered. “Like new boots and a matching purse owe me.”
“Dream on,” Sylvie said. “I’m not enabling your fashion habit.” Her eyes never left the argument before them.
Erinya paced and snarled and slunk and lashed her tail. Lupe sat calmly and made her case. “What else am I supposed to do,” Lupe said. “Sit here in my jungle castle while you go and have all the fun? I’m a monster, Eri. Let me make the most of it. You said you wanted to see me hunt? Those people deserve me.”
“And you need me,” Zoe said, interrupting. “So don’t get any funny ideas about dropping me midtransport.”
Erinya growled, and Sylvie told Zoe, “You know, I’m rethinking taking you.”
“Oh please,” Zoe said. “I mean, I guess you’re good. You keep going up against magical things without magic. And you’re still alive. But you’re walking into a coven of witches. How many spells can you fend off at once?”
“And Yvette’s got monsters on tap,” Lupe said. “Wasn’t that the problem? The Good Sisters using monsters to get rid of their enemies?”
“You’re a monster,” Sylvie said. “By your own definition. If you go, I’ll have to watch my back around you. What’s to keep you from being turned against me—”
“Me,” Erinya said. “I’ll burn them all out.”
“No,” Sylvie said. “You are definitely not invited. It’s witches. I can handle witches. I cannot handle massive civilian casualties.”
Erinya said, “There are so many of you. Like ants. Should I be bothered by ants?”
“Is Lupe an ant?”
“No, she’s mine!” Erinya flashed another burst of pointed magic at Zoe, and Zoe rebuffed it though she looked shaky.
“No one’s arguing that. Enough!” Sylvie snapped. For a wonder, this time they all fell silent. Sylvie let out a breath. “Alex, you’re not looking well. Go lie down, try not to listen to our plans. It’s only going to tug at those sore spots in your brain. Try not to worry. We’re going to fix it. Zoe. Would you pack a bag? Anything you can find in the house that might help break the Corrective.”
“Yeah, like Erinya left anything useful in the house—”
“Zoe. Just go.”
“New boots. New purse. New coat.” Zoe stomped out of the room, and the tension faded sharply.
“I am coming,” Lupe said.
“Yeah, you are,” Sylvie said. “Mostly because I don’t want to fight you. I want to fight witches. So you’d better damn well not let any of the Good Sisters leash you and turn you against us.”
“She’s mine,” Erinya muttered again. “She won’t be leashed or seduced.”
“Fine,” Sylvie said, and faced her main problem. Erinya. One part of her thought to hell with it. The Society deserved all the pain Erinya could bring them. That same part whispered, if she just made it clear enough, made Erinya understand why bystanders should be left alone, left safe, why their attacks should be pinpoint and confined … It was a seductive thought, but ultimately not believable. Erinya would raze everything to the ground.
“Where are they?” Sylvie asked. Easiest way to make the decision. Like she even had a say. She cursed Dunne and his god-view of time. All urgency for humans, and none of their own kind. By the time he considered her request, they’d be deep into the body counts.
“Demalion? He’s surrounded by witches.”
“That’s good,” Sylvie said. “Where, exactly?”
“There,” Erinya said, waving a clawed hand in a westward direction. Fury, Sylvie thought. Not good with the details.
“Eri, I need more than that. I need a place name. An address. Is Demalion thinking anything?”
“Huh,” Erinya said, “Thinking about you. He’s annoyed. Thought you’d be there by now.”
“Great,” Sylvie said. “Just what I need. More guilt. Tell him I’d get there if he’d been a little more clear about where there is!”
“San Francisco,” Erinya said.
“Oh, fuck,” Sylvie said. Worst-case scenario. High population density, close quarters, and just for funsies, on a fault line. Forget involving Erinya. Forget instantaneous god-travel. It was overrated anyway. They could fly the normal way. And then hunt for witches in a big city. And Lupe would be no problem with TSA, and Sylvie’s guns would be checked without comment. …
Sylvie gritted her teeth. Why couldn’t Val have a private plane and a pilot on staff?
Erinya gloated. “You need me. You don’t trust me. But you need me. You think any other god will come to your call? I’ve been gracious and generous, and you should be grateful. I’ll take us all there, and we’ll slaughter them to the last witch.”
“I’m going to get my guns,” Sylvie said. What was the point in arguing? She’d gambled. She’d lost. Dunne wasn’t going to help. Erinya was. Sylvie just hoped she could live with the aftermath.
She found Zoe hiding out in the guest room, still less jungle than the other rooms, and said, “You ready?”
“Is she coming with us?”
“Afraid so. I can’t make her not come.”
“You resist her pretty well,” Zoe said.
“Yeah? I don’t think you’ve got the grounds to judge that,” Sylvie said.
“You talk to her like she’s your equal, not something that will rip your heart out and give it wings so she can chase it better. And you did it in a towel. Besides, this is your room, right? Where you slept? It’s mostly human.”
“That’s because of me?”
“Your mark’s all over it,” Zoe said.
“Great. When she’s taken over the world, I can offer my services as a redecorator. What did you say to her anyway? You really hacked her off?”
Zoe fluffed a pillow and grinned. “Yeah. It worked better than I thought.”
Sylvie dragged out Demalion’s shirt, left behind, put it on over another one of Val’s tees, and another pair of slightly-too-tight khakis. “That’s not an answer.”
“Oh, I hit on Lupe. Walked right up to her in front of Erinya and Alex and kissed her cheek and told her that her scales were pretty and I bet they’d feel good against my skin.”
Sylvie choked on an inborn breath, and wheezed. “It’s amazing you’re not dead!”
“You said she wouldn’t hurt me. You were right.”
Sylvie closed her mouth on a slew of protests, all made useless now. But she decided that she was going to
have one last little talk with Erinya about not injuring Zoe, even by freak accident. She might even waste some bullets to make sure Erinya listened. Bad enough she was going into battle worrying about thousands of faceless strangers; she didn’t need to spend the entire time sick with dread that Erinya would put Zoe in harm’s way.
She calmed herself, loaded her weapons, and thought, she had a plan, she had allies—even dangerous ones— and she had a goal. Everything else was distraction.
15
Mission-Minded
THEY RECONVENED IN THE LIVING ROOM BY UNSPOKEN AGREEMENT. Zoe, following in Sylvie’s wake, was more subdued than Sylvie liked, but as she glanced around, it was far better than Lupe’s false bravado and Alex’s nervous concern.
Sylvie checked her guns again, her spare ammo, said, “Eri. If I need more bullets—”
“You won’t,” Erinya said.
Sylvie decided to take that as a vote of confidence, not another invitation to argument: She was remembering why she had worked alone for so long. Too much at stake. Too many viewpoints.
“Then let’s go,” she said. “Nice and easy. Try to bring us in quietly?”
“Teach your mother to suck eggs,” Erinya snapped, and flung out her arms. Sylvie winced, anticipating pain, that strange menacing chaos of Erinya’s realm. But all she felt was hideous itching as power crawled over her skin, seeking to make her part of it. A faint whimper suggested that Zoe was having real difficulties keeping from sampling that magic, and just as Sylvie thought she was going to have to halt the whirlwind of movement to save her sister, they slammed to a painful halt.
Sylvie dropped deep into warm, salty waters, rife with seaweed. She flailed upward, got a breath of air, grabbed out, and brought Zoe, coughing and spitting, to the surface alongside her. Lupe rose up a moment later, startled but unharmed. Water beaded off her scales. “Did we overshoot?”
“We never left,” Sylvie said looking up at the Rickenbacker Causeway from below. A furious, screeching howl ripped through the air, and all over the water, pelicans surged into ungainly flight, silvery fish dodged to the depths.