Myths & Magic: A Science Fiction and Fantasy Collection

by Kerry Adrienne

  Kyle’s shoulders sagged on a sigh. “Sofia, this room—”

  She twisted around to look at him. “No, Kyle, it’s okay. I’m all right. There was death in here, but there was life, too. You and Danyael saved my life. Heck, I just saved my life.” Her smile quivered on her lips, but her eyes were calm and at peace as she stared down at her hands.

  All it took was a carnival trick.

  Chapter 22

  Sofia quickly concluded that her highest and best use was to stay out of the way of the cleaning crew that Kyle had summoned with a single phone call. She perched on the kitchen counter and watched, wide-eyed, as six men and women traipsed through her tiny town house with industrial strength cleaners. The crew scrubbed blood from the walls and the floors. Crimson-stained carpets, beyond salvage, were ripped up and replaced. No one bothered to take photographs for evidence, and the bodies were removed without a fuss.

  The law-abiding citizen in her shrank at the amount of cover-up that was happening, and wondered why no one else seemed as appalled as she was.

  Trouble came, or so she thought, in the form of a small-framed Chinese woman, only a few inches taller than she was. The woman wore a black pantsuit over a white blouse. Her long hair hung loosely past her shoulders. She was clearly not a mercenary—she did not possess that predatory prowl—but she walked up the driveway with the confidence of a woman in charge.

  Everything about her shrieked “federal agent.”

  Sofia leaped off the kitchen counter and dashed through the house to find Kyle. He was in the living room, cleaning his weapons, and looked up as she approached. “Someone’s here,” she said. “Looks like trouble.”

  Kyle peered out of the window. “That’s trouble, all right. Stay here.”

  Kyle went to the door to meet the woman. They spoke in lowered voices; Sofia could not make anything of their conversation, but within moments, Kyle invited the woman in and waved Sofia over. “Xin, this is Sofia. Sofia, Xin.”

  Xin? The one with the NSA? Sofia walked forward to join Kyle and extended her hand to the woman. “Hi.”

  The tiny woman’s smile was warm and genuine. “Hello, Sofia.”

  Xin was nothing like anything Sofia had imagined—plain where Zara was attractive, subtle where Zara was flashy. Sofia could have imagined Xin quite at home behind a computer. In fact, her pale complexion suggested as much.

  “How is Danyael?” was Xin’s first question.

  “He’s resting, as comfortably as possible, considering the circumstances.”

  Xin nodded. “Keeping him comfortable and safe is usually the most we can do for him at times like this. Thank you for protecting him from the Rue Marcha.”

  Sofia smiled, a little uncomfortable with Xin’s expressed gratitude. “The least I could do. So…do you know what happened at the warehouse? Was FEMA able to seal it off?”

  “It was a near thing,” Xin confessed. “The potency of the chemical agent actually worked to our advantage. Most of the people in the warehouse passed out before they could attempt an escape, which would almost have certainly resulted in venting the agent out into the atmosphere.”

  Sofia shivered at Xin’s matter-of-fact tone.

  “The release of the chemical agent gave the IGEC the ammunition it needed to demand a subpoena of Proficere Labs records. Of course, the ink on the subpoena had scarcely dried when the IGEC received an unexpected e-mail from a certain Michael Hayes, research files attached. The IGEC was a little unhappy, though, when they found out that you had taken the only two actual samples of the antidote.”

  Kyle frowned. “But I gave a vial to Zara.”

  “And she delivered it to the IGEC, which only partially mollified them. Regardless, the antidote is now in mass production, and the IGEC is in talks with our government and the South American governments on the topic of preemptive vaccination.” Xin released her breath. “It’s going to be messy for a while. The exact threat level isn’t clear, but the repercussions, if the threat ever comes to pass, would be massive, so everyone is acting like it matters—which it does.” She glanced at Kyle. “I’d suggest keeping away from the IGEC for a while. Actually, it wouldn’t hurt to keep a low profile for a month or two. Everyone knows, logically, you’re not to blame, and most certainly not you,” Xin added, looking at Sofia. “But you’ve stepped on a lot of toes, infringed on the territorial claims of several federal and international agencies. Lots of people are pissed off, even though it all ended as well as it possibly could have. It will take a while for them to come around and admit that they’re grateful you didn’t turn the microchip over to Proficere, which would almost certainly have given the information to the Rue Marcha.”

  “And did you find the microchip?”

  “Luis Sanchez had it on him.” Xin glanced at the ambulance parked in front of the town house. “Not that it particularly matters now that IGEC has access to Proficere’s research.”

  Sofia swallowed hard. “About Luis—”

  Xin smiled. “Officially, his death certificate will indicate that he died of a heart attack. If anyone digs deeper, we’ll attribute the kill to Danyael.”

  “But—”

  The Chinese woman shrugged. “Five hundred and fifteen. Five hundred and sixteen. At some point it becomes a rounding error, and Danyael has more or less hit that point.” She glanced at the stairs. “Will it be all right if I look in on him for a few minutes? The NSA and the Mutant Affairs Council sent me over to make sure he was okay.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Sofia said, her brow furrowing.

  Xin answered the unasked question. “Danyael’s sanity and health matter to more people than just Zara Itani. Chalk it up to national security and leave it at that.” She smiled and moved away, heading quietly up the stairs.

  Sofia frowned at Xin’s back. In a lowered voice, she said to Kyle, “She’s the most normal of your friends that I’ve met so far, and even then, she’s a little…” She paused, searching for the right word that would not be offensive. Unfortunately, she realized, there were none.

  “Scary,” Kyle supplemented.

  Yeah, scary.

  Kyle continued in a cheery tone that Sofia considered grossly misplaced. “Even more so considering she’s human, as is Zara. Some of the scariest people I know are human. I hadn’t really thought about it that way before.”

  Sofia looked sharply at him. His smile was rueful and slightly sheepish. She did not resist when he tugged her close, wrapped his arm around her waist, and placed an absent-minded kiss on the top of her head.

  She smiled, relaxing against him. Kyle’s easy affection promised normality and offered hope for a future together.

  “So,” Kyle began. “It sounds like I’m on the government’s blacklist until a couple of people get over their injured pride. I’m sure I can talk Zara into giving me a leave of absence. I haven’t had a vacation in a long time. I could see the world—”

  Sofia’s smile trembled. Her dreams and her hopes had overstepped reality once again.

  “—go bar hopping in Chapel Hill, stalk the nursing building at UNC, walk a pretty girl home after her classes and her bar waitressing gigs.”

  “Me?” Sofia asked. She winced at the childish lilt of hope in her voice.

  Kyle did not seem to notice. His grip tightened around her waist. “Yes, you. Someone needs to keep a do-gooder out of trouble.”

  Sofia’s eyebrows shot up. She giggled. “It certainly won’t be you.”

  “Oh, you’ll be surprised how good I can be at keeping do-gooders out of trouble if she’s the only person on my agenda.”

  She snorted. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” She leaned against him, enjoying his strength and support. “Kyle?”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “You know, I’m an only child, and you…you act like you’re an only child, but you’re really not.”

  He was silent for a long moment, and then sighed. “Robert Tyce is not legally my brother anymore.”

  “You have the s
ame parents.”

  “He’s probably forgotten me.”

  “I’m willing to bet not. Won’t you at least say hi?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  Sofia nodded. “Of course not, but we obviously don’t do simple or we would have just returned the microchip to Proficere.”

  Kyle sighed again, a long-suffering sound. “I’ll consider it if you promise not to come up with any more ideas for a week.”

  That promise was good enough for her. She was almost certain she could wait seven days before stumbling headlong into trouble again. “Deal!” She looked up and smiled into his kiss.

  The town house was perfectly restored by the time Zara showed up late in the evening.

  “How is he?” was her first question as she stepped into the house. She shrugged off her leather coat and tossed it onto the new sofa that Three Fates had paid for.

  “Still resting,” Sofia assured her. “I look in on him every half hour.”

  Zara’s restless edge smoothed. Her smile was one of quiet relief.

  “If you’d like some coffee, I can get a fresh batch going while you look in on him,” Sofia offered.

  Zara nodded. “Thanks.” She went up the stairs, her heeled boots making no noise on the wooden stairs.

  The coffee had been ready for ten minutes, but Zara had not returned. Sofia went upstairs and found her at Danyael’s bedside. Zara’s hands, long tapered fingers tipped with perfect manicures, pressed over Danyael’s subtly misshapen left hand. The expression on her lovely face was contemplative. The quiet patience in Zara’s stance told Sofia that the assassin would have willingly waited forever by Danyael’s bedside. The challenging glitter in her eyes was replaced by the soft glow of a woman in love.

  Sofia drew in her breath sharply. Zara loved Danyael at least as much as or perhaps even more than he loved her.

  And Danyael did not know.

  Zara’s gaze flashed to Sofia. Their eyes met. Unhurriedly, Zara leaned forward and kissed Danyael’s lips, before pushing to her feet. “Is the coffee ready?”

  “When you’re ready,” Sofia said. It was perfectly understood that Danyael, as a topic of conversation, was completely off-limits.

  Back downstairs, Sofia handed Zara a mug of coffee as she sat in the newly furnished living room with Kyle. The blood and gore of hours past had been erased; her home was once again a haven. Memories would linger longer—memories of death but also of life. The quiet pop and crackling of burning wood in the fireplace filled in the silence. No one said much. It was enough to be alive and safe once more.

  It was enough for Sofia that Kyle’s arm draped across her shoulders and that his lips brushed often against the top of her head, offering kisses so absent-minded that, as a statement, they seemed downright possessive.

  Sofia sat up when she heard an uncertain step on the staircase.

  Zara too looked up, but made no move from her seat. The two women exchanged glances, their understanding mutual and immediate.

  Sofia rose because she knew—they both knew—that Danyael would be marginally more willing to receive help from her. She found Danyael standing on the staircase, leaning heavily against the wall as he maneuvered his crippled leg and crutch down the narrow stairs. He smiled when he saw her and accepted her help without protest. Their progress was slow and unsteady. Danyael was still weak and Sofia too short to support him, but she, instead of Kyle or Zara, allowed Danyael to salvage whatever was left of his pride.

  They made it safely to the bottom of the stairs. Sofia would have stepped away, but Danyael’s grip on her hand tightened. “Just a minute.” He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. His grasp was gentle, but a tingling warmth radiated from the point of contact and infused her body, bringing with it a sense of serenity, of utter comfort and safety.

  Sofia closed her eyes and allowed the emotions to wash over her. It would be so easy for anyone to mistake Danyael’s instinctive compassion for love, fall in love with the alpha empath, and then smash oneself in an eternity of frustration against his equally instinctive distrust of others. Poor Zara.

  Danyael released her hand.

  She opened her eyes and met his dark eyes.

  He smiled again. “You’re all right.” His focus shifted briefly to Kyle. “You’re both all right.”

  Those simple words were more profound than any benediction or blessing Sofia had ever received from a priest at Mass or confession. To conceal the flush of embarrassment, she looked at her watch. “You’ve been asleep for fourteen hours. Would you like something to eat? I have leftover pizza in the refrigerator. I can reheat it for you.”

  Danyael’s gaze moved past her shoulder to meet Zara’s. Something seemed to pass between them in that wordless moment before Danyael turned his face away. He shook his head. “No, thank you.” His voice was quiet, all the better to conceal the lingering exhaustion. “I slept too long. I have to go or I’ll miss the last bus.”

  His crutch tapped an unsteady rhythm on the hardwood floors as he limped to the front door. He paused to zip up his black leather jacket, soft and worn from age.

  Kyle reached for his car keys but was forestalled by a sharp shake of Zara’s head. His brow furrowed, but he deferred to Zara and slid the keys back into his pocket. “Danyael,” he called.

  Danyael looked over his shoulder.

  Kyle pushed to his feet and walked over to Danyael. He extended his hand. “Thank you.”

  Surprise flashed across Danyael’s face. He had obviously not expected Kyle’s gratitude. He shook Kyle’s hand. “You’re welcome.”

  Kyle continued. “When you interrogated the Rue Marcha, Xin said something odd. She said you didn’t just do it for Sofia, you did it for them.”

  Danyael shrugged. “You needed the truth quickly. You would have put them through hours of physical pain and may not have gotten what you needed. What I did, I did in a minute.”

  “And after you left, he undid it,” Zara added, her voice flat and cool.

  Danyael reacted to the sarcasm and scorn in Zara’s voice by looking away, but not before a flash of despair passed over his face—the despair of a man who did not know how to win the love of the woman he wanted.

  Sofia ached for Danyael, for Zara, and for the love that lay unvoiced and unseen between them—healer and assassin, separated by a gulf too wide to bridge.

  Without another word, he stepped out of the house and quietly closed the door behind him.

  Kyle shook his head. “He’s amazing,” he said.

  Zara was silent for a moment. Her face was expressionless, though her violet eyes seemed gentler, the hard, cool light gone. “He’s infuriating,” she added. She pushed to her feet, reached for her coat, and went to the door.

  A gust of cold wind blew into the house as she stepped out, and then fell quiet when she slammed the door behind her.

  For a moment, the only sound was the crackle of burning logs in the fireplace. Sofia drew back the curtains and peeked out to see Zara catch up with Danyael before he climbed on board the bus. She grabbed his arm and swung him around, steadying him before he fell. Sofia could not hear anything they said to each other, but whatever Zara said must have worked. He turned and allowed her to lead him back to her car.

  Sofia released the curtain and sank back into Kyle’s waiting arms.

  He shook his head. “Seriously screwed up. And I thought we had issues.”

  “We do.”

  He grinned at her as he tugged her onto his lap. “But we have all our lives to figure it out.”

  Epilogue

  Summer hovered on the cusp on fall, afternoon on the brink of evening. The cool air whisked the humidity away and replaced tension with laughter. Amused wedding guests stopped keeping track of the list of disasters that had nearly befallen the event. Everyone had held his or her breath as the three-year-old pageboy precariously balanced the rings on a lace pillow. The adorable five-year-old flower girl who danced her way down the tulle-draped aisle was applauded, m
uch to the embarrassment of her mother who did not know whether to laugh or cry.

  Kyle, standing at the front of the decorated garden grove, beside his brother, Robert Tyce, only looked bemused at the antics of his young nephew and niece.

  Chelsea, Sofia’s bridesmaid, blond and stunning in her hunter green silk gown, almost stole the show, but it was clear that Kyle only had eyes for his petite bride. Sofia had wisely decided not to bedeck herself out in layers of “fluffy stuff” as she called it. A heavy gown, she insisted, would likely topple her. Instead, her wedding dress was a cream satin sheath. Its hem, embroidered with lace, brushed her ankles as she walked down the aisle, leaving scarcely any trace of her passing on the grass.

  Thus, on a perfect evening, at the end of summer, Kyle and Sofia’s married life began. Her stomach was already gently swelling with child—their child, who would be loved, adored, and spoiled rotten, whether mutant or human.

  By design, the ceremony was short and sweet, and the celebration was long. Sofia flitted through the crowd and introduced her nursing school friends to Kyle’s mercenary colleagues, who, she had to admit, looked decidedly normal, except for the fact that they were all in top physical form and subtly armed, she suspected. She knew that many of them were alpha mutants, but no one did anything extraordinary, and the other guests were allowed to wallow in blissful ignorance.

  With a reluctant frown, Sofia waved away the waiter who circulated with a tray of filled champagne glasses. She turned to Zara, who looked nothing at all like an assassin in her bright yellow sundress and straw-colored sandals.

  The other woman smiled warmly. “Congratulations, Sofia.”

  Sofia grinned. “Thank you.”

  Zara continued. “Danyael sends his regrets. He had to work and could not be here, but he wishes you—the both of you—” She looked down at the swell of Sofia’s stomach. “—and Kyle all the best.”

  Sofia’s eyes widened. “That night…he knew.”

  Zara nodded.

  Sofia stared at the assassin. She did not know Zara well enough to presume she had any right to ask the question lingering on the tip of her tongue, but she cared enough for Danyael to want to know. “Will you and Danyael be all right?”