by Jamie Wyman
“Stop!” Flynn’s voice called out. “Let go, Cat!”
With the protest of grinding gears and hissing valves, the lift shuddered. I was close. So close to stopping it, to saving Karma. I couldn’t pull away. Not now. Beyond that, I’d tapped into something delicious. A wellspring so vast and potent that my whole self sang to be close to it. I wanted to dive into that energy, swim in it, dwell in it until I became the personification of that power.
I did not break my song or my connection. I wouldn’t.
Sweat coursed down my back, over my face. I poured more of myself into the machine, my consciousness tunneling to nothing more than…
A blast of nuclear white light.
A lightning strike.
The high-tension hum of a live wire.
A glorious white glow wreathed my hands. Filaments and tendrils of energy stretched in the air around me, reaching for something over my shoulder. Without letting go, I turned to look.
The roiling chaos of battle stopped. Cultists littered the floor in various states of consciousness. The few left standing went stock still, stunned into immobility. Nate—fiery eyes wide—stared mutely, his fingers limp around his golden spear.
Flynn.
Oh, my friend…
There in the foundry, Flynn’s essence was bare for all to see. Arteries of orange light blazed, his piercings casting shafts of blinding white. The pseudoflesh of his body disappeared, and all that remained was a purity of function and magic. Those glyphs I’d seen in his eyes flowed through his tattoos like blood.
Once I’d seen him, the true him behind a flesh mask—machines and implants woven with skin and thought to create a digital hybrid—I knew he was more than a mage, more than human. I had been so incredibly blind.
I didn’t know. Oh…how could I have known?
So beautiful…
My knees shook with equal parts humility and terror, and tears soaked my cheeks. The fingers of my power, blanched and steely, spread from me and reached toward him. Orange light speared out of him and met with my energy. I felt the collision in every fiber of my being. The jolt of my heart, the rush of ecstasy flooding my body, the ache and completion in my sublet soul as I made a direct connection with the one and only god I’d ever truly believed in.
A god of reason, thought, and order. Technology and ideas.
And he was my friend. Flynn.
I’m sorry, he wept in my mind.
You’re beautiful, I responded.
Nate’s voice, real and harsh on my hypersensitive ears, cut through the moment. “Polyhymnia’s veil!” His finger was pointed straight at me.
I looked down at my clothes, at my—no, Polly’s—jacket, a giggle bubbling in my chest. The gauzy scarf everyone had been fighting for all this time, the one Marius had run off with? Little more than a useless bit of frippery. Polly’s jacket had been the true relic the whole time.
She takes the song and makes it sacred, a direct link to the believer’s god.
A spine-chilling shriek echoed in the foundry. “It’s mine!” Grey screeched. “Mine!”
The wounded mage charged toward me. I bared my teeth, an image forming in my mind: white-hot lightning through his heart, burrowing through him and coming out of his eyes, his gaping mouth. Tapped into my potential, into Flynn’s well of power, I had no doubt that I could do it as simply as the wind carries a spider’s web. I reached into myself to make it so.
But before I could send my murderous will into Grey, Nate’s spear flashed through the air and caught him in the chest. The ferromancer fell to the floor, eyes glazed.
I threw my head back, soaking in still more power as I laughed, screamed in triumph. In my mind, though, a tiny voice cowered and howled in terror. This isn’t right. Too much. Can’t take this.
“Let go, Cat,” Flynn said calmly. “Let go.”
How could I let go of such luscious power? This feeling of being part of something greater, of being connected to the Universe? How could I let go?
I shook my head like a belligerent child.
“It’ll be okay,” he said. “I promise you.”
I choked on a sob, and fresh tears spilled down my face. If I did, would he disappear? Would he hate me for unmasking him? Would this moment of purity end?
“Please,” he said.
I took my fingers away from the control panel, though my hands stayed hooked like claws. With that physical action came the shuddering, jerky disconnection of my power. Oh, but I wanted to hold on. I wanted to keep it, to drink it in and fill myself with such mastery of my element. This, I thought. This is the Catherine Loki needs. This is the me I was meant to be.
Despite my own resistance, I clamped off the flow of energy. My white light faded, tendrils and filaments breaking away from Flynn.
But he remained. I was relieved that he hadn’t disappeared, that this glorious, radiant being—my friend, the god—didn’t fade just because I released our connection. Flynn smiled softly, and warmth folded over me like a blanket. Like home. The seething thirst left me trembling as it ebbed away.
His eyes trailed up to the slab where Karma lay still as stone.
“Karma,” Flynn said, his voice radiating authority. “Wake up.”
On the slab she gasped, a jolt of purple energy flaring into the ether. In shock, fear, or some combination of the two, she rolled off the slab, and I caught her. We crumpled to the floor together. Flynn reached out toward her, and the air shimmered. Her gray, brittle hair flushed hot pink, and her skin blossomed like a new rose. Life filled her. At the same time, I felt recharged. Fuck, I felt like I’d slept for a week and spent my days at a spa. My hurts were mended, and my pool of power overflowed, ready for whatever might come.
Karma gaped wide-eyed at the dazzling shaft of light, the captivating center of the room.
Our Flynn.
“What…what is that?” she asked.
Flynn lifted his arms, power dancing over his fingertips. The remaining cultists screamed and ran. Even the mages keeping the circle fueled left their positions. Before they could recede into the shadows, Flynn murmured a single word.
“Sleep.”
They fell to the ground, all of them limp and lifeless as dolls.
I shook as I answered Karma’s question. “That would be Flynn.”
“Oh…” she squeaked. “Oh god.”
“Something like that,” I assured her.
On the floor a few feet away, Grey stirred. The spear, dark with his blood, clattered to the ground as he heaved himself to his knees. Limbs rubbery, hardly able to hold his own weight, Grey staggered to his feet. Blood gushed from his wounds.
I grabbed Karma and yanked her after me, away from the slab and the berserk ferromage.
He ignored us, though, staggering past. The metal slab melted at his will, spilling down to form a set of raw and twisted stairs. A few jerking motions of his legs and he stood at the lip of the furnace. He cast a hateful glare at me. With a blood-soaked smile, he gurgled, “Hail Belial!” before launching himself backward into the inferno.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Take a Bow”
Grey left this world with a resonant curse, but his self-sacrifice was eerily silent save for the sounds of hungry fire licking sizzling tongues over flesh. The pop of bone. Francis Grey didn’t scream as the flames consumed him.
Flynn slid to my side, scooping Karma into his arms. “Are you all right?”
He sat there, same as always, in his metal-band T-shirt and spiky red hair. The same face I’d known for so long. The body of a man who could have been my brother. Would I ever be able to look at him the same way again?
Shivering, Karma squeaked out, “What? What was that?”
“Well, that was…uh…” Flynn groped nervously for an answer. When none would come he lifted a hand and waved somewhat shyly.
Karma’s mouth worked soundlessly. Flynn gazed knowingly to me. It was an expression we would have shared just yesterday, a silent conversation i
n a single glance, but that night it held so much more. Phenomenal cosmic knowledge, an intimacy beyond all comprehension.
“Why hide?” I asked.
“Are you kidding?” he asked. “I have to.”
“Excuse me,” a small voice called from above. Father Calvert waved from the wrecked catwalk. “Excuse me, but could someone please, um…could someone please help me down?”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
With a ruffle of his wings, Nate took to the air and offered his arms to the priest. Getting to my feet was easier than it had any right to be. Dumbstruck, Karma accepted Flynn’s help, leaning on him as we three moved away from the furnace and its acrid smells.
Stepping lightly over the few remaining bodies, Flynn skirted the edge of the magic circle. Did he feel its power even though the mages had left it to wither? Was he afraid he’d be trapped there?
The iridescent sphere sparked and cracked. I shoved at Flynn, herding him away from the silver bands laid into the concrete floor. We huddled together in the foundry, watching the cage collapse on itself.
I could still see the vines twining tendrils around shafts of black, craggy rock. Waves of the ocean meeting with flames, steam curling away. Before my eyes, the images faded into little more than color. What had once been radiant emerald or brilliant sapphire now reminded me of old, faded newspapers. Those shifting hues bled away from one another, separating to form individual walls that shattered like stained glass. The pieces tumbled through the air and evaporated before they could hit the ground.
All that remained were silver lines in the floor. Like the rest of this foundry, the circle was an abandoned tool, nothing without the will of a workman.
My skin prickled with unease. “We should get out of here.”
“Yup,” Flynn said.
He put an arm around Karma’s shoulders and coaxed her toward the exit. Nate and Father Calvert’s steps joined ours and not a second too soon. The ground shook and rumbled, nearly knocking me off my feet. The sound of wind, howling like a train, filled my ears and a great gust blew my hair back from my face. For a dreadful moment, I imagined that the painted demon had inhaled, sucking all the air out of the foundry.
Behind us, the furnace exploded, a blast of superheated air belching out with enough force to knock me to my knees. Karma tumbled to the ground, too. When Nate offered me his hand, I took it and looked up into his face.
Was that horror? Awe? Flames writhed in the glossy sheen of his wide eyes. Lips parted, the angel remained mutely transfixed on the furnace.
I followed his gaze.
A black shadow stepped out of the inferno. A silhouette made of jagged teeth, the head of a bull, and enormous black horns reaching out to wicked points.
Father Calvert let out a shrill scream. I heard rapid footsteps echoing away and hoped they were his. Smart man, that priest. All I could do was gawk as the terrible shape descended from the furnace and placed a cloven hoof on the dusty floor.
Amber light glistened over dark scales as the creature unfurled leathery wings. It stood observing us, drinking in our terror and confusion. Tattoos had been carved into its thick hide, into the horns, scrimshaw-style, creating tribal patterns and sigils. Its eyes glowed as red as embers, and its lip curled up in a perversion of a smile to expose row upon row of yellow serrated teeth.
The thing’s torso was as broad as some cars and built like a human with muscles rippling under its thick hide. One punch from its sledgehammer-sized fist could knock me into the last ice age. Its legs began like any normal man’s, but the knees bent the wrong way.
Flynn bristled behind me, my skin tingling as he drew power. “Cat,” he said quietly. “Take Karma and get out.”
Frozen in place, my jaw on the floor, I didn’t move. Nate’s golden aura flared into being. Once more, the angel wielded his spear, this time crossing it over my body protectively.
Claws as long as my foot and gleaming jet black stretched into the air as the creature raised its palm to us in greeting.
“Let us parley, seraph,” the thing called out.
I shivered and closed my eyes, clenched my jaw against the screams that filled my head. This voice was the thing of nightmares, the sound of it enough to send me flailing into the abyss of insanity. The cinder-black growl stopped my blood in my veins and turned my insides to water.
This was the thing that left a message for Muriel. The thing that taunted Polly in her last moment.
Nate tensed. “Why should I bargain with Hellspawn?”
“Cousin,” it rumbled, “we may have a common purpose.”
Nate pulled me to my feet, his strength fighting the trembling in my knees. Standing between Flynn and the angel, I felt safe. Almost.
Flynn held Karma close to his body. I heard her whisper, “What is it?”
Once more, the creature mocked a smile as it bared those hideous teeth. “I am called Moloch.”
Dread coursed down my spine. I tried to remember. What was it the priest had said about him, this thing? His shark’s grin and the pitiless stare clouded my thoughts. I couldn’t focus. Couldn’t think.
Flynn straightened his spine, tattoos glowing with power. “Marius said you’d gone into hiding.”
“Rumors are part of Belial’s trade, young one,” Moloch said.
Nate stepped forward. “You killed Polyhymnia.”
Moloch dipped his horns in assent. “I am he that ate the life of the eldest Muse.”
Nate’s voice twisted with grief. “And my sister?”
If brimstone could laugh, it would sound like the noise Moloch made: a gravelly purr laced with malicious amusement. “Your twin’s fear had a lovely scent.”
Nate stepped closer, his footfalls hollow. His knuckles tightened on the spear, and his throat flexed with pain and sorrow. “Why?” Nate shouted.
“Like you, seraph, I do as I am bidden.”
“By whom?” I croaked.
Nate’s voice echoed in the foundry as he repeated my question. “Who would send you to murder her? She never hurt anyone.”
Moloch cocked his head, curious. “Can it be that you do not know?”
“Stop playing games with me, demon, and answer! Who wanted my sister dead?”
“If I do not tell, seraph, what will you do?”
“I will kill you myself,” Nate snarled.
“Then the truth will die with me. Assuming you possess the strength to end me.”
With a throat-slashing yell, Nate charged forward, spear aimed at the creature’s belly. Moloch batted the angel away with little effort. Nate caught himself before he could stumble, turned in a circle, and came up in a guard position. But Moloch made no move to attack.
“Are you so like your twin, little seraph, that you would rush toward death so willingly?”
Please, no.
“Are you so eager to die that you would rush into my arms and invite me to free you of the burden of your life?” Moloch crooned.
“Who told you to kill her?!” Nate shouted, his voice tattered. “Tell me!”
“Fool,” the demon spat. “I simply did as she bid of me.”
Nate’s blue eyes flickered with righteous fire, but his face fell. His lower lip quivered, and the tip of the spear dipped to the floor.
“What?” That single syllable creaked beneath the weight of a brother’s disbelief and a child’s betrayal.
“It is the fault of your forebears,” Moloch explained. “Had they not cursed you with immortality, had they not let their petty quarrel turn to war and tear the world asunder, had your father not left you both bound to this mortal world, perhaps your twin’s mind would not have fractured. Perhaps her heart would not have longed to return to the home your family denied her for all of time.”
I wanted it to be a lie, but the demon’s words held the ring of truth. I put his admission up against the holes in our investigation. Muriel’s involvement in this whole thing had bugged me all along, and now I understood why. She wasn’t involved.
Grey? Polly’s death? The quest for the veil? None of it had anything to do with Muriel. She had been an outside force in the whole thing.
“No,” Nate said. “She wouldn’t.”
“She ached,” Moloch said, feigning compassion. “She pined for the lover she couldn’t save. She longed for nothing more than to see her shining birthplace and feel the embrace of her lost ones.”
“No!”
Nate charged the demon again. This time, Moloch caught the spear in his hands and flung Nate to the side. The angel sprawled on the floor, face stricken with terror and rage. He brought up an arm to ward off a blow that never came.
“Seek not to avenge her death on me, seraph,” Moloch said. “I did as I was bidden. It is all I can do. Instead, turn your ire where it belongs. Those who left you both here to wallow among the stink of wretched humanity.”
“Hey!” I protested.
Flynn pulled me back, and I clamped my mouth shut.
Moloch ignored me. “Tell me, Nathaniel. Why did you not slay the mage when he began his rite? What force stayed your hand while the sniveling mortal cleric prayed?”
Nate lowered his arm. Something new touched his eyes. Exhaustion. His mouth worked, but the only syllable that came out was, “I…”
“Yes, little seraph?”
Tears coursed down the angel’s cheeks. “I had to know.”
“Know?” I asked.
“If he left us.” Nate shot me a pained glance. “So often it seems like no one is listening,” he cried, voice shaking. “The satyr said he was gone. I had to know if it was true. If he really did just walk away and leave us here.”
My heart broke for Nate. Muriel’s pain appeared on her twin’s features. Did they feel orphaned here? Left to fend for themselves in a strange world where they would never truly belong?
Moloch knelt in front of Nate and bowed his horns to the angel. “It is within your power to possess such knowledge.”
Nate eyed the demon. “How?” he croaked.
In answer, Moloch lifted a single obsidian claw and aimed it at me.
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “No, Nate.”
“Take the relic, Nathaniel,” Moloch purred, stretching out the syllables of Nate’s name. “Call on your father and his twisted sibling. Demand your answers. Ask them why they would abandon you, leave you as a casualty in their futile squabbles. Why they would allow your sister to flounder and writhe in sadness to the point that she begged for such a death as only my ilk can provide.”