A Hint of Hydra

by Heidi Lang

  At least this time she had Hannah with her.

  “It’s just up ahead,” Lailu told her friend.

  “Can we slow down . . . catch our breath a sec?” Hannah gasped. “I don’t want to pass out in front of Starling.”

  They slowed down to a brisk walk, the night chill seeping in, freezing Lailu’s sweaty clothes against her. There weren’t as many people on this side of town, and thankfully the few they passed were all human-shaped and too busy with their own celebrations to bother Lailu or Hannah.

  “Hey, before we get there,” Hannah said suddenly, “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Oh yeah?” Lailu’s stomach clenched tighter than fusilli noodles. What now?

  “I wanted to say . . .” Hannah took a deep breath, wheezing slightly. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re . . . sorry?”

  “Yes,” Hannah said. “I haven’t been a very good friend lately. I know I’ve been absent a lot this week, and I never told you that Vahn asked me out, even though I know you liked him—”

  “I heard—” Lailu began, but Hannah was on a roll now, her words spilling out faster than griffin stew from a cracked pot.

  “I didn’t say yes, exactly,” Hannah rushed on, “but I also didn’t say no, and I never said anything to you about it. I wanted to a hundred times, I really did! But I just, I couldn’t. I haven’t been honest with you about Ryon, either.”

  “Wait, what? Ryon?” Lailu slowed down, her heart thumping. “Are you guys dating?”

  Hannah laughed. “Oh no, I’m just working for him.”

  “Oh.” Lailu relaxed. Then she thought about the line of work Ryon was in, and all her earlier tension came back. “Oh!” She studied her friend. “You’re a spy?”

  Hannah nodded.

  “Since when?”

  “Since the First Day of Masks. He visited me before Lord Elister’s party and told me I had potential, and we struck a deal. Well, two deals, actually, if you count our bet that he couldn’t get you to dance.”

  “That was real?” Lailu’s ears burned.

  “Sorry, Lailu honey. You’re going to have to feed him a full meal. Oh, and I threw in appetizers, too.”

  “Butter knives,” Lailu swore.

  “But our other deal was, if I could find an in with Starling, he’d train me to be a spy.” Hannah bit her lip. “No comment about Vahn?”

  “I tried telling you, I already knew he asked you out,” Lailu said as breezily as she could manage. “I’m over it.”

  They turned the corner, and there was the familiar three-story building just ahead. The full moon made it easy to see the badly inked crow on the swaying sign above it, proclaiming it as the Crow’s Nest.

  “So . . . the job with Starling?” Lailu prodded.

  “Was just a way for me to keep an eye on her.” Hannah turned her frying pan over and over. “I should have told you the truth about that, but I know how much you hate all the spying stuff. I was trying to keep you out of it.”

  Lailu was quiet as they walked up to the front door. She remembered that feeling of loss, that crushing, heavy sadness. “It just made me feel like I was being left behind,” she said softly. “By you, and Ryon, and everyone.”

  Hannah’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry. I thought I was protecting you. If we survive this, I promise I’ll tell you everything.”

  Lailu thought of all the secrets and spying. It seemed stressful. “Maybe not everything,” she said. “Just . . . some things. You know, big things.”

  Hannah smiled. “Whatever you want. You’re my best friend, and I love you. I would never leave you.”

  Lailu blinked, and blinked again, her vision blurry. “I love you too, Hannah,” she sniffled. And then they were hugging, Hannah’s frying pan wedged awkwardly between them, and Lailu wasn’t sure if she was laughing or crying, but she felt lighter than she had in days.

  “I hope we don’t die in there now,” Hannah sobbed, “but if we do, I didn’t want you to die mad at me.”

  “I wasn’t mad at you.” Lailu sniffed. “Not really. And we’re not going to die in there.” She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. “Probably,” she added, since they were being truthful. “We’re probably not going to die.” She sniffed again, pulling away and squaring her shoulders.

  Hannah stood shoulder to shoulder with her, both of them gazing up at the door, neither of them making a move to open it.

  “We’ve got this,” Hannah said finally, swinging her frying pan around in a complicated loop.

  “You’ve really taken to that, haven’t you?” Lailu nodded at the pan.

  Hannah grinned. “It’s growing on me. I plan to dress it up when we leave here.”

  If we leave here, Lailu thought grimly. She gripped the familiar splintery doorknob, pushed open the door, and stepped inside.

  It was quieter than she remembered, but there was still a sizable crowd of men and women drinking and laughing and talking way too loudly. Lailu was relieved to see that nobody here wore a mask; she’d seen enough masks to last a lifetime.

  “How are we going to get past the bartender?” Hannah asked.

  “Maybe you and Mr. Smacky there could take him,” Lailu suggested.

  Hannah’s eyes narrowed. “Lailu, I may love you, and I know we just made up and everything, but you are not allowed to name my frying pan.”

  Lailu studied the bartender. Tall and beefy, with a hole where one of his ears should be, he did not look like the kind of man who would kindly let them pass, frying pan or no.

  “Maybe he remembers you?” Hannah suggested.

  “Doubtful. And even if he did, I don’t think he’d care.” Lailu bit her lip, thinking hard. For all she knew, this wasn’t even Starling’s secret den, and all she was doing was wasting time while the scientists drained Ryon of blood. She had to act, and act quickly.

  “Lailu? What are you doing here?”

  Lailu jumped. “Wren?” she asked. Wren sat at a nearby table looking miserable, a glass of chocolate milk in front of her. “Is your mom here?”

  “How did you know? I mean, no. No she’s not.” Wren sighed. “I just gave it away, didn’t I?” She put her face in her hands. “Mama’s right, I really don’t use my brain enough. It’s faulty, just like all my inventions.”

  Lailu wavered. She was very aware of time running out, but she needed Wren’s help. “Wren, is everything okay?”

  Wren shook her head, not looking up.

  “What happened?”

  Wren sniffed. “I invented the neutro-net, and it worked so well, so well.” She sniffed again.

  “Handkerchief, quickly,” Lailu whispered to Hannah. “Here.” Lailu shoved the embroidered scrap of cotton at Wren. “Please, please use this.”

  “Thanks, Lailu. You’re the only one who cares.” Wren blew her nose noisily. “Mama seemed really proud, but then one of my neutro-net launchers jammed, and when Zinc tried smacking it to get it to work again, it . . .”

  “It what?” Lailu asked.

  “It exploded.” Wren hung her head. “Zinc is Mama’s current favorite scientist. Mama had to rush him out of there and wasn’t able to see the fruition of her plan. She hates when that happens. And it was my fault.”

  Lailu glanced at Hannah. She wasn’t sure what to do here.

  “Aww, Wren, it’s not your fault,” Hannah tried.

  Wren glared at her. “What would you know? You never mess anything up.”

  Hannah blinked. “Um, actually, I mess up quite a lot. But I can see I’m going to be no help here.” Hannah nudged Lailu.

  Lailu wasn’t good at this sort of thing. “Wren,” she began slowly, carefully, “your mom is wrong. And her plan is wrong. She kidnapped Ryon, and I need to get him back. Will you help me?”

  Wren’s eyes widened. “You want to rescue Ryon? Why? He’s not human.”

  That was it. Lailu had had it with Wren’s attitude. “He is so human! You’re not human,” she snapped. “Only someone inhuman wou
ld allow elves to be chained up or kidnap my friend. I thought you were my friend too, Wren!”

  Wren’s eyes filled with tears again, but for once they had no effect on Lailu. “I am your friend.”

  “Then prove it,” Lailu said. “Help me. That’s what friends do.”

  “Mama would be so mad. So, so mad.” Wren’s eyes narrowed. “Of course, she’s already mad.” She stood up. “You know what, I don’t care anymore. Let her be mad. So what if I’m a disappointment? So what if she should have just left me in Beolann?” Wren blew her nose on Hannah’s handkerchief, then scrunched the cloth in her fist.

  “Oh, Wren, she didn’t really say that to you, did she?” Hannah asked.

  Wren ignored her. “If I help you, Lailu, then you’ll still be my friend?”

  Lailu nodded.

  “Then let’s go.” Wren whistled, and three of her little spider automatons scuttled out from beneath tables and chairs.

  Lailu leaped back.

  “Oh, don’t worry, they follow my orders,” Wren said. “They won’t hurt my friends.” And she led the way to the back of the bar, her spi-trons scurrying along in her wake.

  41

  DOING WHAT IS NECESSARY

  The bartender glanced at Wren and let all three girls pass without a word. Lailu’s mouth was drier than fyrian chicken meat as she followed Wren up the hidden staircase behind the bottles of beer. Would they be too late? What would they find up there?

  And what was she going to do? Lailu had no plan and only one knife. Three flights of stairs later, and she still didn’t have a plan. She’d just have to wing it.

  “Let’s do this,” she whispered, pushing the door open and jumping inside. She drew her knife, then froze.

  The room had been completely transformed. Gone were the rickety tables and tall-backed chairs, the candles and smoke and empty glasses. Instead, Starling sat calmly at a small, polished card table. A series of glowing orbs hung from the ceiling, illuminating the room and glinting off all of Starling’s carefully organized tools. Lailu glimpsed a large operating table in back and shelves full of parts, all neatly stacked, with wires hung in tidy coils against the wall.

  And Ryon, pinned in the corner by Walton—who held a jagged knife a mere eyelash-blink from Ryon’s left eye.

  Lailu gasped.

  “Hello, Lailu. I can’t say I’m surprised to see you. Won’t you please have a seat?” Starling indicated one of the empty chairs in front of her, then took a sip of her tea and smiled.

  Lailu bit her lip, then started forward.

  “Drop the knife first,” Starling ordered.

  Lailu hesitated.

  “Let me rephrase that more accurately. Drop the knife, or your friend loses an eye.” Starling pulled a small rectangular item out from her belt and placed it on the table in front of her. “Unfortunately, Walton has been somewhat . . . temperamental with me. It still will not respond to my voice commands, thanks to my daughter’s incompetence, but I assure you, this it will respond to.”

  Lailu dropped her knife.

  “Thanks,” Ryon called.

  “Well, the last thing I need is for you to be winking permanently,” Lailu said as calmly as she could manage over her galloping heart.

  “Your concern touches me,” Ryon said.

  Lailu took a seat.

  “Hannah,” Starling called out suddenly, “won’t you join us as well? I must admit, I’m very disappointed in you.”

  “Your hair looks amazing, though,” Hannah said brightly as she entered the room. “That style really does suit you.”

  Starling touched the bronze dragon comb holding her red hair back in an elaborate twist. “It does, doesn’t it?” She sighed. “You showed such promise. I was really hoping you would pass my little test. But you know what they say: good help is hard to come by. Now, drop the frying pan.”

  There was a clatter behind Lailu.

  “Sit next to your friend,” Starling ordered.

  Hannah sat next to Lailu. She looked calm, composed, relaxed even. Lailu wasn’t sure how she did it.

  “And you.” Starling turned her attention to Wren, who had come in behind Hannah. “My own daughter. I have no words.” She shook her head. “No words.”

  Wren flushed and looked down at her feet. “Sorry, Mama.”

  “Well, it’s not any less than I’d expect from you.”

  Wren sniffed. “I just . . . Lailu is my friend. . . .” Her words died in the face of Starling’s scorn.

  Starling turned to Lailu, ignoring Wren as if her daughter weren’t even there. “Wren always was a little too softhearted for her own good.” She took another sip of tea, then set her mug down with a soft clink.

  “That’s not fair.” Lailu’s hands curled into useless fists. “Why are you so hard on her?”

  “It’s okay, Lailu—” Wren started.

  “How else is she going to learn?” Starling spoke over her daughter.

  “But Wren tries really hard, and she’s quite brilliant,” Lailu said.

  “Her inventions are often rushed. Careless. Faulty.”

  “She’s still a kid.”

  Starling’s eyebrows rose. “That’s hardly an excuse. After all, you’re still a kid, and look at you, running your own restaurant. And your lovely friend here, well . . .” Starling smiled at Hannah. “She’s just a kid, technically, and yet she’s been spying on me. I’m beginning to wonder if she’s been spying on me this whole time. And for whom? That is the question.” Starling tapped her fingers against the remote. Lailu noticed she kept her nails short, practical. They were hands a chef would be proud of. “Who are you working for, Hannah?”

  “I don’t understand,” Hannah said innocently.

  “You’re very good at playing dumb, but I’m not fooled by the pretty face and wide eyes.” Starling leaned forward. “If you want your friend to come out of this with both of his eyes, you’ll drop the act and tell me what I want to know.”

  “I’m not working for anyone,” Hannah said. “Only myself. I wanted to know what you’re up to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’d hoped I could leverage that information. Or possibly, I could help you. You know my past. You know there’s no love lost between me and those elves.” Hannah’s lips curled. “They deserve whatever you have planned for them.”

  “I wish I could believe you,” Starling said. “Had you come to me openly, maybe we could have worked together.”

  Click-click-click.

  Lailu glanced at the doorway in time to see one of Wren’s spi-trons scuttling inside.

  “As it is,” Starling sighed, “trust is impossible at this point.” Her gaze slid from Hannah to Lailu. “I know Elister is fond of you, Lailu, but I can hardly take care of your friend and leave you. And I’m afraid I simply cannot tolerate this kind of failure.”

  “What are you going to do?” Lailu asked, very aware of her knife lying on the ground just a few short feet away.

  “I am going to do what I always do,” Starling said coldly. “What is necessary.”

  And she punched the button on the remote.

  42

  CONFRONTATION

  Walton, no!” Wren shrieked.

  The automaton froze.

  “Drop the knife,” Wren ordered.

  “Wren, what are you—” Starling began.

  Walton dropped the knife with a clatter and turned to face Wren, its blue eyes glowing beneath its hat. It tilted its head, awaiting further instructions.

  Lailu took advantage of Starling’s confusion and lunged across the table, grappling for the remote.

  Starling was tall and had an adult’s strength, but Lailu was used to fighting against kraken and dragons and all sorts of beasties. If she could ride a full-grown griffin, she could handle Starling. She managed to twist the remote from Starling’s grasp and toss it to Hannah.

  And then the scientist pulled something out of her waistband. A long metal tube with a handle.

  Lailu
froze. She recognized this thing, remembered seeing Starling fire projectiles at the automatons with it. From this distance, anything that came out of it would go right through her.

  “Give me back the remote,” Starling snarled, her eyes glittering dangerously as she pulled back on the lever.

  “Don’t do it, Hannah,” Lailu said. “She’s only going to kill me anyhow.”

  Hannah slumped forward. “I’m sorry, Lailu. I can’t just sit here and watch.”

  Click-click-click.

  Another spi-tron moved into view just as Hannah tossed the remote at Starling.

  Starling caught it awkwardly with one hand, and Lailu ducked, grabbed the spi-tron, and flung it in Starling’s face.

  Starling moved faster than Lailu thought possible, smacking the spi-tron with the butt of her weapon.

  “No!” Wren gasped.

  Lailu had already lunged into Hannah, knocking her friend back. She heard Wren yelling orders to Walton, saw the automaton leaping forward just as the spi-tron flared impossibly bright and exploded in a shower of fire and light.

  Everything hurt. Lailu’s skin felt hot and too tight, like stretched meat. Her chest and arms ached, and her nose burned from the overwhelming scent of peppermint.

  Someone was singing. Lailu recognized the voice, beautiful and rich, the lyrics painting a picture of love lost, and a bird in a cinnamon tree. It was one of Lailu’s favorite folk songs from her village. “M-Mom?” she croaked, opening her eyes.

  The singing stopped, the figure beside her blurring into two figures. Lailu blinked. No, one figure. Her mother, hair unbrushed, eyes shadowed.

  “Thank the gods.” Lianna put a hand over her heart. “I was afraid . . . but of course you’re tough enough to handle a blast like that. Any daughter of mine . . .”

  “Blast?” Lailu’s memory was hazy. She remembered yelling, threats, Starling’s face lit up in bright lights, her green eyes wide, reflecting the glow of . . .

  Lailu staggered to her feet, the world twisting beneath her.

  “Not so fast.” Lianna pushed Lailu back into bed. Only then did she notice she was home, wrapped up in bed like a sushi roll.