“Entertain me, Mr. Mernissi.” In the dark, she rubbed her calf against his knee.
His warmth seeped through her pants, traveled through her skin, and ended in her clitoris. Lovely.
Umar placed his hand on Su’s knee. Her breath had gotten fast and shallow while she had revisited her past. At his touch, she inhaled deeply and froze. Every muscle in her leg quivered. Had he frightened her?
“Shall we start with a kiss?” His brown eyes smiled, teasing her like a teenager would with a first crush. The reality of their danger had removed his cynical false face.
Her clit pushed against its hood. She’d had plenty of time to contemplate what she was going to do with this man.
Heart pounding, she deliberately placed her hands on top of his. “Don’t move.”
She wiggled to her knees, equalizing their height. Su rested her shins on his hands, holding him still. “Don’t move. Or I’ll stop.”
Bending in, she brought her lips toward his. He bunched his shoulders but didn’t shift position.
She stopped scant millimeters from his mouth. She could feel his warmth on her face, and her lips tingled as she paused.
“You going to do this?” he asked.
“You’re not in charge here,” she countered. “We do this my way or not at all.”
He bowed his head, a curiously amused look through his eyes. “I am your servant, madam.”
An illicit thrill had her nearly shuddering in orgasm at his words. How often had she wanted permission from a lover to set the pace, to satisfy her curiosity about his body and his reactions? How often had she wanted to do things her way?
Slowly, she closed the gap between them, watching as he closed his eyes. Su touched the tip of her nose to his. At his hiss of frustration, she rubbed their cheeks together.
His stubble did not rasp her as she had anticipated. Rather, his facial hair skimmed her skin like bird down. Pleased, she leaned forward, pressing her neck and ears against the subtle give of the feathers.
“Are you actually going to kiss me?” he grumbled as she pressed the insides of her wrists against his face.
She hummed in response, amused; then moved to softly rubbing her mouth against his, back and forth, enjoying the huff of air he gave as he struggled against her.
Finally giving in to her own desires, she pressed into him harder, tilting her head to the right, opening her mouth, letting her tongue lick his teeth, tasting him.
He stroked back until she groaned.
“Damn.” Every single one of Umar’s body hairs stood up straight and the follicles itched. He rubbed his arms and legs as best he could. Unfortunately, there was no acceptable way to soothe the nagging irritation on his groin.
He knew what this nagging, maddening sensation meant.
He was going to shift.
“We have a problem,” he answered, kicking off his shoes.
“We do?” she politely inquired.
The fine hairs on his upper face and the heavier ones in his beard stubble thickened. As he ripped off his socks, the skin of his feet had already shrunk and turned a handsome shade of yellow. Umar always did like his bird feet.
“I’m shifting.”
As feathers sprung from his skin, Umar saw the same vision he had since his first transformation.
Once upon a time, a man saw a woman dancing upon the boulders. Her under-dress was the finest cotton from Egypt, dyed with precious saffron. An emerald decorated her elegant nose. Golden bells encircled her chiseled ankles.
She was everything beautiful and joyous in the world; her smile held dappled shade, her brow, the moonlight. Her eyes were as diamonds, her lips like a scarlet thread. The man’s heart was captured as surely as if she had thrown a net over him. He had to have her. He crept behind her, hiding in the shadows. Stashed deep in a crevice between two rocks, he found a dress made of red and gold feathers. He took it, for he both feared and desired her.
She was magic come to earth. As long as he controlled the dress, she would stay with him. He would never be alone and he would possess a piece of the magic that made life worth living.
Many years passed. She bore a child, then another. He relaxed his vigilance, believing her content. Until the day the man came home and discovered that she had found where he had hidden her dress. As she took to the sky, she cursed him, caging him as he had caged her. The roc flew off, their offspring riding her back.
CHAPTER 10
The legend of Genna, the Scourge of Lake Geneva, is one of the oldest tales recorded. The earliest mention of a “grete beste” comes from a monastery in Germany. The manuscript was written in 1156 (see Appendix B for a facsimile of the original).
This is the translation of that manuscript.
In the ancient times, before Lucifer led his revolt, the world was a playground for the Creator. The Great One delighted in variety, making no two leaves the same, every plant and tree with their own unique blueprint. In the same vein, many beings walked, slithered, and swam under heaven.
Lake Geneva was home to one such being, a great serpent with purple eyes and a body the colors of the ocean at midnight. Her mouth was filled with hooked teeth that were said to force truth telling, and her gaze could read the secrets that one preferred to keep hidden. Any who could withstand her regard was gifted with ability to … (Editor’s note: This word was obliterated.) She and her offspring were early doctors, known to heal hurts of both spirit and body.
For eons, the humans and the serpent lived in harmony, until Lucifer’s Great Schism. The Revolt introduced the element of chaos.
The mortals discovered greed, envy, and war. The shape-shifters, half-shapes, blood-drinkers, and dual-natured were powerful, but the humans had greater numbers and had invented many powerful weapons.
One day, the serpent woke to find her latest clutch of eggs destroyed, her children’s bodies butchered for their organs.
In her rages, the humans of the region were poisoned from the nectar that once flowed from her tongue. Her tail, once a bridge for the humans to cross, flattened every building, from the humblest shack to those of the leaders.
Only once every mortal lay dead on the shores of her lake did she retreat to a great sleep. She will rise when the shadow creatures declare war on the humans. Then she will unleash her ages-old hunger on those who chased her kind into the deep.
—Smith et al., European Tales, 1965, p. 275
“Beautiful girl!” John Janté bounced on the balls of his feet, jostling his daughter in her blue sling. Minerva crowed and attempted to clap her hands. He rubbed his nose to hers, then pushed his lips far out from his face, puckering up like a chimpanzee. “Embrasse-moi,” he ordered.
His child was not the most coordinated in the world, but she pressed her rosebud mouth toward him the best she could. It wasn’t so much of a kiss as it was slobber in the general direction of his face.
A flood of love and peace emanated from his daughter and surrounded him. She was a blend of Lance, Valerie, and himself; all love, all light, but with an edge of profound darkness.
It was funny. It was fantastic. He laughed in joy.
The other passengers on the train home blinked owlishly at the disturbance. A few smiled. Most studied their business publications. Profit was serious stuff for the Swiss.
Minerva yawned. Her fangs were retracted into her gums, giving her an innocent, toothless grin. He ruffled her short black hair. She looked like a normal baby; defenseless and innocent. Nothing was further from the truth.
Lance had transported Valerie to Portland, leaving John and Minerva to care for each other. Therefore, today had been “Take Your Little Vampire to Work Day” at John’s cubicle at CERN.
Of course, as far as John was concerned, his job at the European Organization for Nuclear Research was the third most amazing thing in the world. He patted his little girl’s behind and beamed. And who wouldn’t want to meet Minerva, the first most amazing thing in the world? His office had been the center of excit
ement. Everyone wanted to coo and pet his little baby. The darling had eaten up the attention. Such a flirt.
The second most amazing thing in the world was that he had found true love with two very different people. Even better, they loved him back.
“Is not life the greatest thing?” he whispered in Minerva’s tiny pink ear.
The train doors creaked open, drowning out the baby giggles.
“What do we do before we go home?” he asked once his feet hit the pavement.
“Croissant!” Minerva answered in his mind, her eyes meeting his. He straightened her violet T-shirt and flicked her round cheek with a finger.
Minerva had inherited Lance’s ice blue eyes and Valerie’s thick black hair. Her aura, though, was more like John’s—black and white—for they were destined to know both the light and the shadow. Mix in a vampire’s darkness, an angel’s wisdom, and a skill for speaking mind to mind, and they were raising a whole lot of girl. Their pride and joy was going to be a great woman.
“Even better,” he answered. “Fresh peach tarts.” With that, he flung open the door to Helena’s Patisserie. He adjusted the sling’s straps, nabbed his laptop bag, and exited the train.
The sun was out, the sky was blue, and the wind across Lake Geneva cooled the day’s heat.
It was the perfect summer night.
Helena, the lamia who owned their favorite bakery, waved at the duo. Harley Ramsey, the Nobel Prize short-listed physicist John had rescued earlier in the spring, looked up from his ultra-thin laptop and nodded. His healthy brown skin glowed in the fading sunlight as the two men exchanged brief smiles.
The evening sun turned the room into a fantasy land of exquisite food and dark wood furnishings. “Fairies must live here,” Minerva thought.
The lamia caught the telepathic words. “Someone even cooler than fairies is here,” she said. A luscious peach glistened under its glaze as she pulled it out of the case and placed it on a plate for the two visitors. One of her snakes’ mouths held out John’s cup of Viennese kaffee mit schlag. Another nuzzled Minerva’s soft fontanel, planting snake kisses on her black hair.
“Who?” Minerva asked. “Who is cooler than fairies?”
“You!” The woman’s tail curled and uncurled. The snakes on her head stuck out their tongues, laughing.
Everyone beamed at each other, perfectly contented with their moment in the sun.
John reached for the juicy temptation of pastry and coffee. “Mmm, yum—”
He paused, his hand poised in mid-air. Hair stood on his arms. He ratcheted his head toward the window to watch the daylight fade into a gloomy gray.
The solo scream was joined by a chorus of fear as other human voices were added. The chill of terror in the atmosphere propelled him to the window, his arms cradling his daughter to his chest.
A quick glance at Helena’s face confirmed his worries. Her head swiveled to determine the enemy.
Humans screamed. Something whistled like a buzz bomb through the sky. An enormous chunk of marble, a carved building corner, slammed into the ground less than ten yards away. The ground shook, and an enormous roar overrode every other noise.
A wall of water curved over the top of the panicked humans who ran screaming away from the lake. The tidal wave crested, curled, and landed like a load of bricks on the crowded streets. The escaping people were slapped to the ground. Most of them regained their feet, but some went under the panicked feet of the stampede. John’s stomach curdled. His hands and feet chilled, his body’s blood diverting to his core. Preparing for battle.
Preparing for war.
Helena’s snakes shimmied and hissed. The glass of her picture window cracked and split, amplifying the chaos surrounding them.
Valerie had once said that the sound of breaking glass was evil’s calling card.
Helena took one look at the wreckage and staggered into the cupboards behind her.
“She rises,” Helena screamed. All of the lamia’s snakes extended to their full length, their head touching the ceiling. Every one opened its mouth and hissed, poison dripping from fangs. Her thickly lashed amethyst eyes rolled into her head.
“What the hell?” Harley vaulted the counter, his legs swinging over the top. “Darling, what’s going on?” The physicist knelt and gathered Helena into his arms.
“She rises,” she repeated, moaning into his chest. “The mortals will be hunted. Our kind will return to barbarity.”
John’s stomach curdled. His hands and feet chilled, his body’s blood diverting to his core. Preparing for battle.
Preparing for war.
“I have to rescue those people.” He didn’t recognize his voice, so deep and angry it had become.
“John, you can’t!” Helena’s longest snake escaped her and snapped its jaws into his belt. “She will kill humans.”
“Who will?” he demanded. “Who started this?”
“Genna.” The lamia shuddered as her mouth formed the word. Almost as if the name had a power she feared to utter.
Oh, hell. The “grete beste” of legend. The toxic clash of mortal and immortal, the one predicted since the dawn of time, had finally reached a crisis. John had grown up on tales of impossible creatures. His great-grandmother had told him of Genni, the Scourge of Lake Geneva. He wondered why he hadn’t believed that story when he had believed everything else.
The pavement underneath them shuddered. The slap and pound of running feet shook the windows of the bakery. Emergency sirens wailed.
More and more people spilled into the avenue, all running away from the lake.
This was John’s higher calling; not merely to guide Fallen Angels, but to stop the mindless damage done by fear. Those people being trampled wouldn’t last much longer.
John kissed Minerva and unfastened the sling.
Minerva screamed, her little lungs fueling a shocking amount of noise. “No, Daddy! We go together.” Her round face flushed with panic and she gripped John’s shirt with her fists.
He kissed her one more time and passed her to Harley.
“Go to my place. It’s safer.” Lance’s lingering angelic essence would prevent damage to their building.
Harley took Minerva in one thick arm and wrapped his other hand around Helena’s waist. “Will do.”
“John, it’s too dangerous for a human,” Helena pleaded.
John shook his head and opened the door. “I’m not human, Helena. Fallen Angels themselves bow before me.”
With nothing left to say, he walked into the dangerous streets.
Minerva pounded on Harley’s big bicep. No? No? Her father had just told her no? Minerva’s mother told her no. Her dads told her she was special, magical, unique, gifted, powerful, but no?
Her father needed her.
Damn that she was stuck in this weak and fragile body. Then she would make him take her where she wanted.
“We have to stop her.” She screamed, knowing even a block away he would hear her. Helena’s snakes flinched away from her mental howl.
Despite his physical distance, she felt John’s strong hands clasp her cheeks. Mentally, she stared into his green eyes and heard his words as clearly as if he stood in front of her.
“You are very strong and I trust you for many things,” he said, his face serious as death. “But this fight is not for you. It is my job.”
Damn. No matter how much Minerva kicked and squirmed, the physicist’s hold did not loosen. As Harley and Helena battled their way uphill, Minerva clung to the physicist. Her mind whirled, piecing together a way to help her father.
She tipped her head and studied the Egyptian man, every (small) inch as imperious as she could make it. “Take me to the lake,” she ordered.
“Nice try. But no.” Harley’s jaw pressed against his upper teeth. The muscles by his ears rolled.
“We have to stop her.”
“This is not a situation for a child,” he answered, his hand on the door handle.
“But …”
Minerva screamed and flailed. Harley and Helena ignored her tantrum even as she squirmed to watch her dad disappear into the crowd.
John breathed deeply and dove into the river of humanity.
Mothers and children clung together and huddled against buildings to avoid being trampled. Men, large and small, pushed the crowd forward. Moving with all the swiftness his heightened abilities gave him, he dragged one of the fallen humans away from careless, stamping feet. His arms trembled in their sockets as he rescued one after another.
The foul stench of death hung in the air. John had no fear for his own safety; he would heal no matter the injury. But with Lance and Valerie in the States, it was his task to protect humanity here.
And to protect their daughter. The image of his fragile girl loose under this chaos threatened to bring him to his knees.
He rounded the corner onto the Quai du Monte Blanc and stopped dead, an unmovable stone in the riptide of frightened people.
He had found Genna.
This was bad.
The rollers on the emergency vehicles threw outlandish colors over the docks and buildings. Every boat in the marina floated upside down, their white bellies exposed like a school of dead fish.
Like a rocket slicing through the sky at Mach speed, Genna carved through the water. Great gouts of foam curved away from her wedge-shaped head, creating a three-foot-high spray behind her. She flung herself into the air like a whale breaching. Her teeth bared in a horrible grimace, she aimed her blue-and-black–striped body into the pier. Wooden planks, sodden with lake weeds, exploded into the air and spun end for end. The momentum of the boards sent them crashing into the running crowds and through the few remaining windows.
Orange and white police Land Cruisers lined the waterfront. Officers crouched behind the safety of the large vehicles. Every kind of weapon from pistols to semiautomatic machine guns appeared, all aimed at Genna’s vulnerable eyes. The roar of a distant motor heralded the imminent arrival of an air force’s F/A-18 Hornet. Not even a magical being as large and as strong as Genna could survive the firepower of an air-to-ground missile.
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