by Alyssa Day
“And yet we keep protecting them. Which of us, then, are the fools?" The voice came from behind them, and both Flynn and the mermaid-rescuer jumped up off the bench and whirled around to meet whoever it was who’d managed to sneak up on them with such stealth. Flynn was disgusted with himself. After several years of living with dragon shifters, he knew better than to let his guard down. Even, apparently, on Atlantis.
The newcomer bowed slightly, but had a look of such disdain on his aristocratic features that Flynn didn’t make the mistake of taking the bow as any sign of respect. He wasn’t quite as tall as Flynn, but he held himself ramrod straight. He also had long hair that was as white as the snow on the top of Mt. Everest, although he looked no older than Flynn, and eyes that were silver rather than blue or gray. He was Atlantean, but there was definitely Fae somewhere in his genealogy.
"I'm Griffin. I was ordered to be here. I have no idea why. I intensely dislike not knowing the reasons behind actions I'm commanded to perform." The man narrowed his startlingly silver eyes, gaze weighing and measuring both Flynn and the mermaid-rescuer and clearly finding them both wanting.
Beside him, the friendly guy waved. "I'm Jake. Poseidon told me to be here after I rescued a mermaid. Cool hair, man."
Flynn groaned.
Griffin’s assessing gaze turned sardonic. "Of course you rescued a . . . mermaid. However, the temple of healing is on the other side of the palace. I believe you'll be looking for the brain injury rooms."
Instead of shaking Jake's hand, Griffin turned to Flynn. "And you?”
“Flynn. I have no idea why I’m here, either.”
“No? Not another rescuer of mermaids? Released any Krakens lately?"
Before Flynn could think up a withering response to the arrogant ass, Denal came striding back out of the building. He had a sword sheathed at one hip, a dagger at the other, and a bow slung over one shoulder. Whatever was going on, Flynn was convinced by Denal’s expression of one thing: this was no training exercise.
Denal stopped when he was four or five paces away and nodded at them. "Good. You've all met. It's like a party, but without the drinks or food. Or fun, for that matter," he said grimly. "Here's the deal. The king has made an alliance with certain human organizations. As part of this alliance, I'm going to send some of you off on missions to help local law enforcement, infiltrate groups of really bad actors, and, generally, save the day."
With that, Denal closed his eyes, grimaced, and then shook his head before opening his eyes and continuing. "And for that, according to the mental bombardment Alaric has been dumping on me ever since I left the war room, I get a dozen of the most useless misfits ever to grace Atlantean shores. Everybody with any talent, ability, sense of responsibility, or ability to function in a team is already busy. Lucky me. But Poseidon and King Conlan evidently think you're good for something, or at least you're so useless you make good cannon fodder. Either way, I don't really give a damn. All I'm asking is that you don't embarrass me, yourselves, or Atlantis."
When Denal was done with his speech, nobody said anything for a few long beats. After that, all three of them started talking at the same time, and for a minute or two it was conversational chaos while Denal just stood there, clutching his bow, looking like he wanted nothing more than to shoot them all.
Flynn finally held up a hand and whistled, a sharp, piercing noise that brought everyone's verbal outrage and confusion to a halt. "Look. I don't know what the hells you’re talking about, but I'm not interested. Thanks for the offer, especially as you phrased it so sweetly – how could anyone refuse that? But I have things to do, people to see, etc., etc., you know the drill."
With that, he turned to leave, only to be slammed in the shoulder with a searing pain that drove him to his knees. Beside him, Griffin and Jake landed on the ground next to him, quite clearly in the same predicament,. When Flynn could breathe again, which took a lot longer than he felt good about, he yanked the neck of his shirt to the side and discovered that one of his worst fears had come true: He’d been branded.
"How dare you –" Griffin snarled, pulling himself up to his feet and aiming a death glare at Denal.
Jake did the opposite and just flopped down on his back on the ground, panting. "I did not expect that."
"What in the nine hells did you do to me?" Flynn dragged himself to his feet and started toward Denal. At this point, he didn't give a damn if he got beat up again, because he really, really wanted to see his fist smash into Denal’s smirking mouth.
Before he could carry out his plan, Poseidon appeared—or, to be precise, a giant image of Poseidon’s head appeared—in the sky above them.
I did this to you. it is nothing of the nine Hells. You are my warriors now, and you will bring honor to my name and to that of Atlantis, or you'll regret the day you were born.
Jake, still lying on the ground, started laughing. "Here we go again. Hello, your sea godliness."
Flynn, still gaping up at the sky, was completely speechless. During all his years in Atlantis, he’d never once seen Poseidon manifest himself. Now, when he’d been back for maybe two hours?
Poseidon.
The answer was simple. None of this was happening. Denal had actually kicked him in the head so hard he was in the temple being treated for a brain injury of his own.
The brand aching on his shoulder was a pretty big clue otherwise, but he decided to ignore it.
The sea god ignored them all and pointed one enormous finger at Denal.
Make this work or you'll be sorry.
With that, he vanished with a clap of thunder.
Flynn whistled. “Bit overdramatic, don’t you think?”
"What makes him think I'm not already sorry?" Denal asked, rolling his eyes. Then he turned his attention to the three newest of Poseidon's warriors. “I’m not going to make you swear the oath yet. Complete this mission, decide who you want to be when you grow up, and get back to me. You at least know what the mark means, right?”
Jake, who was rubbing his shoulder and wincing, raised his hand.
Denal muttered something that sounded like “Why me?” and then pointed at Jake. “You don’t have to raise your hand, you moron. This isn’t a youngling training school.”
Jake lowered his hand, looking sheepish but determined. “I know what it means. The circle representing all the peoples of the world, intersected by the pyramid of knowledge deeded to them by the ancients. The silhouette of Poseidon's Trident bisecting them both, to show your—our—vow to protect humanity.”
By the end of his recitation, Jake’s face had hardened, his voice had turned serious, and Flynn caught a glimpse of what might be the real Jake beneath the laid-back exterior.
“I’ll take the vow now or then,” Jake continued, shooting a hard gaze at Denal. “But we’re each Poseidon’s Warriors now. Remember that.”
Denal said nothing for a minute, but then he nodded. "Fine. Get your gear. For this first mission, you're working with the U.S. FBI's Paranormal Operations division to infiltrate and undermine – if not destroy – a chapter of a group that calls itself Hell’s Dark Angels."
"I know the Dark Angels. They are seriously bad dudes. Rumor is that their overall leader is a demon. An actual Lord Marquis and general of hell demon." Flynn brushed the dirt off his pants in one quick motion and then aimed his own flat stare at their fearless leader. "I didn't know Poseidon's Warriors were drafting people now. I thought it was a strictly volunteer thing."
Denal shook his head. "By all means, chase the sea god down and lodge a complaint. In the meantime, the three of you are going to a town named Early, in the state of Nevada, to find the monsters who are kidnapping teenaged human girls and using them for blood sacrifices."
An icy wave of intense rage flooded through Flynn, sweeping away every objection he’d thought he had. "If I'm going to be one of Poseidon's Warriors, this is certainly a job worth doing. I'm in. Give us the intel."
Well, that had done it. He'd surprised De
nal, whose eyes widened. Denal gave him a slight nod and then jerked his head toward the armory building. “I've got anything you might need or want for this job in there. Let’s go in for a quick briefing while I tell you the details. You’ll see why the need for fast action is crucial, and then you can be on your way within a couple of hours. Is everybody in?"
Flynn glanced at Griffin, who stood next to him, as still as a statue. Only the blaze of anger in those odd silver eyes gave away any emotion that he might be feeling. Griffin snapped his hand open and pointed at a stone bench some thirty feet away from them across the training grounds.
A second later, the bench exploded with a booming sound and a flash of silver-blue light. When the dust settled, only a large hole in the ground, twice the length and width of the bench, remained.
"I'm in," Griffin—mage, Flynn’s brain shouted at him--said calmly. "At least for this mission. And then we'll talk."
Denal glanced at the smoking hole in the ground where the stone bench been and then shook his head. "I might be impressed, Mage, if I hadn't spent years working with Alaric."
"Just what I was hoping for," Griffin drawled. "Yet another unsolicited comparison to the mighty Alaric: the greatest high priest Atlantis has ever known, ruler of magic, lord of little bunny rabbits, etcetera, etcetera."
"Ex-priest," Denal told him. “And I’d almost pay money to hear you call him the lord of little bunny rabbits to his face.”
Griffin said nothing, but Flynn could almost see the layer of frost rolling over his expression.
Mages. Better altogether to stay away from them, so that’s what Flynn would try to do on this mission. And afterward? As Griffin said, then they’d talk.
Jake finally rolled over and stood, bouncing up off the ground like a puppy. "Here we go. I'm not about to let the Dark Angels get away with this. I’ve run into them before, too, and Flynn’s right. They’re very bad guys. The upper echelon of the club are all actual demons, or so the rumor goes."
"Out of the dragon cave and into the demon fire," Flynn muttered. "What could go wrong?"
3
Early, Nevada, PURRS: Pets for Rescue Society
Puppy whispering was not for wimps.
Eva Calandar held the small piece of hot dog flat on the palm of her hand and tried to coax the terrified terrier mix out of the back corner of his crate.
"Come on baby. You know you want this. Nobody's going to hurt you," Eva crooned.
The puppy, who was almost skeletal in his emaciation, strained every muscle in his tiny little body toward her hand without actually moving. Eva wanted so badly to hand over the goods, but food was her best chance to coax the pup into her reach so the vet could look him over. She didn't want to just reach in and grab him. From the looks of him, he had no reason to trust humans, and she didn't want to add to that.
He'd been dumped at their doorstep overnight in a broken-down crate that had wires poking out from a jerry-rigged mesh door. It had scratched the puppy up a bit, or at least she hoped the scratches were only from the crate and not from predators, but it was still better than some of the ways people dumped their unwanted animals at the shelter. There were many days when they opened the front gate to find dogs and cats roaming loose in the parking lot, clearly having been abandoned there the night before by some heartless person who’d decided he or she didn't want little Fluffy anymore.
Her blood boiled at the thought, but anger wasn’t helping this little guy.
She took a deep breath and slowly blew it back out, consciously letting go of the anger and the pain and the worry, letting go of her own turbulent emotions over her own life, and then she reached for the tiny flicker of warmth deep in her mind that she could sometimes reach . . . sometimes just push . . .
There.
She’d never known how or why, but she’d always been able to do it. Even, sometimes, when she wasn’t trying. She could access that better part of her own nature that allowed her to share her warmth and caring with animals. An “affinity” is what people called it, when they bothered to get to know her, or bothered to call it anything at all. A “gift,” sometimes.
For a few tense hours in Arkansas, it had been a curse, and there had been those who were convinced that the eagle only flew down to her shoulder because Eva must be a shapeshifter or a witch.
Those men had carried guns.
She’d escaped, and her family had raced away from that lonely gas station out in the sticks, but ever since she’d vowed to stay away from men with guns.
The puppy, who’d started toward her on his belly, eyes hopeful and miniature tail wagging, stopped, crouching low and whimpering. Picking up on her mental distress, probably, poor little fellow.
She firmly pushed all thoughts of men with guns out of her mind and reached out again. Pushed again. The pup’s entire body quivered with relief and, perhaps, the first beginning of trust as he came the rest of the short distance toward her and nibbled the bite of meat from her hand.
“I’m just going to take you to be cared for now, my sweet one,” she murmured to the pup, gently scooping him up and cuddling him close to her chest.
Eva heard the footsteps, even in their rubber-soled shoes, before she saw her boss turn the corner. She’d had reason to learn to be wary, and being aware at all times of who was near her was important. She’d learned that lesson the hard way, and it was one she didn’t plan to forget.
“Hey, Mrs. Markowski. I've got this little one ready to go. Do you want me to make the run to the vet?"
Mrs. Markowski, the eighty-something-year-old director of the shelter, a one-woman dynamo, fundraiser, animal savior, and wonderful human being – not to mention Eva's landlady – smiled and shook her head. She shoved her white curls back from her face and smiled at Eva. “I’ll do it today. I’m going out to dinner with friends on the way back. You’re good here until our nighttime volunteers show up?”
“We’re good,” Eva said, smiling at her boss. “I don't know how you do it. You have the most active social life of anybody in town, and you run this place like a Swiss clock, not to mention all your other charitable works.”
Mrs. M shook her head. “Oh, no, dear. So many others do so much more.”
"That’s not true at all, and you know it. Here, take Mr. Puppy, here, and I’ll get his intake paperwork for the vet.”
Mrs. M brushed a bit of cat hair from her slim gray slacks and then gently took the puppy. At just over five feet and maybe a hundred and ten pounds, maximum, you wouldn't think to look at her that Mrs. Markowski had retired after running the entire Early school district, after forty years of being a teacher and then a principal at the local high school before that. But almost every person Eva had met at the shelter, and some she’d met at the bar, her paying job, loved to tell her about how they were former students who had fond memories of Mrs. M.
“You’re so good with them, Eva.”
Eva shrugged. “No more than anyone else. I just like animals.”
"Well, dear, I've run the place full-time for the last fifteen years, and yes, I find the pets love us just as much as we love them, and the reverse also applies. But you've got a gift. They trust you long before they would trust anybody else."
Eva blinked, caught uncomfortably off guard to hear her thoughts spoken aloud. She didn’t let people in, not anymore. Not even people she liked and respected, like Mrs. M. She certainly didn't share her thoughts, or her worries, or anything about her affinity.
On the other hand, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that the new volunteer at the animal shelter managed to get animals to like her pretty quickly, and Eva’s landlady was sharp as a tack.
"Do you need to get going, or do you have some time to spend with Daisy?" Mrs. M nodded her head in the direction of the office. "I think she misses you. You know, I'm sure I told you this before, but I wouldn't mind at all if you brought Daisy home to foster for some overnights and see if the two of you –"
Eva broke in before her landla
dy could finish that sentence. "I know. And it's very nice of you. But I just can't get attached right now. I have to move around so often, for… Because," she ended lamely, unable, or unwilling, to tell Mrs. M the real truth.
She’d been lucky enough to find Mrs. M and the tiny studio apartment over her garage with the TO LET sign. She’d been doubly luck that the elderly woman had been willing to rent on a month-by-month basis, cash only, to a woman who couldn't provide references, bank information, or anything else that any reasonable landlord would require of a tenant.
Mrs. Markowski, though, had talked to her for about ten minutes and then offered her the place. The older woman had told her that if she couldn't tell the difference between a good person and a bad person after eighty years on this planet, that she may as well give up now.
Then she’d gone back into the beautiful two-story house she lived in all alone, now that her beloved husband Gus had died, and baked Eva the most incredible apple pie she'd ever tasted.
It had been almost surreal, like being trapped in a nightmare and then rescued by an angel. When Eva had plopped right down on the kitchen floor after eating her pie and played with the seven foster kittens, Lucky, the one-eyed dog (“he’s still alive and has one good eye, so he’s Lucky” Mrs. M said firmly), and the de-scented skunk that Mrs. M was caring for her in her home, Eva’s new landlady had immediately beguiled her into putting in a few hours a day at the shelter.
"No pay of course. In fact, I’m going to donate your entire rent to the shelter so I won’t have off-the-books rent on my conscience," Mrs. M had said briskly, her eyes shining. "But I can tell animals like you, and you like them. It's a perfect place to get some peace and think."
And so it had been, Eva thought fifteen minutes later, after Mrs. M had taken today's crop of pets in need of medical care off to see Dr. Douglas. Eva grinned. There was nothing like cleaning out cages and restocking cat litter to make a person think about her choices in life.
She glanced at her watch and winced. She had to run, or she'd be late again, and Noel wasn't the type to appreciate lateness. Her manager at the bar was one of the most vile and disgusting human beings she’d come across in a while, and that was saying something, considering she’d always worked in bars.