Ig was dead.
Johnny leaped down and lay upon the floor beside the bed, head and tail low. He gave a single whimper. The flash of power that had hit me earlier now seemed to whoosh back into him. Fur retracted, dark skin lightened, and bones and shape reverted.
He was still, cheek on the floor, eyes shut, blood-smeared face stuck in a grimace.
With my head downcast to keep the image of the throatless body on the bed from making its way to my nightmares, I left Hector and went to crouch with one knee down beside him. “Johnny.” I touched his shoulder; his skin was heated.
At my touch, he stirred. His eyes caught the edge of my skirt; from his angle he could see the dancer undies. It changed the grimace entirely.
“Johnny,” I repeated—with a dash of scolding in it—and put my other knee down.
He sat up as if his body weighed more than the world itself. I started to help him, then stopped myself. He’d just revealed to Hector and Todd who and what he truly was. Seven had taught me that, especially with these other-than-humans, appearances conveyed valuable messages of strength and respect and status.
I stood and backed away as Johnny, naked, gained his feet. He was dirty from the floor and his chest, like his chin, was stained with dark blood. It was a morbid scene, a ravaged dead man, sheets coated bright red, and the tang of fresh blood in the air.
It was a rite of ascension, it was a mercy killing, and it was murder. Yet, it was not unjust. I felt no urge to take action and right this, for this had not been wrong.
Todd pushed off from the wall. He went forward and stopped beside Ig and in front of Johnny. He said nothing. I held my breath.
When Todd reached into the gore on the bed and removed the wolf ’s-head necklace from Ig’s body, though, tension filled the room in an instant. Todd was taking the symbol of leadership of the pack.
He made no immediate move to put it on, however. He just studied the bloodied herringbone chain and rubbed his thumbs over the Y-shaped centerpiece. His bruised eye was swelling.
I expected a swing, a kick, a punch, harsh words, anything. Anything but Todd dipping his fingers into Ig’s open throat.
I choked on my held breath, unable to form words.
With fingers coated in syrupy fluid—and wearing the deep frown of a man resolved to an unhappy fate—Todd reached out and drew a long Y on Johnny’s chest, stylizing the snout and ears of a wolf.
It reminded me of the ankh Menessos had drawn on my sternum with his blood when he’d marked me. That seemed like so long ago . . . much more than a month.
Lowering himself on bended knee, Todd offered the necklace up to Johnny. “This pack has no crown to offer, but our leadership is yours, Domn Lup.”
Johnny squared his shoulders, and accepted the wolf ’s-head, chains dangling and dripping the blood of his predecessor. He considered the token, weighing its meaning for the space of several heartbeats before lifting it and securing it around his neck. Though he was still naked and dirty, all I saw was the king of wolves, a lean and muscular man with dark hair and a haunted blue gaze fixed on me.
He’d just claimed his mantle. For all the symbolism, for all the promise it held for us, it had cost him. And I already understood the price that must be paid more than I wanted to.
“I’ll call the pack.” Hector left us.
Don Henley’s voice erupted from my bag with the chorus of “Witchy Woman.” The protrepticus.
“Yes?”
“Xerxadrea is leaving for the Botanical Gardens now,” Samson said.
“Thanks.” I lowered the phone, biting my lip. I needed to be on my way, but I didn’t have a ride. Johnny couldn’t take me, he had to address the pack. “I have to go.” I put my hand on Johnny’s arm. “I’ll call a cab.”
“I . . .” He didn’t finish. He wanted to come with me, but he needed to stay here. We both knew it.
I nodded. “I know. We’ll figure out how to manage without you.”
“Can you do that again?” Todd asked. “The change?”
Johnny nodded tiredly. “If I have to.”
“They’ll need to see it.”
Once his tattoos were unlocked, as Beau said, he’d be able to transform without such effort. That he could defy the magic and do it at all meant that the ink spell was weakening. Or that Johnny was more powerful than anyone knew. We had to find the person who had tattooed him. But until Johnny, Menessos, and I all shared pieces of our souls, we couldn’t proceed with that. I’ll have to dig in his memories. Sharing souls must grant the shareholders an All Access Pass. I was going to have to talk to my spirit guide, a jackal named Amenemhab.
On the phone, Samson cleared his throat loudly. I put it back to my ear. “Yes?”
“The Lustrata doesn’t take cabs, honey. Especially not dressed like Superhooker. Your broom is leaning on the bad boy’s motorcycle.”
I’d left it at the haven. “How—”
Sam rolled his eyes, literally, around in his head. “Do you really need to ask that, witch?”
Riding the broom, I discovered another problem with the boots. The high wedge heels made it impossible to sit a broom properly with my feet tucked under my bottom. Menessos and I are going to have a long talk about shoes before he has the chance to send me any others with the expectation that I’m going to wear them.
Flying over the gardens, I scanned for any movement or people. The moon was waning, only a few days past full, but clouds were diffusing its light. So I had to rely on the street lamps lining Wade Oval and the soft glow they cast through the leafless trees. Still, I saw no one moving inside the gardens. So I steered lower and skimmed along the perimeter. I saw two shadows in tailored suits on East Boulevard and recognized Menessos and his next in command.
Damn it, Goliath’s here.
Menessos sprang over the Botanical Garden’s fence and landed beside a white oak. The fence wasn’t incredibly high, but I was impressed that such fine suits could endure that kind of activity without damage.
Goliath passed what had to be Aquula’s wrapped body to him, then vaulted into the gardens himself before taking the bundle back.
I considered waiting until Xerxadrea showed, but my conscience reminded me that I was the Lustrata. Being a coward around Goliath wouldn’t cut it. So I intentioned myself under the branches—brooms steer on intentions—and landed on the pathway behind them. Maybe giving him the higher ground would show my lack of hard feelings.
Menessos came forward. Goliath, holding the little body as if it were a swaddled infant, wore indifference like a mask. Though I put him on his knees, he’s likely assuming I’m foolish to give him any advantage.
“The rose garden,” Menessos said. “She would like that.”
I’d been to the gardens a few times, and having just done a flyover, I led the way. After a few steps I realized this was silly. The vampires could find their way in the darker garden interior better than I could, and with me having to contend with the impractical boots, I just slowed our progress. I followed inset stone stairs that, as the pathway steepened, gave way to railroad timbers. At the bottom, going around a spindly fir tree, we passed a hedged container bed and arrived at a concrete path with rounded steps and two stone masonry columns supporting wrought-iron gates.
In the summer, hostas lined this pathway with their broad and lush leaves, but the gardeners had evidently been preparing the beds for winter. In the dark, the empty patches were ominous in this solemn place, too quiet without crickets.
We emerged at a clearing with a tall red oak. I spotted Xerxadrea flying over. We hurried down the stone path and stopped at the edge of the rose garden. The roses, trained over the arches in the summertime, had also been trimmed back for the winter. The main bed held sad remnants of red and orange mums, and the water feature was drained and dry.
I knew this place could be so much more. To find it lacking just now, with the sad duty we had before us, made holding back my tears more difficult.
Xerxadrea stood before one of the stone benches. She wore white robes, and her hair, parted in the center, fell loose about her shoulders. Single white strands rose on air currents and afforded an extra measure of mystery to her magical countenance.
In one hand she held her broom; the other was just removing a black velvet sling bag from her shoulder. When she settled, Ruya landed where the bag’s strap had lain. “Water is the element of the west, and this is the western bench,” she said. “Come summer, it will overlook the spray of water, but be in the shade of roses.”
“Perfect.” Menessos moved into position beside her at the stone bench. She furnished him with items from inside the velvet bag and he quickly arranged the bench as if it were an altar. As he worked, I studied him. He was dressed in a suit as stylish as any he wore, but next to Xerxadrea’s ceremonial garb he almost seemed incongruous.
He lit a pair of illuminator candles and placed a dried starfish in the center, made a ring of eight white candles around it, and ended by creating a ring of aquamarines and tiny shells outside of that. Xerxadrea passed the velvet bag to me to hold. As an afterthought, I slipped it over my head and underneath one arm as Xerxadrea had carried it. She must have been distracted not to simply do this herself.
Menessos removed his suit jacket and he passed it to me. I shoved it quickly into the bag. The candlelight showed a subtle white-on-white pattern to his shirt. He and Xerxadrea now seemed more compatibly attired, enough to perform a funeral rite.
At Menessos’s signal, Goliath came forward and held out the bundle. Menessos took the swathed body into his arms and cradled it, saying,
His aura pulsed, sending out energy he didn’t have to spare. In response, just behind the bench, the rich black earth writhed. At the roots of a rosebush, the ground opened up to accept what Menessos had offered. Roots reached up, waving in the air in a manner that had me thinking of an octopus. Leaning over the bench, Menessos placed her into those waiting arms. Suspended there, Menessos blew out each candle and took up the aquamarine and shell before it, tucking them inside the swathing. Lastly, he took up the starfish, inserted its topmost and bottommost points under the wrappings, and whispered, “Until then.”
The body sank as the ground received her and conveyed her deep enough not to be found by the groundskeepers.
I intended to let this moment of grief pass, and offer some of my energy—not blood—to him soon. After all, I had my bloodstone back at the haven. I could draw some energy for myself out of it if I needed.
Xerxadrea faced the sky and whispered something to Ruya, who took to the air, clutching something in her talons. I had to wonder what. Curiously watching the Eldrenne, I saw her flip her broom bristle side up—and the night was pierced by a sudden, shrill whistle.
Xerxadrea stamped the wooden handle end of her broom onto the stone pathway and cried out, “Afflatus!” Air whooshed outward from her, shoving the vampires and me backward, knocking away leaves, and propelling small, unanchored things like fairies into the air, tumbling as if shoved.
Fairies!
In the next instant, Xerxadrea had settled onto her broom and seized Menessos by the arm. “Come!” He fell across the broomstick and they shot into the air.
I straddled my broom and glanced at Goliath. I couldn’t leave him. The fairies had already killed one of their own to wound Menessos, they’d surely kill Goliath if they could. “C’mon!” I shouted.
He didn’t move.
The broom lifted me aloft and as much as possible I tucked the toes of the boots up behind me.
A fireball zoomed through the air toward me. Beau’s charm grew warm against my skin. The fiery blast shifted and hit the stone pathway. Luckily, Goliath had leaped clear the opposite way, and crouched beside the next bench. I heard the skittering laughter of fairies. That fireball meant one thing: fire fairies. Fax Torris is here!
“Now!” I shouted, gliding swiftly in to get him and concentrating on drawing protective energy back out of the jaspers and into my aura.
From the tree, fairy shot filled the air like a gray cloud descending on Goliath. He stood and ran toward me, but not before one of the little arrows slammed into his cheek.
Another bolt of fire flashed in just as he leaped for the broom.
The charm warmed again.
Menessos still dangling, Xerxadrea zoomed by—and the fireball was gone.
Goliath latched onto the broom handle. It didn’t even dip under the new weight. He heaved himself up like a gymnast on the uneven bars, doubling himself over the broom. Not a pretty position, but it worked. We flew up, but before I could rocket away Goliath pointed at a large jagged circle of broken glass and bent steel below us. He shouted, “They went into the Glass House!”
Intention sent us speeding back to it. I gauged the size of the hole. “Tuck your feet up.”
“Fuck that! Drop me in and you follow!”
I didn’t have time to make two passes. Leaning low across the small of his back, I took hold of the hem of his pants and yanked so his legs came alongside the broom. It rolled him uncomfortably on the broom handle; I didn’t care.
He swore, but knowing I was doing this my way, he twisted more to comply. He reached for my ankle and lined his torso along the broom’s other side. We were as lean as we could get.
I angled straight down and dropped through the broken greenhouse roof, intending the broom to level off at the base of the huge Strangler Fig tree. We landed.
Goliath smoothed his suit as he stood. The fairy shot, which resembled a barbed toothpick, was still stuck in his cheek. He jerked it loose, swore, and announced, “We can’t stay here.”
“Duh.” I could hear the alarm buzzing in the hallways beyond the area.
“Incoming!”
As we scurried under the tree, I realized the steel structure and the iron mesh in the glass panes would keep the fairies out, but standing under the hole open to the sky made us easily accessible targets.
The fireball hit the edge of the gaping hole in the structure above us. Some sparks showered down, but mostly it stuck there and burned.
Strategically, I wasn’t sure why we were here. The fey could have flown and followed us in our retreat, so sheltering here had the merit of stopping pursuit. But now all they had to do was wait until the alarm brought human authorities who would escort us out—probably in handcuffs.
Was their plan to get the police to arrest us for breaking and entering? The discredit might amount to something, but how would that help them?
Into the darkness of the Costa Rican exhibit, Goliath called, “Master?” loud enough to be heard over the din of the alarm and the waterfall.
“Here.”
They were waiting on the other side of the waterfall. Goliath and I sprinted across the little wooden bridge. Well, Goliath sprinted. Sprinting in these boots was ridiculous and impossible. I walked quickly.
Menessos was huddling over Xerxadrea, and when I saw that her broom lay in two pieces beside them, my heart seemed to stop.
Her robes smoked like the mist that sometimes surrounded her when she had to climb stairs. But it lacked the guided quality it usually had.
I rushed to her side. When I saw how ashen her skin had become, my steps faltered.
“Perseph . . .” she said. The din of the waterfall right behind me made it hard to hear. So did a second set of alarms going off.
“I’m here, Eldrenne.” I crouched at her side. “Tell me, what can I do?”
“Seal the gateway. Seal the fey out of this world. The fire fairy . . . she’s gone mad.”
“What can I do to help you right now?”
“Nothing.”
“Eldrenne—”
“Fairy fire,” Xerxadrea said. She gestured at her robes. “Is not like regular fire.”
The fireball was meant for me. The charm had diverted it and it had hit her.
It was not mist floating around her; her robes were smoldering. The new alarms were smoke detectors. “Xerxadrea!” No! “I’m so sorry. The charm, it—”
“The fire fairy doesn’t miss. She knew what you had and adjusted her spell.”
“But—”
“I have foreseen this, child.”
“What? You knew?” She dived in. She took it knowingly? “Then why did you come?”
Her lips were blue, but twisted into a wry smile. “Better me than you.”
My throat tightened with a lump so big I could hardly breathe. I remembered her—in my cellar—saying the reverse about me being the Lustrata: “Better you than me.”
“Problem is,” she went on, “WEC’s going to blame you.” Her eyelids fluttered shut and for a second I feared the worst, but she opened them again. “Vilna most of all. But there’s a silver lining . . .”
“Eldrenne.” I could hear sirens. Police and fire would be here soon.
“I’d have reinstated you into my lucusi.”
“I know.” It hurt to say anything, my throat was constricted by that lump.
“I’d have kept you from being Bindspoken.”
My eyes stung, but those desperate tears didn’t fall. A cold, cold breath filled my lungs and seemed to ease the lump a bit. “I’ll stay ahead of them.” I squeezed her hand reassuringly. “We’re working on that already.”
“They can’t catch you. You’re too crafty.” She smiled, weakly. “Even now, I see your mantle . . . glowing soft around you like a nimbus. Don’t forget the silver lining.” She took a deep breath; her last. “Was my honor to know you both.”
“Oh, Xerx,” Menessos whispered.
“I’m crossing that bridge, Persephone. Hold my hand while this world fades.”
I am holding her hand. Can’t she feel it?
“Go, Xerxadrea,” Menessos whispered. “Linger here no more. Summerland’s gates are just across that bridge.” He sounded strong, not sad.
I took strength from his words, too. The lump in my throat faded and I found my voice. “The Lord and Lady are waiting, Xerxadrea. Into those bountiful arms, with you.”