Public Enemies (15 page)

He won't go.
Despair cloaked me like darkest night.

Still, I raised my weapon like Raoul had taught me. I might not be very good at this, but I was a fighter now, right? The monster lashed at me and I tried to leap clear.
Not fast enough.
The blow caught me across the back and I actually felt my ribs caving in. It hurt to breathe. I tried to maneuver but the slick floor and glass fragments made it impossible. My palms sliced open as I tried to haul to my feet, red smearing the makeshift weapon I was barely hanging on to. Distantly I realized my dad was beside me, trying to drive the creature away.

Failing.

It hit me again, sweeping me like rubbish against the far wall. The impact cracked my ribs on the other side; the pain was excruciating. I couldn't move anymore, except to blink. My lashes gave a dark fringe to my last moments. I thought about my mother … and Kian. Vi. Ryu. Davina. Jen.
At least they'll miss me.
Blood trickled from my mouth, and I stared up at the horrid thing that would kill me.

Except it didn't.

I heard the flutter of dark wings all around me, and then
he
was here, all darkness and ominous promise. The Harbinger's voice whispered like silk across a blade. “Take only the one you came for. She belongs to me.”

Save him instead,
I tried to say. My lips moved. No sound came out.

The monster made an awful, gargling noise, as if in acknowledgment, and then snatched my father up, lurching away through the broken doorway. Tears trickled out the corners of my eyes but I had no strength to wipe them away.

The Harbinger knelt with dreadful tenderness and plucked the matted hair away from my cheek. “What am I to do with you?”

At his touch, the pain receded enough for me to whisper, “You could've saved him.”

“He's not mine to protect,” came the indifferent reply.

My throat worked. “I hate you.”

“I know, dearling,” he said, oddly wistful. “I know.”

Then, mercifully, he brushed his hand down over my eyes; the pain went like a snuffed candle, and with it the whole world.

 

AN ALIEN, IMPOSSIBLE THING

I woke in someone else's bed. The mattress was softer than mine and the covers were faintly scented with lavender. Darkness cloaked the room, so I could make out only the vague shapes of furniture in the room: chest of drawers, rocking chair, steamer truck piled with books and magazines. Nothing about the space seemed particularly ominous.

The next thing I noticed was a peculiar lack of pain. With the injuries I'd suffered, it should hurt, just lying here. Breathing had felt like I had shards of glass slipping in and out of my lungs, but other than a residual soreness, I didn't feel too bad. That … was impossible. Unless … was this my coma dream awakening? I tried to decide if I felt like I'd jumped off a bridge but I came to no conclusions; on the bright side, if I'd leapt and survived, then my parents should be nearby. Afraid to let myself hope, I struggled upright and sat trembling on the edge of the bed.

The door opened, silhouetting a feminine figure in the light from the hallway beyond. “You must be confused.”

The woman flipped the switch in the room and the fringed lamp on the bedside table came on. Illumination revealed a homey room, done in inviting earth tones down to the rumpled quilt I'd just crawled out from under. My feet were bare on the throw rug, which seemed to have been woven from strips of fabric. I was wearing a clean white flannel nightgown and I guessed it must belong to my hostess. Whoever she was.

“You could say that.”

The last thing I remembered was—rage swept over me—the Harbinger cutting a deal with the Cthulhu beast, letting it take my dad. My hands curled into fists. Anger was a refuge because fear and sorrow lurked behind it, a river of tears in which I could drown.

“I can see certain memories are starting to return. Are you hungry?”

“First I have questions.”

“So I imagine. But you can ask just as well while you eat, don't you think?” Her tone was so sweet and mild, I felt like an asshole to insist.

Getting up proved a little tougher than anticipated, but I managed on my own. Which I shouldn't be able to do, frankly. Given how pulverized I was, it should've taken weeks to get me ambulatory. Unless …

“What day is it?” I demanded.

Smiling, she told me. I relaxed a little, though I didn't understand how I could've healed so much in two days. My head hurt, as if I'd just shaken off the effects of some powerful narcotic. In my bare feet, I shuffled along behind her into the kitchen, all lemony cream, ruffled curtains, and kitschy-cute feminine style. It was impossible not to be charmed by the gingham-check cushions, and as I sank onto one, I couldn't decide what to ask first.

In the clear morning light, I got my first good look at her. She was brown-skinned with short, curly hair and an open, honest expression. Her features were broad but soft with faint smile lines at the corners of wide brown eyes. She offered me a cup of tea, pouring hot water into my mug from an electric kettle, and the sweet aroma of peppermint wafted up.

“I'm Rochelle,” she said. “Or at least, that's the name I'm using now.”

“You've been called other things over the years,” I guessed.

“The Harbinger said you were clever. It's nice to know he's not always wrong.”

“It doesn't sound like you're a fan.”

“Of his? No. But I honor old debts.”

“And that's why you healed me?” I'd already figured out she must be a defunct goddess of healing, but I was too groggy to match one of the old names to her, let alone a bunch, like I had with the Harbinger, Wedderburn, and Dwyer.

“You're not a hundred percent,” she admitted. “My power's no longer sufficient for that.”

“How is that you have any left at all?”

“There are still a few corners of the world where they light candles and invoke me. These days I work as a doctor … and live mostly as a human.” Her tranquil smile made me trust her instinctively, so I fought the urge.

“You're not part of the game?”

She shook her head and got a plate from the fridge, then popped it in the microwave. This seemed so strange—so
ordinary
—for someone who used to grant prayers and heal the sick. “I don't hate humanity, so I can't get on board with creating so much misery and bodily harm for my own amusement.”

I paused, struck by what she'd said. A while back, I had a conversation with Kian, where I guessed that was why they competed. “That's why? I mean, there's no endgame. The contest just goes on and on.”

“Exactly. It's a way to dispel the ennui. And for some it's about petty revenges and evening the score with a rival. Humans made their gods in their own image, so all the faults are magnified on a grand scale.”

How depressing.

The microwave pinged. She got a hot pad and gave me a plate covered with dishes I didn't recognize. There were eggs in sauce and some kind of oatcake, but it seemed like a bad idea to sniff suspiciously at the food. Besides, it smelled good, and if she wanted to harm me, the time to do it would've been when the Harbinger carted me in here, crushed like a bug. My stomach growled, sealing the deal.

Picking up my fork, I ate half of what she'd given me without saying a single word, while she pulled the tea bag out of my cup. The remaining liquid was golden brown and deliciously redolent of mint. Serenity stole over me; all my concerns seemed like distant memories and tension seeped out of my muscles. My parents, the Harbinger, Kian … they could all wait until I had a meal, right? Something about that didn't seem entirely right but I ate my breakfast anyway.

“That's good,” Rochelle said, smiling. “It's important to keep up your strength even when action is critical. The Harbinger will be here shortly.”

That startled me enough that I dropped my fork. Reality crashed the dome of tranquility she'd shaped around me.
Oh my God, my dad, where's my dad, and Kian must be so worried. I've been gone for forty-eight hours.

“Where's my phone?”

She shook her head. “You didn't have it when you arrived. The clothes you had on were ruined and there was nothing in your pockets.”

Shit. It must've bounced out when the monster was knocking me around.
God only knew what Kian made of the trashed lab, my phone smashed amid the wreckage, and both my father and me missing.
But the Harbinger probably let him know, right?

“Do you know if he notified anyone?”

“The Harbinger?” Rochelle laughed as if I'd proposed something preposterous. “You do realize he delights in chaos. So if he could create disorder by
not
telling someone where you are, what do you imagine he's done?”

“Not told a soul,” I said glumly.

“Don't despise him too much. He's this way because of the stories. At this point he'd change if he could but we can only push our natures so far.”

“Are you talking about me?”

I had a riotous impression of dark wings in the window and voice where there was no throat capable of speaking, and then the wings were a cloak or a topcoat, hard to say with the shadows looming over Rochelle's once-bright kitchen. When light and darkness came to equilibrium, the Harbinger was perched on the chair opposite me, drinking my peppermint tea. He wore the bohemian finery I'd noted the first time we met, hat neatly on the chair next to him.

“You're showing off,” she observed. “Last time you called, you knocked at my door.”

It seemed as if he were smiling, but I still couldn't look directly at his face because of the awful weight of his tragic beauty. His mien made me want to throw myself into his arms but I also wanted to flee, screaming. He was an alien, impossible thing, inscrutable, unknowable, and his gaze crawled over me like a thousand insects or butterfly wings, both, neither.

I hated him.
After I fought so hard, he let it take my father.

I feared him.
When he spoke, the monster listened.

But there was something else, deep and strange, quivering in the pit of my stomach. It wasn't longing like I felt for Kian, but I had to acknowledge the feeling.
Reluctant curiosity. Fascination, even.
If the moth was capable of reason, it might feel the same, circling a flame.
It's so very bright. What will happen if I move a little closer?
This was probably a sickness, similar to radiation poisoning.

“If I become married to the mundane, my dear Brigid, then I may as well find a job. How's
your
work with the poor and infirm?” His mordant words didn't seem to faze her as she took my teacup away from him and set down a fresh one.

“Rewarding,” she said gently. “It's not the same energy I get from the odd ceremony, but it keeps me going.”

“Better than eating people,” I muttered, thinking of his compact with Kian.

The Harbinger said nothing. Rochelle's peaceful aura seemed to be working on him as well. The sense of constant motion and the lightning-charged air died away. For the first time I focused on his features, apart from the glamour or whatever he had. The Harbinger wasn't as handsome as I'd initially thought. In fact, his face was thin and pale, bony at brow and chin, cheekbones gaunt rather than elegant, and his eyes were gray. His brows were heavy, black slashes that gave him an angry, impatient aspect. But his hair, that was every bit as pretty as it had been, still long and black, star-kissed with silver. I didn't feel sick to my stomach when I completed the inspection, either. To my eyes, he looked tired, as if protecting me had sapped more energy than he'd anticipated. His gaze met mine, so
old
that I went breathless. It was like staring into time itself while suspended above a bottomless pit.

“It's clear you two have unfinished business, so I'll leave you to chat,” she said.

When she left the room, the first prickles of lightning came back. My skin tingled, and I looked away, braced for the time when he'd hit me visually like a force of nature.
Did Kian know what it would be like under the Harbinger's protection when he made the deal?
I truly hoped the answer was no.

“You still hate me,” he said unexpectedly.

I couldn't tell if it was a statement or a question. But I nodded anyway, in case he was checking. Then I demanded, “Who took my dad? I have to save him.”

“What makes you think I know?”

“That thing recognized you. So it stands to reason you know what it was. And who it works for.”

“You underestimate my renown. Do you think there are many immortals of my caliber who choose not to play the game?”

That was a good point, but … “You're jerking me around. Why?”

He let out a faint sigh. “If I tell you, you'll go after your father. And I don't have the power to save you. Edie Kramer, you are exhausting.”

“Sorry.” The apology was instinctive and I regretted it at once. Though I had a ton of grievances against him, I hadn't meant to suck him dry like a psychic vampire, but I'd rather not admit it.

His expression shifted, the minute difference undecipherable. “But that doesn't alter your resolve … and that puts me in an awkward position because if I let you die, that voids my compact with your beloved.”

“Really?” Wait, no, that wasn't a solution. He'd offered to eat me a while back if I wanted to die, but giving up wasn't the same as trying your best to save someone and failing.

“You've changed since we first met, grown more intractable and courageous. I understand how you became the little queen.”

Those words rang a bell in my head, but I couldn't place them. When it hit me, my eyes widened. “Mr. Love…?”