Feeding Frenzy (The Summoner Sisters Book 1) (9 page)

Maithe Dweubhal’s grin widens, while Gregor’s face goes paler.  “You’re about to make me cross Hades?  That’s death!”

“It was
your
deal,” I respond coldly.  “It won’t be my hands that end your pathetic life, it will be those of the god you serve.”  He glowers.  “Oh, please.  Don’t act like you didn’t know when you made the deal that he was the one gonna come for you, one day.”

“You heartless c—”

“Is this the wingless one’s boon?” Maithe Dweubhal cuts in.

“It is.”

“Memory is a troublesome thing….”  She says, her inhuman little face twisted.  I can’t ever tell if faeries are actually a little on the evil side of things as a rule, or if their unnatural facial symmetry and penchant for chaos make it hard for me to tell the difference between their resting faces and their hell raiser faces.

“This is the boon I would ask of Maithe Dweubhal.”

“And so it shall be,” she finishes the agreement, turning her attention on the bound man.

She begins to steal his memories.  I’m gripped by a panic attack as I watch, remembering the first time I saw this happening a dozen years ago.  The horror, the helplessness of watching my sister’s youth leave her mind, and not knowing how to make it stop.  And here I am, intentionally doing this to someone else.

It’s surreal, watching memories coalesce.  It’s sort of like watching a television show in another language.  The overarching emotion is almost always familiar, something we all can relate to.  But it is meaningless.  It’s lovely, and terrible, and sad.  Afterwards, he will wake, shaky and confused.  He’ll live the rest of his miserable life with frightening, inexplicable gaps in his memory.  Depending on how deeply embedded some of these memories are, and how long he’s been working with Hades, he may lose whole swaths of things—people’s names, partners he’s loved, who knows.  And it was my mouth that ordered this.  I’d still say his crime is worse than mine, but then my hands aren’t tied by a god.  There were no better solutions, though—not this time.  I can cope with this guilt.  I couldn’t cope with having my parents or Lia hurt because I messed up one time.  I’ll just add it to my pile of nightmare fuel.

As the faerie extracts the memories, Gregor passes out.  It must be exhausting, watching all of these things you suddenly don’t recall slide from your body.  I wonder if it hurts?  Don’t borrow trouble, Summer.

The memories eventually stop streaming from Gregor’s inert form.  “He no longer has the memories,” the small fae informs me.

“Great, thanks.”

“They must have a home.”

See what I mean?  There’s always a catch with these guys.  “Excuse me?”

“A memory is precious.  It is spiritual matter.  It must be put somewhere.”

“So take ‘em, isn’t that what you’re good at?”

“That I will not do.  These memories belong to another god, and I will not burden my queen with the care of them.”

“But this is my boon.”

“The boon is performed.  The bear man no longer has them.  The boon did not specify what was to happen with them afterwards.”

I take a deep breath and clench my fists to keep from shaking her.  “Don’t you get tired thinking of ways to break agreements?” I ask her.

Her face is emotionless.  I look around me.  I’ve got some rocks, a bottle from a sports drink, an unconscious man, and a goat.

“Is there anything in this room that I can use?”

She nods.

“This bottle okay?”  She looks at it dubiously.

“It may hold some of the memories….”  She says hesitantly, reaching for it.  I hand it to her and she examines it, crawling in it herself.  The temptation to close her in there like so many fireflies is great, but I think I’m pushing my luck as far as possible already.

“I think I can put the memories he had of Ophelia and her larger shadow in here,” she states, referencing me as the shadow.  “At least temporarily.  There are not many of them.”

“What do you mean, ‘temporarily’?”

She shrugs.  “Many memories decay.  In this porous container, I would expect faster decay.”

“And what happens when they decay?”

She grins again.  “That depends on the memory.”

I am regretting my decision already.  “What will happen when
these
decay?”

“Ophelia and her shadow will fade.”

I take another deep breath.  No one wins if they’re trying to spar with a faerie while mad.  “Meaning?”

“This world will have that much less hold on the two.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“It will not cut you, or end your life, if that is what you mean.”

“Will something be able to get us?”

“Of course.”

“More than usual?” I ask through ground teeth.

“Usual for whom?”

“Don’t get fresh with me, pixie.”

She cackles.

“Genius,” I say to myself.  “Trying to take life advice from a manipulative monster that eats memories.”  I shake my head.  “Well,” I say louder.  “It sounds like we’ll just have to risk it.  Can I remove it later if I want?”

“You may try.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Then there will be a puddle of memories for Maithe Dweubhal’s kin to harvest.”

“Peachy,” I mutter bitterly.  “Let’s go for it.  What about the others?”

“There is only one receptacle left that will accommodate them.”

“This century please, I’m sort of in a hurry.”

“Will the wingless one accept them?”

I blink at the suggestion.  “Who, me?”  How do I write this material?  I’m so freakin’ witty.  The small fae nods.  “What will that be like?” I ask nervously.

“I have never been a human with another human’s memories.”

“Why can’t Clyde take them?”

She cocks her head to the side until I point to my goat.  “Do you not intend to send him back to the southern gods?” she queries.

“Well, yeah.”

She looks at me with the exaggerated patience of a parent explaining to a child why it can’t have two toys right now.  “Is not the intent to keep these memories a secret from those deities?”

I scowl at her condescension.  “And...if I don’t take them, and someone else finds them?”

“Eventually, The Guard of the Southern Fallen will learn that he has been robbed.”

Wonderful.  Greek lore is chock full of stories of people and demi-gods that have tried to take something that Hades considered his.  Spoiler alert: it doesn’t end pretty for the thieves.  I waver for a second.  While weighing my options, I passively watch Clyde nibbling whatever strikes his goatish fancy.  It must be nice, only having to make decisions about what item to taste next.  In the unnatural quiet, I hear what sounds like a door.  The silence afterwards drags on though, even with all of my senses now on high alert.  Maithe Dweubhal looks at me expectantly.  I lick my lips and take quick stock of my overall condition.  It is not promising.  It’s time for me to end this.  Well, in for a penny, in for another man’s memories of his ill-fated bargain with the lord of the underworld, I always say.

“Okay, go for it.”

I’m almost overset by the weirdness of accepting someone else’s experiences.  I’m overloaded by what must be Gregor’s own impressions of things: what makes him mad, scared, happy.  It’s like watching a movie on sixteen-times speed at full volume when the voices no longer sync up with the video.

My disorientation deepens as I am thrown bodily across the room.

I look up through the stars in my vision and see what must be the incubus, in a form chosen for me.  The monster is sporting the same build as always, but with wide, light eyes, strong cheekbones and full lips.  My poor brain is entirely overwrought.  I simultaneously want to murder it, embrace it and guide it back into the world so it can feed.  No, hang on.  That last one doesn’t sound right.  I blink at myself, and realize that that urge isn’t actually mine.  It must be Gregor’s.  Absolutely fucking perfect.

I stand up with a dangerous sway, my vision narrowing for a treacherous second.  This room is getting very small, with Gregor’s unconscious form, Maithe Dweubhal’s containment circle, the incubus, the corpse, myself, and Clyde all requiring a certain amount of space.  It does not make for ideal fighting conditions.

I don’t think I can fight the incubus by myself in this state, frankly.  I’m down a dangerous amount of fluid, my left arm is largely numb, and I’m so freakin’
tired
.  In movies, the fight scenes go on for several minutes, with people blocking and kicking and jumping places.  They make ten minutes of battle seem like it’s really just an energetic form of walking, and about as strenuous.  For most of us however, if we punch a pillow for sixty seconds we’re breathing hard and ready to sit down.  Lia and I have more training, of course, and so we can go a few extra rounds.  But it’s still exhausting, especially when you start feeling the hits you’ve already taken and your injuries start demanding attention.  And seriously, what painkiller did I take?  Because it’s definitely not working.  My muscles are screaming, my shoulder has thrown in the towel and now my head is pounding—probably because I just shoved a bunch of someone else’s thoughts into a space hardly capable of keeping me a functional adult.

I block feebly as the incubus comes over and kicks me clear across the room.  I land back by the summoning circle, where the faerie watches the theatrics gleefully.  The incubus glides over towards me, and I know there’s nothing left in the tank.

So I go for the reserves.  I get mad at the thing.  Because of it, I’m shot.  Some kid is dead.  My sister was threatened.  Fox keeps canceling my favorite television shows.  That last one is probably not the incubus’ fault, but it feels good to have a face to blame for it all the same.

As its foot stomps down on what would have been my throat, I roll away, using the wall and my momentum to stand up.  My gun is still loaded, so I shoot the son of a bitch.  Center mass.  It stumbles back and roars with inhuman rage, its blood electric blue.

“How ya like me now?” I taunt it.  It charges me as I keep shooting.  My other supplies are across the room, so while I know my pistol won’t stop it, it will buy me some time to breathe.  And in a psychopathic sort of way, it’s satisfying to be the one doing the hurting for a change.  It’s like a vacation for my ribs.

As it closes in on me, I push off the wall and duck behind it.  I step on something.  I look down, and recognize the river stone I’d used in my binding ritual.  Ah, crap.

“Shit!”  I hop away from the circle on instinct, but I know it’s already broken, which means Maithe Dweubhal is gone.  There’s a slight movement in the corner of my peripheral vision as the small purple-skinned fae disappears out the broken window.

I’m brought back to the present problem as a fist makes contact with my face.  It is a strange sensation, wanting to kiss someone while your nervous system calls a state of emergency because your noggin just got rocked.  I have time to contemplate the dilemma as I go sailing through the air once more.  I land, luckily, or perhaps most unluckily, on the oaken staff I had brought with me in the event we would be in a position to hold off an angry incubus before we could banish it.  The contact hurts like hell, but it clears my head of this last dose of incubus toxin.  I bring the staff up in a two-handed block, catching the creature just as it would have slammed its foot down again.  I pull the staff up, grinding my teeth against the pain that flares up in my shoulder as I do.  It lets loose a gratifying scream as the wood touches its skin.  I stand up, willing my knees not to shake.

“Looks like that hurt.  Do you really want to do this now?”  My bark is about all I’ve got left—I’m dangerously low on bite.

“You are in no position to threaten me, mortal.”

“I think I’m in the
best
place to threaten.  I’m the one backed into the corner.”

“You are.  You don’t have to be afraid though,” its voice turns to a purr.  “This could be much more enjoyable.”

“Thanks, but I’m kind of saving myself for someone special.  You know, human...possibly driving a fast car or sporting a whimsical tattoo.”  I smack the monster a few more times on its joints with my staff, forcing it to circle around me.  It feints around my left side, where it knows I’m weakest.  I spin to counter the thing, stumbling over another ball of loose clothing on the floor.  In that instant, the incubus spins into a rear kick, slamming me into a corner of the room.  I try to stand up, but everything hurts.

It begins approaching slowly, allowing me time to watch it walk.  It’s quite an eyeful.  My back spasms as a new knot forms to protect what is most likely some other broken bone or pinched nerve.  Getting bounced around the room by my head is beginning to take its toll.  I force myself to stand up, supported by the staff, and manage to pummel him with the butt end right in the creature’s thigh.  I’m not sure if incubi get charley horses, but that would do it, if they do.  It hisses at me and limps back as my knees buckle.  I slide back down the wall.  The monster’s predatory smile spreads.  It can tell that I’m about out of tricks.

“You will make a wonderful meal,” the incubus gloats as it walks over.  “You won’t feel anything but euphoria for the rest of your life.  Tell me, human soldier, do not you want to feel gladness?  The lines already cut into your face suggest you could use more of it.”  I hit the handsome flesh of the monster again with my staff from my spot on the floor.

“Did you...did you just say I look old?” I force the words out while I try to catch my breath.

“Worn, like you’ve seen too many troubles.  I could make you feel light.”

“Oh, and now I’m fat, am I?”  My vision is dimming again.  I just need time to regain some strength for the next phase of the fight.

“Why do you resist the gift I could give you?”

That makes me laugh a little, though it hurts to do so.  “Largely because I know that you expect something in return, and are trying to throw me negs in order to get it.  I’m a product of the self-esteem movement.  I’ve got a shelf of participation trophies that tells me I’m much too awesome to fall for that crap, asshat.” 

“Then let me try harder,” he whispers, a promise in his eyes.  It’s a promise I find myself wanting him to keep.  Everything hurts.  Adrenaline only keeps you up if you’re still running.  Once you stop, everything you’ve just done catches up with you, and you pay for it.  I harden my resolve again.  Maybe if it gets close enough, I can singe it with my oaken rings, and buy time that way.  My right hand clumsily tries to undo the glove on my left hand, but even that movement jars my shoulder so much that I see stars again.  I swallow nervously, trying to think of a way to get out of this.  The incubus kneels beside me, just out of arm’s reach. 

“It doesn’t have to last very long,” it adds with a slow smile.  I know that that smile means death.  My mind races through all of my escape options, and for the first time in my life, I can’t find one.  My instincts yell to keep fighting, but there are no weapons left.  Nothing is responding to me like I need it to—I don’t even have enough in me to spit at it.  Then a small voice whispers in my mind, saying that I gave it a good run, and there are way worse ways for monster banishers to go.  Death by pleasure is looking preferable to death by bleeding out.  As a bonus, I wouldn’t have to explain to Lia how I summoned the creature that tormented her, asked it for help, managed to fuck even that up, and then lost the tricky bitch.  The remnants of the toxin in my system surface as the creature moves closer, and the small voice overpowers my instincts.  My muscles relax and I lean back against the wall, unable to think of anything except the monster in front of me.  Yep, I’ll take death for two hundred, Alex.

It’s close enough to kiss, and whatever toxin it produces overwhelms the remainder of my willpower.  Hesitantly, as if it’s still afraid I might bite, the creature caresses my cheek, leaving a trail of fire on my skin.  All of a sudden, the noises from the other victims make sense.  Its lips touch my wrist and my temples and I am swimming in a sea of bliss.  Its fingers and lips glow with an internal light and in the dim recesses of my mind I realize it’s feeding on me.  My warning bells are growing ever fainter.

“Do you want me to stop?” it gloats, pulling away just an inch so that it can watch me beg.

My infuriating survival instinct kicks in to ruin the moment.  Why can’t I ever just let good things happen?

“Yes.” 

It comes out as a whisper, but that’s enough.  It pulls back with a hiss.  Instead of allowing it to revel in its victory, the space between us affords me the different pleasure of watching him recognize rejection.  Its face flushes angrily, and its lip curls into an impeccable snarl.  I smile up at the monster, freeing my smelling salts once more from my pocket, and inhaling deeply.

“Idiot girl.  If you won’t take the ending I offer you, I will end it your way.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” I breathe, touching the staff to my skin.  As the toxin clears, and my blood starts flowing again, I feel reinvigorated—I guess I’m one of those people who gets up and cleans the house after a good intoxication.  The incubus comes back in with a kick aimed at my ribs.  I crack its elbow with my staff, pleased with the sound of snapping bone that accompanies it.  I stand up and swing low, making it stumble back.  I follow through the move, flipping up the other end of the staff and pressing my attack.  The monster hisses angrily as the wood makes contact.  The black singe marks appear and disappear on its flesh, giving the impression of instant bruises.

“Where’s the girl?” I demand, warming to the rhythm of the kata.  Lia’s the real
bo
pro, but I’m no slouch.

“You meddle too much, mortal.”  It dodges my next attack, circling inside my guard. It throws a few quick jabs, putting me on the defensive.  I trip over Gregor’s boat-sized shoe, which gives the incubus a chance to boot me across the room again.  I land with a thud, expelling breath forcefully as the wind is knocked out of me.  Clyde bleats nervously and shies away as I groan and look around me.  The backpack with the rest of my personal effects is right next to my aching head.

“Are you sure you want to end things your way?” the incubus sneers, believing that I’m trapped.

“Oh, yeah.  I’m sort of selfish like that,” I respond while I reach covertly into my bag.

“Then I hope you’ve made your peace, human.”

“Peace would be a novelty, I’ll tell you that.” 

Clyde makes a noise like a soft chuckle from the far corner of the room, as if he’s agreeing.

My hands find what they’re looking for.  I’m clearly not winning this fight through brute strength.  That means it is time to call in better brutes.

“Oh mighty Zeus, thunder-father, I offer you tribute to thank you for your many blessings,” I chant in ancient Greek.  Out of the bag I bring a small golden bowl and a bottle of honey which is shaped roughly like a bear.  I gently roll onto my side and pour some of the honey into the bowl.

“No!  I will
not
go back like this!” the thing snarls, trying to kick my bowl away from me.  I sweep the ground in front of me with my staff, clearing space to begin the ritual.

“Bless your children, who honor you,” I continue, pouring in a small amount of cream from a paper carton.  My vision is starting to narrow again.  I spare a glance for my shoulder.  It is still oozing sadly, exceeding the limits of my compress’ ability to absorb.  My left arm is no longer responding to commands I give it—it seems to be on strike.

I put down the cream and pick up the staff again, preparing for the next wave of the incubus’ attack.  The monster comes in with an axe kick, aiming a vicious strike to take out my offering.  I catch the blow with the left side of the staff angled on the ground and twist, managing to throw the incubus around for a change.  It steps on the sleeping giant as it stands up.  Gregor groans and his feet twitch.  He opens his eyes and sees the incubus standing over him.  Shock registers on his face for the merest of moments before his legs instinctively kick out to sweep the incubus off his feet.  Both of them grunt in surprise and pain; it seems that Maithe Dweubhal did as she was asked.  Gregor seemingly had no idea until the pain hit that he was shot, and is still lacking the knowledge that he should be helping the incubus.  The incubus similarly appears to be stunned.  Evidently it hasn’t pieced together yet that Gregor doesn’t recognize his charge, and therefore is assuming that the human is betraying Hades voluntarily.