The Deception Dance (34 page)

Three other people jump into the water to join the squirrel-woman
floundering in our wake as we race away.

Albert is definitely not following the ten kilometer-per-hour sign we
zoom past. He weaves between parked boats and out of the harbor into
the Oresund strait.

We drive for ten minutes before Albert stoops to rip the tape from my
face. I spit out the wad of material but it takes me a minute to
remoisten my mouth.

When I can speak again, I shout, “Albert, what the
hell
are you doing? You’re betraying everyone you love. And for
what? A world destroyed.” Okay, so I guess I’d been
meditating on that statement since Albert shoved me into the van, and
it came out a little rehearsed. But, screw it. Albert deserves a
world of pain; he’s double-crossing his whole family and going
to do who knows what with me. If he gets close enough, I’m
going to bite him.

He’s a few paces away, in a half crouch, seemingly unsure if he
wants to stand or what; he should probably be steering the boat. He’s
wearing an outfit I’ve never seen the like of before, outside
of the movies, black sleek full body armor. He’s also wearing
what can only be called an arsenal of guns, a few visible daggers
and, not surprisingly, a big hammer hanging from his belt. “I’m
not betraying anyone...”

“Oh, because kidnapping in the dead of night is oh, so
honorable. Why don’t you just throw me overboard or let the
soul-bound kill me? Or, do you have to deliver me yourself?”

“Deliver you?” His voice turns gruff. He stands fully and
takes his spot to steer. I have to roll over to see him when he says,
“What do you take me for?”

I dump a bucket-load of contempt into my words, “What do you
think? You tied-up, gagged and abducted me...”

“I thought this is what you wanted. I’m doing you a
favor; I’m bringing you back to your boyfriend.”

“Some favor,” I mutter. Louder, I say, “What are
you trading me for, huh? What do they have that you could possibly
want
that
much?”

“I’m not trading you!” He roars, spinning to face
me. “I just could not sit around, waiting, in suspense...”
his voice loses its ferocity. “And, yes, those demons do have
something on me...someone.”

From his tone it definitely sounds as if this someone is female. “And
you’ll exchange my life for hers?”

He hits the dashboard, “I already told you...” he makes a
frustrated ‘urgh’ sound, then just stares forward. He
exhales, “I’d die for her... for them. But I’m not
going to let you die; everything centers on you. I need to bring you
to Andras before the demons decide she’s of no further use as
leverage.” He exhales, “All I need is for you to get me
inside... if you get me into City Hall, I can save my wife... my
pregnant wife.”

Wait? Wife? What?

Will the surprises of this day never end? I say, “You’re...married?”

“Yes.”

“What, is it some big secret? Does anyone know?”

“Only Nicholas.”

“Um...why?”

“She’s...” he is silent for a long moment, “She’s
Muslim.”

“
And
?”

“
And,
Tobias Leijonskjöld, my ancestor, has been a
devout Christian since the sixteenth century.”

Ah. I see. That would be a bit tricky. But seriously, Albert needs to
man-up. I roll my eyes and shake my head, “I can see why
Stephen called you a hypocrite. I mean...are you serious? After
harping on me all day for sacrificing myself for my family, you’re
doing the exact same thing!”

“Not...”

“What did Madeline stop you from doing?” I say before he
can defend himself.

He’s unresponsive so I press the issue. “Stephen said,
‘
Madeline told me what you tried to do
.’” He
still doesn’t respond, but I’ve already figured it out.
“You tried to trade my body for your wife, didn’t you?”

He yells, “You were not using it!” right as something
collides into the boat.

I’m thrown in the air and smack the back of my head on the wood
planks. That makes two. I force my eyes open and ignore the throbbing
ache. “Untie me!”

I don’t have to scream twice, as the boat rocks furiously
beneath us, Albert deftly cuts me from my bindings. My sleeping feet
don't want to stand up on the rocking floor of the boat; I end up
(not happily) clutching onto Albert and a white railing. “What
is it?” my voice reflects the instability of my body.

Albert doesn’t respond; he’s staring at the massive
bubbles breaking the surface of the channel. Faster than a
jack-in-the-box, a figure’s upper body springs from the water
and blocks out the night sky. Her shadow casts over the entire white
speed boat; she must be fifty feet tall.

The sound of her low raspy feminine chuckle seems to come from all
directions. If t
he little mermaid
and
Godzilla
fell in
love, this thing would be their offspring. She is a mesh of human,
reptile and fish. Her hair, a tangle of wriggling florescent green
eels, hangs down to the beginning of her humpback-whale thick fish
tail. And, even though her face and torso have the basic features of
a human, different parts of her sallow yet almost translucent skin
look slimy, sharp or scaly.

The creature grabs the front of the boat with one of her sleek
yellowish claws and drags us to her. The air still vibrates with her
chuckling. She has more rows of sharp teeth than a shark and a
too-wide mouth. She hisses so loud that Albert and I cover our ears,
but I hear her words through my fingers, “Oh my joy,
sweethearts out for a moonlit boating,” She looms so far over
us I can feel and smell her blood and rotten-fish breath. “What
delicious flesh. Eating you will be a pleasure.”

So this is the end those runners met, I do not envy them, though I’m
only a little better off. She doesn’t wait for our response;
she’s advancing when I find my voice.

“If you spill one drop of my blood you will be nothing but ash
sucked back into Hell!”

She doesn’t jump away as I had hoped, she leans in even closer.
Her bulbous black eyes blink. I don’t get my hands over my ears
in time and the hiss shoots through me like a spike. She says, “No,
no, no little morsel. Only Raven Smithsies and Raven Smith is
lifeless.”

I raise my arms, “I’m Raven Smith. Bite me and see!”

She laughs heartily and lunges forward. I close my eyes, cursing
myself for telling her to
bite
me (stupid. Stupid. Stupid.). I
squeeze my hands into fists, but no jaws clamp down, she doesn’t
test me. When I open my eyes only her tail remains above the surface.
It wheels around and smacks the back of our boat sending us spinning.
Her fishy-tail submerges but only just, and we can see her path by
the bubble of water that torpedoes toward shore as if shot out of a
cannon.

As the boat rocks in her wake Albert stares after the sea-demon, “All
those men...we did not know...”

“I think it’s time for us to go.”

He nods, “Yeah. So much for sneaking into Copenhagen
unnoticed.”

The land mass in front of us looks nothing like a city. There are no
twinkling lights, just flickering from sporadically placed fires. The
night sky around it is masked by a layer of smoke.

Until now, I hadn’t really gotten a good look at the boat or
the water around it; as, I was pretty busy at the beginning of my
kidnapping. The open-air small speed boat has the characteristic
Leijonskjöld
color scheme: cream, white, and light wood,
along with being sleek and impeccably maintained. The one incongruous
thing about the interior is the black-velvet-lined open weapons case
where a bench should probably be.

I settle onto a seat and let my aching head fall into my hands.
Exhausted?
Check
. Incapacitating headache?
Check, check
.

“We’re almost to Kastellet,” Albert calls in the
torrent of wind, “And many boats are coming for us!”

When I stand, I can see the boats too; all thirty of them, or more,
taking formation as if they might zoom past us and go on migration.
Yeah, I
wish
.

The land we’re heading for has the only artificial light I’ve
seen, and what a lot of light it is. There must be searchlights
illuminating every angle of that church, just like Madeline’s
house. The view of the façade and spire are partly obstructed
by other unlit-buildings, but St. Alban’s shines out like a
beacon in the dark, literally.

If Stephen and Nicholas painted a target on St. Alban’s church,
Albert and I are not only stringing the bow, we’re loosing the
arrow. If we even get through that brigade we’ll be leading all
those soul-bound directly into Copenhagen’s only remaining
safe-haven.

I step up next to Albert and shout, “This is so wrong!”

He stares forward at the boats we’re on a collision course for.
“What choice do we have now?” His giant hands are
white-knuckled squeezing the steering wheel.

I look behind us at our route back. Boat lights, everywhere, they are
on all sided of us.

“They’re closing in,” I say, “We’re
surrounded.” My voice sounds so steady, maybe it’s
because I’ve died once before, more than once.

Albert turns to me, “No, we’re getting through. Quick,
see that chair, pull out its back.”

I rush to do as he says finding a sleek red contraption encased by
the seat; it looks like the Jet Ski’s baby brother. It’s
about the size of one of Chauncey’s suitcases, shaped like a
bullet with two handles.

“There’s one in the other seat too!” Albert yells
back, “Grab both, we’re going into the Oresund!”

“Are you serious? Do you have wet suits?” I ask.

He grabs a long metallic pole, uses it to brace the steering wheel
and dashes back to me. “No time!” He kneels to rip the
other seat-back off and shrugs off his weapon gear, but keeps the
hammer.

The lights from the oncoming boats make the wind shield look like an
illuminated screen. What, are they just going to all crash into us
and hope that they’re the one to kill me?

I crouch to peer over the seat. Um, yeah, that’s exactly what
they’re going to do, in about one minute. I drop back down and
examine the little sea-scooter. I whip my gaze to Albert, “But,
that demon-thing is still in there!”

Albert doesn’t respond, he takes both of his mitt-sized hands
and simultaneously shoves me and the scooter into the Oresund.

I didn’t expect it; my eyes are open when they hit the water
and they sting through several blinks. The boat’s wake sends
the scooter one way and pulls me beneath the surface

So. Cold.

All the oxygen sucks out of my lungs.

I struggle to the surface. I hear Albert splashing into the water;
it’s barely audible over the water sloshing against my ears.
The scooter bobs like a buoy just beyond the boats wake. I struggle
to it (getting a couple salty mouthfuls) and grab onto the handles.

Albert zooms up to me like a huge blond dolphin, “Green is go.
Dive. Now!” He whips around, heading in the direction of the
soon to be many-boat-pile-up, and disappears beneath the surface.

Green is go.
I examine the handles, press the green button and
shoot forward. Water splashes my face; my shorts threaten to slip
off. And I know I’m going in the wrong direction. I see boats,
so many boats...

I inhale, hold my breath, and dive. So cold. My face literally hurts
from the water temperature. I can’t see anything, but I know
I’m still going the wrong way.

I veer around; the little sea motor obeys my slightest move. Now, I
see more… nothing.

My eyes sting but I know I need to keep them open. I chant to myself
in my head: one, two, three, open. Errrr. This time for real, I’ll
keep them open, now. Ignore the sensation of water blasting into my
eyesballs, ignore it.

Even though I
want
to get used to the temperature, when
suddenly I can’t feel the cold on my legs anymore, it terrifies
me. It probably means my lower body is hypothermic, or something
equally awful.

Then, I see something, a light, and shadows passing it. There’s
a big white light. And I know I must be going the right way, and
that’s St. Alban’s.

Through the light, black shapes speed toward each other and then
merge, like a silent gathering shadow.
The shadows
are...boats.
Oh, god
. They are crashing right above me.

Suddenly, I need air. I tell myself:
I can hold it
. But I know
that I can’t. I swallow the last of the air in my mouth. My
entire body clenches. Hold it. Hold it. Too many boats.

I have to go up.

I aim for the far side of the largest shadow; the darkness above is
moving, shifting, and sections of it sink into the water around me. I
don’t think I can make it, I need air.

Something bumps me and I shoot off course.

Oh. My. God. What was that?

The last of my breath bubbles up to the darkness above. My motor
abruptly stops. And I’m bumped again.

Without my permission, my eyes close. Something slippery locks over
my lips, and air, cool sweet honey-suckle tasting air fills my mouth.
I gasp in more, and more. I try to open my eyes but my lids can not,
will not, unfasten.

I inhale this otherworldly kiss. I’m locked in a moment of
stillness, as if the boats aren’t crashing above me, as if I’m
not drowning. Maybe I am drowning; maybe this is the kiss of death...

No, I’ve tasted death’s kiss, and it didn’t taste
like honey. And, somehow I know this is something… someone…
sublime.

The slippery thing, whatever it is, releases its hold on my mouth. As
if I never took my finger from the green button, the motor speeds
forward; I only just manage to grasp the handles.

With some effort I peel my eyes open just as I pass from under the
cloud of wreckage that pours boat fragments all around me.

I’m not cold anymore. Either my whole body is too numb to feel
anything, or whatever just (blessed? saved?) helped me, took the cold
with it. Clearly demons are not the only beings swimming around the
Oresund.