Heart of Stone, page 20
“How’d you lose your eyesight?”
“I was born this way. Mother said it was because I needed to see the important things first—the threads that bind us together—before the rest. She said the world would distract me.”
“You put a lot of faith in what your mother told you.”
“What is life without faith?”
Safe. Well, safer. “Don’t you ever wish she hadn’t, you know, put you through all this? That you could have had a normal life?”
“No. My mother loved me. She knew what was best for me. She was my life.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You keep saying that. You don’t have to apologize for what you did.”
“I killed your mother!” I cried, lurching to my feet, sending pretzels everywhere. “Christ, kid, how can you be okay with that?”
“You keep wanting me to punish you, to hate you. But I chose you to help her end her life when it was time. I knew you would agree to help, to protect me. And you did.”
I froze. She didn’t . . . “What do you think happened between me and your mother?”
“I know that she asked you to help, that she offered you a chance to walk a new path, to do more than be a killer. And that you said yes.”
“You . . . saw this?”
“No. I wasn’t there, of course. Mother said I had to wait in my room while she talked to you. I had told her about you, about how I wanted you to come and take me when it was time. I knew she had her doubts, but I was sure of you. I knew you would say yes.”
Unable to stand, I sat down on the bed. The ancient springs groaned and sagged, carrying me to the floor. I wished they could carry me further, to the depths of the Earth, to the bottom of the abyss that had just opened in my heart.
It was true, then. Stephanie didn’t know about the soul-lock. Her mother had offered me a choice, all right, but when I didn’t take it, she’d extorted the promise from me, on pain of death if I refused. Only Stephanie thought I had chosen it of my own free will, that I was some sort of knight in shining armor, the hero who had shed the skin of her old life to become something new.
I felt sick. I felt dirty.
Well, what the hell had I expected? That I really was the good guy in this story? That everything I’d ever done could just be whitewashed away like it had never happened? There were no fairy tales of princesses kissing snakes and turning them into princes, were there? And in the legend of Medusa, only her dead, severed head had done anyone any good.
Why did you choose me? That had been the question I had wanted to ask her, only I had lacked the guts to come out and say the words. Instead, I’d tried to sneak up on the question, to get to it without exposing myself to being hurt.
So much for that plan.
And now I had my answer. Only it was an answer based on a lie.
“Stephanie, I—” I raised my head, but her expression jammed the words in my throat. She sat there, this pure thing, with all the trust of a child in her face, a creature of blind, misguided faith.
“I need a bath,” I said, and fled the room.
Twenty minutes later, I lay soaking with my eyes closed in a tubful of water so hot it would have scalded a normal human’s skin. But I was grateful for the heat and even the discomfort. I needed to feel something else besides the hollow ache in my chest.
Why hadn’t I just told her the truth? Was some part of me so stupid that I was still clinging to this ridiculous notion that I was her protector because I had chosen the job?
That was nuts. Up to half an hour ago, I hadn’t even known she had this crazy idea. But now that I did know . . . I didn’t want to give it up.
Except there was nothing to give up, was there? Just a lie.
A lie that made this good, sweet, pure girl look at me with trust in her blind eyes. That made me feel like . . .
Like I wasn’t just a monster.
I felt myself drifting, my arms outstretched, resting on either side of the tub, the snakes nestled in languid torpor atop my head as they enjoyed the gently curling steam. Was Stephanie singing in the next room? I heard snatches of melody through the wall, then my thoughts wandered.
In my mind’s eye, I was twelve years old again, standing at the port of Anafi before dawn, with the trawler captain waiting impatiently at the end of the dock and my mother standing behind me. She’d dug her nails into my scrawny, sun-bronzed shoulders hard enough to leave marks that stayed on my skin for days. Careful to avoid my cursed eyes, she’d whispered in my ear: “Never let them grow. Do you hear me, child? You must do as I’ve done for you, every day of your life. Shave them off without fail. Promise this.”
And I’d promised, with my sight half blinded by tears and my heart breaking that my mother was sending me away, banishing me for killing that innocent boy, my sweet Pietro.
“Now go,” she’d said. No hug. No last kiss. Just a push hard enough to send me stumbling forward, down the long, awful pier, where the captain had taken the packet of one-hundred-drachma bills I’d been holding—the price for quick and quiet passage from my home—and ushered me belowdecks without meeting my eyes.
I’d sneaked a peek out a porthole as the trawler had made its way clear of the harbor, fighting a heavy current. But my mother was already gone. I wouldn’t even hear her voice again for four years, till I found a way to contact her by satellite phone. I hadn’t seen her since. I guess I never would.
And if you could? asked a small voice in my head.
If I could . . . if she would welcome me back, open her arms to me. . . . Oh, if she’d only forgive me . . .
I seemed to see her face then, rising up out of the mists around me.
“Daughter,” she said, folding her arms around my neck. “I forgive you . . .”
Part of me realized I was dozing, that this was a dream. But I didn’t care; it was too sweet to care. I felt the tears leaking from the corners of my closed eyes, felt my arms slipping into the tub, and it didn’t matter. That was happening far away, to someone else, long ago.
“I forgive you too,” said a gentle voice, and there was my darling boy, my beautiful Pietro, his sky-blue eyes alive with light and humor and love again, joining us, wrapping his arms around us both. I wept with joy at the sight of his smile, the feel of his warm skin on mine. The air was filled with the sweet scent of flowers, the singing of the birds in the stone pines around us. It was too much; I could hardly breathe . . .
“And I forgive you,” said a third voice. Stephanie, coming forward, walking across the beach to me, her arms outstretched, the wind sending her golden hair billowing around her head, whipping across the sunglasses I’d given her. The rush of the waves was in my ears, the song of the ocean . . .
“You forgive me?” I said, choking back the tears. “For killing your mother?”
“I do,” she said, smiling. Her slim hand stole to the shades she wore, drawing them off. “And for letting me die.”
“‘Let—?’” I gasped, and then I saw that behind her sunglasses were two empty sockets, black holes that fell into an endless abyss.
My eyes flew open. I was lying on the bottom of the tub, the waters shimmering over my head. Phosphorescent eyes gazed down at me.
With a wrench, I clawed my way back to the surface and fell onto the mat, coughing and retching water out of my lungs. From the other room, I heard Stephanie call out if I was all right.
No, I was definitely not all right. I reeled up, still whooping for air, and ripped one of my guns out of its holster.
A dim face wavered on the surface of the roiling waters, like a projection. It grinned wickedly and winked up at me.
A Siren. A goddamn Siren. And she’d nearly drowned me in the friggin’ bathtub.
“Guess adding the girl was too much, huh?” The sharp slash of a mouth pressed its lips together in mock chagrin. “Couldn’t quite get her eyes—”
I answered with a hail of bullets that shattered the porcelain sides of the tub, sending water gushing all over the floor.
“My, my,” the voice bubbled with mirth. “Temper, temper . . .”
I plunged my hand into the midst of the face, but my scrabbling nails found only the bottom of the broken tub. Snarling, I yanked the plug out.
“Oh, well,” said the face, glancing back at the drain below it. “I tried to do this the easy way. Better for everybody, really. But if you’re going to make it hard . . .”
“You bitch!” I yelled. “Come out of there so I can blow your head off!”
The Siren gave me a disdainful look. “I’m not in the water, dearie. I thought you’d have been smart enough to know that. But I’m nearby, near enough to use the water here to amplify my song, to make it irresistible. Sure you want to throw down? You could just send the girl out, let me do what I came here for—”
“Screw you,” I panted. “Screw you and the wave you rolled in on, you watery tart.”
The face flickered and broke apart into glints of light. “Your funeral . . .” The water drained out of the tub.
Stephanie was battering at the door. “Kyra!” I heard her muffled voice calling. “Kyra, are you okay?”
I was far from okay. But there was no time to explain. I threw open the door, only then realizing I was still dripping wet and naked. What the hell did it matter? The kid was blind.
“Get your shoes on,” I barked. “We’re getting out of here.”
“Oh—okay.” Stephanie did as she was told.
I toweled off and dressed quickly, checking my weapons as I went. If we’d been out at sea, a Siren would have presented a real problem. With enough water to act as a resonating board, songs from one of these creatures could be lethal. And they had weather-working spells, able to raise up storms to batter hulls and sink ships. It was just sheer luck that I’d turned from my original route—away from Lake Michigan—when I did. Backed by the fifth-largest lake in the world, the power of her song would have been tremendous. But here, almost seventy miles from the water, she’d have to take what she could get.
Which made her cockiness unnerving. The Siren had taken a stab at me last night at the diner, putting the waitress under her spell, probably when she’d looked too long at the pretty lights that had appeared out of nowhere in the waters of the sink. After that, she’d lain in wait, looking for another opportunity to strike. My dozing off in the bath had given her an opening, which I’d foiled by waking up when the illusion betrayed itself.
None of which explained how she’d kept up with us, or her threats just now. Was it only bravado, now that she’d been flushed out of hiding? I wasn’t prepared to trust our lives to it.
Stephanie was standing by the door. I threw my hood up and shrugged my duster on.
“Were you attacked?” Stephanie asked.
“Yeah,” I said, slinging Druison’s satchel strap over my shoulder and taking her hand. “A Siren. Tried to catch me napping.” I tugged the door open. “I don’t know if she’ll come back, but I think it’s best if we got a move on.”
I stopped as the parking lot came into view. Last night, I’d counted maybe half a dozen cars at this flea-bitten hovel. Now the parking lot was full of people, standing in a dense cordon, every one of them turned toward us. Their faces were drained of expression, and they didn’t seem to even be aware of the rain streaming down their cheeks, dripping from their chins, soaking their shirts and pants. One man was in his pajamas and socks. They stood like an honor guard—or a lynch mob—with the raindrops leaping and dancing in a frenzy at their feet.
The rain.
Stheno’s Spit. That’s how she was doing it, how she followed us, how she was controlling them—
Lambent light flickered in the throng’s eyes. Forty or more mouths split into grins. “Where’s your big talk now . . . bee-yotch?” said a voice from half a hundred throats. As one, they moved forward.
I slammed the door shut. There was only a rickety door chain to lock it. Great.
“Please tell me what’s happening,” Stephanie begged.
I pushed her behind me and pulled out my Glocks. They’d have to come through there, no more than two at a time.
“The Siren’s taken control of all the people here. She’s sending them in to get us. Stay down; I don’t want you to get hit by any ricochets.”
“You’re going to shoot them?” cried Stephanie, aghast. She grabbed my arm. “Kyra, you can’t!”
“Get off me!” I shouted, yanking loose. “Do you want to die? I’m not playing around here, kid!”
“Neither am I,” she said. “Let them in. I’d rather die than have you hurt innocent people for me.”
The first collision shook the door, but the lock held. I glanced over my shoulder, saw that she’d slumped to her knees. “Are you crazy? This is kill or be killed, Stephanie! We don’t have a choice here!”
“You’re wrong,” she said in a small, hurt voice. “There’s always a choice.”
Another thump as more bodies hit the flimsy barrier. Something cracked in the wooden doorframe.
“Please.”
I stood rooted to the spot for another moment as the hammering and splintering grew worse. She was out of her skull. There was no time for this . . .
Except she meant it, really meant it; I could see it in her face.
“You’d let them kill you,” I panted, “all for the sake of . . . of . . . ?”
Stephanie raised her head. “Yes. If there’s no other way.”
There was something unnerving about her calmness, her certitude. She was scared, sure, but she should have been terrified. Instead, in that moment, she just looked . . . strong.
Strong in a way I didn’t understand, in a way I . . . wasn’t.
“Oh, fine!” I snapped, smothering my own fear with anger. I shoved my guns into their holsters and dragged her up off the carpet. “When this gets us both killed, I hope you’ll be happy!”
The bathroom window was barely more than a skylight. But the back window by the bed was big enough. I tried tugging it open, but the frame wouldn’t budge off the sill. It had probably been gummed shut by a repaint job and disuse. Well, I’d already blown the security deposit by shooting up the tub . . .
“Stand back,” I said, and lifted the tiny side table, sending it crashing through the glass. I slashed the remaining shards away with the satchel and hopped through, then turned to help Stephanie. As she joined me outside, I heard the door inside collapse.
We were in a tiny courtyard, overgrown with bushes and weeping willows that thrashed and swayed with the wind. The storm made it difficult to pick out the terrain of the surrounding woods. But any place had to be better than here.
I picked a point of entry and plunged in, one hand locked in Stephanie’s. The ground was uneven, broken by a maze of protruding tree roots. Even with my preternatural eyesight to guide us, it was slow going; we slipped and tripped as we went along. Before long, my pants were soaked and stained with mud. I kept glancing over Stephanie’s head for signs of pursuit and, soon enough, caught glimpses of movement among the trees.
They were coming after us, advancing slowly but steadily, like an infantry unit. Judging by the faint glow of their eyes, I estimated no more than a few yards between each of them. It would be easy to take down one or two at a time, but while I did, the rest of the line would collapse in on us. Then a rock or tree limb would be all the Siren needed to bash in Stephanie’s head. And that would be all she wrote.
We had to keep moving, but now I took us forward at an angle. If I could find the edge of their line, we could outflank them.
But we were already out of time. One moment, we were stumbling through the dense undergrowth, shoving the clinging branches out of our way. The next, we came out from the trees and found ourselves at the bank of a river.
It was barely more than a glorified creek, stretching some twenty to twenty-five feet across. Maybe on another day, it would have been fordable: The clay sides sloped down in gradual fashion, suggesting a maximum depth of no more than five feet. But it had been raining steadily for almost a day now, and the river had grown swollen with runoff water. I watched as broken branches and debris swept by on the churning brown flood, vanishing around a bend.
My hands itched for my Glocks. Trapped. The smug bitch had herded us here, cutting off our escape. Swiping the rain and sweat from my eyes, I turned to Stephanie.
“No killing supposedly innocent people, right? What’s your position on kneecapping?”
“Knee-whatting?”
A melodious giggle rolled over the waters. I spun around, sweeping the river with my gunsights. “Why, Kyra,” called an admonishing voice. “You wonderfully wicked creature! You almost make me sad to kill you!”
“I thought you just wanted the girl,” I said, trying to hone in on the sound.
“Oh, that’s sooo yesterday,” trilled the Siren happily. “Now it’s a double billing. Mind you, the fee for you is a fraction of what I’m going to get for her. I’d have cut you in, if you’d shown some respect. But you shouldn’t feel too bad. Look, tell you what: I’ll take you first. Consider it a courtesy to a distant cousin.” The voice dropped to a soft purr, almost a growl. “That way, you won’t have to see me feast on her heart.”
Fee? For me?
She was trying to distract me. Worse, she was succeeding.
“The only thing you’re going to eat tonight,” I shouted, “is a bullet. Come on out and face me, you coward!”
“That’s rich,” bubbled the voice. “One seductress calling another ‘coward’! What do you do, Kyra, before sending one of your victims to Hypnos’s twin? Do you give them a chance to fight back? To repent, perhaps?”
Stop listening, Kyra. She just wants you to focus on what she’s saying, instead of—
Instead of the dozen people who now came boiling out of the greenery, hands grabbing for me. I sidestepped the first clumsy charge by a man in a red lumberjack shirt, bringing my elbow down on the back of the man’s thick neck. Then I spun and dropped the next person with a roundhouse that took her across the jaw.
