The Wicked Within

TWENTY-TWO

THE FIRE THAT HAD ENGULFED Presby was out, but flames raged through the Pontalba Apartments along St. Ann. The inferno lit up the square and the battle. It looked as though some of the Novem had pulled together, presenting a united front against Athena’s minions. We paused at the corner of the Cabildo, gazing through the wrought-iron gate that ran from arch to arch along the building’s ground-floor gallery. Spikes topped those fences and had been put to gory use by minion and Novem alike.

“We’re going to have to run for it,” Sebastian said. “Ready?”

We ended up fighting our way toward the steps of the cathedral. Bran was on the corner of St. Ann, cutting through minions. Kieran let out a sound of alarm, wanting desperately to leap to his defense. But she stayed by my side, knowing he didn’t want her in the fight—and knowing her presence might distract him. Michel was in front of Presby, battling three hideous crones. Sebastian started for his father, then stopped. “Go,” I said. “We’ll be fine. I’m the safest one here.” And that was the truth. I was Athena’s hope, after all. Every minion I’d taken down, every creature that had come at me had orders not to kill—I was sure about that.

“No, I’m not leaving you. Just hold on one second,” he said, gathering power to him, building it and building it, then letting it fly at the crones. They were struck hard, the force lifting them off their feet and sending them smashing through Presby’s broken ground-floor windows. Michel swung around, his gaze finding Sebastian’s. With a curt nod, he was off to help Bran.

As we hurried to the cathedral steps, a dark-haired figure sauntered out and stopped with a carnal smile on her face. Her gaze skipped over me with a slight roll of insignificance and then zeroed in on Sebastian. “Bastian. Finally we have a chance to . . . reconnect. I so enjoyed our time together the other night. I’ve missed you.”

Hate burned through my chest. My power uncoiled, making my pulse leap. Zaria was a user and a liar and a malicious soul. Sebastian’s hand on my arm distracted the serpent inside me. It calmed, grudgingly. He glared at her, his profile cold and dark. The spark in the air, the heavy weight of energy, was coming from him.

“Oh, come now.” Zaria pouted. “I’d hate to have to kill you.”

He looked at me. “This won’t take long. I’ll see you inside.”

I continued to stare daggers at her. “Make her pay, Sebastian,” I said in a tight voice. “And make it last.”

Zaria snorted and braced for attack. They advanced. Kieran and I ducked as they slammed into each other, grappling and shooting straight into the air. It was hard to pull myself away, but this was his battle and his right to deal justice to one who unequivocally deserved it.

Three harpies swooped down from the church’s steeples to land in front of me. They were over six feet tall, with black eyes ringed in yellow, leathery skin, and wings tipped with razor-sharp claws.

“Move,” I told them.

“You may pass,” one of them hissed in a high-pitched voice. She peered at Kieran. “You, little girl, may not.”

Still hyped up from the fight moments ago, Kieran lifted her sword. “And how would you like my sword shoved up your—”

“Let her pass,” I cut in before things got serious, “or we can add three more statues to the square. Your choice.”

The harpies screeched at us, but they moved aside with threats to peck out our eyes, nibble on our entrails, and make coats out of our sweet young skins.

I walked into the vestibule. The gift shop to my left had been ransacked. The votive stand with its burning candles had been upended. The prayer room to the right was occupied by a huge, troll-like creature, sitting on the floor with its legs stuck through the busted-out entryway. It was crunching on something bloody. Kieran made a soft grunt of horror. My gag reflex kicked in. Quickly I put my hand on one of the nave doors and pushed.

Now or never. And I sure as hell hoped I had the power to resurrect Athena’s child, because if I didn’t . . .

The long, checkered aisle, flanked by columns and flags, and the balcony of the second-story gallery spread out before us, leading my gaze straight to the nave’s sanctuary and altar table. Athena sat on the table, swinging her feet, watching me as we approached. High behind her and the table, my father was bound to the massive sanctuary statue, each wrist tied to the columns that framed the statue. His feet were together and shot through with an arrow that pinned them to the stone beneath. Athena’s version of a crucifixion.

I gritted my teeth, forcing calm into the anger I had at seeing him like that. My dad’s head lifted, and he paled. If he had his way, I’d be fleeing past The Rim by now. But that wasn’t me. I’d always come for him. Always. Whether he liked it or not. He’d do the same for me.

Artemis and Apollo stood at the end of the aisle, one on either side, intimidating as hell in their battle regalia. There was no sign of Horus anywhere, and I had a feeling something had gone wrong, terribly wrong.

Athena gripped the edges of the altar table where she sat, her attention glued on me. There was no expression on her face, which surprised me because I expected her to be smiling in that arrogant, knowing way of hers. But there was nothing but intensity. She must believe she was close to being reunited with her child.

I passed Artemis and Apollo, Kieran sticking to my side. I’d been told that after the war between the gods, after Athena had gone nuts and killed her father and his supporters, the surviving gods had fallen into line, Athena too powerful with Zeus’s lightning bolt and his Aegis, a powerful breastplate and shield that made its wearer virtually indestructible. Eventually she’d lost the Aegis. And yet her brother and sister remained by her side. I knew from Menai that Athena had some hold over Artemis, but as for Apollo, I had no idea why he stayed with Athena.

Athena wore her awful bodysuit, made from the dark-olive skin of the Titan monster Typhon, sewn together, hugging her body from neck to wrist to ankle, sometimes shifting and moving, like a living thing on her body. Novem legend differed from what the rest of the world knew; the Aegis Athena had lost was actually made from the skin of the king of the Titans, Zeus’s own father, Cronos. When Zeus, and then Athena, wore it in battle, it made them invincible.

“You have the Hands, gorgon?” Athena asked in a neutral tone.

“I know where they are, yes.”

Her earthy green eyes flared with desperation and hope. She hopped off the altar and strode across the crimson carpet. At nearly six feet tall and standing two steps higher, she towered over me. “You will revive my child?”

I swallowed. Inside I was shaking, and it took some effort to keep the trembling from my voice. “If you agree to leave me and my friends, my family and theirs, my descendants and theirs, the city and everyone in it alone, unharmed—by your hand, your command, or your influence—forever.”

“That is a tall request for one so . . . small.”

“A small concession compared to holding your child again. After I do this, you must also agree to remove my curse.”

Her full lips dipped into a frown. “Anything else?”

“No, that about does it,” I answered, noticing that she seemed a little pale, her breathing subtly shallow. She hadn’t fully healed from our last meeting.

“The Hands,” she prompted.

I drew in a deep breath and glanced at Kieran. Together we went to the right side of the church and found the long marble slab etched with the name ANDRES ALMONESTER Y ROXAS.

Athena knelt down. “Here?” she asked, her voice tight. “Beneath this stone?”

“Yes. That’s where Josephine hid them.”

Please be right, Sebastian. Please be right.

She waved us away, her focus on the stone as she ran her hands over the surface. A faint green light appeared beneath her hand and traveled around the seam of the slab. As she lifted her hand, the stone rose. The sound grated through the cathedral. A thud shook the floor as she set the heavy stone aside.

I held my breath as she peered inside, using her power to raise the Hands from their hiding place. My breath caught in relief and wonder. They were just as I remembered. A stone basket cradled by two strong hands, broken off at the wrists. Athena grabbed the statue with care. As I stared at her profile, I could only imagine what must be running through her head and her heart.

Finally she rose with her treasure. Her throat worked, and I caught the briefest flash of emotion in her glistening eyes. Anguish. Pain. Fear of feeling happiness just yet. As she carried the basket to the altar table and placed it on top, I noticed Artemis had tears in her eyes.

Now it was all up to me.

But first we had to make our bargain binding. The doors to the cathedral slammed shut with a heart-stopping bang, Athena using her power to cut off my main escape route. When the sound faded away, she said in a low, emotionless tone, “Step up to my altar.” A shiver crawled up my spine.

Squaring my shoulders, I left Kieran with what I hoped was a reassuring nod, stepped onto the raised sanctuary, and walked to the altar.

At the table, I looked at the child inside the basket, eyes open, its body covered in a blanket, one chubby hand clutching the end. A bowl divided into two separate sides appeared on the altar, along with a thin, wicked-looking blade, a quill, and a thin strip of ancient-looking paper.

Athena repeated the promises I’d ask her to make and stated that by blood, she was bound to them, with Artemis and Apollo serving as her witnesses. She cut her finger, squeezed several drops into the bowl, and then dipped the quill in, using the liquid as ink to write down her vows. Then she turned around and slid it toward me, picking up the knife and handing it over.

I took it. The handle was warm. “Your blood goes in the other side of the bowl. You write your agreement below mine, that you will faithfully attempt to resurrect my child.”

“You really think I can?” She was betting an awful lot on an unproven ability.

“I would not be here, and you’d be dead already, if I thought otherwise.”

It was now or never. I glanced at my father again, then over my shoulder at the door. Horus wasn’t coming. Sebastian . . . he would be here soon, I hoped. I faced the altar, slit my finger, and then wrote my promise. Athena took the paper and snapped her fingers, and flames began to eat away at the edges, releasing a blood-tinged smoke that rose up in the shape of our words and then disappeared.

In the ensuing silence, the distant sounds of the battle ebbed into the church. Doubt skated along my nerves. Doubt that I could do something so unusual. I’d changed Sebastian back, but he’d been stone for a short period of time, and I’d been hyped up on adrenaline and emotion. This child had been trapped in stone for a thousand years. . . .

My father cleared his throat, the sound bouncing around the lofty space. I knew that was to remind me of my training, of everything I’d learned so far. Okay. Focus, Ari. You do this right and Athena is gone for good. Out of your life. Out of your father’s life. Out of New 2 for good.

“Okay,” I breathed. I could do this. I reached out and placed my hand palm down over the baby’s chest. My eyelids slid closed, and with that I imagined a wall, one that held my power, falling down. My curse rose fast, always there, just lurking, waiting for the opportunity to strike, my power growing more volatile and impatient with every day.

All right, Selkirk, do your thing.