The Wicked Within

THREE

DURING OUR RETURN JOURNEY THROUGH the labyrinth of the bayou, I eyed the ever-darkening sky with concern, tension keeping me ramrod straight. Twilight fell as the boat cleared the bayou and sped up the wide channel to the Mississippi, but I didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until we were docked and on solid ground.

The four-mile hike back to our house was done in silence and absolute awareness of the darkness surrounding us. I took note of every sound, every smell, every strange feeling. And no matter what, we never stopped moving.

By the time we neared the house, my face was cold, my feet hurt, and my muscles were sore. Banging echoed through the neighborhood, the sound growing louder the closer we came to the Italianate mansion we called home.

Hammer on wood.

It had to be Crank, seeing as how she was the fixer of the bunch. She was the only one among us who wasn’t supernatural in some way, and the only one who could fix an engine or a busted pipe, or rig the electricity to work. If not for her, there would be no working fridge, no flushable toilet or running shower. We still had to boil drinking water, and parts of the mansion were rotting away and off-limits, but Crank was indispensable.

I pushed open the squeaky gate, ducked under the vines, and headed to the front door. Inside, Crank was sitting on the grand, curved staircase, replacing a broken board in one of the stairs. Dub sat a few steps above her, watching and slapping a long baguette into his palm as if it were a mighty stick. He glanced up as we filed through the door. “Any luck?” he yelled over the hammering.

“Long story,” I said tiredly.

Crank stopping hammering, lifted her head, and shoved her cabbie hat back from her forehead with her knuckles. Three nails dangled between her lips. Her head jerked in greeting. I returned her gesture with a smile, liking her capable, no-nonsense demeanor. Despite being twelve, Crank ran the mail for the Novem, taking correspondence in her old modified UPS truck across the Pontchartrain to Covington and picking up any incoming mail.

She was the first person I’d met from New 2. She’d picked me up in Covington and gave me a place to stay while I looked for answers about my mother and my past.

“C’mon. Move,” Dub begged her, nudging her in the back with the baguette. Her frown made him sigh loudly and run a hand over his short blond Afro. “I’m telling you this thing is hard enough. C’mon. Let me try.”

Giving up, Crank rolled her eyes and handed Dub a nail, and we watched as he tried to drive it in with the baguette. The head of the nail stuck to the bread. He lifted it and shrugged. “A spike works too.”

“Told you.” Crank resumed her work as Dub slid down the banister. “We got food on the stove. Y’all hungry?”

Henri eyed the baguette. “Not if that’s your idea of supper.”

“Is it wrong of me to want to whack someone with this thing? I’m telling you, it’ll do some damage.”

Violet was already skipping into the kitchen, so I snatched the baguette from Dub’s hand and followed. “I’m starving.”

“Hey!” Dub leaped for it, but I held it high. I was still taller than him, but give him a few more years . . . Already his lanky preteen frame and wide shoulders hinted at the tall, substantial physique to come. With that suede-colored skin, those light eyes, and that blond hair—he was going to be striking. I laughed as he jumped and grabbed my arm, sending us crashing into the hall table.

“Mon Dieu,” Henri muttered. “Children. Must I be the only mature one in this house?”

Dub and I paused at Henri’s words, then looked at each other and laughed—“Yes”—and resumed our game of keep-away.

Finally I showed mercy and let Dub have his weapon.

“Uh-huh.” He pointed the loaf at me. “You fear the smack-down. Don’t deny it. I know you know who I am.”

“You’re insane.” Shaking my head, I made for the kitchen and the large stainless-steel pot on the stove. The scent of oysters, tomatoes, and spices made my stomach growl. Steam rose from around the lid. As I got a spoon, the house suddenly became quiet. The entire time Dub and I had been goofing around, the hammering had continued. But now it stopped. No footsteps coming into the kitchen, no Crank. No noise at all.

I glanced over my shoulder. Henri stood by the table, a full bowl of stew in his hand, his attention on the archway. He, too, was listening. I met Dub’s stare. The humor was gone. His hand tightened around his baguette. Violet, however, sat at the table, nonchalantly sipping stew from her spoon.

I crept into the dining room, which opened to the foyer as Henri went through the other doorway, which led into the hallway.

An eerie scratching sounded outside the dining room window. Thuds echoed on the porch.

The doorknob rattled. My breath caught. Damn it. I ran for the foyer as the front door burst open. Creatures with hairless, leathery gray skin, gnarled limbs, and rows of sharp teeth flooded inside. At least seven of them. Athena’s minions. Her killers.

“Ari!” I swung around at the sound of Crank’s shout. Her hammer swung end over end, right for my head. I ducked. It swooshed over me and slammed into the skull of the minion by the door.

Holy shit.

Breathless, I swallowed, giving her a stunned look as one of the creatures caught me from behind. Its teeth sank into my shoulder. I screamed, the pain instant, but so was the anger. I reached back and grabbed its leathery head, threw my weight forward, and yanked it over me, slammed it against the floor, pulled my blade from its sheath, and stabbed it in the chest.

Its piercing shriek sent pain flowing through my eardrums. I removed the blade and went for the next one.

Flames burst in my peripheral vision. Dub had set one of the creatures on fire.

“Damn it, Dub! Not in the house!” Henri yelled as he fought.

“I know! It was an accident!” Dub beat the burning minion back through the front door with his baguette.

I took a hard shoulder to the gut as one of the minions charged. The force pushed the air from my lungs and rammed me high into the drywall. The wall buckled with the impact. I held the creature’s bony head away as its jaw snapped inches from my face. Over its shoulder, I saw Violet stroll out of the kitchen, wipe her mouth, and then survey the scene. Calmly, she pulled down her mask and crawled on top of the entry table.

Pulling my leg up, I managed to get my foot in between me and the creature and shoved it off. As it flew back, Violet leaped from the table onto its back.

The River Witch’s words echoed in my mind. Your day is coming, little one. Just like we talked about. Putting yourself in harm’s way can be a glorious thing. Damn it. I yelled at her to move, pushing off the wall to intervene when Violet withdrew a dagger and plunged it into one side of the creature’s neck as she bit the other. It was savage and quick. And shocking.

I’d seen Violet do something similar before, and, like before, witnessing her violent nature firsthand was startling. Dazed, I glanced away and saw Sebastian striding into the house and toward me, blue energy forming over his hands so fast, the wind of it hit me as he gathered it to him. His gray eyes burned with intent, his face grim and his aura lethal.

I felt a minion at my back and ducked, just as Sebastian let fly his power. It hit the creature dead on, sending a shower of spent energy radiating overhead and leaving a glop of flesh behind.

As I spun back around, another minion came up behind Violet as she released her now dead minion. I ran forward, jumped over the body she’d dropped, and landed in a puddle of black blood. I slipped right past her and between the oncoming minion’s legs, grabbing an ankle as I went and flipping the creature off its feet. I scrambled up and stabbed it in the heart.

It was the last kill, and quiet descended again, broken only by the sound of our heavy breathing. We stared at the scene, taking stock. The attack had happened so fast. . . . I thought I’d have more time before Athena sent her goons after us. And honestly, I hoped, despite what the River Witch had said, that I’d dealt the goddess a death blow during our last battle. I’d stabbed Athena with my father’s blade, which had channeled my gorgon power. My power had gone straight into Athena’s chest and begun to turn her to stone.

The minions tonight were a sure sign I’d failed.

Apparently the witch was right.

Dub was the first to move. He sat down on the stairs. “Wow.” His skin had gone a little pale. He rubbed his face as though he knew it, as though trying to stir his blood and bring himself back to normal—well, as normal as Dub could be.

I didn’t need to look in the mirror to know I looked just as frazzled. I felt it in the shaky muscles, in the numbness and the chill in my skin. I straightened, pulling my blade from the dead creature at my feet.

Deep, even breaths. That’s what Bran would say after one of our grueling training sessions at Presby. Slow and easy. My gaze stuck on Sebastian as he bent down and picked up Violet’s mask, which had come off during the fight. He handed it to her and then faced me.

Nice of him to finally show up.

Ever since he’d become a full-fledged vamp, I’d expected Sebastian to go through some rough spots. Yet he hardly acknowledged he’d changed, even though the stress was written plainly on his face. It was in the haunted shadows lurking in his eyes, the tight set of his jaw, and the tension that radiated all around him. He was becoming more and more reclusive, withdrawing from me and the kids. Avoiding. I wished to God he’d lean on me, let me in, let me help in some way.

Footsteps echoed from the porch outside, drawing my thoughts away from Sebastian. As a group, we straightened, ready for the next onslaught.

Brown suede boots stepped over the corpse blocking the threshold. The boots went all the way up to the knees. Bare thighs. Leather skirt. Bow and arrows peeked over her shoulders. I blew a strand of hair from my eyes, relieved it wasn’t another attack and yet wary as to what drama would unfold next.

Menai, daughter of Artemis, stood in the foyer. The tall, red-haired, sarcastic demigod—or god, depending on who her father was—surveyed the scene. She lifted an arched eyebrow as her earthy green gaze settled on me. Full lips quirked into a smile. “Still kicking ass and taking names, I see.”

I wiped the bloody blade on the back of one of the minions and then slid it into its sheath. “The only name I care about is your aunt’s.”

Another figure, dressed in a tight black tank and black stretch pants paired with tall combat boots, stepped over the corpse. I recognized Melinoe immediately. It was hard not to; the daughter of Hades definitely left an impression. Melinoe’s skin was two different colors. Her left side was coal black and her right side was a ghostly white. She parted her hair in the middle, and it followed the same colors as her body. She looked split in two. Black and white. Her eyes, though, were both an eerie, light bluish gray.

Violet walked right up to Melinoe and regarded her like an interesting specimen she’d found in the swamp. “You’re two different colors.”

Melinoe looked down slowly. Even the way she moved was eerie. “And you are but one.”

Violet nodded thoughtfully and tested the name on her tongue. “Meh-lin-oh-way. You were at the temple.”

“I was.”

“You’re Death’s daughter.”

“I am.” Melinoe lifted her white arm. “With this hand I can rip your soul from your body and send it to the Underworld, leaving you but a shell, a ghost of your former self. With this hand”—she lifted the black one—“I can destroy that soul.” Her fist closed. “Crush it until it’s nothing but ash. No Underworld. No afterlife. Nothing.”

Violet cocked her head and stared at her for a long moment. “Cool.”

And then she skipped back into the kitchen, leaving us all a little dumbfounded. Typical Violet. Melinoe’s lips twisted into a shadow of a smile as she watched Violet disappear.

“Were you shittin’ her?” Dub asked. “Can you really do that?”

Melinoe’s eyes went narrow and shrewd. She lifted her white hand and took a step toward him. “Want to find out, human?”

Dub ran.

Melinoe’s smile broadened.

Menai elbowed her in the ribs. “Knock it off, Mel.”

Death’s daughter shrugged.

Menai stepped farther into the room and surveyed the damage. “Sorry about the mess. Our τέρας tend to get a little carried away.”

“I’m sure you told them to be on their best behavior,” Henri said with a frown.

“Where would the fun be in that? It’s not like I told them to attack.” Of course she hadn’t. She’d said nothing, knowing they’d be true to their nature and hunt. Menai did Athena’s bidding, but she didn’t like it or chose it, and she probably figured seven less minions around the better.

My fists clenched with the desire to hit her smirking face. Playing with the lives of my friends wasn’t something I appreciated. I was quickly learning that the gods, even the benevolent ones, had very little understanding of how short and precious and fragile human life really was. Easy to forget when you’re immortal.

My ribs ached, and pain pulsed through the bite on my shoulder and along my back where I’d slammed against the wall. I went to the stairs and sat down, feeling pretty damn disappointed that I hadn’t destroyed Athena.

Menai being here now meant she’d been sent. And I was pretty sure I knew what came next. “So what’s she want?” I asked tiredly, flexing my sore wrist.

Menai’s gaze lingered on Sebastian. “Last time I saw you, vampire, you were”—she grinned—“hard as a rock.”

One of Sebastian’s eyebrows arched with amusement. Whatever. I bet she’d been waiting days just to say that.

It was true, though; he had been stone. . . .

“Unfortunately, Auntie Athena is not dead,” Menai went on. “She’s in a world of hurt, which is nice for a change. But she has those who are loyal to her, and she is fighting your curse, Ari, and slowly winning.”

I rubbed my neck. “And . . . ?”

“Recall your power from her body. Once the Hands are found, she wants you to resurrect her child. In return she will untangle the curse placed upon you.”

I let out a laugh. And there it was. In the span of a few hours, two offers to lift my curse where before that notion had seemed like an impossibility.

“There is no one more able to set you free than the one who cursed you in the first place,” Melinoe added.

I shared a glance with Sebastian. Anger swirled in his eyes. We both wanted Athena to pay for her crimes. She’d not only hurt us both, but she had also killed so many of her own monstrous creations, turning on them, using them, torturing them. . . . We had a better understanding of why she’d gone nuts and killed or imprisoned most of the Greek pantheon, including her own father and several brothers and sisters, and then going on to wage war on other pantheons. Her father had attempted to murder Athena’s infant child. But none of that knowledge diminished what she had done. None of it.

It killed me that I’d stood right in front of that broken statue known as the Hands of Zeus. I’d looked upon those strong marble hands holding a basket with an infant child, and had never known the significance. Never known those hands were the actual hands of Zeus holding Athena’s infant child, frozen in stone by one of my ancestors, and then broken off from the rest of Zeus’s body and hidden inside Anesidora’s Jar.

Athena wanted the Hands because she thought I could bring her child back to life. And she might be right. I had all the power of a gorgon, but I could also bring back to flesh that which had been turned to stone. I’d only done it once, and the result of that effort was standing by me with a frown on his handsome face.

“And once I’m fully human and she’s healed, I’ll be dead with the flick of her wrist. No thanks.”

“She said you’d say that,” Menai responded. “Athena is willing to offer blood-bound vows to leave you and anyone you name unharmed. I would suggest thinking long and hard about that, for your wording must be perfect. But she will make the vow, Ari. If you’re the one to find the Hands, you’ll have something she’d die for, has started wars for, killed her own father for. You will hold power over the Goddess of War. Think about that. As a gesture, she gave this to me to give to you.” Menai handed me a glass vial filled with Athena’s blood. “When you have the Hands, use her blood to open a gateway to her temple. Or send an emissary to set terms for a meeting. You might not want to visit our neck of the woods, given what happened last time. If the Hands are found without your help, she will send me to escort you to her temple for the resurrection.”

I took the vial. “What do you know about the Hands?”

“I was born last century, so not much.”

“And you, Melinoe?”

“I am much older. But I am forbidden to speak of it.”

Sebastian crossed his arms over his chest. “Forbidden or don’t want to?”

“I speak of it and I am no more,” she said simply. “That was the vow I was forced to make to the goddess, like everyone who survived her war and ended up at her mercy.”

“Are you forbidden to talk about who Athena was involved with before the war?” I asked. “Romantically, I mean.”

Traditionally, Athena was a virgin goddess. But that was in ancient times, over two thousand years ago. And maybe back then she was, but so much of what happened between then and now was mostly unknown. One of a few things we did know was that she had given birth to a child.

“I should not speak of it,” Melinoe said slowly, as though considering the repercussions.

Figured. I stared at the vial in my hand, feeling the warmth of the blood through the glass, even though it should have been cold by now.

“So?” Menai prompted. “What should I tell her?”

I was tired, tired of all the fighting and drama. I just wanted it to be over with. Maybe the best answer was to give Athena what she wanted, so all this would just go away. “Tell her I’ll think about it. Tell her to leave us alone, and I’ll look for the Hands.”

“Good enough,” Menai said. “See you around, god-killer.”

Menai turned, coming face-to-face with Henri, who stood with his back and one boot braced against the wall. “How’s the tummy, shifter?”

His hand went to his stomach, where Athena had shot him with his own shotgun, but his gaze stayed steady on Menai. Henri was definitely into her. “It hurts. You want to rub it?”

She laughed. Menai stepped up to him, cupped his jaw and kissed him right on the mouth, and then sauntered out of the house, leaving Henri shocked and infinitely pleased. “Hell, if I knew getting shot in the belly was all it took to get her attention, I’d have done it sooner.”

Melinoe followed Menai, but as she went to step over the body by the door, she stopped and knelt by the creature. “Still clinging to life,” she murmured with a soothing voice, like an angel of mercy.

The creature lifted its head, looking pathetic and hopeful. A pang of empathy went through me. I knew from experience that not all of Athena’s creatures were mindless killers. Some were intelligent, starved for attention, or starved for an end to servitude and torture.

Mel ran her white hand over its head in a comforting gesture. The creature closed its eyes and shuddered, leaving me wondering if it had ever been touched so gently before. But it wouldn’t see the angel of mercy tonight. Mel placed her black hand over its forehead. Its body trembled, then arched up as she lifted her hand, pulling a black haze with a bit of brightness in its center from the creature’s head. When the haze withdrew completely, the creature’s body went limp and its head fell to the side.

Mel turned her hand over, staring raptly at the soul in the palm of her hand. Then she crushed it in her fist. Light spilled from the seams in her fingers and then died out. She opened her hand, glanced over at our astounded faces, and blew the ashes at us like a kiss good-bye.

An eerie silence descended in the wake of her departure.

Dub sat down beside me and let out a loud exhale. “That chick’s messed up. Makes the rest of us freaks look like the all-American family.” He shivered. “Gave me the heebie-jeebies. She’s even weirder than Vi.” He gave Violet an affectionate smile, which she returned. At some point she’d come back into the foyer, and I wondered how much she’d seen.

“I like her,” Violet remarked as she stared at the open door.

“Yeah, we could tell.”

Crank stepped over the bodies, head down, searching. She stopped and pulled her hammer from one of the minions’ skulls, made an “ick” face, and, muttering about how gross it was, took her hammer into the kitchen.

I got up, needing to shake off the creep factor Mel had left us with. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m hungry.”

“Hungry,” Henri repeated flatly. “Standing in a room full of dead monsters and you’re hungry?”

“What? I worked up an appetite.”

Sebastian’s soft laugh drew my attention. “It’s not like they’re going anywhere, Henri. We can drag them into the backyard and burn them later.”

We all went back into the kitchen as Dub regaled Sebastian with his awesome ironlike baguette.

Yep, just a normal day with the all-American family, I thought.