Lyn Benedict - Gods & Monsters

Erinya and Tepeyollotl collided physically and magically with an impact that made Sylvie think of an avalanche. The ground shuddered, trembled, cracked wide. The ponds and fountains split, spilled their water deep into the screaming earth. The air sounded like high tide coming, crashing against a rocky shore. Sinkholes gaped, and Sylvie grabbed Wales and dragged his deadweight away from a sudden edge.

Sylvie’s stomach churned—a remnant of god-magic still working away in her, trying to rebuild her, to claim her. She tried to push it out, but it lingered, making itself at home. Fine. If it wanted to be owned by her, she would use it.

She gave it purpose, sent it pouring out to rupture all of Azpiazu’s remaining spells, waking Wales from his stupor, healing the wounds on the shape-shifting women. It was barely enough to do the job, sputtered out within her, ripping itself out by the root as she forced it to obey. Using that power, even that fragment of it, felt like she was renovating her body using razor blades.

Erinya rolled Tepeyollotl, pinned him, knees and wing tips on his loosely slung pelt. “Stay down,” she growled.

Sylvie dumped Wales out of her lap and started talking fast. “You lost, Tepeyollotl. Your empire’s long gone; your enemy is dead—”

That elicited a snarl, more earthly upheaval. Windows shattered in the main house; she was surprised they’d lasted that long, and Sylvie hastened over that point. Reminding a god that a mortal had taken his prey? Not a good way to make friends.

“You’re damaged goods,” she said. “You’re weak . If you stay on earth, you won’t attract new followers. You’ll attract hunters. Not just the Fury. But sorcerers and humans who want a bite of your power.”

“And you,” Tepeyollotl said. “You would kill me if you could.”

His voice resonated in her bones, a beehive rumble that carried the threat of pain. She breathed steadily through the aftershocks, and said, “Yes. I don’t want your power. I want you dead. Or gone. The choice is yours.”

Tepeyollotl jerked in Erinya’s claws, a mindless, surprised twitch. Sylvie bared her teeth, met that red-tinged gaze, and said, “Make the right one. Look at the shape you’re in now. Imagine what I could do if I was trying to kill you instead of just stopping you.”

Erinya laughed, leaned close, and licked Tepeyollotl’s scarred cheek. “She could do it, too, I bet.”

“Gone?” he said.

“Retreat and wait for your time to come ’round again,” Sylvie said. “You’ve got time. Who knows? Maybe there’ll be a new interest in you. You’ll find new followers, grow strong again.”

It was an effort to sound in control, like this was the best solution for him. Tepeyollotl might be reduced, a shell of what he once had been, but he was still a god. His influence radiated outward, and the world around him adjusted to his will.

Right then, luckily, he was confused and focused on fighting Erinya and listening to Sylvie. Even with that, though, there were changes.

Vizcaya’s crumbled stones had shifted, changed from French-styled gardens to the beginnings of pyramids. Bright sparks lit the underbrush, shadowy shapes of cats in all sizes from tabby to Florida panther. Calling like to like. His own allies approaching.

“Go?” he said, tasting the idea for palatability. “But not forever.” He groaned, threw Erinya off him in a long ripple of contorting sinew and tendon.

Erinya crouched, wings mantled, neck arched, teeth bared.

Tepeyollotl vanished without further words, and Sylvie jerked her gaze to Erinya. “Is he gone, or just gone somewhere else in the world? Are we going to have to hunt him down?”

“Gone,” Erinya said. She sounded disappointed.

Sylvie didn’t share that disappointment at all, felt dizzy with relief.

“What just happened here?” Wales asked. His voice sounded so frail after listening to gods. It made it easy to ignore him.

Her wary attention was all for Erinya.

In the heat of the battle, drowning under power she didn’t want and didn’t know how to use, giving it to Erinya had seemed a no-brainer. Now Sylvie worried. The Fury had been powerful enough as a demigod—willful and violent, but under the god of Justice’s control.

Now that Sylvie had made Erinya his equal?

Erinya shook herself, shook off the monster aspect, trying to fit back into her human guise. It wasn’t working very well; she couldn’t seem to shake away the razor-edged wings.

She flipped them back finally, sharp feathers rasping like blades in the night and paused. Her eyes widened. “Oh.”

Erinya had caught up with the rest of the class.

“Yeah,” Sylvie said. “Guess no one’s going to be bossing you around any longer.”

“I can taste them all,” Erinya said. “All those evil souls—”

She threw back her head and shrieked.

Sylvie jerked, stumbled to the ground, clutching her ears. Dark shapes scattered out of Erinya’s mouth, a swarm of . . . something. One-winged bats, shadowy daggers, silent locusts.

Sylvie ducked and covered and listened to the echoes of Erinya’s cry bouncing off the stone walls.

“That’s that,” Erinya said. “I can find anyone. Anywhere.” Sudden triumph laced her voice. “I know where Demalion is. I know who he is.”

Sylvie leaped, her body reacting before her mind knew to do so. She caught Erinya’s wing in her hand as she started to vanish. “No,” Sylvie said. “You leave him alone. You owe me, Eri. I made you a god. What’s one escaped soul to that?”

Erinya bared her teeth. “Like to see you try to force me. I’m not Tepeyollotl. I’m not damaged.”

“Erinya,” Sylvie said, then her throat dried. Threats wouldn’t work here, and entreaty would be seen as weakness.

“You like hunting,” Wales said. He pushed himself upright, held himself there even when the Fury-god’s gaze landed on him. “You’re a merciless hunter but not an indiscriminate one.”

Sylvie said, “Demalion’s already been punished for his crime. He’s lost his body, his talents, his life. He remembers his death. His every nightmare belongs to you. Let him live. He’ll live in fear of you.”

Erinya shifted her wing out of Sylvie’s grip, stayed silent and sullen and here , and Sylvie knew she’d won.

“Thank you,” she said.

Erinya said, “I’m just leaving him alone. I don’t make promises for Alekta or Magdala.”

“But you won’t tell them he’s alive either,” Sylvie demanded.

“Won’t talk to them at all,” Erinya said with a toss of her head. Sylvie closed her eyes, thankful that Erinya was such a bad-tempered creature that she didn’t get along with her sisters.

Wales made a soft sound of surprise, a tiny, startled gasp that turned to a smile, as he saw Lupe Fernandez stir. He darted over to her, reassuring her that she was going to be all right, that they had been rescued, that they would be taken home.

Sylvie sank down on the broken stone wall and watched Wales corral the women, wondering vaguely if the ISI van was still waiting, or if it had been swallowed by the earth, crushed by a flaming tree, or just eaten by zombie alligators. Be a hell of a time to have to call a taxi.

“It’s there,” Erinya said, reading her mind effortlessly. “But so are the ISI. They think they’re laying an ambush.”

“Wanna chase ’em off?” Sylvie said.

“How many favors are you going to try to collect?” Erinya asked.

“As many as I can,” Sylvie said.

She should get up, get moving. The ISI wouldn’t lurk forever, and despite what her battered watch said, the skyline was brightening, heading inexorably toward dawn and discovery. She should be sore; she’d been thrown around, brawled with a baby god, and fought off a death curse. Instead, all she felt was tired. Worried.