Marjorie Liu - Within the Flames

Eddie looked down at the scars on his hand. “What is it?”

“Do you know what gargoyles used to do, back in the ancient days? Did my brother ever tell you?”

A chill filled him. “He said your kind hunted demons.”

“No more of those around. Not the way there used to be. But they bred with humans, and every now and then. . you run across some of those descendants. Humans, with a flick of demon in them. We’ve got a sixth sense for that sort of thing.”

Eddie steeled himself. “And?”

Lannes gave him a hard look. “I thought it was just the witch vibe I was picking up. But it was more than that. Lyssa Andreanos is not just a shape-shifter, and she’s not only a witch.

“She’s part demon, too.”

Lethe came downstairs first, but she would not tell them what they had discussed. Instead, she leaned against her husband, one of his massive arms slung around her waist, and closed her eyes with a sigh that seemed to travel through her body and his at the same time.

“I like her,” she said to Lannes. “Give her a chance.”

He grunted, but his tone was softer than it had been up in the apartment. Eddie had spoken his mind, just between the two of them — and so had Lannes.

He looked away and found Lyssa coming down the stairs, taking each step with slow, careful grace — and some wariness. Eddie walked up the stairs to meet her. She stopped, teetering, searching his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked.

She gave him an uncertain look. “Fine. You?”

He brushed his lips over her cheek.

“Better now,” he whispered, in her ear. Lyssa let out her breath, tension flowing from her shoulders.

She wasn’t certain I’d still be here, he thought, watching her peer around him at the gargoyle.

Lannes looked at her, as well. And then Eddie.

“We’re done here,” Lethe said, and pushed open the door to walk outside, letting in a blast of sound. “We’re going to the airport and taking a flight back to Maine.”

The stairwell had been quiet, musty, and dark. The city on the other side of the door hurt his eyes: too many headlights, so many people. He thought about fire, and skinned shape-shifters, witches and demons. Danger, everywhere. No place could possibly be safe.

Not even his home. Not where Matthew Swint still walked.

Hopelessness slipped over him, but he pushed it away.

Was this why Lyssa’s parents lived in Montana? Eddie wondered, thinking about what Lannes had told him. Not just because their friends rejected them but because living in the middle of nowhere gave them the illusion of safety?

Lannes glanced down at Eddie. “You coming with us?” And then he amended that, by saying, “Both of you are welcome.”

Lyssa shook her head. “I can’t go. But thank you.”

“I’m staying with her,” Eddie said.

The illusion hid none of the gargoyle’s emotions: His mouth flattened into a grim line, and his gaze was all flint and shadows. “Despite everything I said, I was not going to abandon you.”

“This isn’t abandonment. This is a matter of priorities.” Eddie held out his hand, and Lannes clasped it in a firm grip.

Instead of letting go, however, the gargoyle pulled him close, and in his ear, whispered, “Remember what I told you. Just in case.”

Eddie tensed. Lannes glanced past him at Lyssa — who was holding back from them, hands shoved in her pockets.

“You,” he said. “Whatever happens. . keep him safe.”

She remained silent. Eddie pulled back his hand. “Give my best to your brothers.”

Lannes hesitated, giving Lyssa another long, assessing look. Lethe stepped in front of him and patted his face until he looked down at her.

“Save the death stare for someone who deserves it,” she said dryly, and drew him away. He went reluctantly, scowling when his wife waggled her fingers at Lyssa.

Lannes shot Eddie a glare, mouthed, “Watch yourself,” then turned and strode down the sidewalk with Lethe at his side. At the end of the block, they flagged a cab.

“Well,” said Lyssa, in a mild voice. “That was interesting.”

Eddie’s brow arched. “What happened with Lethe?”

“She’s afraid her family will tell someone about her pregnancy — by accident, or not. If the child is a true hybrid between a human witch and a gargoyle. .”

She didn’t have to finish that sentence. Eddie understood, and it made him afraid for his friends. If someone decided their child was valuable enough to steal. .

“That’s not all you talked about with her,” he said.

“I’m sure Lannes gave you an earful.” Lyssa sighed, and rubbed her neck. “You sure you want to stick around?”

Eddie stared at her. She gave him a weary smile.

“Okay,” she said. “Come on. It’s been a long day, and we need to rest. I’ll take you home.”

An hour later they stood on a dark, quiet street ten blocks from Central Park, in a tree-lined neighborhood that felt removed, and cocooned, from the rush of the city around it. All the buildings were old and made of stone and brick, with little identity to differentiate one from the other.

Lyssa led him up the stairs to a wooden door and dialed an access code.

“You live here?” he asked, as she led him inside, down a narrow hall.

“It’s complicated,” she said. “I have a studio upstairs, but that’s not where we’re going. There’s a safer spot I know.”

She yanked open a door that led to the basement. Faint gouge marks were in the wood — the same shape as her claws. “This place was built almost a hundred years ago. Most of the inside has been gutted and rebuilt about a dozen times over, but some things never changed.”

They clattered down the stairs. The lights were on, and Eddie saw a laundry room off to the right, set in the only well-lit spot in the basement. The door was partially closed, but he heard washing machines rumbling, and a radio playing a slow love song. A man and woman were laughing.

The air smelled like detergent and rust, and wet concrete. Thick pipes ran along the ceiling. Ahead of them was a crudely built chain-link wall that blocked off a makeshift mechanical room.

Lyssa ignored it all and headed to a pitch-black corridor that ran to the left between the foundation wall and a slab of stone. Maintenance had hung a rope across the entrance, and attached was a sign that read: DO NOT ENTER UNLESS YOU WANT TO DIE.

Lyssa took off her backpack and slipped under the rope. Eddie paused. “Anything I should know?”

“Don’t pet the rats,” she said. “Come on. I do this all the time.”

Eddie frowned but followed her into the tunnel. Several feet in, she stopped and crouched.

“The tunnel keeps going into the next building’s basement,” she whispered. “But it got walled off a couple years ago. Management keeps threatening to do the same with this one.”

Her right hand scrabbled at an ancient manhole cover set in the stone floor. Eddie said, “Let me help you.”

“I got it,” muttered Lyssa, as her clawed fingers slipped through the tiny holes. Grunting, she hauled backward and lifted out the thick metal disc.

Eddie stared. Lyssa blinked at him. “What?”

“Remind me never to arm wrestle you.”

Her mouth twitched. “Get in. There’s a ladder.”

“You sure this isn’t a dirty trick?”

“Well, it’ll be dirty.”

He smiled and lowered himself into the hole. Lyssa followed, clinging to the ladder to pull the manhole cover back into place — plunging Eddie into blinding darkness. It wasn’t the same as being in a dark room. This was a sightlessness that carried its own oppressive weight: claustrophobic and immense.