“I can’t,” Sylvie said. “I’ve got a client in distress and some bastard fucking with people’s memories. Making them forget what they’ve seen. On a citywide scale.”
“
“Neither did I,” Sylvie said, grimly. “And it’s getting personal. It hurt Alex.”
Demalion shook his head. “I know you’re independent, but it’s time to call Yvette in on this.”
“She survived the sand wraith?”
“Taking meetings in DC,” Marah said. “Bureaucracy saved her ass.”
“Guess that proves she’s near the top of the food chain,” Sylvie said. “They’re the only ones who benefit from bureaucracy.”
“Yvette’s surviving is a good thing,” Demalion said. “Look, you said your plate is full. You’ve got your client. You’ve got us—”
“Didn’t say I was helping the ISI—”
“You’ll help me, right?”
“Yeah, but—”
“So, why not let Yvette take point on this memory thing?”
“Because I don’t trust her,” Sylvie snapped. “I can’t be the only one who’s noticed this memory gap. But I seem to be the only one who cares. So no, no passing this buck.”
“Don’t argue with her, Demalion,” Marah said. “You’ll never convince her. She’s built to work alone. The new Lilith.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” Demalion said.
“Yeah,” Sylvie said. “Why don’t you enlighten him, Marah. Since you know so much.” She doubted Marah knew anything of substance. The ISI files, as Demalion had said, were empty speculation.
Marah grinned, a predatory shine of teeth. “How much is it worth to you? A favor? Maybe two?”
Then again, Marah was of Cain’s line. Maybe she did know.
“One more,” Sylvie said. “But I’m not killing anyone for you—
“Hey, I rescued myself,” Demalion protested. “I’m not a favor.”
“Deal,” Marah said, waving him off. “One favor owing. It’s simple, really. I told you. God likes his killers. Both sets of them. It’s politics at its finest. You’ve talked to gods, you know the only thing they hold sacred.”
“Noninterference with gods outside their pantheon. No more godly wars,” Sylvie said.
“No more
“You’re God’s stalking horse,” Marah said. “And for all your independence, you’ll never know if you’re working to his plan or not. The eternal killer who does his bidding even while you spit in his face and assert your disallegiance. You’re his plausible deniability. Congratulations, Sylvie, you hit the jackpot. You’re going to live forever. Or until someone else gets in a lucky shot and takes your place.”
The little dark voice in Sylvie’s blood was roaring in protest, drowning out her own voice, a tight rasp. “I don’t believe you.”
“Think it’s coincidence that you’re immune to most magics? That you can kill things way above your weight class? You’re a stealth bomber in human form. He doesn’t care who you kill, as long as you keep doing it, keep picking off his rivals. It’s a long game. Maybe the longest game ever.”
“Get out,” Sylvie choked. “Out.”
“Truth hurts,” Marah said. She patted Sylvie’s cheek; Sylvie slapped her hand away, and felt a weird numbing echo in her bones as her flesh hit Marah’s. Like to like. Killers. God’s killers. Spreaders of chaos and misfortune.
“Out,” she whispered.
Demalion put his own hand out, a steadying touch at her shoulder. She shrugged him off.
“Fine,” Marah said. “I could use some real food anyway. And I doubt your Fury wants to share.” She headed out, jaunty and pleased with herself. Sylvie wanted to chuck something at her.
Demalion lingered, silent. When she met his eyes, he dropped his. Answer enough to a question she hadn’t asked. Did he believe Marah? Did he think Sylvie’s entire purpose in existence was to kill things? Yes. He really did.
Heat stung her eyes. She blinked furiously. “So how’d you hook up with her, anyway? Think you can unhook her? Maybe while dangling her over a cliff?”
“She saved my life. That’s got to count for something.”
“Yeah, it counts as another one I owe her.”
“Hey, ouch,” Demalion said.
Sylvie shook her head. “Sorry, sorry. You know I didn’t mean it like that. Hell, that’s one debt I’m thrilled to incur.”
“You know, I did my share of the digging,” Demalion said. “I could make a case for Marah and me being even. Hell, we could probably even make a case for her owing me. I warned her the sand wraith was coming. Psychic perks.”
Sylvie nodded. “Take it up with her.”
Demalion, given his cue to leave, hesitated.
“What?” Sylvie snapped.
“Are you okay?”
“Dandy. I’m going to live forever, don’t you know. Which is good because I’m busy. Got things to do. And hey, I’m waiting for Erinya to remember her steak. You want to be here when she is, when she remembers how much she dislikes you?” Her throat felt tight. She didn’t mind being a killer, but she wanted to be more than just that.
Sylvie’s new cell buzzed where she had dropped it, an angry hornet making itself known. She tore her gaze away. “I should—”
“Yeah,” he said.
“You go and take Ms. Mercenary—”
“Yeah.”
The phone rattled, and Sylvie said, quickly, “Be careful, Demalion. The ISI’s in real trouble.
Demalion’s tight, irritated expression cracked. “I know.”
“This might be a good time to quit.”
“Can’t do that,” Demalion said. “I believe in the mission.”
“I know. Just had to put it out there.”
She kissed him too briefly, let him go, and grabbed the phone, expecting Alex. No one else had the number.
Instead of her assistant, she got her sister in a temper.
5
Complications
SYLVIE MISSED ZOE’S FIRST RANT, CAUGHT UP IN WONDERING HOW in hell Zoe had gotten this number, distracted by Erinya’s reappearing to claim her steak, by the sheer amount of noise in the background wherever Zoe was.
“I said, come get me!”
Sylvie pivoted, keeping Erinya in her view. She’d learned the hard way not to leave the Fury unsupervised. Erinya only studied her steak, then shrugged, dragged out a plate, and made a stab at being civilized.
“No,” Sylvie said. “Where are you?” She knew the answer already, just from the loudspeaker in Zoe’s vicinity spitting out distorted messages in English and a dozen other languages—an airport.
