Lies & Omens

Sylvie bit back her knee-jerk analysis: that Lupe didn’t care because the animal instincts were too strong, too centered on killing things. After the attacks on her girlfriend, her nephew, the witch, and Toro, Sylvie had no doubts that any shape Lupe took would be instantly predatory. Dangerous.

“Maybe we can work with that,” she said, instead. “At least, as a stopgap thing. Remove the side effects, make things more livable, let you be able to go out and about on the street. Worry about the actual curse-shifting as a separate thing.” It was far from ideal. Far from solving Lupe’s problem, and from the slump of Lupe’s shoulders, she knew it.

“Might be the best I can get is that what you’re saying?”

“Well, it gives us a more reachable goal,” Sylvie said.

“If you have time for it,” Lupe said. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Sylvie. Something big is going on, and you’re in trouble.”

“We’re all in trouble, all the time. The moment the Magicus Mundi notices you, your life is trouble. But you’re not wrong. The ISI grabbed my sister. I have to get her back.”

Lupe picked at the fabric on the chair; seams popped with each idle flick of her talon, shedding fluff and creamy threads. “The ISI. The same ones who’d put me in a cage or just shoot me?”

“I think you’re off their list for now,” Sylvie said. “They’re under attack from within.”

“And they took your sister? Why? Leverage against you?” Said in the weary tones of a cynical rich kid. The Fernandezes, Sylvie recalled, had spent nearly two years in Mexico City, where kidnappings were common.

“I don’t pretend to know how they think, if they even do. But I have to—”

“I get it,” Lupe said. “She’s your sister. She’s more important than me. I’m just a—”

“Lupe, lock it down,” Sylvie interrupted. The thread-picking had given way to gouging, and the skin along her shoulders was … sliding around like oil on water. “Or go sit in the panic room.”

Lupe sucked in her breath, let it out on a growl that she seemed surprised to hear. “All right.” She bolted for the panic room, Sylvie hot on her heels, and she got the door closed, just as Lupe went to her knees.

“Lock yourself in!” Sylvie said. Hoped Lupe would listen. Hoped her animal shape couldn’t learn how to deal with locks. She waited until she heard the hiss and thunk of heavy bolts sliding into place, then went to find the rest of her ragtag crew, with worry a bitter taste in her mouth.

Alex dithered in the hall as she approached. “You’re back? I can stop watching?”

“Yeah,” Sylvie said.

“Good.” Alex darted for the nearest bathroom. “Four cups of coffee!”

“Bring me some!” Sylvie yelled after her, then went in to talk to the rogue ISI.

Demalion looked up as she entered, grinned. “Nice pants.”

“Shut up,” she said. “They’ll stretch. Tell me about Graves.”

An unearthly howl resonated through the house, and Marah jerked for her gun. “What the hell is that?”

“Client,” Sylvie said. “Sit down. Graves, remember?”

“Can’t forget that bastard,” Marah said. “He’s mine to kill, you get it? Don’t make this a fight.”

“Saves me the trouble,” Sylvie said, “and the jail time. Go for it.”

Demalion shook his head but didn’t even make a pro forma protest. Guess turning traitor was what it took to get the okay from Demalion on planning murder.

“He was working out of Dallas,” Demalion said, “but they were the first hit.”

“So we hear,” Sylvie said. “Do we know that it’s true? If Graves is behind the killing, what better way to start by preemptively giving his people an alibi. Do we actually know they’re dead?”

Alex wandered back into the room, passed a steaming mug to Sylvie, who slurped at it, first for need, then for real appreciation. Rich friends. Excellent coffee.

“I’ve been looking into it. There are definitely bodies that hit the Dallas morgue,” Alex said. “Gas leak was the story put out. Death by asphyxiation. Or is it suffocation in that case? Whatever. There are a lot of creature stories about things that steal breath. So something happened.”

“Maybe it was a test sample,” Marah asked. “Graves is capable of that.”

Sylvie looked to Demalion. He said, “I can’t confirm that. I have serious doubts that anyone psychotic enough to kill his own men in an experiment would be recruited in the first place, much less rise through the ranks.”

Marah’s jaw ticced. Rage flashed through her eyes. Her fist clenched; the Cain mark seemed to undulate over her flesh. Then she reached out and patted Demalion’s cheek. “So sweetly naïve.”

“Hey,” Sylvie protested. “Watch your tone.”

Marah shrugged. “Look, I know Graves. I worked for him. And yeah, he knows how to play the game. Knows how to keep himself looking clean. But he’s not. He’s the monster-catcher. He kills them. Experiments on them. Sylvie. You and I know killing. It gets easier each time. And we’re not zealots.”

“Fair enough,” Sylvie said.

Demalion looked like he might protest, and she dropped a hand on his thigh. A quiet not now. She had things she wanted to discuss, but Marah was exuding a hectic, violent cheer that made Sylvie think of ticking bombs. In the back of the house, Lupe howled and whined, quieter now.

Alex said, “You need plane tickets?”

“For the morning,” Sylvie said.

“Now,” Marah said.

“No,” Sylvie said. “You’ve invited yourself along. I can’t say I’m sorry, but that doesn’t put you in charge, Marah. We are not rushing this. The one thing we all agree on is that Graves is dangerous. If he’s behind the attacks, he’s a thinker, also. The kind of man who has contingency plans. We go in the morning. Well rested and researched.”

“I like that idea,” Alex said. “C’mon, Marah, is it? I’ll find you a room.”

Marah twitched like it was a physical pain to not go for Graves right away.

“Sheets are six-hundred-thread count,” Sylvie said. “Soft as silk. Hell, some of them even are silk. There’s no complaining about Val’s hospitality.”

Marah groaned. “Not fair, using sheets against me. I suppose she’s got scads of hot water also.”

“Tankless system.”

“I’m licked. Lead me to it. Revenge in the morning.”

Demalion reached across her and pushed the papers that Marah had been holding. “She brought blueprints of the Dallas ISI.”

“Do we really think Graves is still there? If he’s this rogue ISI terrorist?”

“You obviously don’t,” Demalion said.

“I don’t know,” Sylvie said. She slumped down next to him, butted her shoulder up tight against his side. He draped an arm over her shoulder and pulled her closer. “I’ve been saying that an awful lot of late. I don’t like it. I just feel like there’s more going on here. Riordan’s not impartial. He was slinging a lot of mud.”

“If it helps, I really doubt Yvette’s behind the memory spells,” Demalion said. “They’ve been going on for some time, right?”

“Society of the Good Sisters,” Sylvie murmured. “Sounds like a quilting group. That sound familiar to you?”

“Should it?”

“Dolphin boy thinks they’re our memory culprits.”

“When did he say that?”

She waved it off and went back to Graves. “The thing that’s bugging me. The thing I can’t get over. How is Graves doing it? If he is doing it? He’s human. Not even magically talented from everything I hear. How’s he controlling the mundi monsters?”

“Fear?”

Sylvie flicked his cheek. “They’re the monsters, Demalion. We fear them. Not the other way around. They’re committed to these actions. I talked to the Mora, saw the footage of the succubus attack. You survived the sand wraith. Did it seem frightened to you?”

“It seemed angry,” he said. “I don’t know what to tell you, Sylvie. I know that Yvette distrusts Graves. I know that Riordan, who’s pretty damned sensible, thinks Graves is our guy. I’m willing to go on a little faith.”

“Faith,” Sylvie said. “Yeah. I’m not much for that. Requires too much working blind.”

“Hey,” Demalion said, pulling her to her feet. “Think about it this way. You’re working to get Zoe back. And I