Darkness Becomes Her

“Let’s go,” Older Sebastian said, heading with quick strides to the trail.

We stayed in a pack, moving fast through the swamp. No one spoke, but the sounds of our panting and our passage through the undergrowth seemed unnaturally loud in my ears.

It felt like we traveled for hours before we came to a dirt road. Finally — no more leaves swatting at my face, no more stumbling over roots and stepping in calf-deep mud and water. We jogged down the center of the track, careful not to fall into the tire treads on either side.

Instead of getting tired like I was, the others seemed to increase speed, to get a second wind. I remembered Older Sebastian’s mention of power: Our powers don’t work down here, and I wondered if their powers — whatever those were — were returning, if that was what gave them this extra burst of energy while I was about to sit down in the dirt, call it quits, and pass the hell out.

But still I went on, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other until my entire body was numb and hot, and my nostrils dry to the point of pain.

Dawn hadn’t made it to the horizon as we got our first sight of the city lights from Uptown, making our way down Leake Avenue, to St. Charles and past Audubon Zoo.

A few of the ex-prisoners stopped. Thank God! I didn’t question the decision, just bent down, both hands on my knees, and tried to catch my breath. The strain in my lungs, the dry burn in my throat; it was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. Then I put my hands on my hips and paced in a small circle, trying to walk it out, to calm my overworked heart.

One of the prisoners drew in a giant inhale and then shook his body like a dog shaking off water. Some of the dirt flew off him, but not much. He grabbed my hand and kissed it. “I am Hunter Deschanel. I owe you my life. Call on me, and I will return the favor if ever the need arises.”

Hunter stood back. The two women in our group and another guy stepped forward, thanking me. All I could do was nod. I didn’t feel like they owed me anything. The fact that I’d escaped that cell was a fluke, and I knew it. If that blade hadn’t been in my backpack, we’d all still be underground.

Hunter and the rest of the group, except for Older Sebastian, fled into the predawn light, fading as they broke apart and went their separate ways.

I turned to the Sebastian look-alike, his gaze on one of the retreating shadows. Just the two of us now. In the dark, empty street.

He tipped his head back and slowly closed his eyes. His chest rose as he drew in a deep, cleansing breath. The air stirred, blowing at his clothes and hair as it wrapped around him — a gentle tornado that obscured him from view for a moment. It wiped away the dirt and replaced his rags with jeans, a crisp white shirt, and a thin black coat that reached his hips. His black hair was tied back from a clean-shaven face, just the faintest hint of stubble left on his jaw. A black tattoo swirled from somewhere beneath the left collar of his shirt, up the side of his neck and jaw to wind around his ear and temple.

Blood pounded through my veins. I swallowed and forced myself not to take a step back, my body going completely still as he turned his head in my direction. Shock stole my voice. A tremor went through me. I nodded, trying to catalog this latest scene into all the other supernatural wonders I’d witnessed in the last two days. It shouldn’t surprise me, really, not after what I’d learned in Athena’s prison or seen outside of it.

“I take it you have met my son.”

Eleven

“SEBASTIAN IS YOUR SON.” IT WASN’T REALLY A QUESTION, JUST an echoing statement. The fact was obvious. They were near identical. Same black hair, same gray eyes, same facial structure, though Sebastian’s lips were a bit fuller and darker. Maybe I just needed to say it out loud, to ground the truth into reality.

“Michel Lamarliere.” He held out a hand, eyes containing nothing but warmth and purpose, and deep, deep knowledge. I shook it quickly, distracted by his eyes and the slight tremor of apprehension that continued through me. His large hand made mine feel small and inconsequential. Weaker. Younger. All true, but I sure as hell didn’t have to like the feeling.

“If you can just point me in the right direction to the Garden District,” I said, hearing the awkward tone in my voice.

Michel released my hand, eyes narrowing over my shoulder as he assessed our position. “This way.”

I let out a slow breath and fell in step beside him, heading down a street framed on either side by small shotgun-style houses.

“How is he, my son?”

I barely knew Sebastian. You know him enough to suck face. My eyes rolled at the asinine thought. I cleared my throat and grabbed the straps of my backpack, easing them away from my shoulders and armpits and focusing on the broken asphalt. “He seems to be doing okay. I don’t really know him that well. He’s helping me with something. Well, his grandmother is too. Going to help us — I mean, me.”

“Josephine?”

“Yes. Is she your mother?” As soon as I asked, I remembered Sebastian saying that Josephine was his mom’s mother.

“Gods, I’d never want that curse. No, Josephine was my wife’s mother. What are they helping you with?”

“A curse,” I said, deciding quickly to trust him. “My curse.”

He nodded thoughtfully, linking his hands behind his back as we strolled down the desolate street. Old houses, trees, cars were all wrapped in shadows. And the dim orange lights that winked through dirty glass windows or off in the distance only accentuated the darkness.

Now that my body had cooled from the marathon run, my skin had become damp and cold. A faint shiver bloomed on the back of my neck, but it wasn’t from the cold. “Why were you. .” I hesitated, not sure how to ask.

“My only crime against Athena was being born of a certain heritage, and taking a stand against Her insanity. What is your name, child?”

“Ari.” I remembered Sebastian’s words. The breakdown of the nine families. The Lamarlieres were witches. The power passed through the female line. “I thought only the women could do—”

“Magic?”

I shrugged. What other word was there for what he’d just done?

“It runs through the males occasionally,” he explained.

“And that makes Sebastian. .”

“Part warlock, part vampire. And very special.” Yeah, Sebastian had neglected to share that fact. “I haven’t seen my son in nearly a decade,” Michel said sadly, regretfully. “He must think I abandoned him, left him. I’m sure, in my absence, Josephine has made her impression. I fear her influence will have changed him.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that. Sebastian plays by his own rules.”

Michel grinned, pride and the shine of tears coming into his eyes. “That is good.”

I nodded, letting the subject of Sebastian die out. Ten years was a long time to be separated, and I could only imagine the heavy things running through Michel’s mind right now. “So why didn’t the harpy turn back to human form like Arachne? That was a harpy, right?”

Michel let out a small chuckle. “Yes. And you, Ari, are the only one, in all the time that I have been in that sinkhole, she has given her true name to. Guard it as the gift it is. The harpy cannot turn back to her human form because Athena made her without the ability to shift. Arachne, however, was made with the means to transform, so she could lure Athena’s enemies with a beautiful form, then change and strike them down.”

Michel stopped walking and faced me. “You set us free and you killed a Son of Perseus. She will come after you tenfold now.”

“Two, actually.” I winced. “I killed two of them.”

He blinked in surprise. “Then you have done something no one has ever done before.” Continuing down the street once again, he said, “You must stay in the city, under the protection of the Lamarlieres. We are one of the nine, and with the power of the Novem we can keep you safe.”