Change, page 18
Zita and Freelance waited in silence, though she did busy herself jogging in place.
Their matter-of-fact acceptance of her delay seemed to annoy the nymph, who finally said, “When Hecate chose to steal Aphrodite and become Queen of the Gods—”
Zita interrupted. “Wait, who’s Hecate?”
Styx’s scowl deepened. “You mortals have truly forgotten everything. Because she was a crone when they came into their powers, the king forced the queen to claim the name of the witch-goddess Hecate. She was ambitious for dominion over all and unhappy with what she saw as the limits of the Underworld and an aged body. To achieve her goals, she chose a young godling, the fairest of face in Olympos, and stole her form. The king was well-pleased and took her to wife, though his price was to learn the secret of how she had accomplished the deed and her promise on my waters to teach it to no one else. Thus, she claimed the name she uses now.”
Zita grimaced.
“As I was saying, she abandoned some pets here as they were not attractive enough for her new role. They’re mindless tools she created with earth and magic who existed only to devour the living and dead at her whim. With so long left to run wild in the tunnels and rivers here, they now attack everything that crosses their path. It’s irksome. Kill a couple of them and I will tell you the way.”
Freelance tilted his head at Zita. She’d forgotten to interpret for him. “Problem?”
In English, she said, “The info I had wasn’t enough, so she wants us to kill murderous mud monsters in exchange for the way out.”
Without waiting for their agreement, Styx hurled a handful of water at the ground and said a few words over the small puddle.
Two dark shapes materialized, blocking the exit. One was a pony-sized, European weasel-like mustelid, and the other was an equally oversized snake. Both were mottled purple, red, and black like putrefying flesh, with glowing crimson marks on their foreheads and matching eyes that gleamed evilly in the cave. They brought with them an incredible reek, not just the distinctive musky stench of snake and polecat, which wouldn’t have bothered her, but of rot, decay, and fetid, stagnant swamp.
The nymph began her dissolve-into-black-water routine.
Freelance studied them as he loaded a cartridge from a pouch on his belt into his shotgun.
“They’re mindless mud things? Not animals or people?” Zita called out to Styx as she rapidly danced backward from the creatures.
Voice hissing as she continued to disappear, the nymph said, “Yes.”
The creatures charged the closest person—Zita.
“Snake!” she said in English as she leapt up, evading the reptile’s strike. She jumped onto its head, letting her weight drive it to the ground and kneeling at the base of its skull.
It went down.
Freelance obliterated the top of the mustelid’s head in a single explosive blast of noise and flying bits of goo.
His target stopped moving.
To crush the head through the sheer weight of an even heavier form, Zita tried to shift to a dinosaur. She failed, so instead she struck at it, doing a half spin to build up momentum. Her stone claws obliterated the glowing marks and sank deep into the skull.
The mercenary fired a second time, leaving the polecat completely headless.
Both creatures crumbled.
Zita had all of a second to fly up before the creature dissolved into a wet mound of foul-smelling black sludge. She wasn’t entirely successful in avoiding it.
Styx reformed, her expression thoughtful. “I had thought that would take longer. Very well. The paths to Olympos lay across the Asphodel Plains, past the Temple of Judgement, on the other side of the Styx. Take the rightmost path of the third passageway and follow the reek of canine until you find the exit. Do not summon me again unless you have something of actual value to offer the Underworld.”
With that, the nymph disappeared.
Using a nearby wall to scrape the worst of the goop off herself, Zita glanced outside. She took off the sergeant’s watch and offered it to Freelance. “The dudes approaching are moving double-time now. We better go. New plan. We rest and figure out our next moves in hiding. If we don’t come up with a better idea, we strike out for the exit as soon as the army is out of the way. I took this off one of their guys, so why don’t you wear it so we can have an idea of when dawn is?”
After he accepted it, he compared it to an identical watch he had strapped to his wrist, and then tucked it in a pocket.
She continued, “Guess you got one. Well, now we have a spare. We’ll have to find someone who can tell us where the healer is and figure out if we can get them and Koschei past the Temple of Judginess there while most of the forces are away. I’d have difficulty sneaking past them in this form, and Koschei... You’ve met him. No manches.”
Freelance nodded. “Hot spring?”
She glanced at the water hanging from his utility belt and lifted off the ground so she wouldn’t leave footprints. Her wings felt as if weights were attached. “I hope that’s not you telling me I smell, but that explains why your water bottle seemed so familiar. Yes, let’s go.”
Chapter Thirteen
Compared to her cell, the tiny cave with the hot spring was spacious. With Freelance there with her, however, it felt too small and intimate, especially with him right next to her.
The usable floor space was the length of a standard midsize pickup truck from nose to tailpipe, with the hot spring bubbling along half of one wall and adding another few feet of width. Freelance could stand without hitting his head, though he’d had to stoop to make it through the only entrance, a hole her height and only a little wider than his body. A sulfuric odor hung heavily in the humid air, and a dim crystal protruding from the wall provided enough light that the floor had a thick, spongy carpet of moss. In the curve of the cave farthest from the water, he’d amassed a tidy collection of guns of every type: rifles, handguns, and even what looked like a shoulder-mounted rocket launcher.
As she dipped a clawed toe into the water, Zita mentally inventoried their supplies. They were limited to the water bottles and blanket she’d stashed there earlier, a pair of heavy metal flashlights, a half-used roll of duct tape, a coil of rope, and way too many guns. Her air rifle was down to its last tranquilizer dart, and they had no food unless they revisited the asphodel nymph or she managed to shift and access the contents of her pockets.
This no-powers and exhaustion thing bites. At least when DMS hit me with that gas that suppressed them for a while, I just felt ill and it wore off fast enough. Not that I can do much about it right now, other than find a way to resolve this mess without them. Dios, please let the spring get the last of the mud-monster reek off me at least. Even smelling like sulfur would be preferable.
She plopped down on the ground and slid her legs into the hot water. While she’d done her best to scrape the worst of the black gunk off her at the entrance to the plains, she imagined she could still smell it on her feet. If nothing else, the spring was warm and soothing, telling her that the liquid was far too hot for her to perform this action in her Arca form.
If she was lucky, Freelance hadn’t noticed how she’d nearly missed her own subtle chalk marks to return here. “How’d you find this spot earlier, anyway? If I hadn’t had to hide from an observant patrol, I wouldn’t have found it.”
His quiet, raspy voice did things to her that shouldn’t happen to stone. Although the visible part of his face didn’t change expression, his head turned toward her. “Pennsylvania mines. Chalk.”
As she kicked her legs, Zita couldn’t help grinning at the memory of one of their dates before things had gotten all weird. “Oye, that was fun, right? Other than the kids being in danger, por supuesto. And you found that antique Colt revolver with the engraving. Did you end up selling it or did you keep it?”
“Cleaned. Kept.” One corner of his mouth tilted upward.
She smiled and tossed the blanket to him. Her voice was gruff. “Glad it shined up nice for you. The temperature doesn’t bother me in this form, so you should use this when resting. Plus, your outfit looks... breezy.”
He caught it one-handed and set it beside himself.
Given there wasn’t room to pace without passing far too close to him and her feet finally appeared to be clean, Zita got up and settled into a comfortable spot by the only exit. She wrapped her arms around her knees and appreciated the absence of mud-monster stench.
After a moment, Freelance glided over and sat beside her. His presence seemed to fill the small space, and she was hyperaware of his proximity.
Zita let her body sag against the wall as much as she could. She would’ve preferred to lean against him, but she didn’t know if he’d welcome it anymore.
He broke the silence. “This is where?”
She winced. “I think it’s like the dimension or whatever with the dinosaurs and the rock Halja tried to steal in Brazil. This one’s based off the Greek Underworld. Remember when my friends and I disappeared last May? We sort of ended up in a similar linked dimension, and if we can find our way there, Muse chats with a native on the regular, and she’ll eventually get us home.”
He shook his head. “Where?”
As she studied the pool of water, she felt her eyelids slide closed. Forcing them open through sheer will, she marshaled her scattered thoughts. All of them seemed to pour out at once. “It’s a mountainous region above ground called Olympus, and if I can get the old guy, you, and the healer into the hands of the beings there, you can get home with or without me. Of course, we have to find the healer first to rescue them, and I don’t know if they’re even here. In any case, I can’t even get Koschei across the plains until that army’s gone. Once you’re all there, though, I have to turn around and come right back here.”
A head tilt was his only reply.
“I have to stop the ghosts and soon. Based on their conversation, they’re targeting Wingspan and Muse for their next possession victims. I don’t have to explain why them controlling the best witch in the world and one of the strongest and toughest men would be bad. It’s not just because they’re my friends. Assuming the ghost lady wasn’t lying, you’re immune to their tricks. Will you help or do you want to just go to Olympus? You’ll get home no matter what you decide. Oh, and there’s a time limit before a bunch of enthusiastic but clueless Atlanteans, metas, and possibly European military charge through the portal here and offer even more victims.”
“How long?” he asked.
She glanced down at the inaccessible pocket that held the watch her friends had given her. “Do you know how long I was unconscious after they captured me?”
After a pause, he replied, “Two hours?”
Less time than I thought. Maybe I’m not as bad off as I feel. Zita heaved a relieved sigh. “They gave me three days from Zeus’s ultimatum. I can’t be certain, but I’d estimate I only have a day and change left.”
Freelance nodded. “Help. Koschei’s plan?”
Zita ran a hand over the smooth stone of her head. “Thank you. Killing their hosts and then smashing their talismans? No matter what we think about the criminal guy, Jen Stone doesn’t deserve to die. She’s suffered more than enough. The ghost talismans are already sealed up. If we can figure out how to pry the spirits out of Jen and the criminal, they’ll go hide in those, and then all we have to do is keep everyone away from their anchors.”
His gaze didn’t leave her, but he remained silent.
Her pitch and shoulders rose as she tried to justify herself. “It’s a decent plan, but it has a few kinks to work out. The biggest is the building their talismans are hidden in is probably the same one everyone portals into, and we don’t know what the range is on the possession thing. If it’s by touch, we’re set. If it’s more than that, we need to keep people from going there somehow. Maybe collapse the entrances and seal the top on this side and hope nobody back home opens portals? If Muse were here, she’d be able to do something magic. Or...”
Her mind whirled as she gazed at the water. “We move the talismans and seal them someplace else, somewhere nobody can find them so they hopefully can’t jump to someone else.”
“Army.” Despite his words, Freelance’s tone held curiosity.
“Sí, they’ll be a problem when we go to acquire the anchors. If we can stop them from coming back after the peace-conference mission, that’ll increase our odds.”
His suggestion was likely meant to be helpful. “Explosives. Rocket launchers.”
She sighed. “I don’t want to kill anyone, and even if we found and used those, we wouldn’t get all of them. They’re too scattered, with some by the temple, some at the palace, and some here. Let’s keep thinking about it.”
Freelance studied her.
“The other issue is how to chase the ghosts out of their host bodies without killing anyone. Any ideas?” She tapped her fingers on her legs.
He shook his head. “Explain history?”
It took a moment for her tired brain to figure it out, and she filled him on what the nymph had said, supplementing it with some of what she’d learned in Olympus. When she was done, her head was on her knees. “I know it all seems crazy and I don’t know why I told you the gossipy part, but now you know everything she said.”
“Rest now. First watch mine.”
“Don’t go doing things without me like you usually do. We need to plan,” she protested.
“You rest. I... process,” he said.
Her eyes had somehow slid shut again, and she cracked an eye open to look at him, but he was impassive. “Fair, but you’re taking a nap unless we’re out of time after I wake up. No more than a couple hours, okay? The best time to strike or sneak past will be when the bulk of their forces are away on their mission, and we don’t want to miss it. Since the healer isn’t here to be rescued yet, we’ll need time to fetch Koschei and get him past whoever’s left here so we can leave when they do.”
He nodded.
“Thanks.” Wrapping her wings around herself, Zita knew no more.
***
When Zita awakened on her own, her blanket was draped over her. Freelance was on the opposite side of the little cave.
Unusual for her, it took her a moment to claw her way out of sleep. Emptiness still yawned inside her, but she thought it and her exhaustion were less than before. As much as she wanted to try shifting, she decided to save her energy. If she only had a single shift or teleport in her, she needed to make it count. She whispered, “Hey. Anything happen?”
“Routine patrols. Garm. None found. Left.”
She frowned at the mention of the wolf shapeshifter. “He tracked us here but couldn’t find our hiding place?”
He nodded.
Her fingers tapped against her thigh as she thought. “How? I flew, and you’re a hard man to track... the mud-monster goop. He must’ve followed that. A canine nose could do that easy, but the hot spring stink and the location up here must’ve hidden us.”
Her companion remained silent.
“Did you come up with any new ideas to deal with the ghosts or their planned attack? How long was I asleep?”
“No.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you back to the plan that involves killing people? That’s wrong and you know it, so it has to be an absolute last resort.”
He didn’t offer any other suggestions.
After a few minutes, she had to admit she hadn’t come up with anything else either, though another issue had demanded attention.
We have to talk sometime. Zita rolled to her feet and rocked on her heels. She took a deep breath, and then another, even though it was unnecessary. “Now that we have a minute and the most half-ass plan ever for how to handle the mess here, we need to talk about us before you get a couple hours of sleep.”
“Not safe.”
“It’s never safe for us. A couple people told me that metas attract other metas, especially powerful ones, but I think what we actually attract is problems given how often stuff comes up even when we’re just hanging out.”
“Forced attraction?” His tone was flat and his body language was so correct she worried he’d snap with tension.
She frowned, and then got it. “Órale. No mames. Us running into each other all the time when you and I never crossed paths before—I’d have remembered you—that’s our powers at work. Not the physical and whatever else between us. That’s all us. Many people are hot, but it wears off pretty fast as a rule, not like with y... Never mind. If it was just powers in proximity, vigilantism would be like a super-lazy porn where we sex the bad guys into behaving, assuming me and Wingspan and Muse ever stopped doing each other long enough.”
Zita had to stop to make a face and gag before continuing. “Instead, they’re like family and there’s a lot of punching involved in crime fighting.”
He didn’t respond.
Zita tried to remember the coaching Wyn had given her that she’d mostly ignored. All she could remember was what her friend had told her not to say. So, of course, those were the words burst from her in a quiet torrent.
“What the fuck’s going on with you? First, todo es chingón, totally awesome. Then we both know we’re dating and you’re available less and less. Okay, fine, schedules change, but all I get is busy or work, nada más. When we’re doing stuff, we work great. All the times in between used to be relaxing, but now they’re strange. Your body language says something’s been making you unhappy, but you never say what, and I start acting even stupider and weirder and it’s driving me nuts. It might’ve been something I did...”
She paused, then admitted the truth. “Scratch that. I definitely said or did something to piss you off, but I don’t have a clue what. I never expected you to explain in depth, but I figured you’d at least text me an ‘over now’ if you wanted to end things. You never seemed like the type to take the easy out, but other than a Christmas text to say you’re still in, you’ve been ghosting me since the start of December. When I see you, it’s by accident at the conference con una súper fresa francesa, un pinche clon de Caroline Gyllen! She doesn’t even think you’re capable of real emotion!”
