Sins & Shadows

27

Broken World, Breaking Hearts

EVEN BEFORE THE LAST WORD LEFT HER LIPS, DUNNE PIVOTED, HEADING for her. Sylvie threw up her hands, projecting Unarmed, unarmed! as loudly as she could, though it went against the grain.

Du

Behind him, Bran wrapped his arms around himself, shaking, turning his face away from her. She couldn’t blame him. The last time she’d held that note of determination in her voice, she’d run him through hell and back. Demalion leaned in and offered support, putting a clawed hand on Bran’s shoulder, eyes resting on her, oddly un-surprised.

It all happens on the roof, he had said.

She curled her fingers around Du

The little dark voice wound beneath her own, tangled in her breath, winding around her mind like a secret demanding to be told. It’s not done yet. You know what has to be done.

“You know it’s true,” Sylvie said, obedient to its prompt. “This can’t continue. I know you want to pretend nothing’s changed, but that’s not possible. Look at the damage that’s been done.” The ISI suit was frozen in place, perhaps literally, Sylvie thought, as a shift in the available light revealed a stony skin. Man gone statue—she thought. There’s a Greek god for you. Tucked behind the shelter of his body, the young secretary huddled, hands clenched tight in her braided hair.

The wrist under her fingers twitched, and Sylvie swallowed hard. Distraction would be fatal now. “If that doesn’t move you—look at Bran. He’s wrung out, damn near dead several times over. And he’s still a target. He’s walking power, a scrumptious all-you-can-eat buffet, ready to be devoured by any starving sorcerer who comes across him. This will happen again and again and—”

“I won’t let it—” A low growl in three-throated harmony: Du

“Did you let Lilith take Bran? I didn’t think so. She’s just a human who can plan better than most. What will you do—what will Bran do, when a bigger threat comes hunting? When a god who wants to shake things up thinks Bran’s just what the doctor ordered. But if Bran dies—”

Her weight dangling from Du

She wriggled the toes of her sneakers onto the roof edge, seeking purchase. An updraft climbed her spine, stirred her hair, and made her shudder.

“You brought him back to me,” Du

“Make you?” Sylvie said, gagging a little as his hand tightened. “You’re the fucking god, Du

They were her words, her throat, her thoughts, undeniably. It wasn’t even that she didn’t think she was right, it was simply that she had had no intention of starting this here and now. But the voice in her head was on its own time line and wouldn’t be swerved. Tick tick, it reminded her.

“You were a cop, Du

“No,” Bran said. “I was careless.” Taking the blame on himself, trying to defuse the situation between Du

Demalion drew Bran back, wrapped him close, clawed hands crossed over Bran’s chest, keeping him from worsening the confrontation.

Sylvie said, “Lilith used the Maudits and the ISI to flush Bran from hiding so she could net him. You couldn’t stop her. You never even saw her coming. How could you fight another god?”

“It would be war,” Du

“Sure they would,” Sylvie said. She coughed. The pressure around her neck hadn’t tightened, but it hadn’t slackened, either. “Zeus acted fast enough when he thought he could slaughter you. And as for war . . . The gods must love it, or humans wouldn’t do so much of it.”

“That doesn’t make killing Bran the solution,” Du

Magdala panted in mocking synchronicity with her. Erinya crouched, ready to leap into movement, but her eyes went from Sylvie to Du

“I don’t want him dead. . . .” Pause to fight for a breath past those tightening fingers. “I want . . . regain godhood. It’s not death . . . transition.”

Staring up into Du

Du

Du

Over Du

She tried to lick her dry lips, but her teeth were locked, gritted against the strain on her neck. Maybe Du

Only one way to find out. She and the dark voice meshed, found perfect harmony. “Kill him to set things right.”

Sylvie gibbered inside, all her calm a veneer. She was right. She knew she was right. Bran couldn’t continue this life, not now that the clock had gone midnight and the masks had come off.

She knew she was right. Panic still scrabbled at her insides. She was right, but something wasn’t.

“It has to happen,” she said. The concrete beneath her feet crumbled a little as Magdala rested her weight on the ledge next to Sylvie’s sneaker, nudging her that much closer to the drop.

“We won’t let you,” Magdala growled.

Behind them, Demalion pulled Bran closer, stroked the bright hair with a taloned hand, as if shielding Bran from the inevitable bloodshed. Demalion’s eyes, as ever, rested on Sylvie. Waiting. Her turf, she had declared. Her orders. Whatever vision he had had earlier, he was willing to follow her now. She had a momentary jealousy that he knew how this played out. She had no idea at all.

Magdala nudged Sylvie’s ankle again, playful as a shark, and Sylvie teetered backward. A breath tore from her lungs; if Du

The street, ten stories down, might as well have been miles below. All it promised was an inky abyss, the darkness of a city without power—she whimpered. It seemed an impossibly long way to fall.