I’m not sure how I feel about this.
Only a handful of minutes have passed, and we’re both soaked in blood. The laboratory is in an even greater shambles than it was when we entered, filled with bullet holes, vivid splashes of crimson, and dozens of bodies. Sekhmet did most of the heavy lifting, and while I was certainly no slouch, I’m mildly troubled by what I’ve just done. Maybe she’s right about me going soft, because slaughtering a roomful of men—half-god, brainwashed abominations, no less—felt … awkward. My portfolio includes war, doesn’t it? Why did this seem so strange to me?
I hold up a hand to Sekhmet, motioning her to wait while I reorient myself. Large-caliber exit wounds in my back and sides are still closing, and part of my right arm hasn’t regenerated yet, so she won’t suspect I’m also having a miniature crisis of conscience. I certainly wasn’t expecting one. Maybe it’s because these are the first people I’ve actually killed in decades? You might be surprised at my, well, surprise here, but you have to look at this from a god’s perspective: Once you see centuries pass and generations live, die, and live again, you start to get a bit detached from the value of a single life. It’s even harder when a significant part of who you are is pure battle, worshipped for ages in all its deadly splendor.
Then again, do I really want to be comfortable with murder? It’s not exactly like riding a bike, nor should it be. Maybe it’s a good thing I’m feeling a little conflicted right now. Hmm. You know, at some point, I need to take a moment and figure out how thoroughly I want to be Freya, and how much simpler things got after stepping into Sara’s shoes. For now, though …
I shake my head and mentally shove those misgivings back down. This is not the time to feel out of place. Focus, Sara. Focus on why you’re here: Revenge. Destruction. Glory.
You know—what used to get you out of bed in the morning.
Regrets are for after the battle ends, I think, crushing the last of those strange worries.
I straighten up and start moving again once the wounds finish healing. All those weeks at the parks have dramatically improved my ability to regenerate, but more important, the guards weren’t prepared for gods. I saw to that when I sent Nāmaka and Hi‘iaka to ransack their armory; all our foes had were their mundane weapons.
Ineffective or not, there’s one thing those assault rifles can still do: make a lot of noise. There’s no way Drass and his team missed hearing the gunfire, to say nothing of the screams. “So much for stealth,” I mutter, wiping my bloodied combat knife on the hem of my frock and returning it to its sheath.
“Only the weak hide in the shadows,” Sekhmet says with disdain. She looks like something out of a hunter’s nightmare, a lion-headed murderess completely coated in blood. Her dress is a tattered mess, torn by dozens of bullets and barely hanging on to her sleek body. I glance down and sigh; my clothes aren’t in much better shape. I really liked that outfit, too.
“Where is our prey now?” Sekhmet asks, already hungry for more.
I point at the door to Nan’s little hospital wing. She nods and strides toward it, seeming utterly ecstatic at the thought of shredding more hapless mercenaries. I look around the room, taking in the devastation we’ve caused. Another tremor sends a block of tiles falling from the ceiling, covering the mutilated remains of some of the men in dust and debris. No wonder they had her locked up—I’d forgotten just how vicious she was.
Sekhmet kicks the door in with a single savage blow from her leg. “The judgment of the gods is upon you!” she yells in the shattered entryway.
A brilliant flare of scintillating green energy blasts out of the hall, and Sekhmet rockets back into the laboratory like she’s been launched out of a cannon. She plows through three different stations before coming to a rest atop a heap of ruined building materials, dazed.
“Who let you out of your cage, little kitty?” I hear Garen say from the corridor. Carefully, I pad around to the side and flatten myself against the wall near the broken doorway.
“Please deal with her, Specialist,” Drass says. “Then perhaps we can settle this ridiculous argument, yes?”
“Don’t you dare touch her while I’m gone,” Garen says sharply, and I can tell he’s not talking about Sekhmet. Then, in a louder voice: “Come on, boys. Let’s see how many ways we can skin a cat.”
I move farther from the entrance as footsteps approach, slipping around to the other side of a large piece of rubble. Moments later, Garen strides out of the entrance, a glowing amulet clutched in his right hand. I don’t get the best look at it, but I think it’s in the shape of a stylized eye. The men fan out around him, moving deeper into the laboratory, and I notice Sekhmet has already vanished from the mound of wreckage she made in her flight.
Then there’s a blur of movement and I catch a glimpse of the Egyptian goddess in midleap, soaring through the air toward a stray mercenary with claws outstretched. He screams, firing wildly as she crashes into him. Talons rip through Kevlar and fangs sink into his neck. The men converge immediately, rifles ablaze, and Garen begins running in the direction of the conflict. I take the opening her distraction has made to dart into the waiting hallway.
Drass’s eyes widen in surprise the moment I enter. Now it’s just him and the mercenary monitoring the chamber. The occupant of that tank—the creature wearing the skin of Samantha’s mother—looks at me with unsettling interest as I approach.
I nod at the woman. “Bags all packed, I see.” Outside, I hear more screams and gunfire. Somewhere even farther away, another explosion rocks the complex.
“The station’s a lost cause,” Drass says, swaying a little as the ground rumbles. “The volcano was a nice touch.”
“Thanks. I’m proud of it.” I walk a little closer. There’s another bright green flash from somewhere behind me, throwing my shadow down the hall for an instant. It’s followed by crashing sounds and yells.
Drass chuckles, moving in front of the chamber to face me directly. “Pride. From a god. How surprising.”
“How can you judge me for anything?” I say, frowning as I draw the knife from its sheath on my arm. “You sacrificed your own wife for dark gifts, and now … now I couldn’t begin to guess what’s going on. What is that thing?” I shoot a finger at the creature. It grins at me.
Drass glares. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snaps.
“Enlighten me.”
“I’d prefer to kill you, if it’s all the same,” he says, withdrawing a small platinum cube from his jacket. He glances at it, turning it over in his fingers, and I see it has little markings on each of its faces. Drass picks one side and holds out the device, pointing it at me. I have no idea what it’s about to do, but I refuse to stand around and find out. I coil my legs beneath me and leap out of the corridor, crashing through a damaged pane of glass into one of the empty patient rooms as the cube activates. It emits a dull tone as it hums to life, like an elevator of ruin arriving at its destination. I feel a wash of heat behind me, and the room turns stark white as the thing unleashes an enormous beam of incandescent light into the corridor.
“Nimble thing, aren’t you?” I hear Drass say. His footsteps sound in the hallway, drawing nearer. Before he gets a chance to corner me, I get up, flip the knife around in my hand, and lean out the broken window. He’s just ten feet away, holding the cube in front of him.
I launch the blade at him before he can turn it on again, and I’m rewarded with a cry of pain as the weapon blurs through the air and embeds itself in his remaining hand, knocking the cube from his grip. Behind him, the woman in the chamber laughs and claps.
“Sir!” the remaining mercenary says, moving toward him.
“Keep your damn eyes on the readings!” Drass yells, motioning him away with the stump of his left arm. In the distance, there’s more shouting, following by another cry of pain and a bestial roar. At least somebody’s having fun.
I walk back into the hall as he grabs the hilt of the knife between his teeth and yanks it out, spitting it away from him. He flexes his injured palm—I notice it’s not bleeding nearly as much as it should be—and sighs. “What is it with you and my hands?” he asks, eyes darting over the floor. He’s looking for the cube.
In response, I pull the 9mm handgun from my bag and shoot him in the chest. He staggers backward, wincing in pain. “Agh, that stings,” he says, reaching up with his remaining hand. He tugs at the hole in his suit, and his fingers come away with a flattened lump of metal.
“Really?” I say, confused. “A blade cuts you just fine, but you’re bulletproof?”
He shrugs, flicking the slug away. “Skin’s enchanted to have the exact properties of Kevlar. Magic can be annoyingly literal, at times. It’s not going to stop a knife, but it usually gets the job done.”
“How about an eye?” I say, lining up a shot and firing. He throws an arm in front of his face to block the bullet, but I’m already moving. I dash forward and drop into a slide, shooting across the floor like a runner going for home—Drass looks down just in time to see me sweep up the platinum cube and come to a stop right beside him, aiming at him with my gun in one hand and the artifact in the other.
In response, he kicks me in the ribs with enough force to pick me off the floor and send me sailing into another nursing suite. I clip the edge of the divider as I crash through the glass, denting the metal window frame. I refuse to count this as getting knocked through another wall—that’s been happening to me too much as it is. Drass rushes in after me, but he’s too late. I’m already staggering to my feet, and I’ve managed to hold on to both my gun and the cube. I fire a warning shot into his abdomen, then brandish the platinum device at him.
“Fine,” he wheezes, pulling the new bullet out of his suit and holding it up in surrender. “What do you want?”
“That’s simple: I’m going to kill you for what you’ve done, Gideon,” I say, furious.
“Kill me for what I’ve done?” he repeats, seeming amused. “You haven’t the faintest idea what that is, little goddess.”
“I know enough.”
“Do you, now? And what will killing me accomplish, exactly? Do you think I am somehow special? That my death will deal Finemdi a blow? I’m a figurehead, my dear, elected by a board of directors who have done far worse than even I will ever know, to say nothing of their chairman.”
“And who is that?”
He laughs, shaking his head. “As if they’d tell me. You’ve never had to fight a bureaucracy, have you? So used to a world of black and white.” He puts out a hand to steady himself on the doorframe as the building sways again and some very loud rumbles shake the wing. “I’m an employee, Freya.”
An uneasy feeling slides into me. My goals, once so clear and indisputable, suddenly seem as unstable as the building I’ve ruined. I feel the need to reignite my anger, to justify it to myself. “Then explain the woman—explain what you did to your wife!”
“She agreed to it, you presumptive parasite!” he yells at me, beyond frustrated. “She sacrificed herself for the greater good, to keep that monstrosity chained! It has no true form, so we had to give it one before we could seal it away. And now your idiot scheme has threatened everything. We need to get her out of here immediately, and I need her cage reinforced before we can. To do that, I need a god’s energy, so if you’re not going to volunteer, how about stepping aside while we use hers?” He jerks his head at Nantosuelta, still lying in her bed across the hall.
I look from her to the creature and back to Drass. “I don’t believe you,” I say at last. “Why not kill it? Disbelieve it?”
“Because we can’t,” he says, gritting his teeth. “It’s over four thousand years old, reinforced by celestial mechanics and tough as nails.” He holds out his hands—well, hand. “You want to give it a go? Be my guest!”
I look at the woman in the chamber with a wary glance. She smiles and crooks a finger at me in a “come hither” motion. “What is it?” I say at last.
Drass sighs and looks away. “A mistake. Okay, look, Garen thinks you have autonomy, so let’s see how different you really are: I don’t want a fight. Go, run, hide—I give you my word I won’t follow. Yeah, you’re on our list, but you’re not a threat to the world.” He points a shaking finger at the thing that used to be his wife. “That one is.”
I pause, taken aback. This is not the way things are supposed to go. Honestly, here’s where he should be telling me his evil plans. “There’s no possible way I can trust you,” I say, steadying my grip on the gun and artifact.
He shrugs. “No, there’s not. But seriously, between you and this atrocity, which do you think I’d rather set free?”
I roll my eyes. “Neither. But I see your point.”
That gets a tight smile out of him. “Great. So what’s it going to be, little god?” he says, taking a step back and raising his arms. “I’m offering an olive branch here—turn around, march your immortal ass out of my facility, and let me clean up the mess you’ve made.”
I waver for a moment, wondering if there’s even a chance he’s telling the truth. Then the Valkyrie in me screams that it’s a trick, to strike now, destroy him before he can make the first move. She tells me this is my moment, that leaving now wouldn’t just mean abandoning Nantosuelta—what of my glory, my vengeance, my principles?
Nathan also flashes in my mind, telling me I could still walk away. Every step down this path is one further from the happiness and friendship we set out to find. This is just a building, Drass but one monster among many—I may win this battle, may survive it along with my friends, but what of the war? In this moment, I see with heartbreaking clarity the two roads that stretch before me and understand that no matter which I choose, I’m certain to lose something along the way.
The question, then, is simple: Who am I, right now? The beaten-down little girl in a mental hospital who just wanted to be left alone, or a world-changing goddess on the rise? Getting to this moment has been so easy, so thoughtless. At every turn, I held true to my principles, and now I stand surrounded by hate and ruin, risking real friends in the name of mythical beliefs. Is that my future, too?
I abandoned my legacy once. I could do it again.
“You’re right, Drass,” I say in a soft, grateful voice as I realize the truth, realize that I’ve been down this road before. “I have a choice.”
The woman in the chamber cocks her head to the side, looking confused.
“Thank you for helping me see myself for what I truly am,” I say, raising the gun a little a higher. “There will be no deal. Not because of what I can and cannot do, but because of what I want. I choose divinity. I choose the mantle. I choose war.”
He grits his teeth at that and glares, but when he replies, he doesn’t sound furious or frustrated—just disappointed. “It was worth trying,” he says, more to himself.
His features tense, and I’m readying myself for another attack when a clatter from the hallway interrupts us. Garen walks in and flings Sekhmet to the ground. A handful of mercenaries are still with him, all glaring at the Egyptian goddess, who looks like she’s been through the wringer. Smoke rises from singed fur and broken limbs, and her regeneration somehow seems to have been halted. Groaning, she raises her head to take in the corridor. Her golden eyes widen as she focuses on the chamber and its possessed occupant.
“Apep,” she gasps from the floor. I frown, unable to place the name. She obviously recognizes the creature, but I always thought Set, the Egyptian god of deserts, disorder, and violence, was the Big Bad of her pantheon.
The woman in the tank takes a bow. Garen shrugs at that, then moves a little farther into the hall, dragging Sekhmet with him.
“Drass?” he calls. “Where are you hi—oh,” he says, spotting the two of us in the side room. He glares at me, then raises his amulet without saying anything else. It flares green, and I know I only have heartbeats to react. I thrust the platinum cube before me, and will it to activate.
In the split second before it answers my call, I see Drass’s eyes lock onto the cube and take note of the face I’ve picked at random. His mouth forms a soundless NO, and then everything is lost in a monumental crack of lightning. The ceiling splits open as a tremendous wall of electricity descends from the heavens, blasting through the unstable edifice and shearing it in two. We’re both flung backward by the explosion, and to my great dismay I feel the numbing thumps of weakened masonry giving way before my body as I rocket through several walls. Impulse Station lurches, the entire structure veering to one side as thousands of tons of reinforced supports and retaining walls give way. Both halves of the colossal complex sink into the lava pool at its base at awkward angles, and I feel myself roll across a concrete floor as everything is tilted to the side. It’s like I’ve just unzipped the building.
Shaking my head to clear away the brilliant flash, I use the nearest wall for support and lever myself to a standing position. Emergency lighting cuts through the haze of dust, but something else illuminates the disaster area, as well. A dim red glow suffuses everything, seeping up from below. I stagger toward the rift I’ve created, and the building’s new upturned angle lets me catch a glimpse of dark storm clouds gathering beyond the shredded rooftop of its other half. I reach the ragged edge of my side and look down. Perhaps fifty feet away, an enormous pool of molten rock churns, devouring the structure’s foundations. Accelerated by the unnatural change in temperature, sharp winds tear through this artificial valley, carrying away vast clouds of debris and loose paper.
On the other side of this hellish fissure, about thirty feet away, I can make out the mangled bodies of the mercenaries and Sekhmet’s unconscious form perched just beyond the obliterated remains of the hospital corridor. That means Nan, Drass, and the woman in the chamber must be on my side. I look around, trying to find some trace of them. I think I’ve been tossed away at an angle. I’m just on the edge of what looks like a standard utility corridor. Several boring doors are set into the nearby walls.
I catch a glimpse of some movement from the opposite side. I’m about to head closer to see who it is when a hand clamps onto my neck, picks me bodily from the ground, and starts walking me toward the building’s edge.
“Fancy a swim?” Drass grates into my ear.
The drop is barely five feet away, and I can tell he’s about to throw me in before we even reach it.
“Mangalitsa!” I choke out, legs kicking. I don’t have a destination—don’t have time to choose—so the 40 gallons of water materialize right over my head. The miniature deluge engulfs us both, sending us rolling back into the building. It’s no more than what a moderately sized aquarium could hold, but with the slanted floor, it’s enough to knock Drass off his feet. He loses his grip on my neck as we both tumble against the back wall of the utility hallway.
Sputtering in shock, he lunges for me again, but I scamper away, moving deeper into the hallway. There’s a gaping hole in the wall where I burst in, but things are a little more intact here. Doors are set on either side, though I have no idea where any of them lead. My first instinct is to fight back, but I lost my handgun and the cube in the blast, and there’s nothing left in my bag besides the leveler, which would probably do more damage to me at this point. Then I get a look at the plaques set beside the doors and realize they’re not going to help me escape—they’re more of those shortcuts, and I have no idea where they lead.
Drass pushes himself to his feet with his good arm and staggers toward me. Silhouetted by the glow of the lava pit, he looks terrifying, like a mutilated demon in a business suit. Only he’s not fireproof. The realization makes me wish I had some way of tossing him into the pit, but even if I could tackle him over the side, I’d probably end up going in with him, and that’s a fate I’d dearly like to avoid. I can regenerate, but not that fast. It would take a long time before this place cooled enough for me to re-form, and longer still for them to dig me out.
The man flexes his remaining hand and smiles at me. “Starting to regret that little trick now, aren’t you?” he says as if he’s read my mind. He bends down and picks up a long piece of rebar. “Is that fear I see? Come on. Isn’t this what you chose?”
“Still is,” I spit, eyes darting in search of a weapon.
“Why?” he practically screams, slashing the air with the rebar. I shuffle back a few steps in surprise at the fury in his voice. “If you can deny your dogma, you can be more than every other empty-headed god!” he continues, sounding unhinged. “You could be free! Why embrace what you know will take that from you?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” I hiss, backing away another step. “Y’know what, Drass? Forget gods and philosophies and all the crap you tell yourself when you’re trying to fall asleep at night. End of the day, you hunt, cage, and torture a group of people you hate, you bigoted—”
“You’re not PEOPLE!” he yells, flinging himself at me.
I flinch away, stumbling in the tangle of concrete and ceiling tiles at my feet. There’s a whoosh as the rebar zips past my left ear, and then the building shifts again, sending a small avalanche of debris tumbling between us. A cloud of dust billows around me, shot through by the terrible blush of the lava like it’s a dying sunset. I regain my footing, hoping he’s been caught in the downpour, but as I straighten up, my heart sinks. Rebar twitching in his only hand, Drass emerges from the haze, sidestepping the small mound of rubble and planting himself in front of me.
“I’m sorry,” he says, gesturing with his stump. “You were saying?”
I give him a bitter laugh. “Yeah. I’m the single-minded one. If fighting you means following my birthright, then cool. The world is not a better place without Freya, but it will be one without you.”
“What a waste,” he says, voice dripping with contempt. “Brave enough to face me, but not your own flaws. You’re a coward, Sara Vanadi, and unworthy of your gifts.”
He steps forward and beckons to me. Another gust of wind streams through the canyon, peeling the dust away to reveal the bubbling lake of fire, rising still. Drass tilts his head at it and lifts his eyebrows, telling me where I’m headed. Heart pounding, I edge back another foot. I can’t best him in a physical contest, and we’re about five seconds from one. There must be a way of taking him down, but he’s layered in enchantments and dark magic and every instinct is telling me I should have listened to Samantha and just run for it, no matter what plans of mine hinged on his death. He raises the rebar over his head, and the time to decide on a course of action is suddenly gone. I ready myself for his attack, hoping I can hit him somewhere it hurts, like the eyes, before he bludgeons me into unconsciousness and tosses me into the molten lake.
Then an odd tremor runs through my mind, and in the same instant, flames mushroom around his head, blazing up from nowhere to form a localized sphere of fire. It’s gone in a split second, but it is enough to set his hair ablaze and stun him. He lunges forward, but he’s swinging blind, and I’m able to sidestep the blow and shove him to the ground with one kick to the back. In the distance, across the canyon, I hear Nathan whoop. “Yes! Sara, I got him!” he yells.
I’m elated, but it’ll all be for nothing if I can’t use this to my advantage. Drass is already picking his way to his feet, so I’m going to need to act fast. I have no weapons, and even if I could muscle him in, the lava is still too far to reach. I can’t make a thirty-foot leap, either, and my only escape route is down ruined hallways he knows better than I do, or through teleportation doors that aren’t going to lead anywhere useful. If I knew they could get me to the other building, that would be great, but as far as I can tell, they all go to the sublevels, and those are currently filled with—
A brilliant smile lights my face as I realize there’s a solution I haven’t yet considered: If I can’t take Drass to the lava, then I need to bring the lava to him.
As all this runs through my head, the man staggers upright and spins around, soot-streaked features contorted with rage. He roars and charges me without another word, long past the point of banter. Even though the corridor’s tilted at an awkward angle, he manages to move terrifyingly fast, and we’re about to collide when I jump up, grab the handle on the door to my left, and haul it open. The door is hinged so it swings toward me, and thank the gods for that.
An enormous column of liquid rock and metal pours out of the opening, engulfing Drass and splashing into the corridor as the magic in the portal connects this door to a preset location somewhere deep inside that volcanic lake. Flecks of burning magma spatter my skin and clothing and I scream as it burns me, but it’s nothing compared with what’s happening to Drass. He’s completely coated in the flow, a man-sized lump of glowing rock thrashing around in an unending cascade of molten ooze. I run for it, scampering up the incline to the edge of the divide as the stream eats through the wall below it and sinks down into the building, taking the remains of Finemdi’s CEO along for the ride.
“Sara! Sara, are you okay?” Nathan calls out from across the fiery chasm.
“Did you see that?” I yell, overjoyed.
He shakes his head. “Was too far in! What happened? Did you get him?”
“Hell yes, I got him!” I reply. “We did it!”
He cheers, throwing a fist in the air. I’m about to join with some victory shouts of my own when something moves in the ruins behind him. I stiffen in shock as Garen walks out of the shadows, bruised and bloodied, an assault rifle in one hand and the glowing amulet in the other. He points his gun at Nathan’s back and calls out to me. “I’ll make you a deal, princess!” he yells, his voice hoarse. Nathan whirls at the sound, turning to face the man. “Throw yourself into the lake, and I’ll let him live!”
“Nate!” I cry, furious at my inability to reach either of them.
My friend puts his hands up. “Please don’t shoot,” Nathan says.
Garen rolls his eyes. “Shut up,” he mutters. “Well? What’s it going to be?” he yells in a louder voice. “Lava bath, or one dead mortal? I know you care about him.”
“And I’m supposed to trust you?” I scream back.
He laughs. “Why would I care if he lives?”
“I have no way of knowing that’s true,” I reply. “And hasn’t he seen too much? Wouldn’t Finemdi make you kill him anyway?”
“Thanks, Sara, that’s really helping,” Nathan says, sounding very worried.
Even across the burning crevasse, I can make out Garen’s oily smirk. “This is a trade I’d be more than happy to make! And you know what? Right now, I think Finemdi might have more important things to worry about than whether a lowly mortal escaped. Just a thought.”
I sigh, shaking my head. I’m trapped. There’s no way I’m throwing myself in, but I can’t see an alternative that will save Nathan, either. Maybe I can aim for the edge of the pool and pull myself out when he’s not looking? I glance down, watching as clouds of caustic gases dance on the surface of the lava. Those might hide my landing.…
“Enough,” a soft, quavering voice calls out from my left, carrying over the divide. Garen’s eyes go wide as he spots the source, and the muzzle of his weapon dips. I tip out, looking around a flapping piece of insulation, and see what’s gotten his attention. Nantosuelta is standing on a broken spar of concrete not ten feet away, leaning heavily on her IV pole. Her platform juts out above the canyon like a broken bridge, and it looks like it’s taking all her strength just to remain upright. Even as I watch, her wizened feet slide ever so slightly in the loose scree of crumbled rocks scattered atop the concrete.
“Mother, please, you must—” Garen begins.
“Stop,” she says, silencing him with a glare. “Let the boy go, Garen.”
“I—but I can’t just—” he stammers, looking pained.
“This is over,” she says, struggling to hold on to the metal pole beside her. “If you can’t release your hate for my kind, then at least concede the battle for this day. It’s done.”
“But—”
“Drop your weapons,” she hisses, the malevolence in her tone surprising me. “If you ever loved me, you’ll do this favor, Garen.”
“I—Mother, it’s not…” He trails off and hangs his head. He gives it a little shake, and then his chest heaves in a sigh. “Another day,” he mumbles after a moment. Then he tosses the amulet and gun away from him, out into the divide. They land with distant plops, vanishing beneath the molten flow. He looks up at me, glaring. “Another day,” he says louder, and I know it’s a promise.
Nathan backs away, skirting around the edge of the building and putting a little distance between Garen and himself. Nantosuelta nods. “Good boy,” she says, utterly exhausted. It seems even this short exchange has drained her of whatever strength she had left. “The only one. You were the only one, Garen. I’ll always love you for that.”
“Mother…” Garen says, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I know it’s hard, but please, I can help—”
“You have. You’ve helped me so much,” Nan says, smiling. “But I’m not strong enough. I’m so very, very tired, Garen.”
“Please…” His voice cracks, and he sinks to his knees.
“Don’t be sad, my boy,” she says. “I’m free. Remember that. Remember me like that. Free.”
Then she lets go of the pole and leans forward. She clips the edge of the concrete and topples over, spinning once before she hits the lava. I see her hospital gown catch fire, and then the liquid closes over her frail body, burying her forever. Just like that, she’s gone. I pull back from the edge, feeling an odd mix of shock and relief.
I hope she finds her peace, and I hope one day, when she is ready, her believers will return to give her life in a better world.
Garen looks stunned, eyes locked on the spot where his mother disappeared. He’s still on his knees, hands splayed on the ground in front of him. Tears run freely down his cheeks. Nathan looks between him and me. “Now what?” he asks at last.
That breaks me out of my reverie. “I … can you see a way down from there?”
He glances around, then shakes his head. “No—I can’t go much farther along the gap in either direction. Do you have a spell for this?”
I grimace. “Nothing useful.”
He sighs. “Well, that’s just great.”
A light rain begins to fall, misting down from the gathering clouds. It hisses when it hits the lava, sending up wisps of steam. The lake is a lot closer now, maybe twenty-five feet, and the heat is incredible. “At least we won’t have long to wait,” Nathan says, looking down.
“Sorry, Nate,” I say, shoulders slumped.
He glances up at the building tilted above him. “Maybe I can climb it?” he says halfheartedly, putting out a hand on one crumbling wall.
I nod, looking up at my own half. It’s a long shot, but … “It’s better than noth—”
A raging gust of wind takes away the rest of my words. High-pitched laughter echoes out of the clouds, and something glints in the sky above us. “Woo! Need a lift?” Hi‘iaka’s voice cries from the heavens, echoing in the wind. The glinting metal resolves into a car, a cherry-red convertible held aloft on a furious current of air. The machine zooms down from the skies, pulling level with me. Pele, Nāmaka, and Hi‘iaka are all crammed in the front seat, beaming. The trunk is jam-packed, overflowing with an incredible assortment of divine artifacts held down by bungee cords.
“Not bad, eh?” Pele says, motioning with her head at the lava lake.
“Get in!” Hi‘iaka calls out, reaching back to pat the rear seat.
I grin at them, then point across at the other half of the building. “Nathan and Sekhmet first!” I yell over the wind.
Hi‘iaka nods and the car veers away, rushing to the other side of the divide and stopping just below Nathan’s floor. My friend looks at me, then leaps into the backseat with a cry of happiness. The car lurches forward, and Pele reaches out to grab Sekhmet’s unconscious body, which she shoves into the backseat with Nathan’s help.
“What about him?” Hi‘iaka says, pointing at Garen, who’s been watching the proceedings with traumatized dismay.
“Leave him,” I reply. “‘Another day.’ Isn’t that right, Specialist?”
He glares at me through red-rimmed eyes. “You’re all dead,” he croaks. “Hunt you down. Every last resource I can get my hands on. It’ll all be for you. Enjoy this. Really. Because you are all royally—”
“Ah, actually, I believe you’re the one who’s in trouble,” Nāmaka interrupts.
“Yeah, see, before we picked up this sweet little number, we had some fun in your computer core,” Hi‘iaka says. “Nothing special. Just sent some emergency broadcasts about how this ‘Specialist Garen’ guy had snapped, taken out the whole complex because of his mom. Easy stuff.”
“I think there was supposed to be a whole lot more transmitted, all sorts of important files and records, but they had a little flood,” Nāmaka says, shrugging. “Shame.”
“I had a spell ready to impersonate you, just in case,” I add. “Even had some of your blood on hand for the illusion”—I point at the patch on my shoulder that’s his—“but it never really came up, and the only one who’d know any better is currently melting along with his facility.”
“Oh, you got him?” Pele asks.
“Your lava!” I reply. She grins at that and laughs.
Garen looks completely shell-shocked at this point. “They … they won’t—”
“C’mon, you know better than that,” I say. “A whole facility down the tubes and the only evidence they have is a secure transmission naming the culprit? Oh, they are never going to believe you, are they?”
It looks like he’s going to reply, to fight back, but then he seems to deflate, head sinking to his chest. Hi‘iaka shrugs and spins the wheel of the car, giggling. The movement is just for show—all it does is turn the tires—but she has her winds move the convertible back across the rift at the same time, rocking to a halt when it’s next to me.
I hop in, landing in the backseat beside Sekhmet, who’s still completely out of it. Nathan, grinning from ear to ear, gives me a thumbs-up. The car shifts, veering away from the side of the building. Garen glares at us as we go, eyes burning with promises of vengeance and destruction.
As we move forward, past the concrete spar with Nan’s fallen IV pole, I see into the rest of the hospital corridor and feel a stab of worry. Just beyond the open door to her room, the black chamber is sitting against one wall, listing on its side. The mercenary in charge of monitoring it is sprawled on the floor in the middle of the hall, his skin completely gray. The chamber’s hatch is open, and the creature it once held is nowhere to be seen.
That’s coming back to haunt me, I think as the car rises into the clouds, pulling away from the devastated wreck of Impulse Station.