CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THEY CAME SWOOPING in on big, angry gray wings that looked as though they rode on a storm, which caught us up and enveloped us. Strong winged women in full voice, their screeching battle cries clawing at my senses, as devastating as the clubs and blunt swords they swung, whirled about us. I rolled on the ground, recoiling out of their way, unable to even count how many of them came after us. A stench rolled in ahead of them, nasty and stinging to my nose, and my eyes ran with tears in response. Steptoe knelt beside me, shrugged off his dapper jacket and began to stretch it in his hands, pulling and expanding it, larger and larger, until at parachute size, he dropped it over both of us and we huddled under it. He gave me a wink as he tucked it into place. The sound dimmed, and that awful smell faded.
He put a finger to his lips and I nodded. An invisibility cloak of sorts, but we’d break the illusion if we spoke and gave our position away. He handed me a clean handkerchief, and I wiped off the trickles of blood from my eardrums and sent a prayer for good hearing. I tucked the kerchief away in a free pocket just in case, not too eager to give Steptoe a sample of my blood or DNA. I looked through the thin weave of the fabric, a smoky yet nearly transparent window, and watched the battle overhead.
The harpies circled about once, twice, searching, as Brian shouted words of power that sent a jolt of command through me, though they hurt the bird women far more. With high, eerie cries two dropped from the sky, bouncing to the ground, their wings disappearing, as they became nothing more than tall warriors with fierce scowls contorting their faces. Morty shoved them away from Brian as the cane swung in Brian’s hands, trailing sparks of silvery-white all about.
The screeching and cackles grew louder. I got to my knees, ready to run if any of them blundered into us and we were found. One of the blunt swords slid across the ground as Morty pulled another woman out of the sky, and the weapon skidded until it stopped, protruding into our shelter. I reached out and quickly pulled it all the way in with us, and wrapped my hand about the handle, feeling a little better instantly. I was not a sword fighter but I knew what to do with a stick! I edged to the bottom of our cover, praying that Morty and Brian could handle it. The downed women flanked Brian and, as one, delivered leaping attacks, feet first, aimed at his head for the takedown.
Morty batted one out of the air and Brian’s crystal flared wildly. The second leaper screamed out, twisting in midleap, falling prone to the ground and flailing in pain. I thought I saw a lick of white fire race along her body before she went still, burying her face in her arms with a sob.
That left four still in the air, as two broke off, lunging downward at their sisters, grabbing them about their thickly padded shoulders and bearing them off, back into the swirl of storm clouds that hung about all of us. I crept about, hunched over, counting those four diving about us, and the two standing on their feet.
Regardless of the cloud cover, the sounds of the battle could be heard. Someone had to be on their way, some civilian had to have called 911 after hearing the din of cries and battle yells, as Brian’s voice grew hoarse and the howling shriller. Strange things happening in the city might not be all that strange, but an attack would bring help. Surely.
Knowing it hadn’t arrived yet, I began to straighten, my hand tightening, white-knuckled, about the crude sword. It hadn’t been made for slicing, but for bludgeoning. For bone-cracking hits. For head-numbing thumps. For ankle-snapping thwacks. I decided I was up for it and reached a hand to twitch aside our camouflaging cloak. Steptoe lashed out and caught me before I could. He shook his head violently.
“Coward!” I spat lowly.
He shook his head again.
“Flash bangs.”
“They’d laugh at you.” He lowered his whispery voice even more. “They’ll take this too, ducks, if we reveal it.” And he held tightly to my arm as if our lives depended on it. He pointed outward with his other hand.
I turned on one foot to see the four winged women circling in close about Brian, he standing with his arms akimbo, moving with them, alert but surrounded. The trail of snowflake-like sparks looked to be sputtering out, although the gazing crystal stayed alight. He wouldn’t be able to hold them off much longer, and the attackers, as if sensing his weakening, swung lower and closer. What was Morty waiting for?
This, it seemed. With the back of his hand, he lashed about, and caught Brian on the side of the head. Brian grunted in pain and I tried to bolt out of our hiding spot but Steptoe still had his hand firmly holding me back. Brian dropped and one of the harpies dove down to seize his cane. She pulled and tugged and let out a scream worthy of a banshee but he held tight. A second harpy darted at him to pick him up by the ankles and the two played tightrope with him in midair. I twisted away from Steptoe and burst out of our cover, swinging my stick as Morty just stood and watched.
They flew out of my reach, now cackling with amusement and victory, the other two bird sisters getting a firmer hold on Brian. They carried him off as I flung their sword at them. Like a spear, it arrowed right at the last one only to thunk ineffectively off her leather corset, and they vanished into the storm.
I flung myself at Morty, fists knotted and landing but I might as well have been pelting a brick wall. “What did you do? What?”
He held me aside, his brow knotted tightly, his attention searching the skies as they cleared and went silent. “It seemed best to give them what they wanted, for now.”
Steptoe emerged from hiding, his hands winding and winding the parachute-like blanket about, squeezing it down into the semblance of the old, dapper suit coat again. He tilted his head at Morty.
“Waiting, are you? Why? You made a deal but they’re not meeting their part of the bargain, are they?”
I looked to Steptoe. “What kind of deal?”
Steptoe beckoned. “He’s expectin’ his wife back.”
“Shut up.”
“Don’t ’ave to. You’ve betrayed us all. Given up the wizard and you’ve nothing. And you were telling th’ miss here to be careful about the assurances she made! What about you? What ’ave you got now? Nothin’, that’s what.”
Morty slashed his hand through the air and came about at Steptoe with a growl. Instead of mowing us over, he plowed to a halt, lifted his chin and let out a shout, in a voice that sounded of the earth itself, an avalanche of heavy boulders and stones grinding into each other as they slid into nothingness and the last notes disappeared into silence. Big, heavy tears ran down his cheeks. He put his hands to his face as he went down on his knees.
“She’s not coming.”
“Don’t look like it, guv.”
“I’ve done it, haven’t I?”
“You’ve betrayed all of us,” Steptoe said flatly. He shrugged into his suit coat and fidgeted until it fit him perfectly once more.
“What do we do now? We have to get him back.”
Morty stayed silent. Sort of. I think I could detect a slight moan of grief.
“Might be time to get that smoke, after all.”
I managed to close my mouth enough so I could ask, “Why?”
“Because it’s likely that’s where the biddies took him. So it seems. Since the professor seemed right intent on going there, and if they’re lookin’ for the same sort o’ stuff we are.”
“Are we taking him?”
The two of us considered Morty.
“Can’t very well just leave ’im here, can we? He knows too much.” Steptoe reached down to ratchet Morty up onto his feet.
“Oh.” That did make sense, as I stepped onto the curb and looked for Sam and his shuttle.
And that’s how the police found us on the edge of Central Park.
New York’s finest seemed an efficient lot. I mostly kept my mouth shut because there wasn’t anything I could say that 1) they would believe or 2) would get me out of trouble in any way. I was rather hoping, as the squad cars pulled up and the uniforms began to mill around, that it might be possible to get lost in the shuffle. They were asking questions and containing the scene, as police in uniforms do no matter where you are. Despite our troubles in Richmond, I kept a healthy respect for the police because that seemed the wisest course of action. We’d never been arrested, Mom and I, although we’d been in the station a few times to give statements, and then follow-up statements to our statements. That brought me back to what Carter had let drop at the train station, which kept me in frowning silence and busy, busy thoughts.
Then the fourth car rolled up, the doors opened, and out stepped our tall Virginia policeman as if summoned.
Luckily, he looked as surprised as I felt.
He wasn’t alone, of course. He did do a double take and seemed to count noses. He said something to the head guy who climbed out of the front seat, and then pointed himself in my direction.
The uniformed cop stepped aside as we both said, nearly in unison, “What are you doing here?”
“I,” I told Carter, “am evidently getting into trouble. You?”
“I’m up here starting two weeks of training ride-alongs, a liaison thing. That’s why I came through DC yesterday. And what kind of trouble?”
I didn’t intend on incriminating myself. I looked about. “Maybe disturbing the peace? Not quite sure.”
The cop said helpfully, “We had calls about women screaming and some sort of fight. No witnesses to the actual scuffle, but a lot of people heard the noise.”
Carter looked me over, from toe to the top of my head. “You don’t look any the worse for wear. Were you the one screaming?”
“No, sir. There were some ladies on the footpath back there,” I jerked a thumb behind us, “had some words with each other about boyfriends and the like. You know the kind of catfight that can be. We booked soon as we heard them.”
“Mmmm.” He scanned my face closely again before looking to the other two. “Where’s the other one?”
“Brian? We, ah, left him at a Starbucks. He didn’t seem interested in Central Park. Now we just have to remember which one. Place is full of them.”
“And these two were just here with you? I thought you were taking Brian sightseeing, and the Brit didn’t seem part of the group.” He took my elbow to steer me aside from everyone, as Morty and Steptoe told more or less the same story they had just heard me telling, and pitched his voice quietly. “Tessa, I think you’re in over your head in something you know nothing about.”
“Again?” I tried a shaky smile. “Does Mom know?”
“It’s not funny. Now these gentlemen,” and he gestured toward the New York troops, “probably won’t book you or anything, but I know something else happened here.”
I tried an innocent look. “You do?”
He wiped the ball of his thumb over my cheekbone and then showed me the faint smear of blood. “I do.” Carter cleared his throat. “So. Anyone get hurt?”
“Um. Not on our side that I know about.”
“Good. I can’t begin to explain it to you, but you need to go home, and stay away from these . . . friends.”
It felt, in a contrary way, really nice to be under his inspection. “And why would you care? You’re not even here on official duty.”
Carter shifted weight uneasily. “You’re already under scrutiny. I mean, they’re looking at you and your mom—”
“I know what scrutiny means.”
He flushed a little. “There are things you don’t know about that you could be getting mixed up in.”
He seemed awfully earnest, did my tall and good-looking Carter Phillips. Awfully earnest and very conveniently turning up wherever I might be. An answer popped into my head, one I considered carefully and decided it might explain a few things. I paused a moment and then said, even quieter than we had been talking, “You mean magic?”
He jumped as if I had lit a fire under his feet.
I reacted. “Ohh. You’re busted.”
“Keep your voice down!”
“If we talk any quieter, only the dogs will be able to hear us.” I waggled my eyebrows at him. “I’ve been wondering how you manage to keep an eye on me. It’s almost, you know, supernatural.”
“Cut that out.”
“Because the rest of these guys aren’t in on it.” I waved my hand about at the uniforms and the few detectives that surrounded us, most of them talking with or listening to Morty and Steptoe. One of them enterprisingly asked Steptoe for his passport and got it, making notes before handing it back.
“No, they’re not. And you shouldn’t be either.”
“It looks like we’re both beyond common sense then.” I folded my arms. “So what happened to you?”
He lifted a hand and rubbed the tiny bump that accented the bridge of his nose. “It’s on a need to know basis.”
“Sorry, but I think I need to know.” I twisted on one heel, facing about, and cleared my throat to raise my voice.
“Don’t!”
He was kind of fun to tease, but I didn’t. “Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”
“And don’t be talking like that, either.” Carter grumped at me. He took out a pen and notebook from an inside coat pocket and pretended to take notes. “There were strange things that happened when I was overseas.”
Steptoe did a dance step and waved as if trying to get my attention, but I focused on Carter instead and gawked for a second. “Don’t tell me you found a genie in a bottle?”
“For god’s sake.” He lowered his notebook. “Can we have this conversation somewhere else?”
“Nope.”
“Not exactly,” he answered me slowly. “But things exist that few people are aware of, and they influenced me. Saved my life, actually, and helped me save others. It leaves you with a sense of . . . well, kind of a sense of awe, and one of awareness.” He looked into my eyes. “And I can tell you that you have this otherness all over you.”
“Like a good perfume?”
Carter cocked his head in exasperation.
“You’re just too straight for your own good.”
Steptoe waved at me hastily, but secretly. I grinned at him, and then another intuition struck me. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me. You’re in the Society. That or you’re a Fed.”
This time he didn’t jump but he fumbled his pen and it went flying over our heads and clattered onto the sidewalk. One of the cops scrambled to go get it and return it to Carter. The crooked cleft in his face had gone dead white.
“That sort of information can get you in a lot of trouble,” he hissed and slammed his notebook and pen back in his suit pocket. I thought I heard fabric rip.
I pushed some more. “That would be a yes. Do you know Remy?”
“Not here and not now.”
“Oh-kay. I’d set up a meeting place but you seem to know how to find me whenever you want, so I’ll just move along with these two and you can catch up.” I squeezed his wrist and walked around him. I raised my voice to normal. “Everything all clear?”
Voices murmured back at me but I didn’t hear anything to the contrary, so I herded Morty and Steptoe along the street, then headed back to our shuttle in the museum lot where Sam sat, waiting for us. Carter didn’t follow but I could feel his stare on my back the whole way.
Sam waited till we all snapped our belts into place. “Where is the young man?”
“Buying cigars. Would you happen to know a good shop on Broadway, not far from Columbia?”
Sam thought. “Two or three small boutiques,” he said, before jamming the vehicle into gear, seemingly knowing exactly where to go.
But would we get there in time to save Brian?