NESS
Dione Henri is limping when she finally returns to Light Sky Tower with dark shadows under her venom-green eyes. Blood is caked in her curly red hair and splattered across her muscular, tattooed arms. I can’t help myself, I’m always drawn to the white scars around her body—the thick line across the tulips on her forearm, another splitting the pink rose on her shoulder, a deep one at the base of her neck, to name a few—and the new one below her knee is still healing, like flesh stitching itself together. Why people continue to cut away at the girl with hydra blood as if that will stop her is beyond me.
A few months ago, I would’ve been thrilled to see her return in one piece. Starting over with no ties to my old life was lonely, and Stanton is too ruthless for true friendship. Dione’s presence was more real, more human. I was sure we were in the same boat—indebted to the gang for saving our lives and heartbreakingly loyal because it was better than running from our pasts alone. Dione bad-mouthing the Senator when we watched the news together was a sign that she’s good people, and she was the only one who checked in on me the night I killed that alchemist who put a wand to my head. But she’s been on a power trip lately, throwing herself into more and more danger in the name of Luna’s grand design, which she thinks will make her safe forever. That it will make all of us safe forever. The mission is what matters. No friends.
I’ve been wondering if she watched the video of the Spell Walker Eva Nafisi talking about how they were former best friends. Considering her current state, now doesn’t seem like the time to ask.
“Where’s the freak of nature?” Dione asks me and Stanton.
Always nice to hear that I’m not the only one still unnerved by June’s existence.
“More blood tests with Luna,” I say.
“Then we leave in two minutes without her,” Dione says.
“You don’t control me,” Stanton says.
There are several Casters around the country, but we’re the elite, we’re in on the big plan. Stanton is the most senior of the New York gang by a year, but we only serve one leader and that’s the person who gave us power. Our roles are constantly shifting, but for the most part, we’re set. I spy on Luna’s enemies and impersonate at her orders. Dione negotiates with dealers, traffickers, and politicians, and when that fails, she uses pure force so she doesn’t return without good news. Stanton hits the streets to prey on potential Casters who first have to be initiated as acolytes to prove themselves—a step I’m grateful I got to skip, since Stanton’s methods in testing their loyalty and fierceness are brutal. And June is nothing more than an assassin, far as I can tell. The killer who hasn’t been seen by the world since the camera caught a glimpse of her in the wreckage of the Blackout. Luna has paid many favors to the media to keep June’s face out of their circulation.
Dione ignores Stanton’s bait and fills us in on the rare golden-strand hydra that’s being transported from Greece for some trafficker’s client who outbid Luna. The trafficker wasn’t going to reveal the whereabouts and timing of the drop-off, not even after Luna offered to bless him with the powers of an ivory phoenix, so Dione assassinated his entire crew single-handedly, and he changed his tune. It’s important that the hydra remains unharmed, which means preventing its delivery to the Apollo Arena, where it will be forced to fight another creature in a vicious cage match.
Everything is going down within the hour in Brooklyn, so Stanton rounds up some acolytes and we leave the tower. I pulled tonight’s disguise from the security guard who looked at Luna with disdain when we first arrived at the end of August. Wearing a dead man’s face is good for my conscience; not like he’ll get arrested for any crimes I commit tonight.
I’m hoping no serious action will be necessary, but as we all park and fan out across the marina, hiding in boats and behind bushes, I stay close to Stanton and Dione, because that’s the key to staying alive. Luna tells us to look after each other like family, and even though that word has been meaningless for years, we know we better live up to her expectations. So many acolytes would love to take our places.
I tense up as the cargo ship pulls in to the pier. The door swings open, and while the hydra’s growl is chilling, nothing freaks me out more than a dozen armed mercenaries exiting the boat with wands and daggers swinging from their belts. We don’t have nearly as many acolytes as we need to survive this. To even attempt it.
“Let’s call them off,” I say. “Wait for them at the arena.”
“Security at Apollo is tight,” Dione says.
“We’ll die if we move now,” I say.
“We’ll never truly live if we don’t,” Dione says.
Dione lunges into action. She reaches mercenaries with her bursts of swift-speed before their spells can be fired, and she snaps one’s neck. The acolytes come out of hiding, distracting the mercenaries long enough for Stanton to strike.
Here we go.
My wand is charged to the max. I need to make these six blasts of lightning count. I enter the fray right as one acolyte takes a spell straight through his heart, falling over into the river. The mercenary responsible takes aim at me, and I shoulder roll out of the way, almost going over the edge and into the water myself. Before I can fight back, Stanton pops up behind the bearded man, sinks his teeth into his neck, and rips out a chunk of flesh. Blood gushes all over the dock, and the mercenary falls into it, writhing around.
Stanton grins and waves before spinning in time to catch the wrist of someone who was trying to stab him.
Objective: protect the hydra from harm.
Reaching the boat isn’t simple. I only get two discharges out of my wand before a mercenary blasts it in half, burning my hand. An inch to the left would’ve been a head shot. I would’ve died as someone else. . . .
I hop onto the nearest boat and take cover in this ridiculous midlife crisis purchase. The little wobble of the boat is enough to trigger my seasickness. The couple times I rode the ferry with my mother were enough to keep me off water forever. I try to hold my dinner in, but when I look through the foggy window and onto the dock, I see a mercenary pin an acolyte under her boot and shoot a spell between his eyes. I throw up all over my boots.
Dione and Stanton and the remaining three acolytes are being overpowered.
“Ness!” Dione shouts.
There’s fury all over her face as if I’m stronger than her, as if I’m the one who said we should go and try to fight this battle.
New plan: Morph into one of the fallen mercenaries long enough to get past the survivors who are keeping my people at bay. Then we all run.
I’m in the process of modeling myself after the one Stanton thought was acceptable to bite like some vicious storybook vampire when someone tackles me from behind.
“I hate shifters,” the man growls.
He flips me over. He swings his long red hair out of his face, revealing a thick scar that travels across his cheek. Who knows if the hydra that did that became a trophy in his home, but at least that creature managed to slash away half of this man’s nose. The mercenary chokes me, and I’m hoping Stanton and Dione are going to appear out of the shadows and save me, but nothing. I lose concentration on my morph, and my entire glamour fades away.
“You . . .” His face goes white. “Aren’t you—”
I rip the wand out of his holster and fire a spell through his heart.
“I’m no one,” I say with my first breath.
The life vanishes from his eyes, and he collapses on me. His corpse is heavy, but I manage to roll him off. I tried to avoid this—so badly—but if it’s my life or someone else’s, there’s no competition. Footsteps are coming my way. If I could swim, I’d throw myself overboard. But I can play dead better than anyone I know. I morph into an acolyte with blood staining my shirt and stay very still, even though my heart is alive and racing. Let everyone think we took each other out.
The Blood Casters failed tonight, but I can make this right.
I have to make this right.
May the stars have mercy on me if I can’t.