Age of X01 - Gameboard of the Gods Page 27

  She still had that calm, dangerous look on her face, and she seemed almost—exultant. She’s enjoying this. He was reminded of when she’d fought in Apollo’s church. Her expression had been the same then—not exactly showing pleasure, but still a sort of fierce triumph. It was impossible to take his eyes off of her. She was fierce and beautiful, her presence too big for this small room.

  Told you, said Horatio.

  It took a moment for Justin to understand. He blinked a few times, tuning into those powers that danced beyond normal senses, and caught faint glimpses of what could only be described as black sparkles trailing Mae. They were hard to focus on, though, and if he hadn’t seen the same thing when she fought Golden Arrow’s worshippers, he would’ve thought he was imagining it now or had something in his eye.

  Divine glamour, said Horatio, being surprisingly helpful. It happens when a god seizes someone who doesn’t have the control to handle it.

  Can everyone else see that? asked Justin.

  No. Only adepts. Horatio’s tone said he didn’t like giving Justin that kind of credit. Look. Her opponent isn’t alone either. Justin squinted at Eugene and could just barely make out a faint shimmer around him too.

  The dancing stalemate ended as Eugene surged toward Mae, his knife aiming for her upper torso. She flowed away from him like water, her movements so fast that it seemed she must have started moving before he did. Clearly surprised, he tried again with similar failure—only this time, after evading his attack, she snaked forward with one of her own and dragged a blade across his arm. A hiss of disapproval ran through the audience, and deep red showed against Eugene’s tanned skin.

  His face darkened with anger, and he returned to feinting, as though buying time to reassess her. Mae wouldn’t give him that luxury, however, and came forward to strike twice more. One of her attacks drew blood again, but the second one missed. He had finally anticipated her—though just barely. He followed through with a full-body attack, apparently deciding to push the advantage of his greater mass since he certainly wasn’t making any grounds with speed.

  Mae dodged his lunge, but he still caught part of her leg and knocked her down. Her back brushed briefly against the barbed-wire ring as she fell, and Justin winced when he saw the bloody tears in her shirt. Falling to the floor, she and Eugene rolled around a moment, away from the wire, each one vying to pin the other. Justin flinched again as one of Eugene’s knives sliced at her shoulder. The crowd roared with delight, even though he couldn’t actually manage to keep Mae down.

  If the injuries fazed her at all, she didn’t show it, and in an eye-blink, she jumped back on her feet again. Eugene tried to follow suit, but she was faster, and she came at him not with a knife but with a kick of staggering proportions. She executed it gracefully, packing a force that no one her size should have been able to deliver, not even a prætorian. Eugene staggered to his knees, and then she was on him once more. He dodged her attack clumsily, avoiding her knife somewhat, though not enough to miss being swiped across the cheek. Justin could see that she’d originally been targeting the man’s neck.

  Raoul Menari, standing near Justin, drew in his breath as Eugene quickly wiped at the large, bloody gash on his face, inadvertently smearing more dark blood across his skin. He sweated and breathed heavily now, clearly in the throes of physical exertion. Mae showed less distress, but it was obvious from her expression and posture that every ounce of her being was wrapped up in this fight. That glittering dark aura continued to intensify, and as it did, he saw the change in her. Her expression grew harder, her moves faster, her strikes stronger.

  They paced around the ring again, with Mae now feinting, drawing him out so that he would lock up into defensive maneuvers that never followed through. His effort to keep up grew while hers stayed the same. Justin tried to gauge Eugene’s glamour but couldn’t see it anymore.

  Because his goddess left, said Magnus. She recognizes a losing match, and she isn’t that well established yet.

  Who? demanded Justin. The ravens didn’t answer, keeping to their policy of caution with gods’ names.

  Finally, growing frustrated, Eugene rushed forward, again attempting a full-body assault. Mae met him. She avoided his attack and inflicted far more devastating damage on him. Her two knives slashed across his chest, cutting deeply through both skin and fabric. Justin heard the other man cry out, and with another swift kick, she knocked the knife from Eugene’s right hand. It flew off to the far side of the ring behind him, too far out of reach for him to easily retrieve it without exposing himself further to her.

  Tired and bleeding, he switched his remaining knife to his right hand, just as Mae came at him in full force. Maybe no one else could see that dark fire, but judging by some of the faces around Justin, it was obvious that the power with which she moved wasn’t natural. Kicking and hitting, she knocked Eugene to the ground and this time, he couldn’t overcome her. Fear was written all over Eugene’s face as he looked up into Mae’s. Her expression was terrifying, filled with bloodlust and exultation. It was Mae’s face and yet not Mae’s face.

  In a movie, perhaps, Mae would have spared Eugene in this moment of triumph. She would have looked up at Raoul, blade poised above his son, and made some dramatic speech about how she wasn’t going to stoop to their level, how killing wasn’t the way. Justin knew that ending wasn’t going to happen today. She was going to kill Eugene. She wanted to. Justin could see the desire in her eyes. She wrested Eugene’s other knife away from him and brought her own knife down to his throat, apparently in preparation to slit it. She froze at the last possible moment as a shrill, piercing sound suddenly tore through the crowded warehouse.

  The crowd’s screaming and chanting faltered, and all turned to the sound of the noise. Mae remained paused in her killing stroke, but when Eugene attempted to use the opportunity to move, she slammed his head back against the ring’s floor and pinned her blade to the exposed vein on his throat. He didn’t move again, and she peered around, a snarl on her face, as she sought out the interruption.

  Following everyone else’s gaze, Justin looked toward an aisle between the bleachers that led from the front door right to where Justin stood with Raoul Menari. The noise had apparently come from an ego gripped by a bland-faced plebeian man Justin had never seen before. Raoul, trembling with fury, took two steps forward down the aisle.

  “What is the meaning—”

  A woman suddenly stepped out beside the man. Raoul paled as he saw her, and several others in the crowd gasped. Justin, meanwhile, wasn’t sure if he should welcome or fear this new development. She was older than Justin—early forties, if he remembered correctly—but still possessed a hard-edged beauty that struck him deeply. The high, square cheekbones of her Korean grandmother distinguished her plebeian features, and she wore her dark hair in a chin-length, asymmetrical cut. She strode forward, as others parted, and finally came to a stop in front of Justin, resting her hands on her narrow hips.

  “It really is you,” she said in a low, throaty voice. “I thought it was a joke.”

  “Hello, Callista.” He did his best to put on his game face and act like he wasn’t in a bloody makeshift arena. “I wish this was a joke, believe me.”

  Her lips quirked into a smile, and she gave him a long, languid once-over. “Untie him before Internal Security finds out you idiots abducted one of their employees,” she snapped. Raoul pushed forward.

  “No! We demand vengeance for Nadia!”

  Callista fixed him with a hard look. “Raoul, I’m very sorry for your loss, but what happened to Nadia was Amarantha’s will. Rest assured, there’s a purpose for her absence. Surely you aren’t questioning the goddess?”

  Amarantha. Justin hadn’t heard that name in a while. She was a post-Decline one, a merging of other goddesses, though her followers had been scanty last he knew.

  Raoul acquiesced to Callista after a few more grumblings and then ordered two of his lackeys to go help Eugene out of the ring. Everyone seem
ed to have forgotten about him and Mae in the wake of Callista’s entrance, and Justin was surprised to see the two were in exactly the same position: Eugene pinned down, a knife against his throat. Mae stayed where she was until one of the guys tried to pull her away. In one fluid motion, she leapt up and spun toward him, shoving his body into the barbed-wire perimeter. The guy wailed, but no one really noticed because in the space of a heartbeat, Mae had punched the other guy and followed through with a rib-cracking kick. Justin heard the click of guns and Raoul shouting for reinforcements.

  “Stop!” yelled Callista, her sharp eyes quickly assessing the tinderbox they were in. “Stay where you all are. You.” She leveled a glare at Justin. “You’ve got a lot of nerve bringing someone like her here.”

  “I didn’t bring her here,” he exclaimed.

  Callista pointed. “Go get her out of there.”

  Mae had returned to a crouching position near Eugene, knife still in hand as she scanned around for anyone else who might dare to intrude. The glamour was still on her, as was that expression of dark power and need for destruction. Justin hesitated only a moment before making his way forward and slipping through the opening in the barbed wire that the others had used. Mae’s eyes tracked him as he approached, but she didn’t move.

  Don’t touch her, Horatio warned him. The fight’s done. She’ll get herself back soon.

  Justin knelt beside her, grateful to see that Eugene was still alive. “Mae. Time to go,” Justin told her. “You won, and we’ve got a ticket out.”

  Mae didn’t even blink, and he wondered if she’d heard him. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and there was savagery in her gaze.

  “Mae,” he said more loudly. “Come on. We have to get out of here.” He rested his hand on her shoulder, and like that, she was in front of him, the knife at his throat. Whatever words he might have said next died on his lips.

  Told you, said Horatio.

  She won’t hurt me. Justin wasn’t so sure he believed that, though.

  Her goddess would. She’s starting not to like you.

  Swallowing, Justin looked Mae squarely in the eyes. “Put the knife down, and let’s go. I need you to protect me.”

  It took several more seconds, but those were the words that penetrated the divine haze. A part of him hoped it was feelings for him that drove her, perhaps some leftover sentiment from Panama, but most likely, it was her sense of duty that triumphed. Whatever it was, she focused on him and nodded. As he squinted, the glittering around her faded, and her face once again became that of the woman he knew. When the ravens okayed it, he held out a hand and led her away. Her legs trembled, though Justin had no idea if it was from simple exertion, unmetabolized chemicals, or recovery from divine possession. Maybe a combination of all of them.

  He kept his arm around her as they headed out of the ring and found the fabric of her shirt’s back wet and sticky with blood. He knew she’d recover from it and that it couldn’t be too severe, but he still felt a sickening sense of guilt knowing she’d been wounded on his behalf.

  If you had cast a blessing, she wouldn’t have been injured as much, Magnus told him. Your continuing denial and refusal to learn is already having consequences. Just because you can’t fight like she does, it doesn’t mean you can’t take part in battle.

  I don’t want any part of that, said Justin. I tolerate you guys. That’s the extent of my divine involvement.

  Then why are you here? asked Magnus.

  By the time they reached Callista, Justin could tell Mae had fully returned to herself—which meant she was still lethal and watchful, especially as she looked Callista over. Nonetheless, Mae handed over the knives and struck a protective stance near Justin.

  “Now then,” began Callista. “If you’ve got a moment, we should—”

  “Bastard!”

  A cry behind Justin interrupted her. He turned to see what it was, but Mae was faster, of course. She spun around, reaching for her boot, and Justin was just in time to see her throw her own knife at a charging, gun-wielding Raoul. The man gasped as the knife plunged into his chest, near his collarbone, sparing him from a killing blow. He yelped and staggered back, dropping the gun. At a nod from Callista, one of her cronies dragged him away. She narrowed her eyes at Justin.

  “We need to talk.”

  “I would love that,” he said.

  As a sign of goodwill, Callista made sure their egos and Mae’s guns were returned. She invited them back to her home, but not without first asking, “Can I expect a military raid?”

  He smiled sweetly. “Depends if I make my flight tomorrow.”

  “Understood.” Callista was smart. As soon as he’d received his ego back, he’d activated its GPS signal and sent a message to local authorities to track him if he didn’t check in by a certain time tomorrow.

  Callista’s house was in that old, run-down region, but it in no way resembled its neighbors. It was new and expansive, with grounds extending in all directions. Guards stood outside its fence, though they didn’t display any guns. Borderlands might have been able to sneak weapons behind closed doors, but security guards in the open could hardly flaunt guns when regular Gemman patrols continually passed by.

  Mae remained silent for the journey and said nothing until they were escorted into a luxurious sitting room decorated in an Old World Spanish style. Left alone, Justin reached for a pitcher of water and a cup sitting out on an ornate wooden table.

  “You think that’s safe to drink?” asked Mae.

  “We’re fine. I’ve got Internal Security tracking us now.” He poured the water.

  “You should’ve done that the instant we stepped off the plane.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t think we’d traveled back in time to some barbarian civilization. This place has been Gemman for five years.”

  “It takes a long time for people to give up on their old ways. I still see it in the Nordics, and it’s been almost a century.”

  The door opened, and Mae jumped up, readying herself for a threat. What actually came through, however, was a young girl, probably only a year or so shy of hitting puberty. Extremely pretty, she possessed Callista’s exquisite features and carried a tray containing bandages and a dark glass bottle.

  “My mother wanted you to have this,” the girl said shyly, setting the tray on a small table. “She’s finishing up some business but will be ready to talk soon.”

  Justin vaguely remembered a name. “Persia?”

  She flushed with pleasure. “Yes.” To Mae, Persia said, “Do you need help?”

  Mae glanced at the tray, face cold. “No. I’ll do it myself.”

  Persia gave a small nod of compliance and moved toward the door. “Thank you,” said Justin, not entirely sure how to interact with this serious-eyed woman-child. She nodded again and disappeared.

  Mae picked up the bottle Persia had left, uncapped it, and sniffed. Seeming satisfied with what she found, she began cleaning and wrapping the cuts on her arms with military efficiency. When she finished the ones she could reach, she turned around and peeled off her tank top, glancing at Justin over her shoulder. “Will you help me?”

  Not even he could find that sexy, though he was charmed at her modesty, considering everything she’d done. His efforts were clumsier than hers, and he cringed when he applied the antiseptic to the cuts caused by the barbed wire. For her part, she didn’t even flinch.

  “Are you going to finally tell me about Callista?” Mae asked.

  “She’s the one who used to work with Golden Arrow.” He paused to tape down some gauze. “She’s apparently traded employers, though. Or, well…just morphed her goddess a little. Amarantha’s kind of a combined goddess, drawing mostly from Artemis and Hecate, the last I knew. It’s not that out there, since the goddesses have some overlap. In the ancient world, they got blurred together a lot, and some viewed them as faces of a triple goddess: virgin, mother, crone. I guess the virgin thing—Artemis—wasn’t working for her.” That must have been w
hat Raoul meant about Nadia’s changing allegiances. She’d left her Celtic moon goddess for this Greek one and pooled resources with Callista.

  He finished his first aid handiwork. Mae donned her tank top and overshirt again before turning to face him. “How can a goddess be all those things? Or a merging of multiple ones?”

  “It’s a common thing in religions. Deities are all-encompassing.”

  He didn’t quite know how else to articulate it, and she obviously didn’t follow. Gemmans who didn’t make careers of religious history had very two-dimensional views of gods and goddesses.

  “You seemed surprised by all of this,” said Mae.

  “The knife fight? Yeah, that was definitely a surprise.” Bringing it up made him think of the elephant in the room, the topic Mae was pointedly avoiding: the part where she’d gone on a superhuman rampage. Ignoring it for now was fine with him, because he didn’t really know what to say either.

  She shook her head. “I mean the religious developments. Even I know this group isn’t licensed, and there’s no way they fall under the law for acceptable religious practices. Even the secular practices don’t. You’re going to report this, right?”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “We’ll see.”

  Her eyes widened in disbelief, but her protests were interrupted as the door opened again. Persia returned with two armed guards. “My mother will see you now—just Dr. March.”

  Mae strode across the room in seconds. “No. No way is he going without me.”

  Persia turned nervous, but a stone-faced guard took over. “Callista’s orders. He goes alone.” He tightened his grip on his gun, and Justin could tell from Mae’s face that she was already planning how to disarm him or pull her own gun.

  “Let me go,” Justin told her. He’d seen too many guns today and didn’t want a shoot-out. “Everything’s okay.”

  “Going off with unlicensed zealots with illegal guns?” she asked incredulously. “Nothing about that is okay.”