Undertow (Whyborne & Griffin #8.5)(17)

I sank back, just a little. That didn’t sound like the Dr. Whyborne I knew. He was a kind man, who forgot to eat if not reminded, and sometimes came to work with mismatched shoes. Not someone to fear. Not a thing.

I glanced at Persephone again. Her expression was one of concentration, but not surprise.

Heliabel had said even some ketoi feared the twins.

Joanna clutched the mask, her face stormy. “Then what? We’re supposed to just flee, tail between our legs? Leave the maelstrom in the hands of rebels and abominations? How do you think the masters will repay us for that when they return?”

“We’ll complete our mission, never fear.” Ayers cast a long look at the rest of the group. “We still have a few days before Dr. Whyborne’s return, no matter how fast the trains run. With the raw magic of the vortex available to fuel our spells, what took weeks before can be accomplished in a single night.” He gestured to the bespelled hybrid, who still stood and swayed like a sleepwalker. “We have enough sacrifices. Tomorrow night, the ketoi city will fall.”

*

My breath caught, and a hiss escaped Persephone. We had to get out of here. She had to get back to the ocean so she could warn her people.

A croaking shriek rang out through the auditorium. An instant later, the foreign chieftess charged through the doors, past Persephone and me. With a strength I wouldn’t have imagined she still possessed, she rushed the group on the stage.

Shouts rang out. The stagehands fell back, wary of her teeth and claws. But Ayers only shook his head.

“You know what to do, Joanna,” he said.

Joanna lifted the mask to her face and began to sing.

The foreign chieftess stumbled, her whole body twitching, as if manipulated by wires. Across the aisle from me, Persephone’s eyes went wide—and she rose to her feet. The muscles in her neck stood out as she clenched her jaw, but her foot jerked forward, dragging her into the aisle. Her spear fell from her hand.

“Persephone!” I whispered frantically.

“Another one,” Ayers said in disgust.

Her lips drew back from her teeth, and her hair lashed wildly. “The song…it’s like the summoning stones. It draws us. I have to fight it. I…have…to…”

I pressed myself against the back of the seat. My heart thundered, and I strove to hold my breath. I hadn’t been discovered yet, but it would be only a matter of time. I had to do something, to save Persephone…but what?

A low growl came from Persephone. She halted, only a few feet down the aisle. “No,” she said. “No. I…will…not.”

“What’s happening?” Ayers demanded. “How is she resisting? Joanna!”

The siren’s song grew louder, but volume seemed to have no effect. Blood leaked from Persephone’s hands, where her claws had punctured her own palms, and her entire body was braced as if against a great wind. But she didn’t move closer to the stage.

“No matter,” Ayers said coldly. “Kill her.”

No! I couldn’t let this happen, I couldn’t—

My frightened gaze locked on Persephone’s dropped spear.

If I’d taken the time to think, I would have been paralyzed with fright. As it was, I lunged into the aisle and snatched up the spear. It was unexpectedly heavy in my hands.

One of the cultists had raised his harpoon, his arm poised to throw it at Persephone. With a furious shout, I hurled the spear at him.

It flew perhaps five feet, before clattering uselessly to the floor.

Still, I’d managed to startle them. The song cut off abruptly, and the cultist with the harpoon hesitated.

Released from the bonds of the song, the foreign chieftess leaped on the cultist with a hideous cry. He shoved her off—then drove the harpoon through her body.

I cried out in horror. A shriek of outrage burst from Persephone—and then she flung out both hands.

Wind roared through the theater, howling through the open doors with such force it drove me to my knees. The great curtain tore free, collapsing onto the stage and enshrouding Ayers and Joanna in its folds.

Persephone didn’t wait for the other cultists to act. One strong arm seized my waist—and then she was running as fast as her batrachian feet would carry her, dragging me helplessly along.

“No!” I cried. “Irene—she must be here! We have to save her!”

“The mask,” Persephone panted, and the fear in her voice turned my blood to ice. “It’s made from the bones of a god. They’ve killed a god!”

A harpoon shot past, burying itself in one of the seats. One of the stagehands tried to block the door, but Persephone blew him back with a blast of wind. A second blast hurled open the doors onto the street—and then we were in the free night air.

*

Fog had rolled in off the ocean, shrouding the electric streetlights and muffling sound. Neither of us slowed. I half expected to hear shouts behind us, or feel the impact of a harpoon through my back. But neither happened. We’d escaped.

And left Irene and the other hybrids to whatever fate Ayers had in store for them.

Once the theater was a few blocks behind us, Persephone slowed. My own lungs burned and my legs ached—and I at least was built to run on land. Her arm slipped from my waist, but I caught her hand and held it tight.

“What’s happening?” I asked, when I had some of my wind back. “What did you mean about the mask? That they killed a god?”