Self-controlled? Not so much.
Sylvie’s mouth tightened. Little as she liked it, Dunne was right about that. Erinya couldn’t keep coming around. The world, as it was, couldn’t withstand her.
Sylvie collected Erinya’s food and rejoined her. She waited until the erstwhile Fury had a mouthful of pastry to say, “You can’t stay here, you know. You’re damaging the world.”
Erinya laughed. “The world’s ruined already. I’m making it better. I killed a witch last night.”
“You did,” Sylvie said, flatly. She needed a witch andcouldn’t find one to save Lupe’s life, and Erinya was picking them off like low-hanging fruit.
Her attention veered back toward the ISI building as a crowd of people moved toward the entrance. Today, there was a doorman. An agent masquerading as a servant. She had to grin at the sight. Those bastards. Thought they were so clever, basing themselves out of a hotel, figuring no one would look for them there. Now they had to reap what they’d sown: They expected an attack and couldn’t lock down without drawing exactly the kind of attention they didn’t want.
Plus it did her heart good to watch the agent being harried by hotel guests, trying to hail cabs and cart luggage in and out, and getting stiffed for tips.
Erinya slurped her coffee, continued her tale, unprompted. “Her daughter was chained up in the pool house, had just given birth. The witch boiled the infant so it could be used for spellwork. Bones and fat, skin and tongue.”
Sylvie’s attention jerked back; her stomach soured.
Erinya leaned forward, hands flat on the table, nails digging in. Her expression was predatory, hungry. “I took her out of the world. She offered the infant’s heart up for power, prayed for a god to attend her, offered her worship. She didn’t specify which god. I was faster than the rest.
I
was already here. I did good. You should be
thanking
me. Not telling me to go away. You don’t have the right.” Arrogance rang in Erinya’s voice, echoed across the water, rang against buildings like a trumpet’s call.
People on the street shivered, staggered by the surge.
At Sylvie’s feet, blood-colored flowers pushed through the pavement, spreading petals like opening mouths. Vines twined around them, curled up the table legs. Erinya growled; the jungle slunk back into the concrete.
“Did you let the daughter out of the pool house?”
Erinya blinked, sank back into her seat. Crossed her arms over her chest.
“Did you leave her there, chained in the dark, injured and afraid, grieving, calling for help?”
“… I can go back.”
“You can’t stick around,” Sylvie repeated. “I know your intentions are good, but you’re a god now. You can’t—”
Erinya’s shoulders rounded; she caved inward. “I’m lonely. There’s no one good in my god space. I don’t like it there. I miss my sisters.”
“I thought you were sick of them bossing you around.”
Erinya’s fangs, razor-edged, dented her lower lip. “I miss
fighting
with my sisters.”
“Then make minions of your own,” Sylvie said. “Make them mouthy. Make them tough enough to stand up to you.”
“I could have you—”
“No,” Sylvie said. “No.”
Silence fell across the table; Erinya’s sulking spread outward. The other patrons in the tiny courtyard let their drinks go, ignored their food.
A bird crashed into the glass storefront with an unpleasant
thunk
and bounced downward. The man closest to the bird jumped from his table, grabbed the corpse, and brought it to Erinya.
“For you,” he said. His gaze was adoring. His hands, covered by the wings, trembled, giving the dead bird the illusion of imminent flight.
Erinya smiled, her human slipping. Her teeth gleamed like new razors; spotted feathers sprouted from her hair and nape.
“Thank you,” she said. She leaned forward, kissed the man, claiming him for her own; he stepped away, dazed, his mouth bloody where her fangs had scored his
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