Harley Merlin and the Cult of Eris (Harley Merlin, #6)

Finch lurched forward and grabbed my shoulders. “Breathe, Volla. Breathe.”

I looked into his eyes and nodded, trying to slow my hyperventilating. He was already slipping back into his full Pieter Mazinov persona, the Frankenstein’s monster parts of him retracting into a full disguise. I had to focus; otherwise, this had all been for nothing. Closing my eyes, I sucked in as many deep breaths as humanly possible and felt myself slowly coming back together as Volla. The Shapeshifter energy was still inside me. I could sense it pulsating wildly, mingling with the rest of my overactive Chaos.

Opposite us, Naima retched, bending double before standing upright again. “Apologies for that,” she said, recovering. “The Strainer, as I like to call it, always makes me feel somewhat strange.” She turned, at last, and I prayed I’d managed to put myself together again in time. A laugh rasped from her throat as she looked at me. “My goodness, and I thought I had issues with the Strainer.”

“What? What is it?” I lifted my hand to my face, feeling the edge of a droopy eye.

“You appear to be melting, Volla.” Naima chuckled.

Finch moved closer and gently massaged my eye socket, urging the skin to go back to where it was supposed to be. I felt sick. This was beyond weird and creepy, with my eyes falling out all over the place. Looking down, everything else seemed to be in working order. My fingers were all the same length. Still, I was grateful that Finch was actually watching my back, pushing my skin about like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Naima flicked her wrist at me. “There is nothing to worry about, Volla. It happens to everybody. When going through the Strainer for the first time, they all fall apart and have some difficulty putting themselves back together again afterward.”

Humpty Dumpty, eat your heart out. Although, I wondered if she realized the poignancy of her statement. A lot of the people who came here were lost souls with nowhere else to turn. And the rest? Well, once they went in, they’d never be the same again.

“Welcome to Eris Island,” Naima said. We’d landed in an empty, plain room, with one enormous floor-to-ceiling window at the far end. It looked out upon the island and the Gulf of Mexico beyond. Only, it didn’t look the way I’d expected. I’d seen images of Dry Tortugas online, before we’d left for the mission, and it hadn’t looked like this. Rainforests stretched as far as the eye could see, covering an area much bigger than the solid, human island beneath it, while giant stone statues protruded from the canopy like titanic guardians overlooking the water. A sandy beach curved along the nearside edge of the island, a sun-faded pier jutting out into an azure inlet.

Another beach lay beyond the first one, hazy behind a wall of interdimensional bubble. Pasty tourists lolled on the white sand, stretched out on sun loungers, oblivious. But I couldn’t see Fort Jefferson anywhere. I wondered if Finch had lied about the location of this place, but a small smile played upon his lips.

“Who are those folks?” he asked, casting me a conspiratorial look.

Naima grimaced. “Pay them no heed. They are mere humans. They do not know that Eris Island exists upon what they prefer to call ‘Dry Tortugas.’ A bizarre name, if you ask me. Here, you will refer to it as Eris Island, and nothing else.”

It must have taken Katherine a long time to conjure up this sort of lush greenery to go with the rest of it. Above us stretched clear blue sky, and colorful birds flapped from tree to tree. All throughout, curious structures were hidden within the canopy—like treehouses, almost, though shaped like metal orbs, reflecting the color and camouflage of the trees around them. I realized that we must be in a similar structure, though it stuck out from the top of the rainforest.

“This way.” Naima led us through a door to the right and ushered us down a sloping metal bridge, which disappeared into the canopy. I held my breath as the shade surrounded us, the world filled with the chatter of birds and unseen creatures. From the nearby orbs, figures emerged, edging closer to get a good look at us.

I spotted Kenneth Willow immediately and had to dig my nails into my palms to stop myself from powering a fireball at him. Another familiar figure emerged from the left-hand side, though I’d never actually seen him before. The resemblance to Nomura was uncanny. It had to be Shinsuke—they had the same features, only he was much younger.

Before long, a big cluster of people had come out to check on the new arrivals. They eyed us suspiciously, muttering to one another. No pressure, Volla. It was unnerving to be among the cultists like this. I felt sure they could see right through me, but nobody had launched an attack yet. That had to be a good sign, right?

“Your journey begins now,” Naima said ominously.

“Pardon?” I replied.

She smiled. “You must submit yourselves to the Three Trials of Eris. If you succeed, you will be marked with the Apple of Discord and welcomed into the cult.”

I tried not to shudder at the thought of molten metal being poured onto my skin. That was going to hurt, and then some. And I was pretty sure that kind of thing was going to be permanent. I’d always wanted a tattoo, but that wasn’t what I had in mind.

“If you fail, however, you will suffer the Death by a Thousand Cuts and be fed to the sharks that gather in the island’s cove,” Naima went on. “The Gulf of Mexico is full of them, and we often have the occasional orca to join in the feast.”

My blood boiled at the memory of the Thousand Cuts. They’d tried to kill Mrs. Smith that way, but they wouldn’t get the chance to do it to me. Still, the repercussions of failing made my stomach sink. I’d expected to have to do some kind of craziness to get in, but death hadn’t exactly been on the table.

Naima shot me a cold grin, probably spotting the uncertainty on my face. “And you should know that no one ever quits the Cult of Eris. No one. If you pass the trials, you are one of us for life.”

I glanced at Finch, a creeping doubt slithering into my head. Did the same thing apply to Finch? If nobody ever quit, then was he here because he was still part of the cult? Or was he here to help destroy it?





Seventeen





Harley





“How do you know they aren’t spies?” Kenneth Willow stepped forward. Of course you’d be the one to ask.

Naima scowled at him. “That is my business.”

“Have you scanned them for bugs?”

“What do you take me for? Yes, they are clean,” she returned. “No bugs, no devices, nothing.”

Evidently, things were anything but rosy between Katherine’s lieutenant and the kid who wanted the position so desperately. I wanted to ask when she’d scanned us, exactly, but I held my tongue. It would look way too suspicious. I was just glad we hadn’t been stupid enough to wear earpieces into this place, though it seemed as though Astrid’s speech device and the used Ephemeras had flown under the radar, thanks to Krieger’s cloaking shields.

Kenneth narrowed his eyes at Finch. “Hey, I know you.”

“You do?” Finch’s tone was casual, while I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“Pieter Mazinov, right?” Oh, thank God for that.

Finch nodded. “What’s it to you?”

“I’ve seen you on wanted posters. Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

Finch laughed. “Supposed to be, yeah. We had to take the heat off for a bit. Faking your death by polar bear attack is a pretty easy way to make the authorities forget about you. If you leave enough blood, they don’t even want to check it out. We got a bit woozy after that, though, didn’t we, Volla?”