“Cat!”
Kato’s warning shout severs the bridge of magic I was building again and sends me crashing back into the battle. I whip a kick at the Fisan who got past Kato. He staggers but stays upright so I spin again, this time crouching down low. He falls when I sweep his feet out from under him. A quick lunge puts my hand at his throat, and I squeeze until his eyes roll back in his head and he goes limp, asleep for now.
“Cat…”
I whirl at Griffin’s strangled call. He sounds desperate, his voice thin and hoarse. It does something to me on a visceral level, and every part of me sharpens like a blade, ready to fight.
Griffin and Flynn are facing off on their knees, their hands their only weapons now—and those are wrapped tightly around each other’s necks. Both their faces are purple, airless, with veins popping out at their temples and their lips drawn back.
I spring up and race toward them, suddenly understanding what I’m doing wrong. I’m trying to do too much at once. I need to prioritize, and getting Flynn back is my absolute priority right now. One mind at a time is the answer, not everyone all at once.
I leap on Flynn, grab his bloody, bruised head in my hands, and concentrate all my magic into one pure blast. He’s mine! And I am not giving him up!
He yells like he’s being ripped apart. I scream. Mother screams. Ha! Take that!
Flynn releases Griffin and crashes to the side, taking me down with him. I scramble to my knees and pivot so I’m leaning over him, my hands now gripping his shoulders and my eyes frantically searching for signs of the Flynn I know and love. He stares at the sky, his brown eyes wide open but blank and unseeing.
Fear punches a hole through my ribs. He’s not breathing. What have I done?
Flynn’s broad chest rises on a loud gasp. Thank the Gods! I nearly sob out loud.
Alarm flashes across his face, and then absolute horror floods his expression. I feel his emotions even more strongly inside me. The confusion. The guilt. The panic and pain. I hold him tight in the cradle of my mind, careful not to give him any invasive direction, and then search out Carver in this unutterable mess. Like a snake weaving through long grass, my magic skirts everyone in between and then strikes at him with focused purpose, claiming him fast. Carver staggers, and I jump straight to Bellanca, not giving myself a second to rest because I know she’ll kill him in the fleeting moment he’s too shocked and confused to fight back.
“You’re free,” I whisper through magic, and space, and minds.
I feel every awful part of Carver’s and Bellanca’s distress and confusion as they go from fighting each other to defending one another, experiencing along with them their gut-wrenching regret. It’s the lostness that batters me the hardest, the desperate internal screams of How could I? and What happened? and I don’t understand!
Flynn’s anguish is the worst. His guilt crushes me, his mind sinking into darkness and doubt. He looks at Griffin, at me, and I know he’d exchange his own life as penance for what he’s unwittingly done.
Griffin wipes blood from his eyes and then holds out his hand to his friend.
Flynn swallows hard. His head jerks awkwardly from side to side as he watches the people around us turn on whatever neighbor is still standing and viciously attack. It’s sickening, and in truth, he’s seeing it for the first time.
“This is humanity reduced to Mother. You are not at fault.” I offer him my hand as well.
Flynn’s throat works again. He hesitates, unsure of himself. Then he grabs both our hands, and we heave him up, setting him back on his feet.
“Thank you, Cat.” Flynn’s voice is gruff. He won’t meet Griffin’s eyes.
Tension wraps around my heart. I’m not sure he should thank me for being in total control of him. If I told him to run himself through right now, he would.
“I got Carver and Bellanca, too,” I say, pointing to them. “They’re working together now. They’re okay.”
Kato nods. “Then it’s time to gather the rest.”
I nod back, still shrinking from the idea. Griffin and Flynn spread out, defending our sides while Kato remains my faithful inner shield. Turning toward my magic again, I search for and feel the sparks of dozens and dozens of minds all around us. Many blaze with bloodlust. Some flare with pain. Others flicker, slowly dimming. The fighting was so undisciplined that it might have ended up being more incapacitating than fatal in enough cases to give me hope—hope that with effective triage and some decent healers, we can save many of these men and women before it’s too late.
Lukos comes into focus, still a bright and intact spark. I take him back next, and his bewilderment, sorrow, and shock flood me, stealing my breath and battering my heart.
From there, I jump from mind to mind, not knowing which side these people started out on and not caring. I only know that from now on, they’re mine. It’s easy once I start, like plucking cherries from a bowl. One more. One more. One more. Taking until I’ve consumed them all.
I crossed my final, really my only line, and I did what I swore I would never do. I overtook human minds and made them mine to control. I can’t regret it, though. I don’t regret it at all.
Mother makes an inhuman sound from her gory perch and tries to take my people back, her power wrenching hard through my mind.
The pain is fierce, and I whip around with a shout that somehow rocks the ruined city. Magic pulses from me like a shield, driving out her pollution and pain, and it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, or felt, or done. It’s bright green, shimmering, and so clear that even the dust particles in the air come sharply into focus and then stop, hovering like tiny glittering specks in a vast emerald sea. Silence blankets the world, thick and absorbing. Nothing moves. No one breathes. Everything has been suspended. Everyone stops except for me.
Wings spring out from my shoulder blades, ripping through my tunic and punching holes in my leather armor. I gasp because it hurts. They grow and unfurl, huge behind me, rising like twin nightmares above my head. With the sun at my back, I see my shadow before me—beautiful, horrifying—and in that moment, I can pick out a single, golden thread in my blood, pulsing with ancient power.
The ichor in my veins snaps to life and tells me my own story. I am what frightens the untrue of heart, burns treachery from them, and demands divine justice. Nike may have contributed to my wings, but she’s not the only one. I am daughter of the winged Furies. My veins run with their harsh blood. Throughout time and worlds, the infernal Goddesses have wielded the punishing whip of justice. Truth and vengeance have always been theirs.
Ruthlessness sweeps through me, dark and cold with purpose.