Graham, still on the floor, heaving in pain as blood ran down his back, listened to the sounds of battle drawing nearer. He shook his head. Then he said, voice quaking, “My daughter. You can have my daughter. Leave my son. I need someone to carry on my name.”
Rafe bent to help Graham to his feet, keeping an eye on Indigo and the knife raised between them, the hilt gleaming with the spell concealed in his hand. “You’ve made a wise choice,” Rafe murmured to Graham.
As Graham got up, tears steamed down his face, which was twisted into an expression of torment. Indigo stared at him. Tears or no tears, any sympathy she’d felt for him washed away in a wave of disgust. Carry on his name? That’s what he was concerned about? She started forward—damned if she’d let Rafe win—but her feet seemed stuck to the carpet—as if her own shadow had nailed her there.
Let me go!
Damastes laughed. You assume it is I who holds you back.
Isn’t it?
She could feel his shrug, like the churning of her stomach. And she was helpless to fight for Graham or herself, forced to watch Rafe drag him into the doorway.
Bastard!
I’m not one to let opportunity pass me by, little Nora. And you have already given your word …
Rafe paused in the open doorway with his knife to Graham’s throat again. “Don’t come after me—you’ll hurt yourself trying to pass the ward. It will fade in an hour or so … unless someone else opens the door for you before then. Oh, and don’t get any silly, heroic notions about saving poor Graham, here. Because I think you know what the alternative is, if anything happens to Graham or his adorable kids before the ritual. I’ll be seeing you, though. I’m sure of it.”
As Rafe dragged him out, Graham Edwards whispered, “My son…”
“Oh, he’ll be fine,” Rafe said. “I’ll make sure he turns up somewhere safe after this is over. Don’t worry—I’m a man of my word.”
As the door was swinging closed between Indigo and the men, Graham shot her a pleading look. “Take care of him. Please. Don’t let him know…”
As the door slammed, the shadows rushed loose, flooding to Indigo’s command. She flung herself at the door, aiming to slip through the lock—
And was smashed backward like a fly. She tumbled across the table, scattering the black velvet displays across the room with a crash.
“Bastard!”
A howl of rage echoed up the stairs as if in sympathy.
*
The terrible scream had heralded the death of the Androktasiai Selene had fought beside, and she had rallied the remaining two to find Nora. Nearly an hour later, Nora stood alone with Selene. They had all fought their way out of the house—no point in staying with Graham and Rafe gone—but Nora had failed. Selene might try to tell her it was Rafe’s or Damastes’s fault she had lost Graham, but that didn’t make Nora feel better.
We have a bargain. I will honor it. Do you want my help or not? Damastes whispered.
You tricked me.
I am a god of murder—opportunism is in my nature. You did not have to agree.
Nora tried to ignore him, but he continued. You wish to be free of me and I of you. To stride the world unfettered. We both wish to put an end to Rafe Bogdani and his schemes for power. Build me a Heykeli—what you think of as a “murder golem”—build me one I can inhabit. That’s all I ask. Build it, and it will help you.
Nora stuffed him down, but not from spite or anger this time. She needed the privacy of her mind.
“What’s going on?” Selene said, peering at Nora.
She opened her mouth to answer. Then she closed it. Selene would tell her not to do this. But Selene hadn’t been in that dressing room. She hadn’t been caught between Damastes and Rafe. Selene didn’t know how difficult this struggle had become, didn’t know Nora’s rage and self-recrimination. But in spite of it, Nora saw a possible light in her personal darkness. Build the right golem, keep Damastes ignorant of her true intent … and she might trap him for good. She shook her head at Selene and opened her thoughts to the killer god inside her.
Yes. I’ll make your golem. Tell me how.
17
Even as Nora had hurtled headlong from one bruising and traumatic confrontation to the next, she had been trying desperately to keep hold of a sense of herself. But in the last few days, with the revelations about her past coming thick and fast, and the reality she had previously believed in torn to shreds, the lines had become well and truly blurred.
Who was she exactly? It wasn’t the first time she had asked herself that question, but even now she was no nearer to discovering the answer. Before she had found out about Damastes, there had been just the two of them—her and Indigo. She had always thought of Indigo not as a separate entity, but as an extension of her own personality, more ruthless and far less squeamish than she was, perhaps, and willing to embrace violence and bloodshed when circumstances demanded. Yet in many ways the better, more noble part of her. More daring, more courageous, more willing to fight for justice.
Had all of this now been proven a lie? Was it as much a lie as the heroic past she had concocted for herself from remnants of the comic books she’d read as a dysfunctional kid? Her powers had not come from a noble place, but from something that was uncompromisingly evil. Something that reveled in pain and carnage and despair.
The two parts of her were now three—Nora, Indigo, Damastes—and she was still trying to come to terms with it. Nora was Indigo, in all of the ways that mattered, and yet the inverse was not entirely true. Indigo was Nora, yes, but with all of the power she had taken from Damastes. Did that mean Indigo was also partly Damastes? Selene had told her that the darkness—the power of the shadows—was its own entity, and she clung to that as truth. She needed to believe that Indigo merely shared power with Damastes, not that they were part of each other, creatures of the same fabric. She had to believe that.
Yet … what if every time she shifted into Indigo, a little more of Damastes was in the mix? Nora felt as if she was still in control—most of the time anyway—but what if Damastes was using Indigo as his way in? Would creating a Heykeli and channeling him into that effectively divert him, free her of his influence? Or would it all be a terrible mistake?
She had brought Selene and the other two surviving Androktasiai, whose names were Megaira and Xanthe, back to her building to regroup and plan their next move. Nora had led them past the door of her own third-floor apartment, though. She hadn’t wanted to alarm the Assholes any more than they had been alarmed already; plus, although her apartment had been infiltrated and part trashed during her fight with one of the women who were now her allies, she had wanted to retain a little bit of Nora space for herself. Instead, she had led them up to the now-empty apartment on the fifth floor.