She saw Selene’s eyes soften a little in sympathy and realized how lost, how pitiful she must seem.
Warily Selene said, “Yes, it’s possible. I believe so anyway. If your will, your spirit, your love was strong enough, then I do think it’s possible that part of your subconscious could have taken root in your friend and separated itself.”
Xanthe and Megaira nodded in agreement. “Maybe you should think hard about what you’re about to do here, Nora,” said Megaira. “Maybe you should reconsider.”
Before she could respond, Indigo sensed a boiling inside her, a surge of fury. Damastes had been quiet throughout the ritual, but even in her deepest moments of concentration she had sensed him listening, observing. Now, his ire clearly raised, he was making himself known.
Pitiful wretches, he sneered, his voice no longer velvety, but jagged and harsh, like broken glass. They’re defeated already, their sisterhood torn apart, their faith destroyed by a false god. All that’s left to them is to die a martyr’s death, in the hope they can convince themselves they’ve lived worthwhile lives. They’re so desperate they’re prepared to lie to you; prepared to deny you your best chance of ending this once and for all.
You think they’re lying to me? said Indigo.
Of course they’re lying! Any fool can see that!
But what if you’re the one who’s lying?
The murder god’s tone was scornful. You really think your so-called friend is still out there somewhere? Lost and alone? The friend you created? The friend who didn’t really exist?
I don’t know. I … don’t know.
You know. In your heart you know.
But did she? Who was telling the truth—Selene or Damastes? And in the end, what did it matter? Because the important thing was to defeat, if not destroy, the Children of Phonos. And to do that she had to trust her instincts. She had to do what she thought was best.
She looked at the murder golem again, then she looked over at Selene and the sisters. “No”—Indigo shook her head—“I still think this is the best way.”
Stepping forward, she opened her mouth and let Damastes out of his box.
Although she had a tight hold on the murder god’s mental leash, the sheer force with which he surged up and out of her wrenched her mind so violently that she staggered, causing the three Androktasiai to cry out in alarm. Desperately she clung to the beast she had set free, but for several long and terrifying seconds it was like holding a deadly serpent by the tail. Damastes thrashed and snarled and whipped about; he struck out at her, testing her resolve and her strength. As his essence poured into the Heykeli, it began to transform, Shelby’s body twisting and elongating, burgeoning with new and hideous tentacular growths. Her beautiful features stretched and blackened until her face resembled charred wood. Her hair shriveled into fleshy stubs, and red insectlike eyes burst out like pustules on her flesh and peered at Indigo with eager and savage intent.
Indigo sensed the slaughter nuns rising to their feet, reaching for their weapons—and this more than anything else galvanized her to fight back. Fiercely she exerted her will over the murder god, allowed her rage to pour forth with crushing intent. Like a mother with a rebellious child she first smothered his attempt to usurp her authority, then reeled him back in.
In her mind she screamed at him, Back into the box with you! Back into the box!
Suddenly his voice was different again. Now he was a child, whining and repentant.
I’m sorry, I’ll be good. I got too excited for a moment there. It’s a long time since I’ve had a taste of freedom.
Bullshit, she said, remembering how she had allowed him to do battle with Caedis. You were testing me. You can’t be trusted.
The Heykeli was settling back into the form of Shelby now, her features reemerging, all trace of the blackness at the heart of Damastes’s true form sinking back beneath the skin.
I can, I can, he whined. I won’t try it again. I’ve learned my lesson.
How do I know you’re telling the truth? How do I ever know?
You’ve proved your dominion over me. What choice do I have but to serve you? He paused. We both want the same outcome. Let’s work together to achieve it.
And then what?
Then we will … reassess.
She was silent for a long moment, thinking furiously. Finally she told him, Don’t think for a moment that I trust you. Or that you can catch me off guard again. Try anything else and I’ll slam the lid of the box on you and keep you in the dark forever.
His response was flat, no trace of emotion in it whatsoever. Understood.
*
There was barely time to rest, though God knew they all needed it. They had been battered, bruised, cut. They had lost blood, friends, and (for the Androktasiai in particular), some faith and hope in the past few days. But they couldn’t stop. They had to force their battle-weary bodies ever onward. The Apocalypse was coming, and they had to do everything in their power to stop it in its tracks.
The first thing Indigo did when she arrived in New Rochelle, however, having emerged from the shadowpaths with her cargo in tow, was stagger across to the nearest tree and lean over, certain she was about to throw up. Unable to remember the last time she had eaten or drunk anything, she dry-heaved for a minute or two, the back of her throat burning with bile.
When the feeling eventually passed, she looked up, taking in deep lungfuls of the fresh autumnal air, and saw Shelby smiling at her. Once again she corrected herself. No, it wasn’t Shelby, it was Damastes. And he wasn’t smiling, he was smirking. The cruelty behind his eyes altered Shelby’s features in such a way that the murder golem didn’t even look like Shelby anymore. The face it wore was harder, tighter, less open and generous than her friend’s had ever been. It was fascinating to see how an individual’s personality could so drastically alter his or her appearance. And for Indigo (or more especially Nora) it was oddly heartening, too, in that it enabled her to accept more readily that Shelby, her gentle, beautiful, funny friend, was most definitely not in residence.
Straightening and pushing her hair out of her face, Indigo said, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
Now the murder golem’s eyes widened, its face taking on a falsely innocent look. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“I’m sure you do. You’re as slippery as…”
“Slime?” suggested Xanthe.
Indigo glanced at the slaughter nun and nodded. “Yes, slime. That’s what you are.”
The murder golem pouted. “A girl could take offense, you know.”