Fury Convergence Page 3

  She stopped and tilted a bucket over a scraggly rosebush entangled in the skeleton of a house. The water puddled on the dry ground before sinking. When Branwyn touched the earth, it was barely damp.

  “Branwyn,” said Rhianna in a hushed voice. Branwyn glanced up and watched as the faded, curling leaves of the rosebush darkened and straightened. It didn’t do much to make the bush look healthier, but it was a very fast response to the watering.

  “I see,” said Branwyn. “Well. That’s a thing. Let’s go on.”

  They watered five more plants before arriving at the ruins at the edge of town. Branwyn walked over to the rosebush she’d noticed. “It’s where the door of the house would be. I thought it was… odd.”

  Rhianna shrugged and emptied one of her buckets over the twisted branches. Like the other bushes, this one shivered as its leaves responded to the water, but nothing else happened.

  Rhianna looked puzzled. “But there’s two more bushes, you see?”

  But Branwyn didn’t see until she joined Rhianna at the house’s foundation. Then she could see the two withered bushes that had been hidden by debris.

  No, probably not hidden by debris. Hidden by something else, hidden by something that tried to twist Branwyn’s thoughts even after she saw the truth.

  Rhianna emptied her other bucket on the two new plants, and they shuddered. Leaves unfurled from dead twigs and the main trunks straightened.

  “And now there’s two more,” Branwyn said. “Yeah, something’s hiding here.” She looked around the ruins. The house had been tiny, with a square floor plan. “Come on out, we know you’re here.”

  Nothing happened. Thoughtfully, Rhianna used the rest of the water on the newest bushes and watched as yet more appeared. “How much water do you think we need?”

  “More than another four buckets’ worth,” Branwyn said, and added conversationally, “Can you create water, Severin?”

  He stepped into the world behind her. When he spoke, she could feel his breath in her hair. “What if I can, cupcake? Are you asking me for help?”

  Branwyn turned to look at him. He was further away than she expected, regarding her with glittering eyes. “Am I? We can bring the water ourselves, but it will take us a few trips. You might get bored. But if you’re keeping busy in the Backworld, carry on.”

  Severin’s brow darkened in irritation and for an instant, Branwyn could feel the sharpness of his black diamond aura flickering around them. Then his mouth twisted in a wry expression. “Wait here,” he ordered, and vanished again.

  Rhianna exhaled. “Wow. For a minute I wondered if he was going to smite you or something.”

  Branwyn pulled her mouth to one side. “It’s a little worrying that he didn’t even say something nasty.” Rhianna gave her a quizzical look, and Branwyn shook her head. “I just keep wondering why he cares about this town. I know he doesn’t like faeries, but I don’t think that’s it.”

  Rhianna stirred the dirt with her shoe without responding. After a moment, she said, “Bran, do you have any kind of protections? You know, in case whatever or whoever destroyed this place tries to hurt you?”

  Branwyn shifted her hip, feeling the weight of the hammer she’d slung through a belt loop, and thought of her few utility charms. The only self-defense magic she had was more of a party trick than anything else. She couldn’t imagine two-inch claws doing much to fend off somebody who would obliterate a town. “Not particularly. Do you?”

  “Yes,” said Rhianna. “I do.” She took a deep breath. “So outside of handling your monster, please let me do the stupid stuff.”

  Branwyn squinted at her little sister. “This is a sudden topic shift. Why does anybody have to do the stupid stuff?”

  There was a low thrum and Severin appeared, carrying a large, blackened steel drum. Water sloshed over the rim as he deposited it. “A family curse, perhaps? Here’s your precious water. Now get a move on.”

  Rhianna gave Branwyn a conflicted look she perfectly understood and chose to ignore. She couldn’t promise her sister she’d stay in the back seat if anything dangerous appeared. She’d faced too much by now, present company included, to even consider it.

  Instead she watered rose bushes, observing closely as they appeared, twining themselves all around the perimeter of the ruined house. At last, she and Severin and Rhianna stood within a completed square of rose bushes, each one a couple feet apart. They were all verdant green, but flowerless.

  “Now what?” said Rhianna reluctantly.

  “The next part’s up to you,” said Severin, crossing his arms.

  “What is it?” Rhianna demanded, but Severin just raised his eyebrows at her. She muttered, “I wish I could beat you, too.”

  Branwyn walked back and forth between a pair of bushes, exiting and re-entering the ruins. Then she walked around the edge, looking at the plants.

  “What are we even doing?” Rhianna complained. “Are we trying to take apart a spell? Solve a riddle? Cast a spell of our own?”

  “If only it was that rational. I wish Marley was here,” said Branwyn absently.

  “I’d rather not go get her, cupcake,” said Severin. “It’d take time and her boyfriends would annoy me. Try your best without her.”

  Branwyn gave him a sharp look and then wished she hadn’t. Instead she pivoted toward Rhianna. “In my experience, faeries follow rules. The rules aren’t always… sane, sometimes they’re… well… fairy tale rules, but they follow them anyhow. There are rules at work here. If we can understand them, we can make them work for us.”

  Rhianna tilted her her head, lifting her chin in that way she’d always had. “A riddle, then.” She joined Branwyn in staring at the bushes. “Oh. They don’t have any flowers.”

  “Well, they were nearly dead an hour ago,” Branwyn pointed out. “But I think you’re right, and I have no idea how to make them bloom.”

  “I do,” said Rhianna lightly. She knelt before the bush growing in the door, brought her hand to one branch, and firmly pressed her the pad of her ring finger into a thorn.

  Branwyn’s breath hissed between her teeth. But Rhianna stayed still, almost serene, as blood welled up around the edges of the puncture and was absorbed by the thorn. The bush shivered again, though the thorn biting Rhianna remained embedded in her finger. Buds swelled on stems, then burst into crimson bloom with a sound like the snap of a sheet.

  “All right. Why are you still sitting there?” demanded Branwyn. “Come here, so we can talk about how you shouldn’t go giving your blood to random magic plants.”

  Rhianna held up a ‘wait’ finger on her other hand and remained sitting on her heels. After a few heartbeats, Branwyn realized the blossoming roses were slowly spreading around the perimeter.

  “Ah,” said Rhianna in satisfaction. “I thought if it was one piece of magic, I wouldn’t have to feed them all individually.” A moment passed, and she added, “I wonder how much blood a rose garden of this size requires.”

  “Stop and let me take over,” ordered Branwyn.

  Rhianna gave her a small smile and shook her head.

  Branwyn gritted her teeth. Why hadn’t she thought of this first? It seemed obvious now. But she hadn’t wanted to see it, hadn’t imagined her sister would do so instead. It was such a stupid, self-sacrificing, storybook act. And what if it wasn’t even the right thing to do? Would the roses drink Rhianna dry? All because Branwyn hadn’t gotten there first?

  Severin’s hand curved around her hip and she felt his, “Shhh,” in her ear. Infuriated, she turned toward him—and froze. Despite the strong sense of his presence, she’d expected him to still be near the steel drum at the center of the ruined house. But instead he was right behind her, his burnt-sugar scent tickling her nose, his head tilted down and his face perilously close. His dark eyes met her own, as drowning as the sea.

  Fight, flight, and something else engaged in a paralyzing three-way battle. She abruptly remembered when he’d given her the mark on her collarbone, an
d his lips brushing across her skin.

  Rhianna made a small sound behind her and Branwyn couldn’t think. She had to do something. Fight, flight…

  “Look away if it helps,” Severin whispered, and finally ‘fight’ won.

  She pushed away from him. “What the hell is wrong with you?” She didn’t even try to hold back. “Why are you even here, anyhow? Are you sick? Have you added ‘ghoul’ to your hobby list? Does this awful place turn you on? Or are you so stupid now you think I’d let you at those kids when we find them? You are such an asshole. I can’t believe I—”

  Branwyn stopped herself abruptly and stared at him, her eyes burning and her fists clenched. Behind her, Rhianna said faintly, “I think that will about do it. Ouch.”

  Severin lifted his eyebrows, looking almost cheerful. “You’d better watch yourself if you want to finish this job, cupcake. It wouldn’t do for us to get too distracted.” Then he strolled past Branwyn, saying, “Would you like me to fix that finger of yours, little sister?”

  Branwyn turned as he passed. It was bitterly unfair that he seemed to have gotten the benefit of her moment of catharsis while she just felt hollow and frustrated.

  Rhianna, her skin pale, said, “Healing doesn’t seem like your field. Can you really do that?”

  “Yes,” he said calmly. “Now, say yes quickly before the mood passes.”

  “He can,” confirmed Branwyn, rubbing the heel of her palm against her eyes. If her venting somehow inspired Severin to help her sister, maybe it wasn’t a total waste of emotional energy.

  “Please do,” said Rhianna, and held up her hand. The hole in her ring finger was disturbingly large and ragged. “I didn’t think it’d be able to take so much via a fingertip. Not quite sure how it did…” Her voice faded, and she swayed on her knees.

  Severin caught her hand and pressed her fingers to his mouth. Rhianna’s eyes flew open. She sucked air through her teeth and tried to yank her hand free before sagging into near total relaxation.

  Branwyn remembered when Severin had healed her before and what had come along with it. “No marking her,” she said sharply.

  Severin released Rhianna and placed his hand on her hair as she leaned forward to rest her head against his leg. He gave Branwyn his shark smile. “You do so like making demands you can’t enforce.”

  Branwyn narrowed her eyes. “I have a hammer.”

  “And I hear Umbriel has a new Sword,” said Severin agreeably. “Honestly, she’s not really worth the fight, cupcake.”

  “Fuck you too,” said Rhianna sleepily, lifting her head. “Maybe I’m worthless but I’m the one who did that.” She waved vaguely.

  Branwyn realized the final roses in the perimeter were slowly blooming. Severin took Rhianna under the shoulder and lifted her to her feet. “Well done.” His mouth curled derisively. “And there he is.”

  3

  Gale

  Debris now cluttered the interior of the perimeter of roses, including a broken washing machine, a chipped kitchen sink and a small but carefully arranged cairn of stones beside a camp cot with a masculine figure flopped haphazardly across it.

  Releasing Rhianna to wobble on her own, Severin strode to the figure and pulled him up by his wildly tangled dark grey hair. The man—the faerie—wore the shreds of a vest and mostly intact jeans, with a musculature that would have been impressive if he wasn’t such a skeletal wreck.

  “…Imani?” muttered the figure, eyelids fluttering over brilliant blue eyes.

  “No,” growled Severin. “No. I’m Imani’s guardian, and you’re the boy I warned her against, and now she’s dead and where the hell is Charlie?”

  Branwyn caught Rhianna around the waist and hugged her close, staring at Severin in shock. At first she barely processed his words. She’d never before heard him sound angry. Bored, disinterested, amused, even irritated, yes. But the rage underlying those words reminded her of the black diamond Machine fragment she’d worked into the construction of her hammer—a Machine fragment Severin had previously owned.

  The faerie squinted at Severin like he was seeing double, apparently oblivious of the way he was being shaken. “You sure you’re not Imani? That’s what she keeps saying too…”

  Severin froze, staring at the faerie, then dropped him in a heap like a rag-doll. He looked around warily as he stepped back from the groaning person pile. “Something else is here. Something… very bad.”

  Branwyn glanced casually at her surroundings. Except that they were now in a bower of blood-drinking roses, everything seemed quiet. It was an ordinary summer afternoon, but Severin was reacting like the soundtrack had just turned sinister.

  Rhianna squeezed Branwyn in a silent one-armed hug before pulling away and extending her clasped hands out in front of her in a stretch. “Let’s ask the faerie more, shall we?”

  A muscle flickered in Severin’s jaw. “Yes.” He knelt down and turned the faerie flat on his back, arranging his limp arms over his head. Then he put his palm on the faerie’s chest and pressed down hard.

  Torture doesn’t work, thought Branwyn, but bit the words back until she knew more. It didn’t matter that she stayed silent.

  That depends on the goal, whispered Severin’s silent voice in her ear. But I’ll make time for fun and games later.

  Then he fully released his celestial aura.

  An invisible hand tried to press Branwyn to the ground as needle-like black rain danced across her vision. A sharp pain entered her forehead and left through the back of her neck. But after a gasping breath, the aura receded, compressing around Severin and his victim.

  “Holy crap,” whispered Rhianna, rubbing her neck. “Ouch. That was like the Battle of the Bookstore all over again. What’s he doing?”

  Branwyn unclenched her aching jaw. “Getting the faerie’s undivided attention, I suspect.”

  The faerie struggled weakly under Severin’s hand, no more effective at freeing himself than a pinned butterfly. But the light flickered as unexpected clouds started tumbling across the sky.

  “Where is Imani?” asked Severin, with the icy precision of a scalpel.

  The faerie blinked at him. “Here. She’s always here. She sleeps sometimes. That can be good or bad. Who are you again?”

  “Somebody who knew Imani. You say she’s here but I can’t find her. Why?”

  The faerie strained against the pressure and then relaxed. “Oh. You’re the other one she’s angry at.”

  Severin’s hand on the faerie’s chest clenched into a fist as his eyes widened. Then his neutral expression turned bleak. Tension grew in the lines of his crouched form, like he was about to lash out. But he didn’t.

  “If you stay here, she’ll find you soon,” added the faerie. “She can punish you too. It won’t help much, but it’s something.”

  Severin said nothing, although his other hand curled tightly as well. He stared, unseeing, at where he pressed on the faerie’s chest.

  The silence dragged out for a long moment as the sky darkened. Rhianna seemed content to watch and wait, but Branwyn felt the silence pulling her forward. She had no idea what was going on, but the tension was building again and she had to break it before somebody else did.

  She joined Severin and put the head of her hammer on the faerie’s chest, right above the monster’s clenched fist. The faerie hissed and his sleepy eyes dilated. The Machine shard Branwyn had incorporated into her hammer made it more than an ordinary hammer from the perspective of celestials. Nothing like a heavenly Machine Sword, no—after getting bitten by one of those, Branwyn was clear on the difference. But celestials and faeries still didn’t seem to enjoy it.

  “I told you it’d be useful,” said Severin, in a voice that made Branwyn think of cracking glass. Then he vanished.

  Rhianna joined Branwyn and sat on the faerie’s legs. “So what happened here, Mister?”

  The faerie craned his neck, trying to see Rhianna, before giving up and staring at Branwyn instead. His eyes, grey now, were blood
shot and his dirty face was tear-stained. “You’re both mortals. I sent the other mortals away. But you snuck in while I was sleeping and fed the roses. I’m sorry.”

  His gaze shifted to the flickering sky above Branwyn. “Ah. And I’m sorry if the fire returns. You probably mean well. I don’t think it can unless she wills it. I’m giving her almost everything. But that’s the thing about the weather. You can never be completely sure.”

  “What happened here?” Branwyn asked sharply. “What destroyed the town?”

  The faerie shook his head and closed his eyes. “I did.”

  Slowly, Branwyn sank down onto her heels. The wind picked up, flinging dust into the air and spreading the sweet scent of the roses. The late afternoon sun was again swallowed by a cloud.

  “We did think it was a faerie,” Rhianna said quietly.

  “One like this?” Branwyn asked tiredly, gesturing down at the filthy, limp figure between them.

  Rhianna rubbed between her eyes. “No. I should have, though. When my Advisor cared more about finding the kids than catching the perp.” She paused. “He seems drunk. Can faeries even get drunk?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose it’s up to them. Rhi, I need to think for a minute. It’s been a long day, and I wasn’t really prepared for any of this.”

  Rhianna said, “Yeah. I’m sorry about that.”

  Branwyn stared down at the murderer on the ground. Why trembled on her lips, but the answer wouldn’t help the people who had died and she wasn’t ready to go down that rabbit hole yet. If ever. No, the people who’d lived here were dead, and nothing she could do would undo that. It was a tragedy, but it wasn’t what needed her attention now.

  She swallowed around the lump in her throat and tried to move on to what was currently important. It took a moment before she could. Finally, with a deep breath, she pushed down the useless anguish and moved on.

  Severin worried her, even more than usual. The faerie held down by a hammer was not presently a threat. But Severin, always dangerous, had been… wounded somehow by the faerie’s words. Branwyn had watched Severin die a year and a half ago to a monster hunter blade, witnessed his body crumble to dust as his celestial spirit fled the premises. She hadn’t particularly enjoyed it. Seeing his fist clench on the faerie’s chest bothered her far more than watching his throat cut.