Sins & Shadows

24 Shelter from the Storm

TWENTY INTERMINABLE MINUTES LATER, DEMALION ARRIVED. WITH company. She shouldn’t have expected anything else. She’d run from him twice; now he was going to ensure she couldn’t. It still hurt, still felt like betrayal. The ISI van forded its way through the water, its side door opening, discharging Demalion as well as another agent. A third agent, the driver, stared coldly at her and left the engine running, a low, angry sputter under the constant roar of approaching thunder.

Demalion dropped out of the van, splashing ankle deep, gun in one hand, a crystal glowing in the other.

Blind, she remembered. He couldn’t have come here alone.

Wishful thinking, her more cynical self whispered. The truce is over.

Bran moaned at the sight of him approaching, and Sylvie felt like echoing it. Demalion raised his gun hand; all Sylvie could manage to do was slide herself in front of Bran.

“Dammit, Sylvie—take it already. I’ve got my hands full, and I can’t see for shit.” He reversed his grip, flipped it so the butt was to her, and proffered it again.

She found a hopeless grin stretching her mouth. “You brought me your gun?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Just in case.” He dropped it into her eager grasp, then pulled another crystal globe out of his rain slicker, this one strung on a thong about his wrist. He cradled it and smiled. “Better. Seeing in stereoscopic again.”

Sylvie turned the gun over in her hands. Just metal and engineering, and it worked like a shot of endorphins on her exhaustion and guilt, pushed her toward giddy relief. “Does this mean we’re engaged?”

Bran shuddered against her and pushed away from Sylvie. Betrayal glossed his eyes. Demalion, she remembered, was no friend of Bran’s. “I can’t trust you—”

“I got you out of the oubli—”

“I got us out,” Bran muttered. “You tried to kill me.” He forced himself to his feet and nearly fell. He yanked away from Sylvie’s lunge, from Demalion’s blind grasping, and stumbled into another pair of arms.

“It’s all right,” the second agent said, propping Bran upright, then kneeling before him. He looked up at him like an adult would a scared child, calming. “You know I won’t hurt you. We just want to get you someplace safe. Get you back to Dunne.”

Some of her good feelings faded fast. Sylvie might be willing to work with Demalion, but the whole stinking ISI? Not a snowball’s chance.

And this agent in particular was no friend to her. She still had bruises from his grip as he marched her toward the elevator. She curled her fingers around Demalion’s loaned gun and wondered how she was set for bullets.

Gingerly, Bran rested his hand in the man’s hair, like a man petting a dog he thought might bite.

“Rodrigo, he’s all yours,” Demalion said. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” Sylvie demanded.

Demalion said, “You’ve done your job, Sylvie. You could go home, get out of this mess, be with Alex—”

“Alex is why I need to finish this. Dunne’s going to pay me for some unexpected expenses. . . .” She wiped rain out of her eyes, shook her head. “I’m a burr, I’m a tick, I’m glue. Get used to it. Now, where’re we taking my client?”

Bran settled into silence, and Sylvie was warmed to think he hadn’t wanted to be left alone with the ISI. She didn’t delude herself that meant he liked her whole bunches either, but it was something to be one up on them.

“ISI,” Demalion said, and raised a hand, forestalling her mutiny. “Any port in a storm, Sylvie.” His shoulders tensed, visible even through the weight of the rain slicker. His jaw clenched. He was ready to argue her down on this.

“Fine,” she said. Right now, the ISI seemed the only choice. Bran was done in, she was off her turf and at the end of her endurance.

“What?” Water beaded over Demalion’s arms, spouting over the crystals dangling in his grip.

“I said, fine,” she said. “Fine. We’ll go to your big ISI safe house, secret base, justice league hall of doom, whatever you call it.” The surprise on his face and the wariness on Rodrigo’s made her capitulation almost worth it. At least she was unpredictable.

Rodrigo scowled at her, and she marked it. Best not to turn her back on him. Rodrigo really didn’t like her. Demalion got the scowl in turn, and Sylvie rephrased: Rodrigo really didn’t like anyone.

“If you’re both done jawing,” he snapped. “Bran needs rest. Warmth.” He jerked off his rain slicker, draping it around Bran’s bare shoulders.

Team one, Sylvie remembered. Bespelled to worship and protect. Demalion’s choice of ally suddenly made more sense.

“After you,” she said.

“Finally,” Rodrigo said. He swung round, shaking water from his back like a dog, and picked Bran up. Bran moaned, and Rodrigo nearly dropped him, bespelled not to harm.

Sylvie snapped, “Don’t you dare—”

Rodrigo’s grip firmed; Bran clenched Rodrigo’s slicker with two fists, holding tight.

“Jesus,” Sylvie muttered. “I don’t care what kind of spell Bran put on your brain. Use some fucking common sense. A little hurt now is better than a world of hurt later.” She strode away from the door, reached back, and tugged at Demalion’s sleeve. “Stop gawking. Start walking. You were the one in a hurry.”

Bran moaned again as Rodrigo stumbled into movement, heading through the soggy, smoldering wreckage of their living room. This time the whimper had more of laughter in it than pain. “I thought it was just me,” Bran said. “You treat everyone like that. Even your lover.”

Sylvie opened her mouth to protest, and a slap of salty rain whirled around and drenched her as if guided. She sputtered; her face stung under the impact. She shook her head, her ears ringing like a rock-concert attendee.

Demalion slid close to her, crystals held before him, glowing like avid eyes. They shone with the same ghostly light as the occult fires around them. Demalion was feeding on the god-power, she thought.

“Bran bespelled Rodrigo?”

“Bran, Dunne, same thing,” Sylvie muttered, and clambered into the van. Careless, she chastened herself. Demalion wasn’t stupid. The ISI would cream itself if it thought it could harness a god’s power.

As if Bran had the same concerns about walking into the lion’s den, he said, “Kevin knows where we’re going. He’s going to meet us there.”

Sylvie winced. That might work as a threat, but it was sure to spark questions. A god knowing where his lover was, was one thing. The human lover able to account for the god’s whereabouts was a little sketchier.

“You seem to know an awful lot about this,” Demalion said.

Bran flushed and fidgeted. Rodrigo ushered Bran into the van, actually growling at Demalion.

“Dunne’s not the only power here,” Demalion said, joining Sylvie with only a minimum of fumbling with his crystal “eyes” and the van’s door frame. “What’s Bran’s deal? He put the whammy on Rodrigo, not Dunne? Tell me, Sylvie. I need to know.”

She put her arm around his waist, guided him whisper close, and gave up that last secret. It wouldn’t take long for Dunne to add it up; this way she at least got cooperation credit for the info. “I’ve sung this song to you before. Bran’s not just an artist, not just a pretty boy, not even just a human. He’s a human that was and is a god.”