Captive Heart (41 page)

Water dripping off her big sunglasses, Andy used her dart pistol to nudge the Mother aside. When the woman got out of the way, Andy motioned for Dio to follow. “Come on. I need a huge cheeseburger and a milkshake, some stitches in my left thigh, and about a week’s worth of sleep.”

They pushed through the crowd of Mothers, this time heading for the communications platform in Motherhouse Greece.

Ona was waiting for them when they got there, and Andy figured she’d done that melting-from-place-to-place thing Camille had learned from her—especially when she saw the four air adepts and the scrawny fire adept that tended Motherhouse Greece’s communications room cowering in the corner.

As they climbed onto the platform, Dio asked, “Did you really make a waterspout on Staten Island big enough that people saw it all the way in Jackson Heights?”

Andy rolled her eyes. “Man, news travels fast around this place.”

“I’ve been making the Mothers keep me informed. The ones afraid of storms were especially helpful.”

Ona appeared on the platform in front of them and did a few movements, clearing all the smoke out of one of the large projective mirrors on the wall.

“The spout was big,” Andy admitted.

“If I’d been there to give it some wind, they could have seen it in Eastchester and Co-op City.” Dio plunged into the mirror, making tracks to Motherhouse Kérkira.

“Blah, blah, blah,” Andy muttered as she jumped through the glass after Dio, not at all sorry to leave Motherhouse Greece behind.

A little over a month later, Andy sat in the conference room of a long, old-fashioned frigate ship with Dio, the two of them in front of a long table populated with Mothers, some frowning, some smiling. Mother Keara, Mother Anemone, Mother Yana, and Elana—
Mother
Elana, Andy reminded herself—fell into the latter category.

Bela sat on Andy’s right, and Camille gripped the chair on Andy’s left, looking slightly green, like she had since they set sail from Sri Lanka three days ago, moving like the salt- and flower-scented wind thanks to all the air Sibyls on board. Andy and her group all had on casual clothes—jeans and tanks and sneakers—eschewing the formal robes of their orders absolutely on purpose. Now, somewhere south of Tahiti and west of the Pitcairns, out of French Polynesian territory and deep in uncharted international waters, floating in the calm, quiet sea Andy had dreamed about so many times, the Mothers in their oh-so-formal browns and greens and blues (and one godawful yellow) had finally fought their way to decisions on the matters laid before them.

“It is decreed,” Mother Yana said in serious tones, “that Dionysia Allard may train to use her veather making in battle. Ve shall support her in all ways possible, and in due time, offer children born vith such abilities to her for consideration of apprenticeship. Ve vill, in fact and here forward, apprentice all adepts born vith projective powers to those Sibyls vith the talent to advise them.”

The sunlight exploding through the frigate’s rows of round windows lightened the heavy words, but nothing could take away the monumental nature of that ruling. Andy felt like her fighting group, the quad that had once been considered a collection of hopeless, weak losers and misfits, had finally been validated.

Not that they needed validation to kick ass, take names, and save the world. They had already done that three times, by her count.

Andy sensed the powerful links between herself and her sister Sibyls, the pulse of happiness traveling through all four hearts, and the easy flow of earth, fire, air, and water joined as one for a common purpose. Together again, and strong, maybe stronger than ever.

Look out, New York City. We’ll be back soon, and we’ll rule
.

Elana took over from Mother Yana, announcing, “I formally accept the position of eldest Mother at Motherhouse Atanua, and I will assume primary responsibility for the accelerated and basic training programs. As recent events have made obvious, there is little of greater urgency than preparing our young water adepts to take their places among fighting groups all across the world. The importance of water can never be underestimated, and we have much to learn—and to remember—about its flow and power.”

Andy saw the sideways looks Elana got, not because of her accepting the title of eldest water Sibyl Mother despite her demon infection, or because she mentioned accelerated training or feeding young adepts into fighting groups even faster than they had first planned. No, the looks came from her announcement of Motherhouse Atanua.

The name had come to Andy after they sailed away from civilization. Atanua, the Polynesian goddess of the dawn, maker of oceans and mother of humankind. Andy couldn’t think of anything more fitting. The fact that Motherhouse Atanua didn’t yet exist—that was what caused all the funny stares.

What they don’t know won’t hurt them. Not yet, anyway
.

Bela gave Andy her own version of the funny stare, as if she sensed Andy might be up to something, but Andy ignored her mortar. If everybody was just coming to that realization despite being on a boat full of Mothers, water babies and water adepts, young Sibyls of all varieties with projective talents, and an odd assortment of Bengal fighters who just needed to be away from the mainstream world, Andy didn’t know how to help them.

The Council of Mothers wasn’t finished yet, and this next part … well, this next part made Andy squirm a little bit.

Mother Anemone took the lead, fixing Andy with her misty green-blue eyes. Her unusually stern stare and deep frown said a lot, and Andy fidgeted with the sunglasses in her lap.

“As for our consideration of your situation, Andrea Myles, you submitted yourself for judgment because of your negligence of your quad and the safety of the child Neala.”

Bela shifted in her chair and glared at the table full of Mothers. So did Camille. Dio grumbled under her breath. None of them liked this, but they weren’t Mothers. Andy knew she had a greater responsibility, that lack of experience was no excuse, and that she had done the right thing by following the code of justice the Mothers adhered to among themselves. This ruling would do its part to continue setting the flow—
her
flow—to rights again.

Mother Anemone pulled a packet of papers from the folds of her light blue robes and placed them on the center of the long table. “We have collected statements from your peers, your friends, your associates—thorough testimony, if not all of it serious and helpful.”

Andy stared at the pile of papers, a new level of disquiet forming in her chest. She hadn’t expected this. What did the old hags do, perp-style interviews with everybody she knew?

“This from a Mr. Jake Lowell, police officer and Astaroth demon,” Mother Anemone said, a note of affection in her voice. “ ‘Andy’s the best cop I know and a kick-ass Sibyl, too.’ ”

Andy swallowed, her throat suddenly dry as Dio and Bela put their hands on her knees. She felt the soft touch of Camille’s fingers on the back of her neck, and the quiet, powerful rush of blended elemental energy surrounded her, supporting her, holding her upright in the chair as Mother Anemone kept reading and turning pages.

“Cynda Flynn Lowell, mother of the child in question, says, ‘No better friend and no better goddess-mother. I’ll kick her teeth in if she puts my daughter in danger again, but I know Andy would have died to save Neala.’ ”

Paper rustled as Mother Anemone flipped to the next paper. “ ‘Fight with her any day.’ ” Mother Anemone glanced at Andy. “That was Nick Lowell, Neala’s father, though the sentiment was closely echoed by his brother Creed; by Creed’s wife, Riana Dumain Lowell; by Jake’s wife, Merilee Alexander Lowell; by Sheila Gray’s Ranger group; and by any number of Sibyl triads and OCU patrol squads.”

Mother Anemone waited as if wishing to see if Andy had anything to add, but Andy couldn’t have spoken if she’d wanted to try. So Mother Anemone went on, this time with a disapproving frown. “A Mr. Saul Brent opined, ‘She’s hot. Nothing more to say.’ From Dio Allard in your own quad, ‘She’s a bitch and I love her,’ with ‘Ditto’ signed by Bela Argos Sharp and Camille Fitzgerald Cole.” Mother Anemone moved all the papers aside then, focusing on the very bottom page. “And Mr. Jack Blackmore, a man with a most colorful past and at best a questionable history in his relations with the Dark Crescent Sisterhood, wrote, ‘I’m still here.’ ”

Jack
.

Andy’s heart ached so suddenly and fiercely she couldn’t hold back her tears. Damn it, she missed him so much. Nearly a month since she’d seen his handsome face. Those sweet, loving eyes. Almost there. Almost time. Just not quite yet.

I’m still here …

Please let him mean that
.

In true fire Sibyl fashion, Mother Keara went next, glorying in her role of spouting off the punishments Andy knew she so richly deserved.

“We sentence you to three months of diligent work on the construction of yer new Motherhouse—though frankly I have my troubles seein’ what was off about the first one.” She let off a small blast of white smoke, tamped a flame on the corner of the parchment, and kept reading. “We order you to be givin’ equally diligent attention to the needs of yer quad and the deeper needs of yer own heart. Nurture yer relationships, help with settlin’ new initiates and the flippin’ unusual assortment of characters you and Elana have seen fit to welcome into yer midst, assist with Dio’s rehabilitation, and spend time with yer old friends and your goddess-children Neala and Ethan when they can visit.” She looked up and grinned, her wrinkled face taking on a timeless quality as her green eyes—and her hair—blazed. “Will you be acceptin’ our discipline, Andrea Myles?”

Andy drew on the strength and support of her quad to find her voice, and she answered with a firm, loud, “I accept.”

Mother Keara nodded, spreading smoke in every direction. “Then I pronounce this Council—”

“Wait, wait. One more thing.” Elana held up both hands, and all eyes turned to her. Andy stared, too, because she had no idea what the old imp was up to now, but whatever it was, Andy trusted it would be for the best in the long run—no matter how much discomfort it caused in the short run.

“What the hell?” Dio muttered, and Andy could tell she was gearing up for a good blast of thunder if necessary.

“Down, girl,” Andy whispered.

Elana performed one of the best dramatic sighs Andy had ever witnessed, then grabbed the front of her slick canary robes. “I’m putting you in charge of picking something besides this goddess-awful yellow chiffon crap. Can you choose something better, Andy? Something a little more … 
us
?”

The rest of the Mothers at the Council table gaped.

Camille and Bela snickered, and Dio said, “Well, you can’t have blue. Blue’s taken.”

Andy shrugged that off. “How does purple sound?” she asked Elana. “A silk-and-cotton blend? And we need a good supply of sunglasses, too.”

Elana considered this while all the other mothers started trying to object, then she banged a hand on the table and loudly announced, “Works for me. And
now
this meeting of the Council of Mothers is closed. Get up on deck, girl. We’ve got work to do.”

“Work?” Bela got up and hustled out of the conference room right behind Andy, with Dio and Camille close behind her. “What work?”

“Come with me on a boat trip,” Dio sniped in an awful imitation of Andy’s Southern twang. “It’ll be a va-caaation. Real relaxing and all.”

Camille didn’t say anything because she was running to the starboard gunwale to puke again.

Andy waited for her to finish, patted her back, then pointed to the large, unnamed island barely visible in the morning mists off the boat’s bow, a little to port. Twenty square miles of tropical paradise with the exact right sand, superlative trees, and smooth, idyllic energy and flow. Even the waves on the beaches sounded right to Andy. The island had no inhabitants, no declared national allegiance, and no registered presence with any nation, though Mother Anemone would take care of all of that soon enough.

For now, though—

Andy put on her sunglasses and grinned at her quad, and also at Elana and Ona as they joined them at the boat’s forwardmost point. “I need everybody’s help with a little project.”

“What kind of little project?” Bela asked, each word sounding more wary than the last.

“Nothing much.” Andy gave Bela her best grin. “Just raising a volcano off the western shore there.”

Bela’s mouth came open. For a moment she seemed speechless, then managed a sputtering, “Volcano? Raising a—you’re out of your freaking mind.”

“It’s been extinct for centuries.” Andy waved her hand like it was really no big deal. “Just some minor earth shifting. You know, a little rock and roll. Elana and I will handle the water displacement and protect the boat, and you, Dio, can you take care of the air displacement and weather pattern shifts? And Camille, you and Ona make sure to set up a good firewall so we don’t accidentally wash away New Zealand or something, okay?”

Everybody but Elana and Ona stared at her. Ona cracked her knuckles like she was getting loose for a big sword fight, and Elana did a deep knee bend, followed by some impressive yogic breathing. A few seconds later, she dived into the ocean to warn off all sentient sea creatures that might be affected by their energy-working and landscape contouring.

Camille surrendered, going to join Ona and starting to discuss which lines of subterranean ore they needed to stabilize.

“It’ll be a vaa-caaation,” Dio groused again, but she squinted at the sky, and Andy sensed her reading air currents and getting ready to shove some clouds back and forth.

Bela pointed her finger in Andy’s face. “Damn your hide. Next time I’m taking a Carnival Cruise, just so you know.”

Andy blew her a kiss. Then she squared her stance and got ready to do a little tango with the South Pacific.