On the Verge (29 page)

F
reya held her breath. Rusty would reach Ophidia in mere moments and he was easily twice her size. He didn’t appear to have plans on slowing down either.

“Oh my god, he’s going to kill her,” Freya said under her breath.

“Doubtful,” Dakryma scoffed.

He’d come up silently behind her, eagerly taking in the strange scene playing out on the sidewalk below them.

In another second Rusty collided with Ophidia but rather than flatten her to the ground it was he who hung several feet in the air, suspended from Ophidia’s hands wrapped tightly around his thick neck. Rusty’s eyes bulged and he made no sound as his face turned red and then blue.

“Stop it, Ophidia,” Freya yelled in horror. “You’re choking him. He can’t breathe.”

“Hello to you too, my dear,” Ophidia purred. “If you didn’t notice, this idiot brute tried to rush me. Can you imagine? A beast like him attacking a fragile beauty like me. Why, it’s indecent.”

The veins in Rusty’s forehead swelled as he scrambled madly at Ophidia’s iron-tight grasp.

“Please,” Freya begged. “Let him go, Ophidia.”

“Oh, alright,” she said peevishly. She released her fingers and Rusty fell hard to the ground gasping for air, a crimson bruise ringing his throat. “But only because I have more immediate matters to attend to.”

Freya ran to Rusty’s side, but he waved her off.

“I’m fine,” he rasped.

“What’s going on?” she asked him. “Do you guys know each other?”

“We have a bit of a history,” Ophidia said. “You didn’t think he was born with his face looking like that did you? I’d never let a monster like that near me, but when we first met—my god, he was like an Adonis. The kind of man a succubus waits several lifetimes for. When I’d finished with him I must admit I’d become a little attached. I couldn’t bear to kill him, but I didn’t like the idea of other people, you know, moving in on my conquered territory. So I made the landscape a little less desirable, let’s say.”

“Fuck you,” Rusty said, his voice hoarse.

“Oh, no, not anymore, my dear. I’ve ruined you, you see. I’ve moved on. You probably should too.”

Rusty let out a primitive growl and leapt to his feet.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Ophidia said, waving a patronizing finger just in front of Rusty’s face. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I have serious business to attend to here, and you’re wasting my time. Get in my way again and I won’t hesitate to finish what I started.”

“Don’t,” Freya said softly. She had stood and put a gentle hand on Rusty’s arm. “Please, we’ve come this far.”

Rusty tensed. For a moment she thought he might try to charge Ophidia again in a futile attempt at revenge, but a second longer and Freya felt some of the tautness drain from his body. His ragged breathing slowed as she held onto his arm.

“Oh my!” Ophidia hooted. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for this broken man? I guess I didn’t do a good enough job on your disgusting face. I must say I’d be a bit envious if I didn’t feel so sorry for you, Freya. I mean to have to stare at that while making love?”

Freya felt her own blood begin to boil. Her heart beat fast and she felt her muscles tighten.

“No, Freya. Don’t give her the satisfaction,” said Rusty.

“My, my, this is all a bit melodramatic, even for me,” Dakryma said, as he made his way with characteristic nonchalance down the bakery’s steps, across the sidewalk, and to within a few inches of Ophidia.

The arrogance that usually suffused the succubus’s perfect features disappeared. Freya was stunned. She didn’t think it was possible for a demon like Ophidia to look vulnerable, but there she was with something like adoration and bewilderment written across her face, making her appear almost human. It was like seeing the woman she might have been once upon a time.

“Lior,” Ophidia breathed. “I was wondering when I would see you.”

“I’m just surprised it took you this long to figure out how to bring our portraits together. I don’t know how you managed to get my likeness on American soil but I shouldn’t be surprised. Your brand of charm has a way of making things happen, doesn’t it?”

“I—I didn’t bring you here. I mean I would have, but I—I’ve been serving the needs of another.”

“Let me guess. You must have let your portrait fall into the hands of this Beldame woman I keep hearing about,” Dakryma sneered. “I never figured you for a servant, but you are looking a little the worse for wear. See what happens when you sacrifice your freedom for some silly romantic notion.”

“I hate you,” she said quietly, an almost imperceptible quaver haunting the edges of her voice.

“If only that were true, Ophidia, our lives would be so much easier. We wouldn’t be bound by some human’s craft project. We could be free. Instead your little one-sided love affair still has our power compromised after all these years. I should kill you where you stand.”

“Please, Lior, you don’t mean that,” Ophidia said.

She tried to deliver it with bravado but it only sounded more pathetic for her efforts.

“Some part of you still loves me. I know it’s true.”

“Listen, you wretched thing. If I ever had feelings for you they were nullified more than a century ago when you saddled me with that godforsaken painting. We demons of the Verge aren’t meant to be chained up. Our stories need freedom to grow, Ophidia. Ligature can only end in suffering.”

“Yes, about that,” said Ophidia. “There’s something you should know. I didn’t want to tell you. I thought I could fix it myself, but time is running out.”

Improbably Ophidia seemed fearful. In other circumstances Freya would have found her new attitude in the presence of her old flame highly amusing. As it was, she shuddered to think what might upset a powerful demon like Ophidia.

“I need the girl. I need Freya. I’ve been looking for her. Searching this godforsaken city for her and the colors. Just give me the girl and everything will be fine.”

Dakryma stepped closer to Ophidia so that he was nearly touching her. He reached out a hand to caress her face, running the backs of his fingers down her smooth cheek. The gesture was almost tender until he grabbed her chin forcefully and yanked her head over to one side. He tore back her hair with his other hand and whispered violently into her ear.

“What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On.” He punctuated each word by digging his fingers deeper and deeper into her chin.

“She knows,” Ophidia uttered. “Beldame. She knows, Lior. She knows about the paintings. About us. About how we’re bound and how it happened.”

Freya watched as the incubus’s eyes instantly lit up.

“She knows?” he hissed, and it sounded primal. There was more than a hint of the ancient and eldritch there in the rumble of his words.

“Yes,” Ophidia replied. She closed her eyes and seemed to steel herself. “And there’s one other thing.”

“Say it,” Dakryma said, his voice losing all trace of its humanity.

“I’m the—the Morrigan, here, in Seattle,” she stammered.

For a moment it seemed as though the inferno in Lior Dakryma’s eyes would catch hold and ignite his whole body, taking Ophidia with it. There was no passion in that ocular conflagration though, only agony, misery, hopelessness. It burned cold and seemed all the worse for it.

“You’re Seattle’s demon queen!” he exclaimed. It was half question, half renunciation. His face darkened as his eyes grew implausibly brighter.

“Please, Lior, you’re making a spectacle of yourself,” Ophidia said unable to control the tremble in her voice any longer. “Freya’s been collecting the colors. We can figure this out, Lior, I know we can.”

The pleading in Ophidia’s voice was beyond desperation. It bordered on the tragic and it made Freya’s skin crawl to see a creature as powerful as Ophidia abase herself so openly.

“Let’s go to Freya’s and make a plan,” she continued. “Please, I beg you. Don’t exact your revenge now. You can’t rid the local Verge community of their queen so close to Halloween. You know that’s even more dangerous than me being subject to Beldame’s order.”

“Is it?” hissed Dakryma.

“Either way there will be chaos. The Verge of Seattle will run rampant without a Morrigan to mitigate their energy, or they will be vulnerable to whatever machinations Beldame has in store. There must be a way to stop her. Let’s go and figure this out together.”

“There is absolutely no way you two are coming to my home,” Freya said adamantly. “That is simply not happening.”

Freya’s voice was getting tighter and higher, but she couldn’t help it. Tears sprung into her eyes and the harder she fought them the faster they came. The stress of the last few days was getting to her.

“I don’t know what kind of fucked up situation you’ve gotten yourselves into but it has nothing to do with me,” Freya said. “The colors are going to Beldame and you guys can all go back to whatever nightmare world you came from in the first place. I’m done with this ridiculousness.”

Dakryma dislodged his hand from Ophidia’s jaw and she stumbled backward. The professor approached Freya, his eyes still on fire. She hoped to god that the dream catcher had actually put her in control because those eyes of his made her feel very small and very exposed.

“So you’re just going to hand these colors over to Beldame, no questions asked,” Dakryma said. His voice had regained some semblance of its normal tenor, but the deathliness around its edges still frightened Freya.

“I don’t see that I have much choice,” she replied, breathing deep to steady herself. “She threatened my life, Dakryma. I get that these colors are important, but honestly I don’t know what else to do.”

“Oh, my dear, sweet, little dolt,” Dakryma said, condescension dripping from his voice. “You have no idea how powerful these colors are. In the wrong hands they can wreck some serious havoc.”

“From what I’ve seen, you Verge creatures know how to take care of yourselves,” Freya replied. “Plus, shouldn’t, you know, the prince of darkness be immune to this kind of thing? I mean, you’re the devil, for god sakes, aren’t you? Can’t you just condemn Beldame to Hell or something?”

“Ah, simple ideas from a simple girl,” he cooed. “No, child. It isn’t that easy, and when you hand over those colors to that psychopath, you’ll be trading your life for the freedom of countless creatures of the Verge and the lives of those that Beldame uses the Verge to take. We need another plan.”

Freya sighed and looked down. The cracks in the sidewalk created a spider’s web of fractured concrete below her feet. She glanced over at Rusty. He stood there like a barely restrained animal chafing under the chains of social norms. He locked eyes with her and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. He didn’t want to give in to the needs of Dakryma and Ophidia anymore than she did. Never trust the devil, right? But what was the alternative? Another evil masquerading in codgerly clothing? Freya didn’t know who to trust. She didn’t believe in much, but she believed in her gut. Right now, as much as her insides were screaming at her to run away, there was something else, something even deeper, that told her it was worth listening to what these fantasies-come-to-life had to say.

“Fine,” Freya said. “Let’s go to my place.”

“Freya, you can’t be serious,” Rusty said, his voice hard. “You’re actually going to help them? Look what she did to me. You can’t trust these monstrosities.”

Freya looked at Rusty. His stare was piercing. The indignities he’d suffered at the hands of Ophidia were plain to see. His ravaged face was proof of her depravity. She, like the others they had met, was clearly dangerous. Why should Freya degrade him further by helping the harridan and the unknowable, mercurial Dakryma, when they were capable of such harm?

The answer, it seemed, was in the question. What other unspeakable acts would happen if Beldame could somehow control the creatures of the Verge, if she had demons just like Ophidia and Dakryma at her beck and call?

“Look, I didn’t say I would help, but I will listen to what they have to say,” she said.

“You’re crazy to get involved,” Rusty replied.

He looked wounded, and Freya knew he felt like she’d broken whatever fragile trust had formed between them.

“We’re already involved, Rusty,” Freya replied. Then, turning to the demons she said, “You have the fifteen minute drive back to my place to convince me to give you the colors. Otherwise they’re going to Beldame. Got it?”

“Do you know who you are trying to negotiate with, honey?” Ophidia said apparently having regained some semblance of her usual superiority.

“I’m not negotiating, Ophidia,” said Freya. “That’s just a straight up statement of fact because your big scary lover boy here kinda has to do what I say.”

“Do what you say?” Ophidia said with disbelief. “Some insignificant human? Lior, are you going to let her talk to you like that?”

“It’s actually true,” Dakryma said.

Freya was surprised to see a mischievous twinkle dancing in his once-more ice blue eyes, their fire having slowly extinguished over the last several minutes. He seemed to be taking a little delight in making Ophidia look the fool, even if it was at his expense.

“She had a dream catcher.”

Ophidia’s mouth opened into a little round O and then quickly shut again, her lips tight, and her brows drawn together in consternation. She regarded Freya with renewed loathing.

Freya, feeling braver, met her contempt with a look of equal scorn.

“I bet you wish you could have used a dream catcher on the professor all those years ago,” she said. “It would have made things a lot easier for you to have Lior here at your command.”

“Don’t you dare call him by his first name you insolent bitch,” Ophidia growled. She crossed the space between them in the blink of an eye and grabbed Freya’s collar. “You’re overstepping your pathetic mortal bounds,” she hissed into her ear.

“That’s enough, Ophidia,” Dakryma said.

Ophidia looked over at the incubus, her eyes animated by rage. He held her gaze for a moment and then she let go of Freya’s collar and backed off a few steps. Freya adjusted her jacket and ran a hand through her hair.

Whether by love or legerdemain, they were all bound together in this bizarre undertaking. Of the Verge or human, now was the time that decisions had to be made. Freya sighed deeply as brown leaves crunched beneath her sneakered feet. The wind shifted, tugging at her hair, and she shivered.