Harley Merlin 6: Harley Merlin and the Cult of Eris Read online

  Naima stared at us for several minutes, leaving us hanging. I hated her with every fiber of my being, but that didn’t change the fact that we needed her. Vengeance could wait, and I had it in buckets. Heck, the list was getting longer by the day: Katherine, Naima, Kenneth Willow, Levi…

  “Follow me.” She turned without another word and headed off down the alleyway, prompting us to scurry after her like eager rats. Still, I couldn’t help breathing a sigh of relief as we trailed after her. This could be it—the entry point we’d been waiting for. I just hoped the risk paid off, as I realized I might have just gotten the National Council’s mole in a big old pot of hot water.

  Nevertheless, I wasn’t about to let my guard drop, and I knew it would be stupid of me to think we were just going to waltz through what was to come. Naima was not the kind of woman—or rather, Purge beast—to be underestimated. Yeah, she was Katherine’s lackey, but she was also a creature of Chaos, with a sharper mind than she cared to reveal. Pretending to be a simple, brutish follower of the cult seemed to be part of her act. Plus, I’d have to be very careful about what intel I chose to give up going forward.

  We followed Naima down a labyrinth of quaint streets, drawing a few looks from the neighborhoods we went through. A hooded figure wasn’t exactly a comforting sight. Then again, I figured they’d just think we were part of some reenactment group. Salem tended to be rife with that kind of thing, the town reliving its dark past with a macabre sense of enthusiasm.

  Before long, we reached an eight-story building on the corner of some unknown road. An American flag was flying from the central balcony. The building was painted a pretty shade of jade green, the trimmings washed with crisp white. It looked like it had just come out of Hocus Pocus, and I expected the Sanderson sisters to come rushing out, singing at the top of their lungs and charming innocent kids across the neighborhood.

  The real-estate dream I’ll never have. I followed Naima up the wooden steps as she pushed through the front door. Judging by the reception desk, it was a hotel of some kind. An enormous gold-and-crystal chandelier hung from the ornate ceiling overhead, casting shards of light across the plush crimson carpet. Service staff in scarlet uniforms crossed the foyer, while guests lounged on velvet sofas, and soft piano music drifted out from one of the adjoining rooms.

  This didn’t seem like Naima’s bag, but then I supposed that was a little judgmental. Yeah, she was a Purge beast, but who was I to say that meant she didn’t like the finer things in life? The staff seemed to know her very well, all of them greeting her with bright smiles and elegant bows. I guessed the fact that she had a furry face and a mean set of fangs didn’t mean a whole lot to them. Clients are clients, right, as long as they’ve got the dollar to pay?

  Glancing back at the other people in the foyer, I noticed one of the clients wearing a long, striking necklace, the ruby in the center glowing slightly. Bronze tendrils rippled across her fingers as she spoke to the guy beside her, like someone trying to flip a coin between their knuckles. The understanding clicked into place: this wasn’t an ordinary hotel.

  “Ah, Miss Naima, a pleasure to see you back among us,” the receptionist—a middle-aged man in a sharp suit—said, as she approached the desk. “Your usual suite is ready.” He took a key from one of the hooks and slid it across the counter, a polite smile fixed on his thin lips.

  Weird…

  Naima didn’t say a word to us as she crossed the foyer toward the elevators and pressed the call button. Finch and I exchanged a look as we waited behind her, feeling very out of place. The Mazinovs weren’t exactly dressed for this kind of fancy place, and my short, spiky blonde hair was definitely drawing some looks.

  The doors pinged open, and we entered the elevator. There was a uniformed man inside who smiled at Naima and pressed the button for the penthouse, folding his arms behind his back as the doors closed again. There’s a freaking elevator bellboy! Is this the Ritz-Carlton or what? I moved to the back of the elevator and pressed myself against the wall. Glancing to the right, I caught sight of myself for the first time, in the full-length mirror that covered the sides of the elevator, and had to stop a gasp from bursting out of my throat. I looked exactly like Volla Mazinov, which was sort of the point. But it was still eerie to see.

  I had spiky, platinum-blonde hair that was buzzed at the sides, and skin as pale as snow. No way this chick could’ve been eaten by polar bears—this is snow-camouflage 101. Cobalt-blue eyes stared back at me from a strikingly pretty face with angular cheeks and a strong jaw and lips that could’ve put Angelina Jolie out of business. My frame was slender but lean with muscle, dressed up in highly impractical black leather trousers and a simple gray T-shirt, with a black shearling coat over the top. This was the closest to cool I was ever going to get.

  I realized I’d been staring at myself a little too long and fixed my gaze on the ceiling instead. I had the temptation to whistle, but I resisted it. Meanwhile, classical music filtered in through hidden speakers, making the experience all the more awkward. It was a truth, universally acknowledged, that speaking in an elevator was tantamount to insanity.

  I tried to focus on the mission ahead, which only resulted in my mind racing a mile a minute, thinking about all the worst-case scenarios. Katherine could murder us. Naima could slit my throat open with her fangs. A cult member could discover our disguises. We could ruin the National Council’s investigation. I could sneeze and accidentally phase out of Volla Mazinov’s form. Yep, we could definitely be murdered about a million different ways.

  I almost jumped out of my skin when Finch squeezed my forearm. He was looking at me, his gaze encouraging. There was a protectiveness about him that kept taking me by surprise. It reminded me of those training sessions we’d shared at the SDC, before he was revealed as a traitor.

  Maybe this is the real him. Bad mouth, terrible temper, but… well, good. Deep down. But I couldn’t turn weak around Finch. I couldn’t let him see me vulnerable, in case he used it against me. I shook off his hand and folded my arms across my chest. He’d tried to kill me not too long ago, and nobody changed overnight. Nobody.

  Just when I thought we’d found our way onto Willy Wonka’s magic freaking elevator, on a ride that would never end, it jolted to a halt and the doors opened out onto the swankiest suite I’d ever seen. The penthouse sprawled across the top floor of the hotel, with more rooms than my old apartment and a sofa the size of a bus. Smaller versions of the downstairs chandelier hung from the ceiling in every room. The view from the windows looked out on the water, where storm clouds were rolling in.

  “Katherine is paying you way too much,” I blurted out.

  Naima chuckled. “We do not receive recompense for being part of the Cult of Eris, Volla. If it is wealth you seek, then you have come to the wrong organization.”

  “I think she means you’ve got nice digs here.” Finch flashed a grin.

  I nodded. “Yeah… it’s beautiful.”

  Naima cast her paw around the suite. “This entire hotel is a front for the cult, and is a respite for magicals only. If a human were to walk in, they would simply be told that the rooms were fully booked,” she explained. “All revenues collected go toward serving the cult, financially speaking. While the members are not paid, an organization such as Katherine’s cannot evolve without investment.”

  “Makes sense,” Finch said casually, looking unimpressed by the suite. He’d probably seen plenty like it during his time with Katherine.

  “We have hotels such as this all across the United States,” she said proudly. “Even Alaska.”

  Poor Alaska.

  “Is that so?” I was genuinely impressed, and equally horrified.

  “Yes, we have been operational for more than five years, and we have amassed an incredible fortune from such enterprises.”

  “Looks like it.” Finch plopped himself down on the huge sofa and put his feet on a strange, furry footrest that resembled a dead creature. I headed down the small set of steps to
the living room where Finch had made himself at home, but I paused as I noticed something unsettling. The Persian rug had been rolled to one side, and a salt pentagram, complete with ancient symbols, had been drawn directly onto the marble floor. Small copper bowls at each corner were filled with various herbs and chunks of colorful crystal.

  “Having a party?” I joked, though my heart was thundering.

  Naima smirked. “In a manner of speaking. You are about to join the Cult of Eris. If you wish to back out now, I am afraid you will not be permitted to leave the premises alive.”

  “Nope, no backing out,” Finch said, jumping up. “We’re good to go.”

  I nodded. “What he said.”

  “Very well then. If you would care to step into the center of the pentagram, we will begin.” Naima ushered us into the middle, arranging us so we were standing in a triangle. With her hands on both our shoulders, she began to chant something in Latin, the sound rumbling out of her throat and sending a shiver through my body. “Ex terra ligare Munera tua potestate ut educeres nos iter est.”

  The pentagram lit up like I’d just stepped in front of headlights, the glare searing into my retinas. Fiery white light surged across the salt-drawn edges of the pentagram, and violent puffs of hot black smoke nearly scorched my skin. At every corner, an explosion of white light burst upward, lifting the copper bowls into the air before sending them crashing back down and spilling their contents into the middle of the symbol. I looked down at my feet, only to see that there wasn’t a floor anymore. Instead, there was a gaping black void.

  I screamed as the light of the pentagram swallowed us whole, and my body began to disintegrate. My arms evaporated like ash. Finch was already mostly gone, his head the last thing remaining. Every part of us was being sucked through the ground, into an insanely narrow wormhole, with an almost comical slurp.

  I could’ve handled the disintegration if it weren’t for the pain that came with it. I could literally feel my body being strung out like spaghetti, my entire being stretching and straining. Worse still, I couldn’t cry out in pain, because I had no idea where my mouth was anymore.

  And then, we landed. Well, more like fell onto the ground, splattering with all the elegance of tomato sauce. Threads of white light spiraled all around, piecing us back together. Naima, who was clearly used to this horrible way of traveling, had her back to us, patting herself down.

  I patted my whole body, too, making sure nothing was missing—only to find that I had patches of shearling jacket and patches of leather jacket, and similar blotches of skin along my arms: snow-white and my own, slightly darker tone, combined in a terrifying patchwork. The worst thing that I could see was my fingers. Half belonged to me, half belonged to someone else, differing in size. I shot a look at Finch and almost screamed.

  He was a mishmash of himself and Pieter Mazinov, put back together like gruesome blobs of Play-Doh. It looked like Shapeshifters had a bit of trouble with this mode of transportation, and I could only imagine what I must look like. Panic hit me with the force of a freight train. What if I’d used up my one Ephemera shot at Shapeshifting? What if I couldn’t fully get Volla back again? Even like this, if Naima saw us, it’d be game, set, and match.

  Finch lurched forward and grabbed my shoulders. “Breathe, Volla. Breathe.”

  I looked into his eyes and nodded, trying to slow my hyperventilating. He was already slipping back into his full Pieter Mazinov persona, the Frankenstein’s monster parts of him retracting into a full disguise. I had to focus; otherwise, this had all been for nothing. Closing my eyes, I sucked in as many deep breaths as humanly possible and felt myself slowly coming back together as Volla. The Shapeshifter energy was still inside me. I could sense it pulsating wildly, mingling with the rest of my overactive Chaos.

  Opposite us, Naima retched, bending double before standing upright again. “Apologies for that,” she said, recovering. “The Strainer, as I like to call it, always makes me feel somewhat strange.” She turned, at last, and I prayed I’d managed to put myself together again in time. A laugh rasped from her throat as she looked at me. “My goodness, and I thought I had issues with the Strainer.”

  “What? What is it?” I lifted my hand to my face, feeling the edge of a droopy eye.

  “You appear to be melting, Volla.” Naima chuckled.

  Finch moved closer and gently massaged my eye socket, urging the skin to go back to where it was supposed to be. I felt sick. This was beyond weird and creepy, with my eyes falling out all over the place. Looking down, everything else seemed to be in working order. My fingers were all the same length. Still, I was grateful that Finch was actually watching my back, pushing my skin about like it was the most normal thing in the world.

  Naima flicked her wrist at me. “There is nothing to worry about, Volla. It happens to everybody. When going through the Strainer for the first time, they all fall apart and have some difficulty putting themselves back together again afterward.”

  Humpty Dumpty, eat your heart out. Although, I wondered if she realized the poignancy of her statement. A lot of the people who came here were lost souls with nowhere else to turn. And the rest? Well, once they went in, they’d never be the same again.

  “Welcome to Eris Island,” Naima said. We’d landed in an empty, plain room, with one enormous floor-to-ceiling window at the far end. It looked out upon the island and the Gulf of Mexico beyond. Only, it didn’t look the way I’d expected. I’d seen images of Dry Tortugas online, before we’d left for the mission, and it hadn’t looked like this. Rainforests stretched as far as the eye could see, covering an area much bigger than the solid, human island beneath it, while giant stone statues protruded from the canopy like titanic guardians overlooking the water. A sandy beach curved along the nearside edge of the island, a sun-faded pier jutting out into an azure inlet.

  Another beach lay beyond the first one, hazy behind a wall of interdimensional bubble. Pasty tourists lolled on the white sand, stretched out on sun loungers, oblivious. But I couldn’t see Fort Jefferson anywhere. I wondered if Finch had lied about the location of this place, but a small smile played upon his lips.

  “Who are those folks?” he asked, casting me a conspiratorial look.

  Naima grimaced. “Pay them no heed. They are mere humans. They do not know that Eris Island exists upon what they prefer to call ‘Dry Tortugas.’ A bizarre name, if you ask me. Here, you will refer to it as Eris Island, and nothing else.”

  It must have taken Katherine a long time to conjure up this sort of lush greenery to go with the rest of it. Above us stretched clear blue sky, and colorful birds flapped from tree to tree. All throughout, curious structures were hidden within the canopy—like treehouses, almost, though shaped like metal orbs, reflecting the color and camouflage of the trees around them. I realized that we must be in a similar structure, though it stuck out from the top of the rainforest.

  “This way.” Naima led us through a door to the right and ushered us down a sloping metal bridge, which disappeared into the canopy. I held my breath as the shade surrounded us, the world filled with the chatter of birds and unseen creatures. From the nearby orbs, figures emerged, edging closer to get a good look at us.

  I spotted Kenneth Willow immediately and had to dig my nails into my palms to stop myself from powering a fireball at him. Another familiar figure emerged from the left-hand side, though I’d never actually seen him before. The resemblance to Nomura was uncanny. It had to be Shinsuke—they had the same features, only he was much younger.

  Before long, a big cluster of people had come out to check on the new arrivals. They eyed us suspiciously, muttering to one another. No pressure, Volla. It was unnerving to be among the cultists like this. I felt sure they could see right through me, but nobody had launched an attack yet. That had to be a good sign, right?

  “Your journey begins now,” Naima said ominously.

  “Pardon?” I replied.

  She smiled. “You must submit yourselves to the Three
Trials of Eris. If you succeed, you will be marked with the Apple of Discord and welcomed into the cult.”

  I tried not to shudder at the thought of molten metal being poured onto my skin. That was going to hurt, and then some. And I was pretty sure that kind of thing was going to be permanent. I’d always wanted a tattoo, but that wasn’t what I had in mind.

  “If you fail, however, you will suffer the Death by a Thousand Cuts and be fed to the sharks that gather in the island’s cove,” Naima went on. “The Gulf of Mexico is full of them, and we often have the occasional orca to join in the feast.”

  My blood boiled at the memory of the Thousand Cuts. They’d tried to kill Mrs. Smith that way, but they wouldn’t get the chance to do it to me. Still, the repercussions of failing made my stomach sink. I’d expected to have to do some kind of craziness to get in, but death hadn’t exactly been on the table.

  Naima shot me a cold grin, probably spotting the uncertainty on my face. “And you should know that no one ever quits the Cult of Eris. No one. If you pass the trials, you are one of us for life.”

  I glanced at Finch, a creeping doubt slithering into my head. Did the same thing apply to Finch? If nobody ever quit, then was he here because he was still part of the cult? Or was he here to help destroy it?

  Seventeen

  Harley

  “How do you know they aren’t spies?” Kenneth Willow stepped forward. Of course you’d be the one to ask.