Harley Merlin 6: Harley Merlin and the Cult of Eris Page 3

  Raffe nodded. “That’s got to sting a bit.”

  “Yep. Plus, she couldn’t even do it herself. She sent minions to do her dirty work, and he resents the fact that she couldn’t even face him,” I went on. “Although, she probably wouldn’t hesitate now, if she had the chance.”

  Astrid pulled a grim face. “And she sent Kenneth Willow, of all people. The wannabe son.”

  “Ah yes, the budding psychopath with mommy issues all his own.” Isadora gave a wry laugh. After all, she’d been locked up by Katherine; she’d seen Kenneth in action and been forced to watch as his violent streak was let loose on children.

  “Basically, Finch is against the regular magical institutions because they haven’t done him any favors, and they mean nothing to him.” I fixed my gaze on every member of the Rag Team, willing them to come over to my way of thinking. “He doesn’t trust the National Council not to simply throw him back in prison once all of this is over and never let him out again, and he sure as heck doesn’t trust the California Mage Council to hold up their end of the bargain, either. If he were to make one with them, that is.”

  “So, his endgame is to stay out of Purgatory?” Dylan replied.

  “That seems to be the deal, yeah.” I hated the words as soon as they came out of my mouth, but they were the truth. “I’m the only one he trusts to keep my end of the deal.”

  “And you would do that?” Krieger asked. “I’m not judging, but I wish to be clear on the details.”

  “It’s not a bad deal if it means we can stop Katherine. The only person he wants to hurt is Katherine, and I’m all for that.” I couldn’t help wondering what Garrett would think of all this Finch business if he were here. Fortunately, he wasn’t, so that was one less thing to worry about. “And, hey, I’m not saying we don’t send Finch straight back to Purgatory. I’m just saying that once this is done, we make a case for him, try to get him his freedom.”

  Wade nodded. “If this is the only way Finch will help, then we should accept it. We’re in dire straits right now, and All Hallows’ Eve is only a week away. Time is running out, and… well, if Katherine succeeds with the ritual, then we’re even more screwed than we are now.”

  I knew he’d stopped himself from saying something else. I was pretty sure he’d wanted to say, “and we have to be prepared this time,” but he’d stopped to spare my feelings. I was grateful he hadn’t said it out loud, but it was something I wholeheartedly agreed with. I didn’t want to do a botched, half-assed job this time. This time, I wanted to get it right and put an end to her, once and for all.

  “And, since it looks like we’re going down this route, we do have a plan for breaking into Purgatory, right?” Astrid asked.

  “That’s where you come in.” I flashed a nervous smile at the Rag Team. “Santana, I was hoping I could borrow one of your Orisha duplicates, as a replacement for Finch. It has to be convincing, but I know you’ve got no problems with that. I just need it to work without you in Purgatory with it. Can that be done?”

  Santana thought for a moment. “I’d need a sample of Finch’s hair or blood to make a good copy, but the distance thing shouldn’t be a problem. If I ask really nicely, the Orishas can sometimes take on a physical form that’s much more alive and alert than the duplicates I’ve used in the past. Let’s just hope they’re feeling generous.” She smiled at me, but I could see the trepidation lurking beneath the surface.

  “You’ll have to make one for Harley, too,” Raffe interjected.

  “I was getting to that,” she chided playfully. “I have terms of my own before I give you the two Orishas—one for Finch, one for you, to cover your ass while you’re out of the coven. I’ll have to make a better one for you, too, since the last duplicate didn’t work out so well. Something a bit more realistic.”

  I frowned. “What terms?”

  “I’m still not convinced that Finch is as reformed as he’s making out. Even if he is, people died because of him, and that can’t just be swept under the rug. So, if you want the Orishas, you have to promise me that you’ll take Finch straight back to Purgatory, where he can make an official case to be set free—you have to swear to me you won’t waver and just let him go. I know you’ve already said you’re aiming for a legal release, but I want you to promise. After we’re done with Katherine, of course. I’m not an idiot.” She grinned at the others, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

  “You can definitely make these souped-up duplicates?” I wanted to be sure before I made any more deals, even if I agreed with her and she was my friend.

  She nodded. “For sure. If I’m smart, which I am, the magical world won’t even know that Finch is out until it’s all over. He can make his case once he’s proven himself to be one of the good guys, from the comfort of his cell. And, if he screws us over, he’ll have a horde of pissed security personnel after him. He might be a Shapeshifter, but I doubt he can outrun the authorities forever, and we can just pretend we had nothing to do with it. Once my Orisha evaporates back into its spiritual form, it will be untraceable. This way, it’s a win-win for everyone, and Finch will have to make amends the proper way.”

  “As long as he gets to make a case for himself, with our support, I don’t see why he’d argue. And we’ll have no reason not to help him if he does this for us without screwing us over,” I said, though doubts churned over in my stomach. Santana was right to be cautious—Finch had killed people with his gargoyle attack, and that couldn’t be easily pardoned. I didn’t know if he could use temporary insanity as a defense, but at least he’d have more chance of gaining permanent freedom if he played by the rules.

  “So that’s a promise? No wavering?” Santana pressed.

  “Cross my heart.”

  “Then I’ll do it. Two sentient duplicates, coming right up.”

  Raffe nodded. “I’ll stay with Santana here, to make sure she’s got all the energy, peace, and coffee she needs to be parted from two Orishas at once.”

  “It’ll take its toll on me, but if it’s not for too long then I should be okay. I’ve been getting better at it since Levi outed my last duplicates. Now I’ve got more accuracy, and I know how to build improved versions, mostly thanks to Louella. She really is a research demon.” Santana smiled at our youngest member, who blushed.

  “It was just a couple of books I thought you’d find helpful,” she murmured, embarrassed.

  “Wait… so is it just you going into the Cult of Eris with Finch?” Tatyana narrowed her eyes.

  I grimaced. “Yep.”

  Wade stiffened at my side. I knew he hated that I’d have to go in alone, more or less.

  Tobe frowned. “You should consider using an alternative method of deceit for when you infiltrate the cult, Harley—a believable excuse for you to be away, without arousing Levi’s suspicions. I fear he is on to you, especially where duplicates are concerned, and I would hate for him to catch wind of this… although I am a neutral observer, as you know.”

  Krieger nodded. “Levi might suspect something if you were to use the duplicates long-term, and Santana might be drained of energy while you’re away, or while Finch is supposed to be in his cell. It’s a very real possibility.”

  “I agree. That’s the last thing we need,” Astrid added.

  “I’d like to go with you and Finch while you’re undercover in the Cult of Eris,” Wade blurted out. “You shouldn’t undertake this on your own, and I’d feel better if you had a member of the Rag Team with you.”

  As an impartial observer, naturally.

  “As long as we can make enough Ephemeras, I’m happy to have you along for the ride.” I glanced up at him, feeling glad I wasn’t going to be so alone after all.

  Krieger cleared his throat. “It might be best, then, if you come straight to the infirmary once your plans are set to free Finch. Jacob can assist you with portals on this mission, as you certainly won’t be able to utilize the mirror to Purgatory, since Levi will notice.”

  I shook my head. “I’m
not sure we can actually portal into the prison, Doctor. There are alarms rigged to go off at the slightest intrusion.”

  “I have something that will help with that,” Astrid cut in. “I got Smartie to delve into some pretty top-secret stuff, with a little help from Alton, the moment this started to look like it might be a plan. He managed to pull up the blueprints of Purgatory in quite a lot of depth. With those blueprints, I’m sure I could find a place you could portal in, undetected. I can also make a gap in the security field around Finch’s cell, to stop any alarms from going off when you portal in. It’ll be tricky, but it should work, as long as Jacob hits the right mark.”

  Jacob paled. “I’ll do my best.” We had to rely on Jacob instead of Isadora, as Levi insisted on daily meetings with her. If she went missing for a while, he’d know about it, and we didn’t know how long we’d need to break in and out of Purgatory. He knew about Jacob now, but Isadora had managed to persuade him that Jacob was a novice with extremely shaky skills, framing him as a risk we couldn’t readily use. It made him the perfect choice, even though I still hated putting him in the line of fire.

  “You’ll have to focus precisely on the location I give you,” Astrid said.

  “Yeah… Yeah, I can do that.”

  Isadora shot me a worried look. “You will have to be quick about it, if this is what you’ve decided to do. And you must be careful. Any alert to what you’re doing, and your neck will be on the line. I don’t want to have to watch that happen. We’ll do everything we can to prevent it.”

  Tatyana nodded. “Be careful. This is bigger than anything we’ve ever done. None of us want to see you in Purgatory for this.”

  “Thank you,” was all I could say, though the words lodged behind a lump in my throat. There was so much at stake, and I didn’t know if being careful would be enough. The fact remained: if I wanted to keep Wade and myself out of Purgatory, I’d have to use every weapon in my arsenal to keep our entire mission from crumbling.

  No pressure, Merlin. Nope, none at all.

  Four

  Finch

  Another day in paradise.

  I stood from my brick of a mattress and walked to the glass panel. Same view. Same guards on rotation. Same old Purgatory. I was sick of the sight of glass and chrome. If I never saw that architectural mix again, I’d die happy.

  I banged on the glass until I got their attention. For folks who were supposed to be watching me, they had a nasty habit of ignoring me. Imbeciles.

  “What is it, Shipton?” A gruff beast who’d downed too many steroids opened the grate.

  “I’m starting to smell.” I smiled sweetly, though I wanted to punch him in the nose. Officer Grimshaw was my chosen nemesis in this place. Grim by name, grim by nature. He hated me, I hated him. It was a veritable love story.

  “And?”

  “Human rights mean anything to you?” I shot back.

  “You don’t deserve ‘em.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I need a shower. Or I could just douse myself in the water from the toilet. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “As it happens, I would.”

  “I’ll go quietly.” My face twisted up in a smirk.

  Officer Grimshaw sighed and turned to his boyfriend. “We got showers free? This one wants to make himself all pretty.”

  This one? I’d become a number in a cell. No name, just a box and a set of rules as long as my arm. But I was pretty sure I’d get the last laugh on this one.

  Officer Chalmers, who was anything but charming, stepped up to the door and pulled back the hefty bolt. That’s it, boys. They knew I wouldn’t make a run for it. What would be the point? There was nowhere to run. Not that it stopped the thought from crossing my mind. Human instinct at its finest. Fight or flight.

  “Wrists,” Grimshaw ordered.

  “Yes, sir.” With a grin, I pushed my arms through the grate. A moment later, I was clapped in Atomic Cuffs. My favorite. I loved the way they just drained the life out of me and made me feel like a slug. The guards had allowed me to be in my cell without the Cuffs, after the whole you-almost-got-murdered-because-your-hands-were-tied thing, which was nice of them. Small mercies. Besides, no magic could breach the walls of this cell or bust open the door. I couldn’t exactly stage a breakout.

  At least I’d get a walk out of this experience. Apparently, a person can go mad if they’re left locked up, pacing the floor. It was probably too late on that front. I had Shipton blood in me—madness was par for the course.

  “Don’t try anything funny, Shipton.” Chalmers opened the door with a reluctant grimace. I wondered if it was a requirement to look like the back end of a garbage truck in order to work here. The guards all shared a grizzled, pumped-up quality that made me think they’d done time themselves or had been in a lumberyard for the past decade.

  “What am I, a criminal?” The guards yanked me out of my cell and dragged me toward the showers.

  “Shut your mouth, Shipton.” Grimshaw shoved me in the back. Real nice.

  Since my mother’s failed attempt to murder me, these goons had been all over me like a rash. I’d almost been killed, yet I was the one under twenty-four seven watch. Ah, the logic of the judicial system. The stupid woman couldn’t even be bothered to do it herself. But the solution was simple, really: watch the damned cameras and give a hoot if someone they didn’t recognize waltzed in, or if someone they did recognize was acting shifty as heck. Why was I being punished for their idiotic mistake?

  Walking along the ridiculous steel walkways, I contemplated jumping over the edge. Not seriously, of course, but it’d be five seconds of fun before I went splat at the bottom. Instead, I focused on the route ahead. So very familiar to me now. I’d lost track of the number of times I’d made this trip. Back and forth, always in chains. With no parole on my sentence, I was looking at a lifetime of this. Yeah, not if I can help it.

  Soon enough, we arrived at the private shower block. Nobody else was allowed in while I was showering, aside from a bunch of burly guys in Kevlar. Any boy’s dream, right? I stripped and stepped under the surprisingly hot water. There was something about showers that made me thoughtful. No idea why. The running water cascading over your face, blocking out the noise when it got in your ears. Only, I didn’t like it when my brain took over. I had a problem with overthinking. Especially these days, when I had nothing to do but think.

  Sliding down the wall, I sat under the hot torrent. It reminded me of being a kid at the Anker house. That really was a lifetime ago. I used to sit in the shower to forget about my day—the kids calling me “freak” and stuff. I didn’t know, back then, that my mother had made me like this.

  Why’d you do it, Katherine? Why’d you make me this way? “Nurture” definitely hadn’t been in her vocabulary. I felt stupid, now, when I thought of how intently I’d hung on her every word. True abandoned-kid syndrome. I’d done so many things for her, and for what? To get a knife in the throat? I’d never been a son to her, just an object she could use. It had taken Adley to make me see that, but I hadn’t been able to save her any more than I’d been able to save myself. I kept thinking, Hey, at least I’m not dead. But maybe I’d have been better off six feet under.

  Weirdly, Harley seemed to understand. She didn’t forgive what I’d done with the gargoyles, but she saw that I didn’t forgive myself, either. Even when Katherine had asked me to release those beasts, I’d had doubts about it. I’d wondered what Adley would think. If I had told her at the time, she’d probably have given me a pitying look and said something like, “That’s not who you are, love. You don’t have to prove anything to anybody.” Something stupidly empathetic like that, because for some reason she never saw me as the monster I was. It didn’t matter now, though. What was done was done, and any respect I’d had for my mother had died along with Adley.

  “What are you doing in there?” Chalmers’s voice split the calm sound of running water.

  “Singing showtunes, what do you think?” I taunte
d.

  “Well, pack it in and get yourself washed. We’ve got other things to attend to.”

  I got up and reached for the standard-issue shampoo-slash-bodywash-slash-paint-thinner. A nice bag of chemicals in a soap dispenser. It was no wonder my dye had washed out. This stuff was stronger than bleach. Grabbing a handful, I ran it through my hair until the suds stung my eyes. A little pain reminded me why I was here. Why I was still breathing. I wouldn’t stop until Katherine was dead. I’d make her pay for what she’d done, with Harley’s help. That was still strange for me to get my head around.

  After so many years of lapping up everything my mother had told me and sipping her poison, Harley had appeared out of nowhere and thrown my entire world for a loop. She’d held a mirror up to me, and I didn’t like what I saw. Typical family business. It amused me to picture us all around the table at Christmas—me, Harley, Katherine, Hester, Hiram. I doubted we’d even get through the entrees before someone wound up dead in their soup.

  I glanced down at the dappled pattern of bruises across my skin. I’d healed well after the attempted assassination, but my ego would take a bit more work. Washing away the suds, I grabbed a towel and dried myself off. My sexy prison uniform lay on the bench opposite. I dressed quickly and headed out to the guards. They scowled at me like I’d smeared dog crap on the walls, before hauling me back to my cell.

  “That’s your last one for a week, Shipton,” Grimshaw hissed.

  I shrugged. “It’s your funeral. You’ve got to smell me.”

  Heading back, I peered into the cells we were passing. I didn’t do it very often. All around me, the cells were filled with serial killers, terrorists, every kind of “-phile,” the worst types imaginable. And I was among them. Some looked like celebrities or ordinary people—femme fatales, good-looking jocks, and hunched retirees. Others looked exactly like you’d expect a killer to look, with missing teeth, weird tattoos, black eyes, jacked arms. Compared to them, what I’d done was nothing. Yeah, but you got a lot of people killed. You did what they did. You just went about it a different way.