A Beautiful Evil

Page 27

Menai stopped on the steps. “Gorgon, hurry up.”
“It’s Ari,” I said tightly.
“Whatever. Just pick up the pace.”
I drew in a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare as I went up the steps and into Athena’s temple. We followed the noise, using the same path to the hall as before, when Menai first led me and Sebastian here.
The banquet was louder than ever and packed with Athena’s followers.
But all I cared about was the fact that Violet was standing on the platform covering the pool, holding Pascal. She wore her black dress, a few sizes too big, and had a burgundy Mardi Gras mask lined with short black feathers pushed on top of her head.
Shadows curved beneath her round eyes. Her face was small and oval. Pert nose. Pink mouth. Violet was a doll, a beautiful, dark Gothic child with a penchant for reptiles, Mardi Gras, and fruit.
Instantly her name was on my lips and I moved toward her, but Menai snagged my arm and held me back.
Violet turned and stared at me.
I met her gaze. Her expression didn’t change. It was solemn, quiet, unperturbed. Only Violet could pull off that look and make you believe she meant it. A feline grin built until her lips were drawn apart and her tiny white fangs flashed in the light. I smiled back and gave her an encouraging nod while everything inside me pushed and screamed to go to her and protect her.
“Calm down,” Menai snapped, digging her nails into my arm.
She was right. Play it cool. Assess the area, find the guards, note the open paths, and—
Sebastian.
He stood behind Athena, his hand on the back of her chair. He was staring at me. Had been the entire time, I realized. A blank, gray stare I couldn’t read.
Sebastian looked fresh, clean, more striking than I’d ever seen him look. The natural red in his lips was deeper; his gray eyes were brighter; his hair was blacker and glossier, like black satin. He possessed all the tortured beauty of a poet, all the power and elegance of a Lamarliere, all the edge and creativity of a musician. And now he could add blood-drinker to that list.
Two gods, I guessed from their looks, with regal bearing and Greek-style clothing, sat on Athena’s right, while a strange-looking female occupied the left. Her skin was two different colors—right side a ghostly white and left side an inky black. The light grayish blue of her eyes was accentuated by the colors of her skin.
Athena set her cup down and stood, looking gorgeous and utterly sadistic in her dark, muted green bodysuit made from the skin of the Titan, Typhon. She hadn’t dressed to impress; she’d dressed to instill fear in everyone. The reptilian hide lived, and it moved around her body, still one moment, sliding around the next. She’d worn it the first time we’d clashed in Josephine Arnaud’s ballroom.
Her hair was down, loose in places and braided in others. She wore black eye makeup smudged to gray, making the green of her eyes seem brighter. She clapped her hands. The music died and the room went quiet. “Our entertainment has arrived.”
Twenty-Three
THE GUESTS CLAPPED AND BANGED THEIR CUPS ON THE TABLE. Athena basked in the glow of their attention and excitement, but only for a moment. She motioned for silence. “To celebrate my Panathenaea, I give to you”—she waved her hands at the three gods, then bestowed a motherly smile on me—“the gorgon. Just a baby, really.”
The two gods seated on her right went pale, glancing at each other in confusion and fear. The other one didn’t have an outward reaction at all. Just like Sebastian, still and seemingly unaffected.
“Athena,” a blond god said, “you bring a god-killer before us?”
“Rest easy, brother. She is not matured. I simply bring her before you as a show of . . . good faith.” The lies flowed easily from Athena’s red lips; it was more like a show of strength. If Athena held the god-killer, it was yet another reason for the gods to fear her. She conveniently seemed to forget that she was the one who had inadvertently created the gorgons to begin with, that she gave us the ability to kill the gods.
Athena was so full of bullshit. I wondered if I was the only one who could see through her lies and showmanship.
“I thought it would be fun to watch her submit to my rule. The threat of the god-killer has come to an end.”
My fingers flexed and then settled into tight fists. I stood out in the open, at the mercy of not one god, but four. In fact, the room was full of beings that could rip me to shreds in a matter of seconds.
I’d go down fighting. That much I knew, and I’d give everything I had to try to get my hands around Athena’s neck.
The pleased look on Athena’s face made me uneasy, though. Don’t panic. Remember what Bran taught you. Strike first, ask questions later. So far I’d only been able to deliver small doses of my power that were easily countered by Athena, Bran, Menai. . . . What I needed was a powerhouse strike that filled a body so completely there’d be no way to overcome it, but I didn’t even know if I could do that or if my “immaturity” even allowed it.
Athena lifted her chin and scanned the crowd. Then she glanced down and smiled warmly at Sebastian. That little gesture was just for me. What a bitch.
“It’s time,” she said, her attention settling on Violet and then fixating on me with extreme malice, “for a new, revised model to destroy the old.”
She raised her arms and began to speak, not in Greek, but in something far older, something that snapped through the air, the words holding energy and power.
The gods glanced from one to another, completely unsettled. One of them stood and gripped the table. “Sister, what you’re doing . . . this is madness.”
Just like in my vision, when I’d ingested the bones of Alice Cromley and seen the making of Medusa into the gorgon, Athena’s words floated out from her as a living thing, shadows that curled and twisted and tangled.
Oh God. Athena meant to turn Violet into a gorgon.
“NO!” I lunged before Menai or the guards could stop me, leaping onto the platform and grabbing Violet, pulling her down into my lap as I slid on my rear end. I turned my back toward Athena, shielding Violet with my body and the fall of my loose hair.
Violet turned in my arms to look up at me. “Ari,” she said, strangely calm for what was happening.
“Violet. Are you okay?”
She nodded. “It’s okay, you know. Trust me.”
Her demeanor was so odd, I blinked, unsure of what to say. She gave me a confident nod and then grinned, revealing her tiny fangs. Why the hell was she smiling?
Christ. Maybe I was still back in the cell, hallucinating.
Violet removed herself from my hold. She bent down, placed Pascal in my lap, and then pulled down her mask like a knight preparing to charge. She folded her hands in front of her, looking so small and fragile, and faced a now-silent Athena.
But the words of the curse had life; they wrapped around Violet, picking her off the platform, spinning around her in a slow, macabre dance.
I scrambled off the platform and ran for Athena, but the guards were on me in a flash, tackling me to the ground and then delivering a few choice kicks to my midsection before yanking me upright to watch.
Violet’s arms raised, her tiny body stiff and frozen, her toes pointed to the ground as the words swirled around her—angry, shadowy things.
Then, very slowly, she was set on her feet.
The temple was quiet. A lone cough sounded like thunder.
Violet shoved her mask up to rest atop her head. She stood on the platform all alone, tiny and dark with her black eyes staring calmly at Athena.
Several seconds ticked by.
Nothing was happening. She wasn’t changing, wasn’t affected at all.
I whipped my head around to see Athena waiting for her curse to manifest, but a faint look of confusion passed over her features. It should’ve happened by now like it had happened with Medusa.
Now. Strike now.
With every bit of strength I had in me, I jerked from the guard’s hold, using the momentum to swing back and slam my elbow into his face. Then I grabbed his arm and flipped him. As soon as his back hit the floor, I snatched the hilt of his blade, dragging it out of his sheath and taking off at a run.
I made it to Athena’s table, leaped onto it, and then pushed off with all my might, aiming straight for the goddess.
My arms closed around her and we tumbled to the marble floor. Before she could recover, I rose up and slammed the hilt of the blade into her throat. It gave me enough time to roll off her and maneuver the blade properly. Her eyes went wide and she grabbed her throat, gasping. I swung the blade downward. She threw both hands out, caught it between her palms, and shoved it back, knocking me off balance.
A sword appeared out of nowhere in her hand as she stood.
Steel struck steel.
No one helped her. But then, no one would dare. She was better than me—no shocker. I ducked, just missing her blade as it arced down to sever my shoulder. It cracked the stone floor instead as I spun and swept my leg into the back of her knees, tipping her off balance.
I lunged, snagging a handful of hair at the back of her head. I was fighting for my life and I knew it. She grabbed my hand and twisted her body around until we were face-to-face. Her green eyes took on a savage light. Then she head-butted me.
Pain shot through my face, blinding me. I stumbled back as warm blood gushed from my nose and down my mouth. I sucked some of it in as I opened my mouth to breathe, making me choke on my own blood.
Athena’s hand curled around my throat. She walked me backward, up the dais steps, to stand before her throne and give everyone a view of her victory. She lifted me off the floor by my neck. My windpipe squished. Stars danced in my vision. I kicked, gasping for air like a fish out of water.
She brought me closer, forgetting I still held the blade in my hand. “Nice try.”
“Thanks,” I forced out in a whisper, shoving the blade into her gut.
Released, I hit the dais steps and rolled onto the floor, righting myself as she removed the blade from her body and then flung it at the guard who once held it. It stuck into his skull, killing him instantly.
She’d done in the cemetery. She made a motion toward Sebastian, and he flew from the guards who were holding him and into the seat of the throne.