Vengeance Bound (3 page)

“There are plenty of nightmares that stalk the night. I’m yours.”

I step forward, taking my place between the other two with a sigh of relief. Silver chains encircle my arms, leading back to Them and binding us together. My vision splits in three, seeing what They see too. It’s like looking at a dressing room mirror, each image slightly different. Tisiphone’s vision is bright colors and a flash of images as she reads his past crimes. Megaera’s is cast in red, heat vision more than anything. She sees the pain of his past victims clinging to him. I can see only what is in front of me, but my weakness isn’t a hindrance.

Three is the right number. Now we are complete.

“Matthew Alders, you are accused of killing women, and keeping their hearts as trophies. How do you plead?”

His eyes are wild, and he looks from Megaera, to me, to Tisiphone. She flaps her wings once and grins at him, and he cowers even more. “What, what are you talking about? What are you?”

I grab Alders by the chin and use Tisiphone’s ability to read the sins written on his soul. This works only when the Furies have manifested physically and the silver chains connect us, which is a shame. It would make life a lot easier if I could do it all the time.

It takes seconds to see the parade of his victims. A montage flickers past, Alders on the computer checking out dating sites and e-mailing lonely women while a little girl plays at his feet, him driving along the same road where he found me, picking up random strangers. My stomach turns as I watch him bring all of them here to his cabin. I break the connection after I see what he did to the first girl, who was around my age. I don’t need Megaera’s special sight to see that this man is a monster.

I swallow my nausea and drop my hand to my side. “Guilty,” I whisper.

“Guilty!” the hawk screams, excitement coloring the sound.

“Guilty,” the serpent echoes, her low voice solemn. The slightest hint of a smile plays around her thin, scaled lips.

I hold out my hand. The chains looping around my arms flow forward, swirling and coalescing into a silver sword. I don’t bother saying anything else to Alders, I’m so disgusted by the things he’s done. Men who prey on women are the worst sort of creature. Monsters like Alders deserve to die.

Even if it is wrong to kill them.

I hesitate for a moment. As much as I know that it’s the smart thing to do, I don’t want to kill Alders. I hate the way his death will eat at me, making me question our actions. Are we truly the ones who should be handing down justice? Wouldn’t it be better to hand him over to the police, let the proper authorities deal with him?

But then I think about the next girl he’ll pick up on this lonely road, and the chances that the evidence won’t be enough to convict him. And I know that I have no other choice.

Besides, it’s the price that the Furies demand. What else am I going to do?

I stab him through the chest with the sword, and he stiffens as his heart stops. It’s a better death than the one he gave his victims, and I pull the blade out with a grunt. Beside me Tisiphone and Megaera sigh sadly. It went too quickly for Them, and Their disappointment is almost palpable.

With Alders dead I’m able to focus, and I direct my thoughts toward pushing the Furies back into my subconscious. It’s a bit like mentally reeling in a fish, but They don’t fight me. They aren’t always so cooperative.

Once They are sequestered in the back of my mind, I walk back to the minivan, the woods around me eerily silent. The blowing snow has stopped for a moment, and a deep sense of peace settles over me. I don’t always enjoy our work, but I have to believe I’m doing good, helping Them. Because of me other women won’t have to endure what I did.

But in the end it doesn’t really matter if what we do is right or not. The Furies are all I need. And I would do anything to keep Them happy.

I reach the minivan. The door is still open, and the interior light beckons to me with the promise of heat. I rifle through the inside, finding Alders’s wallet and emptying it. I have my own money, an inheritance from my parents and grandmother, but if I touch it, the authorities will know where I am. I’m technically still a ward of the state until I’m eighteen, and I have no intention of ever going back to Georgia. So instead of trying to use my inheritance, I live off the guilty. Tonight’s haul is a whopping sixty-eight dollars.

Now that I’m done handing down Matthew Alders’s justice, I’m tired. I just want to get back to my apartment so I can sleep. I consider taking the van but decide it’s better to leave it where it is. No sense in giving the police any reason to suspect foul play. I pull the hood of my coat tight with a sigh. Then I hike back down the road to my car.

It takes me a little more than an hour to make it back. The afterglow of the justice makes it seem like a much shorter trip. Still, by the time I clear the snow off my windshield, I’m half-frozen. I get into my car and wait for the heater to warm up, shivering in the driver’s seat like a junkie coming down from a fix. When the hot air starts blowing, I start for home, feeling light even though I’m dog tired.

It’s only when I remember that I have school tomorrow that the euphoria of the justice melts away, leaving behind an odd knot of dread and excitement.

THE FIRST THIRD

Seconds after my head hits the pillow, I open my eyes to a bleak landscape, the colors muted like in an old photograph. Rust-colored earth and jagged mountains form geography not of this world. The sky is cloudless, and a heated wind scours my skin, making it feel like it’s being baked off. The heat will follow me back to the waking world, leaving my sheets soaked from the sweat of being in this other realm.

The serpent and the hawk are nowhere to be found, only the woman in flowing white. Alekto, the third Fury. The one I’ve replaced. At times when I’ve been here, I’ve watched the three of Them fight, Their words like the screams of wounded animals, unintelligible but filled with rage and sorrow. Mostly I end up here when Alekto wants to chat. She’s the one who told me Their true names, who taught me how to bring Them to heel, and how to mitigate the effects of Their bloodlust. Without her I would have gone crazy, truly insane, a long time ago.

Still, for someone who abandoned the cause, she sure does like to interfere a lot, and that makes me despise her.

Unlike the other two, she is human. Well, as human as a mythical creature can be. She isn’t like Them, animal parts mashed together with human features. She is beautiful and golden, like a living statue. It’s in her image that the Furies remade me, a side effect of Their possession. My hair used to be dark, a brown so deep it was almost black. My eyes were always blue, but a shade closer to gray. Now Alekto and I share the same corn silk ringlets and sapphire-blue eyes. Her skin has a golden hue, the one feature of hers that They either didn’t or couldn’t copy. I could never mimic the look unless I rolled around in glitter. And that’s not happening. She gleams as she walks across the earth toward me, her mouth turned down at the corners. Lecture time.

“Once, the world was ruled by the great gods. They looked down on the earth from their rule on high, and mocked the antics of men and beasts alike. They bore children, and tormented them as they did the rest of their creations. The gods were frivolous and cruel, and the children of the gods balked at the tyranny of their sires but were helpless to stop them. After all, who can challenge the whims of a god?”

I swallow a groan and close my eyes, willing the dream to end. I’ve heard this story before. She has told it dozens of times. When I open my eyes, the dreamscape is still there, and Alekto continues without missing a beat.

“The youngest child of the king of the gods was given a sickle by his mother, the goddess of the earth. She had a soft spot for the humans and had grown tired of her husband’s antics. She knew her husband’s death would change the plight of man, who toiled long and hard only to have the gods dash it all away. The sickle was the only thing that could kill the old king of the gods, and the young god did not want to miss his chance. In the early light of dawn, when the day was not yet born, the young god struck. He slew his father, the oldest of the gods. Dying, the old god bled out over the world and swore revenge.

“The first drop of blood landed on a hawk hunting over a meadow. It was the First, born of the surprise of betrayal. Her moods are manic: one minute joyous, the next violent.

“The second drop of blood landed on a serpent sunning itself on a rock. Sly and cunning, the Second is the simmering anger that never fades but simply bides its time, waiting to strike.”

I sigh, hoping Alekto will hurry up and get to the point of our meeting. I don’t need to hear all of this again. But sometimes what she reveals is useful, so I bite my tongue and wait for her to finish.

“The third drop of blood landed on a maiden sleeping in a meadow, waiting for her beloved to return to her side. The Third was born of all the sorrow of betrayal, and she woke with a start, tears falling ceaselessly. She could not remember anything of her previous life, and she was consumed by the sadness of a now dead god. But that sorrow and despair called to the other two, and when They joined her side, she felt a measure of peace. After all, They were all sisters of the same blood. Together They knew what They had to do—find the guilty and punish them for their crimes. And for a long time that is what They did.

“But one day something changed.”

I straighten at this, a new line in the story. Usually she just ends at the point where the three hunt the guilty and hand down justice, like the happily ever after in some twisted fairy tale. I frown at her, even though it’s hard since she’s so pretty. “What changed?”

She blinks, and looks at me like she has just realized I’m standing here. “You let Them loose again,” she begins, without any sort of transition. “How do you expect me to help you if you continually give in to Their demands?”

“I wasn’t aware I’d asked for your help.” I used to cower in fear when she spoke through my dreams, but she holds even less power than the Furies do. After almost five years of being joined to the Furies, I’ve figured some things out. They have constant access to me, but she can enter only through my dreams. They leave me the clues that lead me to Their prey. She does nothing but talk.

She purses her lips at me. “Not yet, but you will soon. You have to resist Them. The more you give in to Them, the closer They get to Their goal of ruling your mind completely. Do not let Them gain control of you.”

“What other choice do I have?” I snap. I’m tired of having this conversation. She keeps hinting that there’s a way to rid myself of Them, has for a long time. But she never gives me a straight answer, and I’m not entirely sure I trust her. After all, the only reason I have Them in my head is because at some point she severed her chains to Them. I can’t believe I’m the only person They’ve ever possessed. Did Alekto “help” that previous person too?

Besides, at least They are honest about Their goals. Alekto is not.

She’s unfazed by my outburst. “You always have a choice. That is one of the beautiful things about your kind, the number of options you have.” She looks wistful, as though she’s remembering a time when she could make her own decisions.

“Uh-huh.” I glance around for an exit. I’m not interested in sticking around and listening to her ambiguous threats and prophecies. I pick a spot on the horizon, a place where the mountains bump against one another, and walk toward it. Eventually I’ll be able to break the hold she has over the dream, and then I can get some rest.

“If I could tell you how to rid yourself of Them, I would. But I am forbidden. Just know this: He will change everything for Them, and They will do whatever They can to keep you away from him. I am warning you now. It is going to come down to him or Them. And They will not be happy with the answer.”

I turn around to ask her who she’s talking about, but Alekto has already left the dreamscape. I sigh in resignation as the dream begins to dissolve. When I blink again, I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling.

I am completely clueless about what the dream meant, but at least now I can get some sleep.

I roll over, trying to get comfortable. My eyes close, and I don’t give the golden goddess’s cryptic warning another thought.

IMAGINARY ME

After the first fifteen minutes of school, I’m certain I’ve made a mistake. Maybe West County wasn’t the best choice. It’s hard to remember that I need this, the sense of normalcy that school brings. It always seems like a good idea, but right now I’m wondering why I even bother.

I gaze out the window of the guidance counselor’s office at the pickup trucks and beat-up family cars pulling into West County High’s parking lot. Boys dressed like designer lumberjacks and girls wearing high-end knockoffs bounce out of the vehicles and make their way through the snow and into the building. It all looks so normal. It’s different from my last school down in Virginia. There designer labels and expensive foreign cars were the order of the day. But beneath all of that money and wealth was the same darkness I’ve found everywhere I’ve been.

Nine schools in the past two years. That has to be some kind of record. And being the new kid still makes me as nervous as a cat on a boat.

So why am I scared? I haven’t even gone to a single class, and already my palms are slick with sweat, anxiety twisting my belly into knots. I’ve done this so many times, it should be easy. But it’s not. If I didn’t need this so much, this one little connection to the real world, I would leave and never come back. But it’s this small shred of normalcy that keeps me from completely becoming a monster.

“Miss Graff, are you listening?”

I blink and turn my attention back to Mr. Hanes and his never-ending welcome speech. He’s the school counselor and vice principal, and despite the name, he’d never be a candidate to model underwear. He’s a small, blustering mole of a man with a beer paunch and no hair. Judging by the awards proudly displayed on the walls
—#1 ADMINISTRATOR
,
VICE PRINCIPAL OF THE YEAR
,
STUDENTS’ APPRECIATION
—at some point in his career he actually convinced himself that he helps kids. Maybe it lets him justify the minuscule pay that doesn’t even allow for a new wardrobe. His paisley tie and brown suit are several decades out of fashion. I don’t say this, though. Instead I tilt my head slightly to the side and give him a megawatt smile, a testament to what modern dentistry can do.