The Furies (14 page)

Sullivan's men stopped too and dismounted from their bikes. Some were young guys with bright red hair, and others were graying. They fanned out, spreading across the marshy ground along the waterfront. As they stepped through the high grass they pulled out their weapons—Glocks, M4s, a couple of submachine guns. A few of the men headed for the bay and angled behind John and Ariel, surrounding them. Sullivan, though, stayed on his motorcycle. He seemed to be enjoying the show.

John looked in all directions. There was no escape. He could run back to the
Ojibway
but the boat was stuck in the marsh. Ariel squirmed in his arms, craning her neck to glance at each of the approaching Riflemen. Then she whispered, “Put me down.”

She said it so emphatically that John felt a burst of hope. As he lowered her to the ground, he put his lips close to her ear. “Do you have a plan?”

“No.” She sounded disappointed in herself. “I just don't want to look weak.”

Then John remembered the flare gun. He pulled the thing from the back of his pants and pointed it at Sullivan. “Everyone,
freeze!
” he yelled. “Don't take another step!”

The Riflemen paused, staring at the gun. Once they recognized what it was, though, they continued moving in. Sullivan shook his head, still smiling.

John lowered his aim a bit. Maybe he could hit Sullivan's motorcycle. And if the flare got caught in the engine or the wheels, maybe it would set the bike on fire. But as he lined up the shot and started to squeeze the trigger, someone behind him grabbed his arm and yanked it upward. The flare shot straight up, a red fireball climbing into the blue sky, and as the gun's report rang in John's ears he saw the face of the Rifleman who'd just ambushed him from behind. He had some nasty cuts on his shaved head and a big purple bruise that almost hid his spiderweb tattoo. It was the bastard who'd shot Ariel, the one John had pummeled on the rooftop in Brooklyn.

The Rifleman gave him just enough time to make the connection. Then he rammed his fist into John's forehead.

 

 

The blow didn't knock him out cold, but he was only semiconscious for the next few minutes. His body went limp and his eyes closed. He could still hear the footsteps of the Riflemen, though, and feel their hands gripping his wrists and ankles. A moment later he was swinging in the air, suspended from his arms and legs. Sullivan's men were carrying him somewhere. He managed to open one eye while they crossed the highway. The Riflemen were hiding their motorcycles in the woods on the other side of the road. Then they fell in behind the men who were carrying John, all of them marching into the thick, shadowy pine forest. He couldn't understand why they were doing this. Why didn't they just kill him?

He didn't fully wake up until they dropped him on the ground. He lay on his back in the dirt under a massive pine tree that rose almost a hundred feet above him. The men who'd carried him there stepped backward and stood in a circle. The one with the bruised face stared at John and cracked his knuckles, clearly eager to take another shot at him. But the other Riflemen focused on Ariel, who sat in the dirt a couple of yards to his right. Even in her down coat and pink old-lady slacks, she looked proud and defiant. She stared back at Sullivan's men, her chin tilted upward.

After a moment some of the men stepped aside, making way for Sullivan to join the circle. He wasn't smiling anymore. His lips twitched as he stared at Ariel, exposing yellowed teeth. He locked eyes with her, and for the next several seconds they glared at each other, neither saying a word. Then he let out a deep breath and turned to John. “So you're the lucky paramour we've heard so much about?”

John said nothing. He was still woozy.

Sullivan pointed at him. “You're an attractive specimen. But a little duskier than what our women normally choose.” He stepped closer, scrutinizing him. “Your father was Negro, is that not so?”

Although Sullivan looked like an aging biker, his accent was all wrong. He sounded like an old-fashioned Englishman, like an actor in
Hamlet
or some other goddamn play. John sat upright, grimacing as he lifted his head from the dirt. His anger was reviving him, clearing his mind. “Fuck you.”

“Aye, you're scrappy. That's an admirable trait. Your DNA would've made a nice addition to the gene pool at Haven. I can see why the Elders approved the match.”

“Enough!” Ariel interrupted. Her voice was sharp, commanding. “He doesn't know anything.”

Sullivan raised an eyebrow. “Really? You've spent the past two days with the fellow. He must've demanded an explanation by now.”

“Aye, he did. But I was careful. I didn't reveal any knowledge that's forbidden to outsiders.” She was starting to sound more like Sullivan as she talked with him. Now John heard the same English accent in her voice, too. “I remember my oath. And so should you.”

“But the oath doesn't apply in his case. This outsider will never get a chance to share his knowledge. He's living his last hour.”

Ariel shook her head. “Nay, he's not your enemy. Do what you want with me, but don't murder an innocent.”

“Innocent? I think not. Look what he did to Marlowe.” Sullivan pointed at the Rifleman with the battered face. “And what about my men who were pursuing you on the lake? We lost radio contact with them a while ago. Did he help you kill them?”

“He was trying to protect me. That's his nature. It would be cruel to condemn him for it.”

Sullivan stared at Ariel for several seconds, studying her. Then his eyes widened. “You wanton bitch. You care for him, don't you? That's why you're pleading for his life.”

She scowled. “It's true, I care for him. More than I care for you, at least.”

“Oh, no, it's more serious than that. You've fallen for the boy.” He took a step toward her, clenching his hands again. “How quaint. The golden girl is in love.”

The look in Sullivan's eyes was murderous. He took another step toward Ariel and towered over her, brandishing his fists. Alarmed, John rose to his feet, but he was still so wobbly he could barely stand up straight. Sullivan gave him a disdainful look, then turned to the Rifleman with the bruised face. “Marlowe, please restrain our guest. We can't allow his ill humor to spoil our festivities.”

In an instant the Rifleman grabbed John by the wrists and pinned him facedown in the dirt. John's shoulders burned as Marlowe twisted his arms behind his back. At the same time, Ariel cried out in pain. John turned his head to the side and saw Sullivan kneeling on her chest. The bastard reached into the pocket of her down coat and pulled out the small, leather-bound notebook.

“I suspected you'd have one of these.” He held the notebook in the air, just out of Ariel's reach. “We were observing you in New York the day before you seduced your paramour. When you arranged your meeting with Mariela's courier.” He opened the notebook and flipped through its pages until he reached the most recent entries. “And lo and behold, it looks like you inscribed some new runes in your Treasure. Could this be the information you received from our cousins in Caño Dorado?”

Ariel panted through clenched teeth. Sullivan's knee pressed down on her breastbone, making it hard for her to breathe. Her hands were free, so she beat her fists against Sullivan's thigh and crotch, but her blows had no strength behind them. He laughed at her efforts, then turned to John, waving the notebook to get his attention. “Have you seen the runes? It's a devilishly complex language. I never learned to read it, but some of my men can.” He closed the book and showed John its elaborately decorated cover. Then, with a vicious swipe, he slammed the notebook into Ariel's face.

John flailed on the ground, struggling to rise, but Marlowe twisted his arms and held him down. Meanwhile, Sullivan gazed with satisfaction at the blood streaming from Ariel's nose. The left side of her face started to swell and turn purple, but John could tell she was still conscious. Although her left eye was half-closed because of the swelling, it stayed focused on Sullivan, tracking his every move.

He slipped the notebook into the pocket of his bomber jacket. “Now that I have what I want, it's time for the entertainment to begin.” He bent a little lower, smiling at her battered face. “How shall we do this, Sister? How can we make this experience as painful as possible for you?”

Ariel curled her blood-smeared lip. “You can't hurt me.” She held out her hands. On her palms and fingers and thumbs were the thin, faded scars John had noticed before, the scars that seemed to cover her whole body. “I've been hurt too much already. I won't even feel it.”

“But I'm not going to hurt
you
. I'm going to hurt
him
.” He pointed at John. “Marlowe, let's start with something simple. Break his nose.”

Nodding, Marlowe turned John over, flipping him onto his back. Then, before John could raise his arms to defend himself, Marlowe's fist smashed into his face. The pain exploded from his eyebrows down to his mouth.

“Nay!” Ariel screamed. “Stop it!”

“But we're just getting started, Sister. Let's break a few of his ribs now.”

Marlowe stood up, drew back his foot, and kicked John in the left side of his chest. The toe of Marlowe's boot cracked at least two of John's ribs. The crunch of bone was so loud it echoed against the pine trees. John felt like his lungs had caught fire. He closed his eyes and doubled up, unable to breathe.

Ariel screamed again and Marlowe laughed. John convulsed in the dirt until his chest muscles finally relaxed, allowing him to gulp an excruciating breath. When he opened his eyes he saw Sullivan grasp Ariel's chin and turn her face toward him, forcing her to look. “There's your paramour, Sister. What do you think of him now?”

“You … filthy …
cocksucker!
”

“Good, very good. I like seeing you angry.” He let go of her chin and tore off her down coat. Then he grabbed the front of her T-shirt, balled it in his fist, and lifted her off the ground. “Don't you remember what I told you? After you said you wouldn't have me? I said I'd kill any man who came near you.” He shook her from side to side, tossing her around like a rag doll. “I keep my promises, Sister. I'm going to break every bone in his body.”

Flecks of saliva sprayed from Sullivan's mouth as he shouted at her. He twined Ariel's shirt around his right hand, pulling it above her waist, and with his left hand he reached under her shirt and ripped off her bra. John felt a surge of adrenaline that suppressed the pain in his face and chest. He had to get up, he had to do something! The bastard was going to rape her! With a roar, he leaped past Marlowe and threw himself at Sullivan. John clenched his right hand into a fist and drew back his arm, ready to pound the motherfucker's face in, but before he could throw the punch he felt a sharp blow to the back of his head.

The whole world disappeared for a moment, replaced by a flash of white light. Then John lay on his back again. When he opened his eyes he saw the pine forest spinning overhead and Marlowe's purple face whirling above him like a planet. The asshole was rubbing the knuckles of the hand he'd just smacked into John's skull. Ariel lay on her side a few feet away, curled into the fetal position. Sullivan crouched next to her, gripping a hank of her red hair with one hand and pointing at John with the other.

“He's gallant, I'll say that for him. But also a bit thickheaded. Don't you agree?” He shook Ariel by the hair, trying to get her to answer. “Come on, join the conversation, Sister.”

She winced. “Stop calling me that.”

Sullivan cocked his head. “What's wrong? You think your paramour will think less of you if he knows how we're related?”

Ariel said nothing. Sullivan stared at her for a few seconds, narrowing his eyes. “Oh, I see what's troubling you.” Grinning, he turned to John. “You'll have to forgive my sister. She's a little embarrassed. I suppose she didn't tell you that I'm her half brother?”

John struggled to concentrate. He took an aching breath and tried to stop the forest from spinning around him.

Sullivan waited a moment, clearly enjoying himself. He was having such a good time, he didn't seem to mind that John couldn't respond. “It's true, we're siblings. But what she doesn't want you to know is the exact nature of our relationship. Because I look so much older than her, you probably assume we have the same father, but different mothers. But that's not the case.”

“Stop!” Ariel screamed. “You swore an oath!” She twisted and swiped her hand at Sullivan, curling her fingers like claws and reaching for his eyes, but he yanked her by the hair again and shoved her face into the dirt.

“In fact, the opposite is true,” he continued. “We have the same mother, but different fathers. And her father died long before mine was born.”

John focused on Sullivan. He wasn't making any sense. John stared at him hard, throwing all his remaining strength into the effort. Miraculously, everything stopped spinning and froze in place. “What?” he blurted. “What are you—”

“Think about it, good fellow. You haven't known my sister for very long, but you must've noticed a few odd things about her. Doesn't she seem a little wiser than her years? Doesn't she have more knowledge and skills than a typical woman of twenty or twenty-five?”

Ariel screamed “Stop!” again, but Sullivan ignored her. He grabbed her left arm and held it up to the light. “And you must've noticed how many scars she has. Didn't you wonder where they all came from? How do you think she accumulated all those marks?”

John shook his head. Everything came unglued and started to spin again, but after a couple of seconds he managed to regain control. “I don't … understand.”

“Don't fear, there's nothing supernatural about it. Every member of our family has an extra gene. This gene is sex-linked, carried on the X chromosome, which means it has different effects for the different genders.” Sullivan's voice took on a professorial tone. He seemed to enjoy giving this explanation. “For the sons in our family, who have one X chromosome and one Y chromosome, the extra gene gives them red hair and green eyes. It also makes us infertile. That's why our women have to be impregnated by outsiders.”