Free Spellcrash by Kelly McCullough Page B

gone later—once Tisiphone and I had become lovers—if clothes had held any meaning for my fiery Fury. But, of course, the Sisters of Vengeance have no interest in, or need for, clothing. Which, considering the latest turn of events, meant it was probably well and truly time I got rid of the dress.

    Instead, I found myself idly smoothing the fabric of the skirt and aching both for Tisiphone and for what Cerice and I might have grown into in other circumstances.

    What did it say about me? My entanglement with the Furies? This romance with danger made flesh? The first great love of my life had left me for Order and now had gone on to become one with Vengeance. The same Vengeance that had once worn the shape of the woman I loved now.
    Was it the risk that I truly loved and not the woman? The conflict? Walking a razor’s edge between love and death?

    I had no answers. Sighing, I lifted the dress from the covers and turned to replace it in my closet, a reminder of another time.

    “It was a beautiful gown.” The voice barely lifted above a whisper, but I instantly recognized Cerice.

    It came from the vicinity of the lanai overlooking the bay. Though I couldn’t see anyone there, I set the dress back down and folded my arms, waiting.

    “It still is,” I replied, when she did not speak again. “A beautiful gown for a beautiful woman.” Cerice finally faded into view, dropping the magical chameleon effect of a hunting Fury. She had one hip leaned on the rail, and her wings stretched wide behind her as if to sift the night wind.
    She looked as though she’d only just alighted or, more likely, that she wanted me to believe she had. Her skin, always pale, looked even more so with the icy curtain of her wings and hair as a backdrop. Her expression held a cold sort of regret—an awareness of loss untouched by sadness.

    “Was,” she said, her voice still quiet. “That dress is as much a part of the past as any yesterday that has slipped forever beyond the reach of today.”

    “Are you coming in? Or do you have to have an invite before you cross my threshold?” I’d intended it as a joke, but my words came out bitter. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that as it sounded.
    Please, come in.”

    “Apology accepted, and your invitation as well.”

    Cerice folded her wings and stepped through the door. It made for a strange sort of déjà vu, her entering the bedroom we’d once shared in a manner that echoed Tisiphone’s usual mode of arrival in that same place. I glanced at the table where Melchior still lay, deep in electric dreams.
    Unless he had some reason to run on alert mode, noises usually didn’t wake him.

    “Can I get you something?” I asked. “A drink perhaps?”

    “No. I don’t need anything.” She shook her head and crossed the distance between us, putting a hand to my cheek.

    So close she stood, inches away. Beautiful and naked, this lover from my past, her new appearance providing a silvery shadow of my present lover, yet I felt not the slightest hint of desire. Perhaps I was finally growing up? Or perhaps there was one betrayal too many lying between us now.

    I pulled away from Cerice. “That’s not the truth. If you didn’t need anything, you wouldn’t be here.”

    Cerice bowed in acknowledgment, her expression wry. “A perfect bull’s-eye, sir. Shara sent me.
    She wants me to bring you to her.”

    “What if I’d rather not go with you?”

    “She didn’t make a suggestion of it.” This time her voice came out flat and hard.

    “So, because you’ve been ordered to do it, you’ll drag me kicking and screaming?”

    “Only if you force me.”

    I turned away and, without thinking, put my fist through the thin stone of the wall. It hurt, but I welcomed the pain, pulling my arm back to throw a second punch. Before I could do it, Cerice caught my wrist in a grip tighter than any vise, halting the motion.

    “Don’t,” she said, but then released me.

    “How could Shara do