“Well-paying guests,” muttered Mae.
“Mama Orane is special,” the girl continued. As she spoke, two young boys brought in a small, low table. “Mama Orane has been chosen by the spirits and powerful ones who move unseen in the world to be their vessel, so that we may hear their wisdom.”
A chill ran down Mae’s back at those words. A sidelong look at Justin’s face showed he’d had a similar reaction. Although the world of gods and the supernatural was still largely mysterious to her, one thing Mae had learned was that gods rarely spoke directly to humans. Usually they used dreams or intermediaries. Was Mama Orane possibly one of the latter? Life as they knew it would certainly be a lot easier if they had a direct line to the divine.
The girl tilted her head back. “Prepare yourselves. Prepare yourselves for wondrous, powerful things. Even Mama Orane never knows what to expect. She places herself in those forces beyond.” The girl swept a flourish-filled bow toward one of the doorways, and a short, curvaceous middle-aged woman entered. Her skin was as dark as the girl’s who’d introduced her but showed many of the acne scars typical of Cain. Mae couldn’t make out the woman’s hair because it was concealed under a bright red head scarf embroidered with gold.
The locals on the floor showed their approval by rhythmically patting their legs and murmuring, “Ma-ma, ma-ma . . .”
Justin leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on clasped hands as he scrutinized her. The earlier banter was gone. This was serious, the reason they’d traveled out to the provinces.
Mama Orane stood in the middle of the room and hung her head so that she stared at the floor. Her assistant picked up a small drum from the table and began tapping out a steady beat as she murmured in what sounded like French. Although English was the island’s main language, Haitian refugees had been coming to it both before and after the Decline.
The locals joined in with the girl, and Mama Orane began to shake. At first, she could have simply been dancing to the beat, but as her movements grew increasingly erratic, it was obvious she was having—or faking—some kind of fit. Despite all she’d witnessed in the past, Mae still entered these situations with a healthy dose of skepticism. She knew Justin, who was barely blinking, did too.
Mama Orane shook for several more moments and suddenly froze.
Everyone in the room fell silent, and there was a collective intake of breath. Slowly, she lifted her head, her dark eyes looking around the room. Then, a sly smile crept across her face. “Bonsoir, mes petits.”
The tension broke as the locals cheered. “Josephine! It’s Josephine!”
Mama Orane, who’d entered in a slow and stately way, suddenly sauntered forward, swaying her hips with the sass of a girl half her age. She circled the room, still with that sly smile, taking the measure of her guests as her assistant trailed a respectful distance behind. At last, Mama Orane stopped in front of one of the EA men. Her expression went from sassy to outright flirtatious, and she completely caught him offguard when she sat down in his lap, much to the delight of the onlookers.
She spoke in French, but her hovering assistant quickly translated. “Why are you so sad, sweetie? You still miss her?” Mama Orane gently stroked his face. “Don’t be sad. She’s not the one for you.”
Amazingly, the man’s amused expression began to crumple. “No, she is.”
The assistant performed two-way translation, and Mama Orane shook her head. “No. You were better off when she left. Just you wait—someone else will come along.”
“Really?” he asked, a flicker of hope in his eyes.
“Really. And until then, I’ll be happy to keep you company.” She darted in with a quick kiss on his cheek that actually made him blush, and then she moved on with a wink.
“Well?” Mae whispered to Justin, who looked unimpressed.
“Easy to guess at a recent separation,” he responded quietly. “You can tell from his finger he used to wear a wedding ring. And he tipped her off early that he was the rejected party.”
Mama Orane—or Josephine—continued visiting with other members of the audience, all men. She flirted shamelessly and dispensed various tidbits of romantic advice and predictions. Justin didn’t break down any more of them for her, but Mae could tell from his face that he wasn’t buying in yet.
As it turned out, Mama Orane made him her last visit. She looked down upon him from her demure height, hands on her hips, as she tsked. “I won’t even bother with you, love. Not many women can catch you.”
He smiled back gallantly. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
She laughed in delight and patted his shoulder before returning to her central position. Her assistant took up the drum again, and there was another bout of shaking and chanting. When she came out of this spell and looked up, she spoke in English, in a much flatter tone than Josephine had: “Where’s my rum?”
Those on the floor were overjoyed. “Reynard!”
Mama Orane’s Reynard guise moved with a stride that was simply laidback, rather than attempting any sex appeal. He or she—Mae wasn’t entirely sure which was accurate—told fortunes on a variety of topics. One of Reynard’s targets included the Gemman woman who’d offered Justin the wine.
“What’s your name?”
”Elspeth,” she said meekly.
“You can’t stay away, you know. You’ve eventually gotta go back home.”
Elspeth stuck her chin out defiantly and tried to stare down the small woman standing before her. “I’m not! I’m done with them. No one can make me go.”
“No,” agreed Mama-Orane-as-Reynard. “Only you can. You going to keep breaking your parents’ hearts?”
Elspeth’s lip quivered, and she looked away, refusing to make eye contact. Mama Orane left it at that and returned to the room’s center, where another round of chanting and drumming began.
“What was that one?” Mae asked, her voice covered by the din. Justin was silent as he studied the red-haired group. “Elspeth,” he
said after several moments. “She’s a Scottish castal.” He used the slang term for “patrician” without thought. “One of the others was named Roisin. Irish. She’s fraternizing outside her caste. That’s what she’s dreading going home to.”
“They could be from a meta-caste,” Mae reminded him. “One with lots of Celtic varieties.”
“The only two out there select for recessive colored eyes. Hers are brown, which the Caledonians allow.” Justin shook his head. “She’s good. Really good.”
Mama Orane’s third transformation was into a man the others called El Diable.
“The Devil,” said Justin. “Subtle.”
This guise elicited none of the joy in the onlookers that Josephine and Reynard had. A hush fell over the room, as those gathered sat tensely. Mama Orane’s face was cold and devoid of emotion as she surveyed the room. Then astonishingly, she strode straight toward Mae and Justin. The woman herself posed no physical threat, but the look in her eyes made Mae’s implant ramp up. There was something so eerie in that gaze, something inhuman that Mae couldn’t quite put her finger on.
But even that was less shocking than what happened next. Mama Orane leaned forward so that she was at their eye level. When she spoke as El Diable, it was barely a whisper, like a snake’s voice.
“Electi . . .”
CHAPTER 2
Something Else to Worry About
Justin’s first reaction was panic. Then indignation.
You told me it would work! You told me no one would be able to sense me if I made that charm!
Magnus, one of the two unseen ravens that lived inside Justin’s mind, was equally indignant. It did work.
His counterpart, Horatio, clarified: As usual, you assume this is about you. You’re not the one El Diable is talking to.
A quick assessment showed Justin that the raven was correct. Mama Orane—or whoever the hell she was now—wasn’t looking at him. That creepy gaze was fixed on Mae. Even more incredibly, Mama Orane
then reached out and cupped Mae’s cheek. Justin felt her go rigid beside him, and he instinctively reached over and squeezed her hand tightly, as both comfort and a means of restraint. Despite a history of casual liasons, she did not react well to unsolicited contact, especially from a woman who looked like she feasted on souls. Justin wouldn’t have put it past Mae to pull out her gun.
“Cave bellum electi,” whispered Mama Orane. Her assistant immediately appeared beside her, ready to translate.
“Beware the—”
“I know what it means,” Justin interrupted. The assistant shot him a glare but said nothing as she waited for her mistress to continue.
Mama Orane was still touching Mae, who didn’t even seem to be breathing as she locked eyes with the other woman. “Cave bellum electi,” she repeated. “Inveni tuum deum.”
Mama Orane and her assistant turned away, off to deliver cryptic wisdom to someone else. Beside Justin, Mae was breathing again, but they were rapid, shallow breaths. She was still wound up, and her eyes never left Mama Orane as the medium worked the rest of the crowd. As El Diable, she continued issuing ominous messages in Latin that her assistant translated to their bewildered recipients. Justin gave Mae’s hand one last squeeze and then released it, trusting she’d stay put and not attack anyone.
Three was apparently Mama Orane’s limit because when she released El Diable, she returned to herself, sagging in exhaustion. The boys were there to catch her and lead her out of the room as the spectators clapped. Her pretty assistant gave a polite bow to the crowd and thanked everyone for coming.
Justin and Mae returned to their inn, speaking little until they entered the building. “So, what was that? Multiple personalities?” she asked. “Or the real deal?”
“The latter, I’m afraid.” Mae had certainly seen stranger things in their missions together, but he was hesitant to elaborate this time. Fortunately, she didn’t press him.
Mama Orane wasn’t a fraud, he thought to himself. She recognized Mae as one of the elect. But is she really? She broke free of the Morrigan. The Morrigan was a Celtic goddess of death and battle, whose cult Mae had unknowingly been born into when her mother consecrated her to the goddess in exchange for healthy patrician genes. Mae had not only freed herself from the group, she’d also greatly reduced the Morrigan’s power in the RUNA. Mae rarely spoke of those events now, and Justin knew that she believed she was free of any supernatural entanglements, aside from their investigations. He’d started to believe it as well.
You don’t need a patron god to be one of the elect, said Magnus. Being chosen doesn’t make you one. You’re chosen because you already are one.
Circular logic, Justin pointed out.
Not really, countered Horatio. And Mae is one. She has no ability to hide it. If you’d stop half-assing it and actually improve your skills, you’d sense it in her too.
Justin wasn’t so sure. I didn’t sense anything from Mama Orane. Does she have a charm?
She’s skilled, explained Magnus. She’s been doing this for a long time. She has no need for charms to hide what she is. Of course, it’s not really a secret she’s one of the elect when she flaunts and charges for her connection to higher powers.
Was she channeling gods? asked Justin.
Not exactly, said Horatio. There are other entities moving in this world.
That certainly wasn’t anything he’d heard much about. Like what? Like the ones you talk to every day, said Horatio pointedly.
Justin took the hint and mulled this over. He did talk to the ravens every day—every day for over four years, in fact. At times annoying, they had become a mainstay in Justin’s life, and sometimes it worried him how much he relied on their input. They’d been gifted to him by Odin, the Norse god Justin had become inadvertently involved with. Whereas Mae had been tied to a deity at birth, Justin had become enmeshed relatively recently, when Odin had appeared in a dream and saved him from violent fanatics. Repaying that debt had put Justin on a path to learn some of Odin’s craft and secrets, though Justin had thus far managed to dodge what Odin and the ravens wanted most: for Justin to swear complete loyalty and become Odin’s priest. Getting out of that arrangement had proven especially difficult, particularly since keeping his freedom meant Justin had had to sacrifice something he wanted very, very much.
His rumination was paused as their seedy innkeeper upsold them on dinner. They’d been stuck here a week, and although the food was passable, the prices were absurd. Considering some of the less savory options Justin had seen on the streets, however, he was willing to pay extra, particularly since it was Internal Security that was actually footing the bill.
They ate in relative silence, both because Justin was still mulling over the day’s events and Mae was on high alert, watching the room for potential threats. This was her normal mode, really: walled up and dangerous. Only rarely had he seen her vulnerable, one of those moments being their brief night together. Even then, he hadn’t technically seen it since the lights had been off. Nonetheless, Justin had sensed that shift in her . . . a softening. An acceptance. A yielding, even, that contrasted with the walled exterior she maintained in every other part of her life. It had proven to be an elusive, precious thing in her he often longed for again, though he knew expecting it was probably unreasonable, given their dangerous lifestyle and the fact that he’d pretty much screwed things up between them.
That, and she was the bargaining chip Odin held over him.
It had been part of the dream Justin had, when the god first appeared to him. Odin had marked Mae as special, calling her a woman crowned in stars and flowers. Justin had talked his way out of their first liaison, but Odin had made it clear that if Justin succumbed again and “claimed” her, he would be bound to the god’s service forever. Justin had fiercely vowed not to have any more romantic interactions with her and helped reinforce this by saying some pretty terrible things to her after their night together. It had successfully killed any interest she might have in him, and if Justin at times regretted this turn of events and the hostile atmosphere it had generated, he tried to reassure himself that he at least still had his freedom.
When dinner was over, Mae found an urchin happy to carry a message (for a price) to an Eastern Alliance cargo plane that was currently docking at the local airstrip. The RUNA had almost no regular interaction with this region, so their travel was being conducted through their sister country’s resources. The EA’s trade planes weren’t glamorous, but they did the job. Their mission accomplished, Justin was more than happy to endure an uncomfortable flight if it meant getting back to civilization.
Once they were back in Justin’s room, Mae relaxed her guard—slightly—and finally launched into the questions that had apparently been burning within her since the ceremony.
“What did that mean?” she asked, as soon as the door closed behind them. She double-checked the lock and then sat in one of the chairs, crossing her arms over her chest. “What El Diable said? All I understood was electi. Which I’m guessing means ‘elect.’”
Justin nodded and took his own chair, promptly pouring rum. He’d had enough time of his own to process the weird goings-on and also welcomed a moment with her that wasn’t antagonistic. “Cave bellum electi. ‘Beware the war of the elect.’”
“Which is?”
He downed the shot. No need in holding back now that he was off- duty. “I’m not really sure.”
“Geraki said the gods are playing a game,” she reminded him. “A war is kind of an upgrade.”
It was the second time Geraki had been brought up today, and Justin didn’t want to expound on him. Mae knew Geraki was a prophet deeply involved with a religious group that had eluded the Gemman government’s attempts to uncover it. What she didn’t realize was that Odin was the god Geraki served, nor did she have any idea just how much time Justin had—reluctantly—begun spending with him, as part of the deal to learn Odin’s ways. Mae thought Geraki was just a contact for clandestine information, a
nd Justin preferred she keep believing that.
“Maybe it’s all perception,” he suggested. “Maybe they’re playing a game with us—and a war with each other.”
Mae pondered this a few moments. “Why did she—or he—tell me that then? I’m not involved in any of this.”
Justin couldn’t help a smile at that. “Aren’t you, Mae? Look where you are.”
“That’s not what I mean. I’m not tied to anything specifically—no god. No ravens.”
I wouldn’t mind being tied to her, said Horatio.
“Perhaps. But you were conceived as part of a sacrifice to a Celtic death goddess,” he reminded her.
Her face showed that wasn’t something she liked having brought up. “I broke free of her.”
“You’re still one of the elect, whether you want to be or not. And gods are interested in you.” He hesitated a moment. “That was the other thing El Diable said. Inveni tuum deum. ‘Find your god.’”
“I don’t want a god,” she said, in an uncharacteristic moment of petulance. “I don’t want to be one of the elect.”
The elect. Those humans marked as special who had the potential to be strong servants for the gods that were scrambling to regain power and footing in the world. Justin hadn’t wanted to be one either, but there was no point in crying over what had already happened. The only thing to do was move forward and find a way to survive. He knew Mae well enough to understand she realized this too. She was pragmatic. She was used to being proactive. The problem was, theirs was a situation that didn’t lend itself well to decisive options.
As the night wore on, they settled in for what was a typical routine for them: both reading, him in bed and her at rigid attention in a chair. Praetorians never slept, thanks to their implants, and she’d spend the night ever-watchful. Justin didn’t sleep simply because his mind had trouble spinning down, so he popped one of his favorite sedatives and made himself comfortable reading reports on the upcoming cases Internal Security’s sub-department—Sect and Cult Investigation, or SCI—had dredged up for him. The day’s heat had settled down but still required the window left open, which now welcomed mosquitos instead of flies. This, at least, was something they could combat, having preemptively brought small repellant devices from the RUNA that did an effective job of keeping the mosquitos out.