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Disclaimer: Characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel: the Series are property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui Enterprises, Sandollar Television, the WB, and UPN.

Part VII

She had worked hard, learned well. The turmoil within her felt like a volcano that had to vent or erupt; but, once she found herself again in Kari’s garden, the discipline she had learned fell over her once more like a comfortable blanket, and she let herself settle into a still, perfectly ordered balance. It helped; and more than that, she would need control and clarity in dealing with the young gypsy mystic.

Gypsy? Now where had that come from? Cordelia allowed a tiny portion of her mind to examine that thought, comparing Kari’s face to her memories of Jenny Calendar’s. If they had any defining ethnic characteristics in common, Cordelia couldn’t see them, yet she decided to accept the seemingly baseless intuition. It might mean something, and was unlikely to be harmful.

Kari spoke, but Cordelia let the words flow through her. This was not the time for thought; the rational mind worked more clearly and powerfully when it could be buried, sealed from distractions and irrelevancies. Be, and then come back pure and whole from that rarified state of being.

She came back, gently and without hurry. Yes, this had been good for her. It would not have been good for her to attempt decisions when she was out of equilibrium. She was centered again now.

Death is your gift. Its flowering will be nectar to you, bitter in its sweetness.

Hmm. That one was a puzzler. Maybe she would ask, maybe she would save it for later. No need to decide just yet. Without looking, she said to Kari, “I’ve talked with the others already. Interesting stuff. What’s the source of your despair?”

Kari answered with the same floating detachment. “Once, I lived among champions. Titans, with power the gods of Asgard and Olympus would have envied. Their deeds shook the earth, and people thrilled to the tales that surrounded them.

“Two of them loved me, each in his turn, and I loved them as well. They served different aspects of the same power, and their love was as mighty as their courage. I loved them both, and forsook them both — though this was not my wish — and lost them both. In the end, I forsook each for the other, and in the end I had nothing.

“It seems a small thing now, but this was my despair. I was young, and in an agony of loss, and so He reached me. Even their memory fades now, here where is no brightness of day nor blackness of night; but this garden is my link to them, its verdure and cleanness minding me of the light by which and for which they once fought.”

That didn’t really tell her a lot, but here and now it was easier for Cordelia to remember that meaning didn’t always come from facts. Besides, Kari had earlier all but confirmed Cordelia’s impression that, for her, the greatest despair had come after (and from) her captivity. That, taken in conjunction with what Sam had said this afternoon … “Exactly what services does he demand from you?” she asked Kari. “Roxeim, I mean.”

“He takes what He wishes, as He wishes,” Kari said in answer. “Of us all.”

Discipline kept the black coil of anger tucked into its place, but Cordelia could not keep all the harshness from her voice. “Does what he wishes generally include pillow service?”

They were still speaking without looking at one another, attuning their moods (so much as possible) to the cool greenness around them. “He long ago tired of me,” Kari replied evenly. “I could not say when I was last … favored, with his attentions.”

Cordelia let that pass through her. Green. Discipline. Calm. At last she said, “Was there anything at all voluntary about this? I mean, I know I’m reaching, but I want to be clear. Were you given any choice at all?”

“None,” Kari said. “It is as I told you: we are all of us under his hand. We may not resist, or even object, except as He allows it. I have never known him to allow it.”

Cordelia maintained composure. Rage was for battle; for scheming you wanted control. She considered all the elements with a dispassion that was scarcely human. How would she react to forced sex, in this timeless place? Cordelia thought she could handle that, if she had to; she suspected she could deal with just about anything, as long as she still had the power to plot vengeance, and Lynn seemed to her to have the same hardness of spirit. She didn’t particularly care how often Mandy got pinned to the mattress (actually, her apparent preferences notwithstanding, Mandy was exactly the type to use bedroom performance as a way to leverage greater advantage for herself), but helpless victimization must eat away at Sam’s soul; and Kari, with her gentle unworldliness … all of them, subjected to a form of slavery from which Cordelia’s special status exempted her …

No. She wouldn’t feel guilty. Guilt would weaken her. She could not afford weakness now.

After a time that she didn’t bother to try to measure, Cordelia said, “You keep telling me that death is my gift. Do you have any better idea what that means? because right now, I need all the hints I can get.”

“I am sorry,” Kari said. “That still is hidden from me. But … I think you will understand, when it is time.”

Unfortunately, time didn’t seem to mean anything here.

Green. Calm. Discipline.

Wait.

*                *               *

When Cordelia opened her eyes the following morning, she knew.

No sleepless nights for her. She had gone through plenty of those when Xander cast her aside for Amy, and the ache hadn’t lessened as she watched him slough off Amy, too, in her turn, and go through Sunnydale’s mystical women like a snowplow; even Miss Perfect, Buffy herself, got the patented Xander Harris pump-’em-and-dump-’em treatment. But Cordelia had cried herself dry long before graduation, and since coming here she had been too drugged-out (at the beginning), bruised and sore (once she started training with Lynn), tired and satisfied (as her fitness and accomplishments mounted), or firm in her self-mastery (from Kari’s tutelage) for insomnia ever to touch her.

She was ready. Individual combat skills from Lynn. Small arms and field tactics from Sam. Organization from Mandy, along with some useful techniques. Clarity and self-knowledge from Kari. Purpose and focus from Roxeim. Every person here had made a contribution to the now-that-was-Cordelia, and while she slept, the sleepless consciousness she had learned from Kari had evaluated the situation, sorted through all the facts and issues, and brought her to a conclusion. She considered that now, studying it from different angles, adding certain minor refinements and triple-checking to be sure nothing had been overlooked.

Somewhere — years ago, she could no longer remember the source — she had seen a phrase in some book or poem: “the wrath that is slow to rise.” Sudden anger burned out quickly, but the type of fury that built up gradually had a different kind of power and persistence. That was what she possessed now, and she kept it banked low, controlled and contained but ready for release. She had the will. She had the reason. She had the means. She had the plan.

It was time.

She left her rooms, shrouded (she hoped) in the same detachment she had utilized the evening she slipped into Roxeim’s lounging-room. It was half an hour before she needed to meet Lynn in their training area. More than enough. In the section where she worked with Sam, she quickly collected certain items; returned them to her rooms, and then went to the day’s first class.

Shinai, today. Though Lynn favored the jo, she actually did better against Cordelia when she used the bamboo swords; she still had greater natural speed, and the precision required to properly use the shinai suited her perfectly. This time it didn’t matter; Cordelia’s disinterest was absolute and perfect, rendering her immune to distraction. She saw and understood every motion from Lynn even as it began, countered every attack well before it arrived, and her own attacks had no warning cues because she wasn’t truly involved in any of it. Practice with the shinai wasn’t as punishing as with other weapons; you could hit hard with the bamboo swords, but it wasn’t proper, they were meant to simulate live blades and a katana was for skill-work, not hacking. Even so, after twenty minutes of one-sided contest, Lynn stood back and said, “Whoa, girl, you are hot today. What’s got into you?”

Cordelia shrugged. “I guess it all just came together.”

Lynn shook her head. “Whatever it is, you’ve shifted into a gear I can’t match. We’re wasting our time here, I’m not teaching you anything.” She pondered a moment. “Maybe we ought to call in your leatherneck girlfriend and try a little two-on-one. Hell, give a staff to Miss Pouty-Lips and have you take on all three of us.”

“It’s your call,” Cordelia said. “But I think it might not be a good idea.”

Lynn eyed Cordelia, her thoughts unreadable. “Why not?”

“They could get hurt,” Cordelia said flatly.

A nod. It was true. At last Lynn said, “Two weeks, max. I still have a few more things I can show you, but after that we’ll just be repeating. You left me in the dust awhile back; I stopped being serious competition, concentrated on coaching. Now you’re about to outgrow me on that, too.” She tilted her head to one side. “I’ll have to tell him.”

“Your call,” Cordelia said again.

“Okay, now you’re starting to get scary.” Lynn gestured toward the door. “I’m not doing you any good here, and I need to think about some things. Might as well knock off for the day.”

Cordelia nodded, replaced the shinai on the weapons rack, and left the training area.

Back to her own rooms, settled herself into what she had to trust was psychic invisibility, and then she went to the electronics workshop. As she had anticipated, Mandy wasn’t there, just as Sam had been absent from the arms room earlier today; their routine was well enough established that (except, of course, for Kari) none of Cordelia’s instructors had much reason to be in their respective teaching areas when Cordelia wasn’t. Again she swiftly chose the small tools and components she needed, again returned to her rooms and concealed her acquisitions in an out-of-the-way spot. Then she waited, running different things through her head until it was time for her session with Sam.

Immediately upon her arrival, Cordelia told Sam, “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

Sam’s answer was brusque. “We don’t need to be talking about that.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Cordelia said. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

They worked together almost wordlessly, Cordelia demonstrating the facility she had acquired. Field-strip. Reassemble. Function check. Check the sights. Set the sights for greater ranges, then re-set to standard. Adjust the sling for long march, for patrol carry, for instant access. Clear simulated jam or misfeed. Drop a magazine, insert a new one, reacquire target. Speed drills, reaction drills, advance while firing. Triple-tap for single targets: two in the chest, one to the head. One each for multiple targets, repeat as needed.

Unlike Lynn, Sam was still Cordelia’s better in her subject of instruction; but, just as with Lynn, Cordelia had already learned all she could. She would improve her small-arms skills, with further repetitive drill, but she no longer needed a teacher. This had been so for some time. Given a wider environment, Cordelia could have learned a lot from Sam about combat fieldcraft; as it was, for weeks she had drawn her greatest benefit from the comradeship they still shared. Now that, too, was gone.

Price worth paying. Cordelia missed it all the same.

She watched for any sign that Sam noticed the absence of the things Cordelia had taken that morning; not much chance of that — she had made her selections carefully, and left everything in good order — but it wasn’t to be taken for granted. There were no such warnings. Sam focused solely on the review, Cordelia performed all tasks without flaw; they spoke only when necessary, and at the end of the session Cordelia left without parting words.

Lunch back in her rooms. A small one; Cordelia hadn’t done anything to work up an appetite. Then on to Mandy.

As she had expected, Mandy jumped up as she entered, rushing to embrace her. Cordelia held up her hand. “Don’t.”

The older woman was radiant today, she might have spent the whole morning in a hormone hot-tub. She stopped, but her smile still brimmed with confidence. “We both know what happened yesterday,” she said.

“You’re right,” Cordelia said. “I won’t try to pretend it didn’t happen. We both felt it. But I wasn’t expecting it, wasn’t ready. I’m still not ready.” Cordelia looked to Mandy. “I need time. This is new, and scary, and I have a lot to think about. Don’t push me. I mean it. If you push right now, the answer will be no.”

Mandy’s eyes were lit with tenderness and triumph. “Take all the time you need, baby. We have forever. No hurry at all.”

She was as good as her word, and they worked together without unwelcome incident, but the other woman’s manner was fond and smug, an ever-present irritation. Cordelia couldn’t help reflecting, irony much? The one she actually cared about was freezing her out, the one she couldn’t stand was falling harder by the moment, and neither of them came close to understanding her.

Fine. If they didn’t know what was actually inside her, they wouldn’t have cause to try and stop her.

When it was over, she had time before she was to go see Kari. She used it to good effect. In the hours with Kari herself, neither of them spoke; they did the twin lotus, fingertips touching, breathing in the same rhythm, separate in every other way. Cordelia was sealed within herself. She needed it: the focus, the purity. She hated it, shutting herself away from someone she had come to value. She gave herself to it, wrapped her solitude around herself in bands of soft iron.

She came out of it, and waited. Kari allowed the silence to hold — she did that sometimes — and Cordelia didn’t break it. This might be the last chance they would ever have to speak to one another. Cordelia said nothing. At last she stood and left. Without a word or nod.

Nothing at all. The farewell that wasn’t.

She was to see Roxeim tonight.

Cordelia made ready.

*                *               *

When he had first begun to entertain her on a steady basis, Roxeim had shown Cordelia to rooms containing women’s clothing of every type and every era, and given her leave to make free with them. She had scorned the selection at first; not because clothes didn’t matter to her (anything but!) but because she wasn’t about to be bought off. Later she had begun to dip into the wardrobes to some extent, but she varied her choices as if by whim; one time she would arrive in jeans and t-shirt (Jordache and Gucci, but still), the next in flapper’s garb, complete with beads and feathered cap, and then in the black tactical wear that she used for exercises with Sam. Lace, satin, leather, denim, she alternated them without any pattern in a manner calculated to demonstrate her utter indifference to fashion as a whole.

For this evening’s events she wore Japanese silk, geisha-style, and put her hair up to match the theme, though she didn’t bother with makeup and wore running shoes instead of geta. Roxeim favored her with the usual smiles and compliments, and they dined on quail, exquisitely prepared, a sassy red wine (Cordelia preferred blush), a Greek salad delicately seasoned in a way she hadn’t encountered before, and a selection of aged brie (so last year’s news). During the meal there was chamber music, which bored Cordelia to desperation even when she knew it was being done well, and afterward Roxeim displayed his latest attempt to impress her: Fabergé eggs, five of them, an arrangement of gems and precious metals and brilliant design that absolutely had to be worth millions.

Cordelia nodded lackluster approval, and observed, “You said you wouldn’t be poor once you made the jump back to Planet Earth. Does that mean you’ll be taking all your pretties with you?”

“Some things I will retain, for sheer pride of ownership.” Roxeim indicated the jeweled eggs. “These, for example, I could not bear to part with them. But such as that will not be the source of my wealth; works of that type would attract far too much attention. I have stores of lesser items for the purpose, raw gold and more common jewels, not top quality but of sufficient worth to keep me in comfort. Have you, then, considered my offer of closer friendship, when we leave this plane and return to mundane paths?”

“Just wondering how it’s all going to work,” Cordelia said. “You have a unique setup here; packing up and relocating to earthbound digs has to involve some headaches.” She gave him a glance of controlled inquiry. “Just as a for-instance, what happens to the others when we leave?”

“Others?” Roxeim said. “Those I brought to instruct you? Once you vanquish your imposter and bring her to me, and I work upon her the rituals that allow my departure, their purpose will have been fulfilled. I will of course return them to the niches from which they were plucked.”

“All righty,” Cordelia said. “But you know, I think it would be really nice if you would turn them loose before you send me out. Sort of an expression of confidence in me, once you think I’m ready to lay some payback on the demon chippy who’s been strolling around with my face.”

“That would be premature,” Roxeim said. “Would you, in a task of utmost importance, discard a valuable tool when there might still be need for it?”

“Well, see, that’s where we start having a difference of opinion.” Cordelia’s expression was cool, and her voice held the first hint of challenge. “They’re not exactly tools, and they weren’t exactly volunteers. Neither was I, but I’ll let you slide on that since, you know, you pulled me away from a nameless degrading death and got me ready to grab my life back. For the others, though, I’d kind of like to see some better guarantee than your smiling promises.”

Roxeim wasn’t smiling now; he hadn’t quite descended to a glower, but Mister Happy had definitely left the building. “Do you question my word?” he asked, with ominous softness.

Right, this was where she was supposed to realize her peril and back away babbling apologies. So not gonna happen. “The thing with that is, do what I ask and your word doesn’t come into it. It’s only if you refuse, demand that I trust you … then I have to decide whether you can be trusted, or not.” She held her eyes steady with his. “I’m not saying send them home right now. I just want a demonstration of good faith before I go tripping away to do your bidding. Too much to ask?”

“Far too much,” Roxeim told her firmly. “You overreach yourself. The subject is closed.”

“I kind of thought it might be.” Cordelia turned away from him; then, seconds later, swung back to face him again. “So now all the options change. Now I am saying send them back, right away, right now, or you can find someone else to be your personal-demon-shopper.”

Roxeim loomed over her, and the smile he wore now was far from pleasant. “Empty words from an empty head. Do you truly believe you can dictate to me, serve me an ultimatum? I rule here. I am law, the only law. I am as a god. You have been pampered far more than you know. Now you will learn better.”

He took a menacing step toward her. She did not give ground. “You really, truly want to think twice about trying anything, Rocky-boy. I didn’t come here unprepared … and you have a hell of a lot more to lose than I do.”

That brought him up short for a moment, but his confidence was unshaken. “I do not rule merely by words,” he told her, his tone so self-satisfied as to qualify as gloating. “This is what you thought to defy.” And then the dark force of his mind surged over her.

This was the greatest danger, she had known that from the moment her decision was made. She had set measures to come into play, in case of defeat, but this gamble had been unavoidable. Cordelia had reasons to hope he wouldn’t be able to dominate her, but none that would have justified trust. So this was it: she won or lost, right here.

She didn’t lose. It hadn’t been a sure thing; she had to summon up all the willfulness she had cultivated for a third of her life and the anger that had been rising in her for years, concentrated and regulated by the control Kari had taught her, and she suspected there was more to it than that. The storm of his psychic assault lashed at her defenses, and they trembled, groaned … and held.

Barely. Barely was enough. “Is that it?” she demanded disdainfully. “I thought you might at least make me sweat for a second.” She laughed at his expression. “What did you expect? I’m a Sunnydale girl, we brush off demon possession with our morning coffee!”

Before he could get ideas, or gather himself for a second attempt, she reached inside the folds of the Japanese robe. “You’ve got no idea what a close call you just had, jerkweed.” Her hand came out clasping a fragmentation grenade. “I had this taped to my ribs, where I could hold the spoon in place with arm-pressure, and I pulled the pin before we started our little face-off. If you had managed to take me over, we’d have both gone boom the moment you shifted me an inch. And, oh yeah, same thing happens if you try it again.”

Roxeim stood motionless, eyes riveted on the grenade in her hand, and he seemed to be having trouble getting his mouth to work. At last he said, “Are you mad?”

“And getting madder every second.” Cordelia held up the detached ring-pin with her other hand, and made a show of dropping it down her cleavage. “I’m gonna talk, and you’re gonna listen, and we’re gonna work out a deal we can both live with, ’cause otherwise we both die.”

“You know that my life is inextricably linked with the small nodule holding us,” Roxeim said, still eyeing her grip on the grenade. “You know that it will vanish without me to sustain it. If you kill me, you kill those as well on whose behalf you were pleading only a moment ago.”

“Okay, newsflash. First, I don’t plead. I asked very nicely, and you came back all macho, and so I’m not nice anymore. Second, I’d rather take you to hell with me than stay here as your play-toy, and I’ll bet they’d say the same thing if your mind-mojo gave them any choice. It doesn’t, so I’m deciding for them. If any of them disagree, I’ll apologize to them later.”

“There is no need,” Roxeim said, and all his smug assurance had returned. “You can present the issue to them now.” He glanced over Cordelia’s shoulder. “Inform her of your presence, if you would.”

She already knew it wasn’t a bluff, but any possibility of doubt was banished by the noises behind her: a hammer drawn back to full-cock, and a few feet over someone snicked off a weapon safety. Cordelia turned slowly, keeping Roxeim in her peripheral vision and still controlling the grenade. This could be seriously not of the good —

It was. They were all there: Sam was covering her with an M-4, the shorter carbine version of the M-16; off to her left, Mandy was braced in a two-handed stance with a small automatic pistol, a .32 from the apparent bore size. Lynn stood well clear of them with a pair of sai, one angled for a throw. Even Kari held a weapon, a short metal bar of indeterminate function. Roxeim must have mentally summoned them from their living quarters, with the command to come on the run with whatever they could grab …

Oh, God. Kari’s barrier, she had said Roxeim couldn’t reach through it without irreparably destroying it. Cordelia looked to the woman who had shielded her, warned her, nurtured her growth in ways she would never be able to put into words; saw the anguish in those eyes, and felt fury harden into hate.

“It is as I told you,” Kari said. She was poised to attack, but she spoke in the voice Cordelia knew from hours of patient guidance. “We are all of us under his hand. You alone are free.”

Was that supposed to be a message? If Roxeim had been speaking through her, Cordelia had to believe he would have framed it differently; maybe his control wasn’t as total as he liked to think, or maybe four at once was right at the edge of his capabilities.

“Well?” Roxeim said. “They are here now. Are you still prepared to end their lives along with mine? Not even as the price of your freedom, but from simple spite at being denied?”

“Stifle it,” Cordelia told him. To the others she said, “Okay, everybody maintain cool. This thing —” She nodded toward the grenade. “— is all set to go bang. I have to get the pin back.” Making no quick motions, she reached down the front of her robe, groped around for a few seconds, and withdrew her hand, displaying the ring-pin. “See? We’re doing fine here, just stay steady.” She had to turn her hand slightly to line up the pin with the aperture in the neck of the grenade; she did it carefully, slowly, and let her breath out with a whoosh. “There. We’re good. All safe now.” Still without making any sudden moves, she tossed the grenade to Sam, underhand.

And, while Mandy’s eyes followed its arc, and Sam let the M-4 muzzle drop as she reached out to catch it, Cordelia reached inside her robe, found the controller she had moved to a position of readier access, and blew the lights.

It was by its nature a compromise measure, she hadn’t had the time beforehand to plant charges in as many places as she wanted, or the time now to key any but the nearest, but it would have to do. She was in motion even as the wall junction went with a satisfying bamm!, launching herself to the side as Mandy snapped off a shot in what was either panic or unnervingly quick reaction. Most of the lights went out but not all, again it would have to do, Sam had the automatic carbine so she was the most dangerous, Cordelia darted behind Roxeim to make Sam hold fire and pulled a sai from the inner sash of her robe, and as she cleared Roxeim she hurled it across the room, and the butt struck Sam squarely in the forehead, dropping her on the spot.

Cordelia was among the others while Sam was still falling, obedient to the Marine maxim Sam herself had taught her: when surprised by superior numbers, attack! She would have gone for Lynn next, judging her the greater threat even without a firearm, but instant unthought decision sent her at Mandy instead, using a forward roll in the semi-darkness to carry her beneath the other woman’s vision. She came up inside Mandy’s guard, a bladed outward block struck the gun-arm aside and she felled Mandy with an elbow-smash to the face, moving again before her most recent opponent could begin to fall or the others could center on her. In the near-absence of light they needed an extra moment to be sure who was who, but for Cordelia everyone was an enemy, and she stabbed Lynn in shoulder and knee with the second sai she had hidden away (had to use the sleeve of the robe to block Lynn’s strokes, she had disregarded the advice about carrying a third sai as a spare), then she had whirled away while Lynn yelped and cursed behind her. Kari tried to reach her with a swing of the metal bar; Cordelia slipped out of its path and didn’t even bother to counterstrike, Roxeim had made a break for the door and Cordelia brought him down with a leaping kick she never would have dared try against Lynn or even Sam.

She hauled him up onto his knees, bracing him with her thigh on one side and a half-nelson on the other, the point of the sai set below his ear. “What’s the rush, Rocky? The party just got started, and we still haven’t settled on what kind of presents you’re gonna give me.”

Roxeim hissed from pain, but he spoke with the same bluster as before. “Nothing. I grant you nothing. The situation is unchanged. While I live, I rule, and if I die, so do all these whose welfare so concerns you. Submit; you have no other choice.”

“Wrong, ass-breath.” Cordelia increased pressure with the sai. “Get it through your head before I put this through your head: I’m not playing by your rules. Whatever else happens, we won’t stay here as slaves. Send us home, free, and you live. Don’t, and you die. It’s just that simple.”

“You will not strike.” Even though she couldn’t see his face from her position behind him, Cordelia could hear the sneer. “I have observed you with them: friend, mentor, sister, lover. They are too important to you, you will not sacrifice them. By caring for them, you have made them my hostages. I would be a fool to relinquish such potent leverage.”

“So,” Cordelia said. “Your best deal is, no deal. Is that your final offer?”

“You must submit,” Roxeim told her. “I will never do so.”

“Then I guess you were right,” Cordelia said. “I have no other choice.” She released the trapped arm, withdrew the sai; and as he began to stand, she stepped around to face him, pulled him to her, and kissed him.

He laughed, bringing his hands up to shove her away; then he stiffened as she pulled him tighter and deepened the kiss; then he began to scream. Cordelia heard someone cry out wordlessly, Mandy or Kari, and she swung to keep his body between her and them and there was a shot and then a choking sound and it didn’t matter she didn’t care she yes yes yesss.

This was what had awakened within her when she first touched the enhancement lattice (though she had betrayed no sign of it), and then lain unresponsive when she tried to nudge it further. This was what had stirred and risen when Mandy kissed her, and again when she tested it by kissing Sam. There had been a risk — that it wouldn’t be powerful enough, that Roxeim would be immune, even that it would only work on women — but she had known, known, that this would be her hidden ace. Now it howled in triumph, tore into its prey and drank greedily, and Roxeim’s screams faded into moans, and then whimpers, and then nothing.

Cordelia let him fall, his face ashen and eyes vacant: lifeless and empty, without a mark on him anywhere. His power thrummed inside her, and she turned to face the four women … but there were only three now. Mandy lay dead, the small pistol inches from her fingers and Lynn’s sai buried in her throat. Sam was on hands and knees, still more than half-stunned. Lynn leaned against the wall, favoring the knee Cordelia had wounded, but she grinned approval, and said happily, “Princess, you rock.”

Kari stood stiff, voiceless. She looked to Roxeim, and then to Cordelia. What did she see? Cordelia didn’t know, and feared to guess. Cordelia stepped away from the self-proclaimed god-man she had drained dry, but she wouldn’t let herself lower her eyes from Kari’s. At last the other woman looked away; but not before Cordelia had seen understanding, and sorrow … and relief.

Death is your gift.
 

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