The Hunter and the Hunted: Two Stories of the Otherworld by Kelley Armstrong Read Free Book Online Page A

Assyrians sighing over friezes as they lamented the late, great sport of lion hunting. Then I cast a blur spell, hurried to the next room and crossed over into ancient Athens.
    •  •  •
    Like every other place that has passed its heyday, Athens is stuck in its glory years—the good old days of Ancient Greece, before the Romans took over and renamed all their gods. And long before the Ottomans used the Parthenon as an ammo dump and a stray flame reduced it to pretty chunks of marble. Because irreplaceable historic buildings make great places to store gunpowder.
    In the afterlife, the Parthenon is still standing, its marble buildings shimmering blindingly white under the midday sun. The grounds were covered with picnickers in garb from across the globe and the centuries. Tourists wound their way through the Acropolis. There were a few guards, but mostly just to make sure no one tried to set up residence.
    Most tourists flocked to the Parthenon, the most famous temple on the Acropolis, the one with the forty-foot-tall ivory and gold statue of Athene. When Stranz exited the portal, he headed down the sloping road to the Erechtheion on the Acropolis’s north side. It’s a smaller temple, dedicated to yet another aspect of Athene. Don’t ask me what aspect. I’ve been here; I’ve explored; I’ve never taken the tour.
    Stranz headed straight into the temple, meaning he wasn’t touring either. He was meeting someone. Sure enough, as he made his way through the Erechtheion, a woman broke from the gaggle of gawking ghosts and slid after him. I could see they were both heading to the south porch and was about to go around outside to eavesdrop, when the woman . . . pulsed.
    One second she was a solid, fully materialized form, then she faded a little, becoming slightly translucent, before “firming up” again. No one else noticed. I only did because the ability to spot glamours is yet another part of my angel package.
    I concentrated on the woman, trying to see what lay beneath her glamour. For a moment, she was just a woman. Late twenties, dark hair, pale skin. Then her skin went as white as the surrounding marble. Her dark hair began to writhe, snakes slithering through it. Two more snakes encircled her arms and a third acted as a belt. Her short skirt and boots stayed the same, but she accessorized with wings. Put the wings together with the snakes and the huntress costume and there was no doubt what I was seeing. An Erinys. Better known as a Fury.
    I zipped out of the temple and around to the south, where I cloaked myself in a cover spell and hid under the row of Caryatids—the marble maidens that stand watch over the porch. I could hear three people above speaking in ancient Sumerian, which sounded like they were waxing poetic on the beauty and majesty of their surroundings . . . until I realized they were just trying to figure out where to grab lunch. I presumed Stranz and the Erinys were up there, waiting for the others to move on.
    Erinyes are, technically, demi-demons. But that’s a catch-all term that basically means “not a ghost or celestial spirit.” Within it, the actual degree of demonic varies wildly. You have creatures like Nix, whose sole purpose is to convince mortals to act on their darkest desires. Clearly demonic. Then you get entities like djinn, who take advantage of human greed and offer a deal that usually won’t go in your favor. More mischievous than evil.
    Further along are the Erinyes, who were known by the Greeks as goddesses of vengeance. You call on them to avenge yourself on someone who has wronged you, and by “wronged” I don’t mean “cut off in traffic.” It has to be a serious offense, like murdering a loved one. Erinyes have ethics. Strict ones. However, they aren’t going to talk you into turning the other cheek. That’s why they’re classified as demons. They may intend to mete out justice, but they can wreak serious havoc doing it.
    Finally, the Sumerians