I’m scared.
Honey, please don’t pull away. I’m all right now. I
didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought I was fighting
him.”
Pollyanna relaxed, but not much. She edged away whenever he
eased nearer, trying to draw comfort from her proximity and
warmth.
“Polly, please . . . ”
The apartment door opened.
It was night in the Fortress of Iron. The hall lights had been
dimmed. They saw only the silhouette of a man standing with feet
widespread and arms crossed. Anger radiated from him.
Lucifer, voice pitched an octave high, squealed, “You
slut! You unholy slut! With my own goddamned brother!”
He flung himself into the room. The light of the bedside lamp
caught his face. It was the face of a killer. He seized
Pollyanna’s arm and jerked her to her feet, hit her once in
the gut, doubled her over. He planted another on her chin. He was
swinging hard. Benjamin oofed when his brother’s fist cracked
the second time. He thought Lucifer had broken her jaw.
Lucifer broke his hand. He let out a little mewl of surprise and
pain and looked at the fist, puzzled.
Benjamin reached Lucifer, hurled him away from Pollyanna.
Lucifer stumbled over a chair and went down. He came up cursing.
“You bastard. You leave my wife alone. I’ll kill
you.” He charged Benjamin. His good hand clutched a
knife.
Someone looked in the door, stared momentarily, then ran
away.
Baffled and frightened, Benjamin crouched, waited. He blocked
the knife stroke, punched Lucifer, tried for a grip on
Lucifer’s wrist above the blade. Lucifer danced back,
crouched himself.
They had been taught in their father’s schools. They were
proficient killers. An uninvolved observer would have considered it
an interesting match.
Lucifer feinted, feinted, stabbed. Benjamin slid aside, chopped
down at the blade. It was not where he expected it to be. It drew a
fine line of blood from the skin of his thigh as it withdrew.
“I’ll take care of that,” Lucifer snarled,
nodding at his brother’s groin. “You won’t be
bedding anyone’s wife. Not even your own, you arrogant,
pretty bastard.” He circled. Sweating, Benjamin waited.
He kicked a pillow at his brother’s face. Lucifer leaned
out of the way, moved in.
A blast of icy water hit him, hurled him across the room.
Benjamin turned. The water hit like the pummeling of a hundred
fists. It drove him against a wall. “Stop it,
goddamnit!” he raged.
The water stopped.
Two Legionnaires stood in the doorway, holding a fire hose.
Frieda Storm pushed past them, her face aquiver with anger. She
looked every bit as daunting as her father, Cassius.
“Benjamin. Get your clothes on. Woman. You too. Lucifer. On
your feet. Now!” She kicked him. It was no delicate female
toe tap.
She did not ask what had happened. That was obvious.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” she demanded
of Benjamin. “There a suicidal streak in you? First that crap
with Richard’s cruiser, now this.”
“Mother, I . . . ”
“Homer did it. Yes. And who’s responsible for Homer?
Who let him do it? Heinrich, take Lucifer to Medical. There’s
something wrong with his hand.” She moved toward Pollyanna.
The girl was getting dressed so fast she kept getting snaps lined
up wrong. Frieda grabbed her chin, turned her head one way, then
the other. Pollyanna avoided her eyes. “What happened to your
throat?”
“I did it,” Benjamin murmured.
“What did you say?”
“I did it, Mother. I had the
dream . . . This time he caught me. I was
fighting him.”
Frieda’s face changed slightly. It was not a softening,
just a momentary shadow of fear. “I’ll have to talk to
Madame Endor. Get a new reading. She was afraid this would
happen.”
“Mother . . . ”
“Benjamin, don’t you have any decency? Don’t
you have any common sense? This is your brother’s wife. This
is your brother’s home. Shut up! I know she’s a damned
public utility. I know that anybody who asks gets. You should
Honey, please don’t pull away. I’m all right now. I
didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought I was fighting
him.”
Pollyanna relaxed, but not much. She edged away whenever he
eased nearer, trying to draw comfort from her proximity and
warmth.
“Polly, please . . . ”
The apartment door opened.
It was night in the Fortress of Iron. The hall lights had been
dimmed. They saw only the silhouette of a man standing with feet
widespread and arms crossed. Anger radiated from him.
Lucifer, voice pitched an octave high, squealed, “You
slut! You unholy slut! With my own goddamned brother!”
He flung himself into the room. The light of the bedside lamp
caught his face. It was the face of a killer. He seized
Pollyanna’s arm and jerked her to her feet, hit her once in
the gut, doubled her over. He planted another on her chin. He was
swinging hard. Benjamin oofed when his brother’s fist cracked
the second time. He thought Lucifer had broken her jaw.
Lucifer broke his hand. He let out a little mewl of surprise and
pain and looked at the fist, puzzled.
Benjamin reached Lucifer, hurled him away from Pollyanna.
Lucifer stumbled over a chair and went down. He came up cursing.
“You bastard. You leave my wife alone. I’ll kill
you.” He charged Benjamin. His good hand clutched a
knife.
Someone looked in the door, stared momentarily, then ran
away.
Baffled and frightened, Benjamin crouched, waited. He blocked
the knife stroke, punched Lucifer, tried for a grip on
Lucifer’s wrist above the blade. Lucifer danced back,
crouched himself.
They had been taught in their father’s schools. They were
proficient killers. An uninvolved observer would have considered it
an interesting match.
Lucifer feinted, feinted, stabbed. Benjamin slid aside, chopped
down at the blade. It was not where he expected it to be. It drew a
fine line of blood from the skin of his thigh as it withdrew.
“I’ll take care of that,” Lucifer snarled,
nodding at his brother’s groin. “You won’t be
bedding anyone’s wife. Not even your own, you arrogant,
pretty bastard.” He circled. Sweating, Benjamin waited.
He kicked a pillow at his brother’s face. Lucifer leaned
out of the way, moved in.
A blast of icy water hit him, hurled him across the room.
Benjamin turned. The water hit like the pummeling of a hundred
fists. It drove him against a wall. “Stop it,
goddamnit!” he raged.
The water stopped.
Two Legionnaires stood in the doorway, holding a fire hose.
Frieda Storm pushed past them, her face aquiver with anger. She
looked every bit as daunting as her father, Cassius.
“Benjamin. Get your clothes on. Woman. You too. Lucifer. On
your feet. Now!” She kicked him. It was no delicate female
toe tap.
She did not ask what had happened. That was obvious.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” she demanded
of Benjamin. “There a suicidal streak in you? First that crap
with Richard’s cruiser, now this.”
“Mother, I . . . ”
“Homer did it. Yes. And who’s responsible for Homer?
Who let him do it? Heinrich, take Lucifer to Medical. There’s
something wrong with his hand.” She moved toward Pollyanna.
The girl was getting dressed so fast she kept getting snaps lined
up wrong. Frieda grabbed her chin, turned her head one way, then
the other. Pollyanna avoided her eyes. “What happened to your
throat?”
“I did it,” Benjamin murmured.
“What did you say?”
“I did it, Mother. I had the
dream . . . This time he caught me. I was
fighting him.”
Frieda’s face changed slightly. It was not a softening,
just a momentary shadow of fear. “I’ll have to talk to
Madame Endor. Get a new reading. She was afraid this would
happen.”
“Mother . . . ”
“Benjamin, don’t you have any decency? Don’t
you have any common sense? This is your brother’s wife. This
is your brother’s home. Shut up! I know she’s a damned
public utility. I know that anybody who asks gets. You should
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