Greetings from the Styx


Part thirty-three of Misplaced Fire

Nesrin stood unaided by Ceylan or Dinah, watching with a snarling smirk as Patanī writhed against the ties on his wrists. Though she wasn’t singing, Nesrin’s voice vibrated with the music of a dirge as she spoke to her uncle.

“The Nymphs of the River Styx have not had the power to kill for 2,000 years, but they are not yet totally powerless. My one drop of Styx blood may not preserve my immortality, but it does allow me to wield the force I fear.”

Her eyes returned to normal. The black, burning water remained in place around Patanī’s wrists. His flames seemed dimmer; the lightening force field he’d put up around himself had dropped.

Nesrin swaggered the few steps to where Patanī had dropped the necklace. She stood over it, a few inches away from his face. She didn’t stoop to pick it up.

“Well,” she asked, laughing, “aren’t you going to stop me?”

Patanī growled, but didn’t move.

Nesrin heard clapping behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Samira standing in the middle of the terrace. She knew she should have realized sooner that Samira was still lurking around the scene, and if she hadn’t briefly been near catatonic she would have.

Samira spoke around Nesrin to her brother. “Have you ever seen this side of Nesrin and Ceylan, Patanī? It’s a trait that comes from their father’s mother. I’ve never cared for that woman, but her abilities do have their uses.”

Patanī gathered himself and grated out the words, “I trust you have come to remedy my predicament, Sister.”

Samira nodded. She directed a grim, exacting expression at her three children as they drew closer together. She stood straighter as she faced them, striking the pose she always used to show she had taken control of a situation.


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  1. Pingback: Nesrin’s Nadir

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