Mythos by Kelly McCullough

sounds very wrong.”
    “It’s still all ones and zeroes. This pantheoverse just needs a different set of commands before it’ll listen to you. I’ll beam Melchior the basics, but I can promise it’s going to take a good long while to get a handle on the bigger sorts of spells.” Her eyes went distant for a moment, as did Melchior’s, while the information was exchanged.
    “Thanks,” he said, finally. “That’s really, really strange stuff. I wonder why they did it that way?”
    “I think it’s got something to do with the proprietary nature of the local magical struct—”
    She was cut off by a “thud” that shook the whole building. A moment later, a bright, fiery light flared outside the window and continued to flicker. I leaped up and hurried to the door. There was little point in trying to see out the stained glass of the chapter-house windows. Ahllan came behind me, carrying Melchior and followed by the hand—hmm, if it was going to stay around, we would need to find out its name.
    A moment later we were peering through a spyhole Ahllan had installed. At first glance I couldn’t see much beyond a huge wall of low flames. Then I remembered to adjust for my reduced size and realized I was seeing a burning wing. Tisiphone! But she didn’t seem to be moving, and her fires normally burned higher and hotter. I raced for the cathedral’s front door while Ahllan whistled the triggering sequence for the built-in size-changing spell.
    Tisiphone lay crumpled on her side to the north of York Miniature, facing away. I wanted to rush over and take her in my arms—our current conflict notwithstanding—but I knew better than to startle her when she was injured or semiconscious. She had deadly reflexes and claws that could cut through inch-thick steel. I had a couple of long, thin scars on my left thigh from bumping the side table next to her while she was sleeping.
    Since I rather liked the look of Occam’s cane-scabbard, I paused to snap a branch off one of the nearby trees before making a wide circle around to Tisiphone’s front. She continued to lie motionless, her eyes closed, but I stood there several seconds longer to see if the vibration of my walking would rouse her. It had on other occasions.
    Nothing.
    By the light of her fiery wings and hair, I surveyed her. She was still as beautiful as the first time I’d seen her, and as terrifying. She was naked, of course; the Furies disdain the use of clothing. Waist-length red hair and an angel’s wings burned brightly but without smoke. So did her nipples and the hair at the juncture of her thighs. Her skin was a white as pale and translucent as fine china, and the blue lines of her veins were clearly visible. She was shaped like a runner, long and slender and athletic, with high, small breasts and not an ounce of fat. Her eyes, when open, held flames as well, the irises dancing red and orange while rolling smoke filled her pupils. Her finger and toe claws were at full extension, six-inch daggers of organic diamond painted red by the light of her fires.
    New since the last time I’d seen her were the deep bite mark on her left forearm and the four parallel gashes running raggedly across her temple. Both injuries looked quite nasty, but I didn’t worry about them. I had seen her come back from much worse in a matter of hours without so much as a scar.
    No, my main cause for concern had to do with her continued unconsciousness. Even if Cerberus himself had given her the mauling, I’d have expected her on her feet and raring for a rematch by this time. Deciding I’d waited long enough and then some, I very cautiously reached out with my stick and drew the end lightly along the bottom of her foot.
    Nothing. Not even a twitch. I tried again, with the same result. I moved closer and very gently prodded Tisiphone’s calf. Still nothing. Hip. Ribs. Shoulder. I waited several minutes and tried again. All the same. With a little prayer for intercession from my