Myths and Mortals (Numina Book 2)

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  His hand moved for one of the pistols on his belt. Stepping into the hallway, Kazen drew it.

  Then stopped. Tamped down the surprise bubbling beneath his skin. He forced his shoulders to relax and let his head tip lazily to one side.

  “Rist,” he said. “How unexpected.”

  The tall, lean man paused in the hallway, his left eye twitching, his jaw set. His eyes were bloodshot. Why had the vessel returned after his taste of freedom? Had the streets been too much for him?

  He had a pistol in his hand, leveled with Kazen’s gut. But surely the lad hadn’t come back for revenge. How quaint, if he had.

  Kazen pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth to prevent a smile from contorting his lips.

  Rist squared his shoulders. It was a strange stance on him. He had always been so quiet, so restrained. Almost as meek as his brother, save for that time Kazen had found him snooping in his office. He was the last of the vessels Kazen expected to surprise him, and yet . . .

  No amount of feigned nonchalance could keep his eyes from widening and his breath from catching as Rist pulled the amarinth from his pocket. Kazen knew it immediately for the real thing, not the golden decoy Rone Comf had carelessly tossed in the summoning room the night he’d damaged Alys. Nothing could mimic that diamond-esque core that shined with a faint internal light. Nothing could mimic immortality.

  Questions surged through his mind. How had the boy obtained it? Where had he been? But Kazen smoothed both face and thoughts. Brought his cane in front of him and rested both hands atop it.

  “You’ve come to barter.” His heartbeat quickened in his chest.

  Rist palmed the amarinth. “I want papers like the ones Comf has. Emigration papers. And money for the journey.”

  Kazen allowed himself a grin. “You want to leave? Run away?”

  Rist growled. His grip on the pistol tightened, but Kazen held his ground. If the boy shot him, he wouldn’t get what he wanted, now would he? “I want the cash and the papers, and you can have your precious trinket. I don’t need it.” Red bloomed around his eyes and up his neck. Anger? No, something else. The boy had recently experienced something unsavory.

  Kazen nodded. “A fair deal. And fortunately for you, I have the papers in my office.” He shook his head as he crossed the hall and pushed open the door to his personal space, still in shambles from the raid. The lock was broken, too. Savages. They’d be sorry.

  Ignoring his own desk, Kazen strode to Galt’s. It was a worthless piece of furniture—had been even when his assistant was alive—but it was deeper inside the office than his own. When setting a trap, one had to ensure the bait was large enough to catch the intended prey. True, it would be easiest to just turn around and shoot the man with his hidden pistol, but why kill for the amarinth when he could have it and Kuracean? Rist was one of his strongest vessels, and he’d finally come home. If he’d damaged his script, on the other hand . . . well, Kazen had means of recycling that as well.

  Kazen opened drawers until he found a sheath of paper half-stained with some kind of food. He pulled the papers free, shielding them with one arm, and set his cane down so he could leaf through them.

  “If you change your mind, returning isn’t nearly as bureaucratic,” he commented.

  “I won’t come back.” Rist’s voice was low and gravelly. The pistol trained on Kazen’s left kidney. But Kazen knew Rist. He wasn’t trained in firearms. Not like Kazen was.

  Kazen took a few papers from the middle of the stack and folded them in thirds. Then he opened his coat pocket and began counting bills. “One thousand.”

  “Two.”

  Kazen raised an eyebrow. “You push your limits.”

  Rist held up the amarinth again. “We both know this is worth ten times what I’m asking.”

  Kazen paused, acting like he was considering, then nodded. Pulled all the cash from his coat and pretended to count it. He set it on top of the papers, gripped them, and extended his hand.

  Just like a weasel to a snare, the vessel came forward to accept his prize. The moment Rist’s fingers touched the paper, Kazen shot out his own, striking the boy’s wrist. The pistol clattered to the floor, and Kazen’s other hand jabbed him just below the jaw, on the artery that supplied blood to the head.

  Rist staggered, then dropped, the amarinth falling from his fingers.

  Kazen opened the cupboard in the corner of the room to find a tube connected to a needle and some restraints.

  Yes, this was coming together quite nicely.

  Chapter 29

  Rone was utterly and completely exhausted.

  He’d barely slept in the last four days. He’d spent money all over Dresberg, hiring carriages and horses to take him from one side of the city to the other. He’d visited every goldsmith and jeweler inside the walls, and even harassed merchants outside the walls. He was a hair’s breadth away from filing a Celestial-damned police report.

  Sandis met him on the street outside the tall, narrow building that housed his flat, taking his arm as if her slender body could support his. God’s tower, she could strip down to pure skin and throw herself at him, and he’d be too tired to do anything about it.

  Probably. Maybe.

  “It’s gone,” he mumbled, leaning into her as she guided him to the stairs. “It’s just . . . gone.”

  “But you’re not.” Her words were featherlight and smooth. She and Bastien had upturned the entire flat, just in case, but they all knew Rist had taken it. Rone appreciated their efforts, nonetheless.

  He groaned.

  “You beat Verger without it.” She kept her voice down as they climbed to their floor. “You can beat Kazen without it, too.”

  Rone shook his head. “Try this again in the morning. I’m too pissed off for your reassurances to work right now.”

  She stopped halfway up the stairs.

  Sighing, he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “No, not that. There’s someone here for you. He showed up around noon and refused to leave until he spoke with you.”

  Rone managed to pull some of his weight onto his own legs. “Who?”

  “His name is Liddell.” She searched his eyes while she spoke. “Cleric Liddell.”

  “She’s one of them, isn’t she?” His father spoke in his memory.

  Rone’s stomach tensed. “You and Bastien, does he know—”

  “I don’t think so. He wants you, not us.”

  Rone rolled his lips together. A priest, at his flat? Wants him for what? Curiosity renewed a fraction of his energy. He and Sandis closed the rest of the distance between themselves and the flat. The abused hinges protested loudly when Rone opened the door.

  Bastien sat on the floor, his legs crossed as though he wanted to meditate, his eyes glued to the man on the couch. Cleric Liddell was not much older than Rone. He had hair as black as Verger’s, bound back into a small tail at the nape of his neck. His nose was too large for his face, straight and pointed, forming a near-perfect triangle. He had a weak chin and close-set eyes. He also wore a white robe with little silver embellishment, save for a small four-petaled lily on the chest. The cloth turned gray at the knees and darkened until it reached a hem filthy enough to impress any pilgrim.

  His eyes—hazel instead of common brown—shot directly to Rone when he entered, and he flashed to standing, his entire body stiff and erect like a soldier’s. He was about a hand’s width shorter than Rone. His eyes gleamed with victory.

  “What the hell do you want?” Rone asked. Sandis elbowed him in the side.

  “Rone Comf?” the man asked. Like he needed a confirmation. When Rone nodded, Cleric Liddell said something Rone had not expected.

  “My brethren and I have been searching for you. Please, come with me to the Lily Tower. The Angelic needs you.”

  Rone stared. Blinked. Stared.

  He mustn’t have heard right.

  Cleric Liddell stared straight back at him. Bastien stood. Shifted from foot to foot.<
br />
  After clearing his throat, Rone managed, “Pardon?”

  “The Angelic needs you, Mr. Comf. We’ve been searching for you for nearly two weeks now, per his request. You have been difficult to track down.”

  Sandis said, “He wouldn’t tell us why. He only wanted to speak to you.”

  Rubbing his eyes, Rone made his way to the sofa and sank into it. His head hurt. His stomach rumbled. Sandis must have noticed, for a few seconds later, she came to him with a bowl of noodles. It smelled . . . Godobian.

  Those clerics he’d seen in the city the first night they took Hapshi out . . . could they have been searching for him?

  “This is of the utmost urgency.” Cleric Liddell moved to him. “We must go now, while the sun is high.”

  Sandis put a hand on his shoulder. Whispered, “This might be what we’ve been waiting for.”

  It could be, yes, but Rone had learned long ago not to trust his father. But before he could ask any questions, Cleric Liddell added, “You have a duty to God—”

  “Your god can drown in the sewers for all I care.” Rone shoveled more food into his mouth.

  The cleric actually gasped. Rone chewed to hide a grin.

  After swallowing, Rone lifted his head. “What does he need?”

  Cleric Liddell frowned. “I am not at liberty to discuss it.”

  “My father didn’t tell you why he needs me, did he?” Rone cocked his head to the side. “You do know he’s my father, yes?”

  Cleric Liddell didn’t answer either way. His shifted from side to side, obviously uncomfortable. After a moment, he dropped to his knees. “Please, Mr. Comf. We’ve scoured the city, and now we’ve found you. The Angelic is in great distress.”

  Rone slurped up another noodle. “Do you get promoted if I say yes?”

  He might as well have slapped the man.

  “Rone.” Sandis sat next to him on the couch, her hand on his shoulder. Leaning close so only he could hear, she said, “Kolosos.”

  Rone nodded. What else could the Angelic possibly want? Not Sandis—Cleric Liddell had wanted her left behind. Rone had never told her the Angelic suspected her, either. Sandis had enough on her plate to worry over.

  Setting his bowl aside, Rone stood. “I’ll come.” They needed help. Allies. Maybe the Celesians had discovered something new.

  “Excellent.” Cleric Liddell rose to his feet. “Let us go now, while the light is out. The Godobian can walk the woman home.”

  Sandis paused. Rone snorted. Bastien scratched the scalp under his braid.

  Cleric Liddell’s gaze moved over all of them, and his ensuing sigh was nearly a sob. “Celestial, save me, they live in sin.” He covered his face dramatically with both hands.

  “I wish,” Rone muttered, and headed toward the door.

  Cleric Liddell insisted their journey was not a parade, and only Rone need come, but Rone brought Sandis anyway. Bastien volunteered to stay at the flat to ease the priest’s nerves.

  Cleric Liddell hailed them a cab to the east entrance to the city, the one closest to the Lily Tower. Rather than pay the driver, he merely showed him a pendant denoting his Celesian authority. Rone hadn’t known the priests held enough political clout to commandeer carriages.

  Nerves danced across his skin, but no anger flamed in his belly as they approached the tower this time.

  It felt strange to hope, where his father was concerned. But the power of the Lily Tower might make it possible for them to stop Kazen. To stop Kolosos.

  Cleric Liddell led them up six flights of stairs. There were no pilgrims that Rone could see; either they were scheduled for a later time, or no one wanted to trek to the tower today. Sandis’s fingers squeezed his a little tighter with each step, reminding him that her kind was not welcome here.

  He’d kill all of them if they tried to touch her, amarinth or no.

  The communion room was empty and spotless. Cleric Liddell’s stride didn’t slow when they reached it; he walked toward and then through the sheer curtains behind the small stage, making haste for the Angelic’s private office. When the cleric knocked, Sandis put her other hand over Rone’s, but he simply nodded. He was all right. So far.

  A familiar voice on the other side of the door beckoned them inside, and Cleric Liddell turned the knob, immediately bowing as he opened the door.

  “My Angelic, I have found Rone Comf, as you insisted.”

  The Angelic stood from his white desk. The bags under his eyes were larger than the eyes themselves. His eyes paused on Sandis for but a moment before he said, “Mr. Comf, come in. Liddell, thank you. I will note your diligence. I would speak to them alone, but do not go far.”

  The priest nodded and backed out of the room without ever turning around. He closed the door securely in his wake.

  The Angelic waited a few seconds before speaking. “I fear what you spoke of before is true.”

  Relief and fear speared down Rone’s spine. They finally had an ally . . . but if the Angelic’s hard disposition had been swayed, then their situation was dire.

  Sandis’s hand went to her heart. “Kolosos?”

  Rone’s father winced at the name. “Kolosos opposes the Celestial. I have studied. Prayed. I fear this macabre thing has great power, and foolish men seek to bring it into the mortal realm.” He shifted his attention to Rone. When Rone said nothing, the Angelic added, “I expected a snide remark from you.”

  “Told you so,” he offered.

  The Angelic fell back into his chair. “I am doing what I can. Pulling my sway with the government and the triumvirate, though our power in Kolingrad is not what it once was. I will not start fearmongering by spreading word of this. But you, both of you”—he nodded toward Sandis—“have said you know of one who worships this numen. A summoner who wishes to bring him to our plane.”

  “Kazen, sir,” Sandis said. Rone wished she were a little less respectful, after how little the Angelic had cared for her and her opinions in the past. “His name is Kazen.”

  The Angelic nodded. “I thought that was the name. I’ve checked the city records against our own. There was a cleric named Kazen who left the church some forty-five years ago, before my time. He was ousted for blasphemy.”

  Sandis stiffened. “It . . . couldn’t be the same person. Kazen”—she rubbed her arms—“Kazen has never feared God.”

  Rone said, “We know where his hideaway is, but it’s abandoned. He recently had a . . . collision with some mobsters.”

  His father considered. “Perhaps there is something there that could be of use to us. I will send you with a team, as well as some police officers who are loyal to—”

  “I’m not taking your goons around the city with me.”

  The Angelic frowned. “You would rather go unarmed? Vulnerable?”

  The absence of the amarinth suddenly made his jacket too light. “I’d rather be clandestine.” That place had been pretty cleaned out—Rone didn’t think there’d be much of use. But he supposed they might as well leave no stone unturned. Besides, he knew his father. They’d need to cooperate if this man were to help them.

  The Angelic’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded. “Then scout. You will take Liddell with you.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Yes,” Sandis spoke over him, “he may accompany us.”

  Rone withheld further complaint.

  His father nodded. “Come back here and tell me what you find, and I will do likewise. Kolosos cannot be unleashed.”

  Rone exchanged a glance with Sandis, remembering her collar and chains, the blood at her feet. With those red images beneath his eyelids, all he could bring himself to say was, “I know.”

  Chapter 30

  Sandis wasn’t sure if the silence that clung to the dilapidated buildings like cobwebs made her feel better or worse.

  Rone led the way, searching every broken window and intersection. Sandis walked not far behind him, close enough to Bastien that their arms brushed. She wondered if
his legs were as leaden as hers. He certainly looked afraid, but that was common for him. Still, despite his anxieties, he somehow took everything in stride. He hadn’t hesitated to help her pursue Kazen during the Riggers’ attack on his lair. He hadn’t hesitated to go after Kaili and Verger. Was it easier to face one’s fears when one had so many of them? When there wasn’t a choice not to confront them? She wanted to ask, but it seemed wrong to break the silence that engulfed them. Even the cleric stepped lightly.

  Thoughts of Kaili stirred a sensation not unlike rain pattering down the length of her torso. She started counting windows on a leaning building up ahead, if only to prevent the image of her friend on that table from rising in her thoughts.

  When they reached the entrance to the lair, Rone said, “Stay here.” Sandis didn’t want him going in by himself, not without the amarinth or her rifle, but he slipped in the moment he delivered the order, giving her no opportunity to protest.

  When he emerged a few minutes later, relief bloomed in Sandis’s chest like a lily. “Still abandoned.” His attention went to Sandis and Bastien. “You’ll know where to look better than we will.”

  Shoring herself up, Sandis took the stairs down into the quiet lair, her footsteps resounding like drums as she went through the hall. The others followed her, but she moved as if in her own little world. Her fingers brushed chipping paint on the wall, while her other hand grasped the strap of the rifle pressed against her back. I am stronger than you, she reminded herself.

  She opened the door to the vessels’ room first, noting it was unlocked. The cots were empty and overturned. Two missing. Had the Riggers taken those?

  Crossing the hall, she checked solitary, also unlocked. Inside lay a cot and a bowl of water, half-filled. The water made her wonder if someone had been here recently. Shouldn’t the water have gone into the air by now? But solitary was a dark and small space . . . She had to be mistaken.