Sing Me to Sleep (The Lost Shards Book 3)

by Anna Argent

  We will kill her. We will take what she has for our own.

  Kill Phoenix? No, that couldn’t be right.

  “Hedy? Are you okay, honey?”

  “Something’s wrong.”

  “No, it’s not, sweetheart. Everything is exactly like it’s supposed to be—exactly as prophecy demands.”

  “I killed someone.”

  “I know. I’ve always known you would. I’m glad you did.”

  “Was he one of your men?”

  “He’s not as important as you are. You are the one I care about.”

  No one had ever cared about Hedy the way Phoenix did. Not even Mom. She had taken care of her, made sure she was clothed and fed. She’d made sure she studied her lessons and ate her vegetables. She’d tucked her in at night and sang her to sleep so the voices wouldn’t keep her awake. But never once had Mom said she was important, or chosen her over her other two daughters. Her real daughters.

  Never once had Mom given her someone to kill.

  Phoenix’s voice was stern now. “Go clean up, Hedy. You need to get back on the road.”

  “Where am I going?”

  “To find your sister. To make her pay for abandoning you.”

  That presence inside of her was moving faster now, brushing the edges of her mind as if testing how far they went.

  She didn’t like it. Whatever was inside of her was alien. Too big to hold.

  “Something is wrong with me,” she told Phoenix.

  “Nothing’s wrong, honey. You just need some time to adjust. That man’s shards are yours now. They’re combining inside of you to shape you into a new creation.”

  Hedy liked the sound of that on Phoenix’s lips. It sounded exciting and exotic. Beautiful.

  “What will I become?” she asked.

  Hedy could hear the proud smile in Phoenix’s voice. “Powerful.”

  The ancient presence in Hedy’s mind gave her a different answer.

  A killer.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Stygian stayed glued to Echo’s side while she made slow, sweeping circles around the house.

  Hazel was almost giddy inside of him. He could feel her excited energy radiating through him, jarring his bones.

  She was about to get what she wanted. At least, that’s what she thought.

  He wasn’t so sure she was wrong.

  What happens if we shove you in that locket? he asked her.

  Does it matter? You will be rid of me. Is that not what you want?

  What happens to you? he asked.

  I will be whole.

  Then what?

  She was silent, but he could feel her sinister smile slip along his insides like sludge.

  “I’m starting to wonder if this spell is such a good idea,” he said aloud.

  Echo stopped and looked at him. “Why?”

  “Because it’s what Hazel wants.”

  “Is it, or is she just trying to make you think it is so you won’t cage her inside a piece of jewelry?”

  Echo had a point, but something in his gut said there was something off here—an angle he wasn’t seeing.

  “A locket has no power, no arms or legs or voice. It can’t hurt anyone, especially if we throw it in a bucket of wet concrete and bury it ten feet down where no one can find it, much less use it.”

  Maybe she was right. There was no way to know for sure.

  “How are you going to find the locket?” he asked.

  “I don’t know yet. Mom said to use my gift, but who knows what that is. I was hoping I’d feel it hum like I have before, but so far, no such luck.”

  “Maybe you have another gift—one you haven’t discovered yet.”

  “Maybe.” She didn’t sound convinced.

  They kept looking for a few more hours with no luck. Finally, Stygian decided to call it a night. He could tell by the slump of her shoulders and her slowing pace that she was exhausted. “We need to stop for tonight. We’ll come out again at first light. Maybe whatever your gift is you need your eyes for it.”

  She let out a long sigh of frustration. “I hope you’re right, because I’m exhausted.”

  They walked back to the house. He hadn’t thought about where they’d sleep. He didn’t think he could stand to put her in her dead sister’s bed. Or her mother’s.

  Murderer, Hazel whispered, but her tone held no accusation, just admiration.

  Stygian ignored her and went inside, checking to make sure there had been no unwanted guests in their absence.

  The house was clear. When he came back downstairs, Echo was piling blankets on the floor to form a pallet. One pallet. Big enough for both of them.

  The need to sleep beside her, to hold her, was overwhelming. He knew that if he told her the truth about her mother’s death that she would never again invite him into her bed. This offer was too good for him to turn down.

  He’d tell her the truth after they’d done what they’d come here to do—after they found the locket and cast the spell and caged Hazel. Before then, he couldn’t risk upsetting Echo and throwing her off her game.

  He needed Hazel’s shards out of him. He needed to be free of the taint running through his soul. So did Echo.

  She slid between the covers and smiled as she lifted them for him to join her. “Hope you don’t mind roughing it.”

  She was so beautiful. Even as tired as she was, with dark circles shadowing her pretty eyes, she was still stunning.

  His heart clenched hard. It stopped beating for what felt like a long time before picking up a hurried rhythm.

  He didn’t know how he was going to stand seeing her look at him with accusation in her eyes, with hatred. And even if she somehow miraculously forgave him for what he’d done, he would still always be the man who killed her mother.

  How could she ever again see him as she did now? How could she ever look at him with that smile of invitation, as if no other man existed?

  His grandfather had raised no fool. Stygian had been trained to be a realist. He knew things between him and Echo would never been the same once he told her the truth. How could they be?

  But for now, for this one perfect night, he was going to go on pretending. He was going to keep his secret and enjoy the feeling of lying beside the woman he loved. It wasn’t real. It certainly wasn’t going to last. But just for tonight he would give himself this gift and hold Echo like he would never let her go.

  He held her for hours, his own exhaustion hiding behind his worries. Echo slept soundly, bonelessly. He wanted to join her, but thoughts of Hazel, lockets and murder kept swimming through his mind.

  He finally drifted off a couple of hours before dawn, only to dream of witches, blood, and digging an endless string of graves. Enemies came at him from all sides, wearing the faces of his friends. He defeated them all. Buried them all. Then one more assaulted him, only this time, it was Echo’s face he saw as he strangled his enemy. It was her pale teal eyes that bulged, her sweet voice that gurgled under his grip.

  Pain streaked up his leg and along his forearms.

  He woke up only to find himself on top of Echo, his hand around her slender throat, squeezing the life out of her. She was kicking him, fighting him, clawing at his arms. Her fingernails were caked with his skin and blood. Her face was bright red, her eyes dotted with more of the same.

  He was killing her.

  Chapter Twenty

  Starry had set a trap for them.

  That was the first thought Garrick had when he regained consciousness. The second was his awareness that he was in trouble. There was too much pain wringing his body, too much weakness, for him to be okay.

  The right side of his face was on fire. He tried to pry open his eyes but only the left one responded. The other was swollen shut.

  He saw the right side of his shirt was soaked with blood. A lot of blood. Then he remembered the feel of the knife slicing through his skin from his forehead down to his cheekbone.

  His eye was in the path. Based on the
way it felt, he didn’t think it had been spared.

  He couldn’t think about that loss now, not when lives were still at stake.

  Garrick was still in that shitty apartment. Daylight filtered in through cracked plastic curtains. Dust fell like snow inside a sunbeam.

  He was tied to a chair. He had no feeling in his hands or feet, telling him that the ropes had been administered with authority. They wrapped around his chest in several thick loops.

  A few feet away, Holt sat in a similar chair, also trussed up. His ankles were bound to the metal legs, his hands were tied together behind his back. Several loops of rope went around his torso, binding him to the cheerful, floral vinyl upholstery.

  He was awake. His head was up, his expression promising vengeance.

  As soon as Garrick stirred, Holt whispered, “There are two men, Viggo and another. Viggo left a few minutes ago. The other one is in one of the bedrooms.”

  “The man with electric hands?” Garrick asked in a quiet voice.

  Holt nodded. “They were arguing over what to do with us—who would get which shards.”

  “This whole thing was a trap. Starry must have known we were listening. She must have known you would follow Viggo if you got the chance.”

  Holt’s jaw bunched in anger. “She played me. I doubt there was ever any little boy to save.”

  Using the emotions of others against them was one of the things Starry did best. Garrick should have thought of that. He should have known that she would use the knowledge she had of their history and weaknesses.

  “It’s not your fault,” Garrick said. “I knew her tactics better than anyone. I should have realized this was a trap.”

  “I let my need for vengeance blind me. It won’t happen again.”

  “All we need to worry about now is how to get out of here.” He tested the ropes, ignoring the pained protests of his body.

  Blood began leaking down his face like tears from the exertion.

  “Are you strong enough to break them?” Holt asked.

  Garrick’s shards gave him superhuman strength, but even they were no match for the multiple layers of rope wrapped around him.

  “Starry knows what I can do,” Garrick said. “She must have told Viggo to take precautions.”

  “I think I can move my chair closer to yours and try to untie you, but the noise is going to bring company.”

  “What about our phones? If we can hit the panic button…”

  “Viggo took them,” Holt said, nodding toward the kitchen. “They’re on the counter.”

  They might as well have been on the other side of the planet.

  Garrick refused to be discouraged. He was not going to die like this, trussed up like a turkey, helpless. There had to be another way out of this mess.

  “What about you?” Garrick asked quietly. “Any powers I don’t know about that might help?”

  Holt was as loyal and disciplined as any man ever born. He was impervious to magical persuasion and could go days without food or rest. He was a machine, the perfect soldier. But he could die just like the rest of them.

  “I never would have kept an ability secret from my leader,” Holt said. “Starry knows everything, just as you do.”

  The way he said it made Garrick feel bad for having asked the question, as if keeping a secret were somehow a form of betrayal. Maybe to a man like Holt, it was.

  “Any ideas?” Garrick asked. “See any weaknesses?”

  “We’re two stories up. The windows are single pane. I’m not far away. I could probably push through to the ground below.”

  “Even if you could, you might not survive the fall.”

  Holt shoulder shifted in a shrug cut short by his ropes. “Someone might see it and call for help. The police or firemen might come. You could get out.”

  The man was willing to give up his life to save Garrick. Just like that. No fear, no worry. Just utter and complete loyalty.

  “No fucking way,” Garrick said. “You’re not going to throw your life away like that. We get out together. Understand?”

  Holt said nothing, but it was clear that he’d accepted the order, even if he didn’t like it.

  Garrick looked around, searching for something that might spark an idea. This place was a cluttered dump. Surely the last residents—who had clearly left in a hurry, probably in the middle of the night—had left behind something they could use to cut their ropes.

  There were fast food wrappers and empty beer cans on the floor. The carpet was decades old, showing both wear and dirt from every year it had endured. The furniture was 1980s cast-offs, sagging and mismatched. The glass end table was chipped, but the edge wasn’t sharp enough or wide enough to cut rope. The wooden coffee table looked like it had been used to play a hundred rounds of the knife game, Five Finger Fillet.

  Maybe the knife they’d used was stuck under the edge of the couch, or hiding under a cushion.

  “You two having a nice chat?” asked the big man with the electric hands. He’d come out of the bedroom as silently as he had last night. Garrick could barely see him if he turned his head.

  Every time he moved his eyes too far, the right one burned and throbbed. He almost asked Holt how bad it was, but wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  “Hatched any plans yet?” the giant asked.

  How long had he been standing there?

  Holt’s face went stony. He stared straight ahead, giving away nothing in his expression.

  Garrick said, “Come around here where I can see you. Let’s chat.”

  The man did as he asked. He was even bigger than Garrick remembered from last night. He had bleached blond hair and russet brown eyes that sat buried deep under a prominent brow. He looked to be in his forties, but had the build of a much younger man, with lots of muscle and smooth, tanned skin. His hands were the size of dinner plates, ridged with thick, protruding veins. His posture was relaxed, his gait unhurried.

  He was a man without a worry in the world.

  He laughed as he looked at Garrick. “Something tells me you’re not going to be seeing much of anything after last night.” He sat on the couch, which groaned in protest of his mammoth weight. “That eye doesn’t look good. Viggo sliced right through it. Man is good with a knife, isn’t he?”

  A flicker of panic tried to worm in under Garrick’s determination to stay calm. He didn’t want to think about losing his eye or what that would mean to his ability to fight the Vires.

  Eliana’s face formed in his mind, clear and perfect and so beautiful, his heart stuttered in his chest. He knew what she looked like. Even if he lost both his eyes, he would always remember that.

  For him, that was enough.

  Even the thought of her gave him strength. She was at Asgard, waiting for his return. His need to see her again, to be near her, was powerful enough to see him through whatever would happen next. They could torture him, disfigure him, try to break him down. None of that would matter so long as he survived to be near her again.

  Garrick lifted his chin. “Are you going to tell us why we’re here, or do we have to guess?”

  The big man settled back on the couch, relaxed and easy—confident that his prisoners were secure and no threat at all.

  “Shouldn’t be hard to guess,” he said. “Viggo and I are just waiting to see who gets you and who gets Captain Tight Ass over there.”

  “It’s a big decision,” Garrick agreed, as if they weren’t discussing his or Holt’s death. “I mean, you’ve got that electric hand thing going on, which is pretty cool. Absorbing our shards could screw that up. Then again, could be that one of us might magnify your gift or give you an even better one.”

  “Let me guess, you know all about it. You’re going to try to convince me that letting you go is the safest bet.”

  “Not at all,” Garrick said. “If you let us go, your days are numbered. It’s definitely safest to kill us.”

  Holt’s flat expression broke, showing flickers of confusion around his e
yes. He didn’t ask what Garrick was doing, but he was sure as hell wondering.

  “Glad you approve,” the man said.

  “I don’t, but I realize that I’m at a disadvantage, being all tied up. There’s no way out for me, so I’d just as soon you kill me quick and clean. If it’s all the same to you.”

  The big man narrowed his eyes. They were a dark, russet brown. Calculating.

  “Seems we each have something the other wants then. Care to make a deal?”

  “What do you propose?” Garrick asked.

  “You tell me whose shards you carry and in exchange, I kill you fast. Clean.”

  “Starry didn’t tell you?”

  The man’s gaze intensified. “She said some things. Can’t say I believe her. Besides, even if she did tell the truth, it’s dated information. There’s no telling who you’ve killed since you two were buddies last year.”

  Only one of the Vires would assume that a person couldn’t go a whole year without committing murder. Still, Garrick saw his opening and took it.

  “I’ll tell you what you want to know, but only if you let Holt go.”

  The man laughed. “Yeah, sure. I’ll get right on it.”

  “I’m serious. Why do you think Viggo killed his sister?”

  Holt bristled under his bonds. Anger and hatred leaked out into his expression and chilled his eyes.

  Garrick kept going. “Viggo wants Holt’s shards for a reason. He was clearing out the heirs one by one so that there was nowhere for those shards to go, but to him.”

  The big man’s brow furrowed in thought. “Viggo did seem pretty determined that Holt was his to kill.”

  “And why would that be?” Garrick asked. “Holt’s shards will make him strong—stronger than you. Obviously, his plan is to kill Holt, then off you next. Then he gets you, me and Holt all to himself.”

  “Fucking liar.” The man’s voice was quiet, as if only for his ears. “That was his plan all along.”

  “You can’t let him have Holt.”

  “Fine, then I’ll kill him.” The man rose from the couch and his hands sparked to life.

  It took everything Garrick possessed not to shout for the man to stop. He had to play this out, act casual, like he didn’t care.