by SM Reine
His tone went sharp. “We?”
Cyprian’s daughters and Ymir chose that moment to laugh. The sound made the frosty halls seem a little less remote and alien.
Oops. Marion had meant to ease into the subject of Seth more gradually than that. “Why don’t we talk in my room?”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing,” she said. “But Seth’s the one helping me find my memories. Seth Wilder.”
“Lucas Flynn.”
“The one and only,” Marion said.
Konig’s features darkened. Sidhe were transparent about their moods: when they became angry, the entire world surrounding them crackled. “We were never certain that he wasn’t trying to take advantage of you leading up to the summit.”
“You were never certain.”
“It must be nice to have the privilege of being so naïve,” he said, cupping her cheek. “This, Marion—this is why I’ll be the one to talk to the angels when they arrive. Aren’t you lucky to have me?”
“So lucky,” Marion said without irony. “I trust your judgment where the angels are concerned, and I wish you’d trust that I know Seth well enough.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this.” Konig sounded like he was working up to a much bigger rant, but he cut off when one of his knights hurried over.
“Heather Cobweb is here, my lord,” the knight said. “She has messages from your parents.”
Konig looked torn. Marion gently urged him, “Go ahead. I’ll keep supervising work on the refugee camp.”
“I’m not worried about the refugees. This conversation isn’t over,” Konig said.
“Agreed,” Marion said. He kissed her, and it was much briefer than she would have liked. As cold as Konig was, he was still several degrees warmer than the Winter Court.
As if sensing her reluctance, Konig only stepped away for a moment. And then he kissed her again. Slower. Deeper.
Marion clutched at his shirt in both of her hands, enjoying the heat of his chest.
“Don’t go far,” Konig said.
And then he was gone to meet Heather.
Marion traced her fingers over her lips.
A cold wind whirled through the courtyard, waking her up enough to remember what she’d come to Niflheimr to do. She hurried into the hall.
Nori showed Marion to a bedroom beside the king’s. It was smaller, but significantly warmer, as Konig had promised. Lush green trees grew within the sitting room. Vines crawled up the icy walls. It was so muggy that a layer of dew clung to the furniture.
With Marion’s belongings in boxes around the bed, it felt as homey as her house on Vancouver Island—or anywhere, really.
She popped open boxes to search for her bow.
“You found your memories?” Nori asked.
“I’ve found who has them,” Marion said. Her bow was in a protective wooden box of its own. She pocketed the oily package of strings, slung the bow across her shoulders, looped her belt through the quiver.
“You’re arming yourself. Does the person with your memories live in a war zone?”
“Something like that.”
“Marion…” Nori sat on the edge of her bed, clutching her clipboard in both hands. She’d been getting personal information on all of the refugee families to make sure that they were accounted for. “Jibril’s going to be here soon to talk to you.”
“I know,” Marion said. “And Konig has made it clear that he’s got everything under control. He’ll also have your help. You’ll assist with negotiations, won’t you? After you return me to Earth, of course.”
Nori’s eyes turned to big circles. “You have a lot to do here.”
“That’s why I’m so grateful for your help. You’re ethereal Gray too. You know as much about the angels as I do—more, since you’ve worked with them directly in Dilmun. And I know that you’ll represent our interests to the best of your ability.” Marion switched out her boots for sturdier boots that laced up to her knees.
Nori floundered. “I guess, but—Konig won’t be happy, and I doubt Jibril will be thrilled, either.”
“I’m the Voice of God,” Marion said. “But I’m useless until I’ve restored myself. I won’t do much good against the angels without my memories and magic.”
“Against the angels?”
“Do you really think that talks with Jibril will lead to peace between us?”
“We won’t get a chance to find out if you skip out on it,” Nori said.
“I’m not skipping out. I’m delegating responsibility. And I take great comfort in knowing you’ll be in charge while I’m busy,” Marion said. “Now, let’s get to the Empress Hotel. I have memories to restore.”
* * *
Seth took a shower as soon as he got back to the Empress Hotel in Victoria. He turned the heat to its maximum setting and stood under the flow with his eyes shut for at least an hour. He told himself that it was because he didn’t know when he would get to shower again—who knew how long he would be in Sheol?—but mostly it was because he didn’t want to deal with reality.
Teleporting Marion to Las Vegas had made her sick, and Seth had been able to feel it the same way that he had felt Agent Hanes having a heart attack.
He’d been as fixated on her sickness as he had been on the heart attack, too.
It had been easy to focus on Marion herself when they’d been together. Her personal pain after meeting Dana McIntyre was adequately distracting, as was the attempt to connect Oliver Machado to the angels.
Once she’d been gone physically, she hadn’t been gone from Seth mentally.
He kept thinking about when she’d collapsed in Las Vegas. He thought about Marion getting sick, and how weakly her heart had beat for a few moments.
Worse, Seth thought about Agent Hanes’s death and the taste of cooling blood on his fingers.
What’s wrong with you?
He let the water wash over his body, but it couldn’t clean the parts of him that were in most desperate need of purification.
Charity was waiting in the room. She wore a fluffy bathrobe and was watching trashy TV in bed. The happiest, most comfortable revenant that Seth had ever seen.
Of course, she was also the only revenant Seth had ever seen.
She groaned when he came out. “Does this mean it’s time for us to go to Sheol?” She’d been insistent that she wanted to help him track the Canope down in Sheol, but she hadn’t needed to work hard to convince him. Going into the Nether Worlds was less intimidating when he knew he’d have something of her power at his back.
“I was hoping we could talk first,” Seth said. “I can’t stop thinking about it.” What he meant was, I can’t stop thinking about her.
Charity understood what he meant. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, squinting at him through lenses strong enough that they made her eyes look big. “What have you tried to help you control your instincts so far? Meditation? Emptying your head out?”
“You mean whiskey?”
“Until you know what’s happened to you, it’s probably better to go easy on your liver, doc.” She sat up and turned the TV off.
“Honestly, I haven’t tried anything to get myself under control. It wasn’t much of a problem until recently. How did you resist drinking blood for so many years?” Seth asked.
“Meditation,” Charity said. “I can show you how I do it.” She scooted off the edge of the bed and gestured for him to join her on the floor. “Get comfortable.”
“I’m comfortable.”
“You’re going to wear your shoulder…thing?” She pointed at his underarm holster.
“I’m more comfortable with my gun than without.” He’d been carrying a Beretta for literally as long as he could remember.
“Take it off anyway,” Charity said. “We’re emptying our heads of violent thoughts. Guns are violent.”
“Guns save lives.”
“And kill people, as we saw a little too often in the emergency department. H
unting accidents, misfires…”
“I’m not exactly the average gun owner,” Seth said.
“Isn’t that what they all think?” Charity asked. “Anyway, you’re the one who asked me for help, so let me help you. Do it my way. Take your shoes and gun off.”
Getting barefoot made him feel almost as displaced as he did once the shoulder rig was resting in a puddle of straps by his right knee. He rolled his shoulders out, exhaled slowly.
“So is this where I go all full lotus, say some prayers?” Seth asked.
Charity tipped her head back, eyes closed. A gap in the curtains let light spill over her cheeks. She’d been eating well lately, so her hair and skin looked strong, healthy. “This is where you relax, doc. Can you relax?”
“I’m always relaxed.” But he took a few deep breaths as she instructed.
The problem was that once he closed his eyes, he didn’t have as many distractions from his thoughts.
Like how it had sounded when Charity shredded those agents.
Or how the blood had tasted, cooling on his fingers.
It wasn’t even the flavor that had appealed to him. It had been the way that he could taste them rushing toward death.
The same way that Marion had rushed toward death in the instant they’d teleported.
“This isn’t helping,” Seth said.
Charity sighed. “It’s been five seconds.”
“I can’t stop thinking about everything. How’s sitting around taking deep breaths supposed to make me stop thinking? Does it make you stop craving blood?”
“Not really,” Charity said.
Seth’s eyes popped open. “Then what are we doing?”
She hugged her knees to her chest. “You’re not going to stop craving blood. I think about it every waking moment. Every moment. The hunger is my life. Meditation doesn’t make those thoughts go away. In fact, it makes me overwhelmed by them. But in the eye of the hurricane, there’s calm. Get used to living in the storm.”
He was supposed to get used to the idea of wanting to tear Marion’s throat open?
Seth let his eyes fall shut, but this time, instead of focusing on breathing, he thought about how he was going to leave. Get away. Find Marion’s memories, and then never see her again.
People moved elsewhere in the Empress Hotel, their voices murmuring on the other side of the walls. Distantly, teacups clinked against saucers. Wind sighed past the windows.
And Seth thought of blood.
He kept thinking about it. He was trapped in a loop—thinking about the blood he’d already tasted, the deaths he’d seen, and the deaths he wanted to see, and then how he would escape.
Even if he never saw Marion again, the hunger wasn’t going to go away completely.
She’d collapsed at his feet. Her heart had stopped beating, and for one sweet second, he’d thought it might never start again. When he’d helped her off of the ground, he had realized that he could inflict that death upon her personally.
Those were thoughts he hadn’t lingered on before. Not even briefly. Now he lingered on them, reveled in them.
Get used to living in the storm.
Seth didn’t want to.
“Whiskey’s better,” he said, grabbing his holster off of the floor and standing.
“You need total honesty,” Charity said, watching him move from her spot on the floor. “Maybe for you, it’s not enough to be honest with yourself. You’ve got to be honest with Marion, too. She’s the problem, isn’t she?”
Charity was much too perceptive. “How’d you know?”
“You went on a field trip with her and came back for a cold shower. I mean, it’s not very subtle.”
“The shower was hot, actually. And it’s not like that with Marion.”
“Why isn’t it?”
“Let me count the ways. She’s got a boyfriend. And she’s nineteen. And I don’t date anymore, period.”
“I didn’t think you were dating,” Charity said. “Whatever is going on with you, it’s a little bit more, um, intense than that.”
“Yeah, like I keep thinking about killing her,” Seth said.
Charity blinked. “Oh. Well, you should probably talk about that, then. Before Marion gets the wrong idea.”
“No. No. I’m not going to tell a woman that I’m thinking about killing her. That’s creepy as hell. I’m going to figure out how to deal with this on my own—and with your help. That’s all the honesty I need.”
Her eyes went unfocused, as though she were listening to very quiet music. “Here’s your opportunity to be honest right now.”
Someone knocked at their hotel room door an instant later.
Seth didn’t have to check to know who it was.
He’d seen Marion’s face when he’d said that he planned to go to Sheol without her.
Maybe that was the subconscious reason why he’d chosen to take a long shower—not to calm himself, but to wait for her arrival.
He opened the door. Marion stood on the other side with her fist uplifted, as though preparing to knock again. She was dressed for travel into Sheol: long-sleeved blouse, jeans, boots, a headscarf. She even had her unseelie bow slung over her shoulders and a quiver at her waist. Marion looked far too conspicuous to wander around the Empress Hotel, so Nori must have dropped her off in that hallway.
All that effort he’d put into controlling himself—clearing his mind of thoughts and hunger and need—vanished in a heartbeat. The sight of her pulse pushing blood underneath the veil of her skin tossed him back to the detention center, licking the blood off of his fingers.
The deaths of angels, immortal as they were, would be sweeter than the deaths of human OPA agents.
Seth was horrified by the thoughts, as foreign to him as though he had some parasitic brain-slug narrating the violent fantasies.
Hell, maybe it was a parasitic brain-slug. Weirder things had happened during Genesis.
“Hi,” she said, giving him a dimpled smile. “What are you guys doing?”
Charity gave Seth an expectant look, encouraging him to respond. He cleared his throat. Stuffed his feet into his shoes. “Guess you could say we’re enjoying our luxury amenities for a few last minutes. Nowhere in Sheol has high tea.”
Charity made a scoffing sound.
Marion wasn’t oblivious to the mood. Amusement darkened to suspicion, and hurt. “Is that it, then?” Damn, she must have thought they’d been talking about her. It would have been so much worse if she’d known what Seth was really thinking.
“That’s it,” Seth said.
The mage girl looked between Charity in her bathrobe and Seth, who wasn’t wearing his holster and was putting on his shoes, in the hotel room that they were sharing.
He finally made the connection Marion did.
She wasn’t feeling self-conscious. She thought Seth and Charity were getting dressed together. Never mind that Seth had sworn to spend the rest of his life alone—or that Charity was, despite her frightening vampiric charms, the emotional equivalent of a little sister to Seth.
He squared his shoulders. “Charity’s coming with me to Sheol.”
“The more the merrier,” Marion said brightly. “I’ll be happy for the assistance.”
“You’re not coming,” Seth said. “Did you forget about what happened when I pulled you down to Las Vegas?”
“I’m fine. I’ll be better prepared for it this time.” She smiled at him toothily, and it was more of a challenge for him to defy her than her normal charming grin. “I don’t have anything better to do.”
“Really?” Marion had made no secret about the work to be done in the Winter Court.
She lifted her chin in defiance and crossed her arms over her chest. “Really. Nothing is more important than getting my memories back. Perhaps you don’t need me, but I won’t let you go without my company, so here we are.”
“That’s very honest of you,” Charity said, shooting a pointed look at Seth. She dropped the bathrobe. She was fu
lly dressed underneath, wearing a tank top and shorts that would be suitable for Sheol’s warmth. “I think it’ll be good to have Marion help us.”
Because that meant Charity could keep bullying Seth into telling Marion the truth.
Two against one. It wasn’t fair.
“Then let’s go,” he said, holding his hands out.
Charity took the right hand. Marion the left. Even through the gloves that he wore, Seth could feel her pulse, strong and sure. He could hear her heart. See the flush of blood on her throat.
She was watching him so closely, he wondered if she was catching glimpses of his murderous thoughts.
Seth yanked all of them into Sheol before Marion could hear the worst of it.
8
Seth leaped into Sheol. It was always unsettling to teleport somewhere that he hadn’t visited by normal means first. He hated stepping out of the world without being certain where he’d step back in.
Stepping off of the Earth to a place where he knew there would be nothing waiting for him but demons—that was something he dreaded even more.
He appeared in a cramped tunnel. Thankfully, he was still clutching both Marion and Charity.
“Is everyone all right?” Seth asked.
“I think so,” Charity said, patting herself down. Marion nodded silently. She was very pale.
He stepped up to the edge of the tunnel, lifting Dana’s map to compare it to what little he could see of the hive.
Seth’s first impression of Sheol was that it was claustrophobic. The tunnel that they’d appeared in was too short for Marion to walk through without stooping over. She’d have to duck under the doorways.
The fact that there were open windows along the side of the tunnel wasn’t much improvement; all they could see was a honeycomb of other cramped tunnels, along with heavy iron doors, pipework vanishing into the walls, and ooze.
He spotted a row of shops at the end of the tunnel because he could see the end of a sign marking a butcher’s shop. Seth located it on the map. They had appeared exactly where he’d intended, and, just as Dana had promised, a tiny red dot appeared to mark their position.
