“What am I doing?”
“I don’t know, exactly. Why are you telling me all this?”
“You have to choose sides. Your father’s, or ours.” He jerked his head up and listened for a sound I couldn’t hear. “I have to go. I’m being called.”
I strained my ears. “How does one call you Marc?”
He stood up, hands dangling at his sides and winked. “You must be in possession of my true name and you, my dear, haven’t progressed to that level yet. Cheerio, love.”
“Wait,” I called.
Marc flickered. He staggered red-faced and fell against the wall. I thought he was sweating. That was new. “Cor blimey, love, don’t do that again. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to stop mid-stream? It’s likely to give a man a heart attack.” He clutched his hand over his heart and winced.
“I need to tell you about Cash. The witch said—”
Stop!
The voices seemed to speak as if they were one soul, not four.
You tell him and you’re putting yourself in danger. There are those who would kill for that information.
“C’mon, love. Don’t keep me in suspense, yeah?”
The voices could be right, but Marc said he and Cash were on the same side. Maybe I should check with Cash first. “I mean… that is… can’t you tell any more by his markings now? Them being complete and all?”
His eyes narrowed, his mouth flattened, the dimple in his chin deepened. Pure suspicion. “Well, it’s more like a map to where he is from, but it doesn’t say who he is. The bigger the map, the more influence he has. Cash’s is pretty huge. And his markings show the queerest thing…” His voice trailed off as he searched my face.
“What?”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you, wouldn’t I?”
Marc leaned in, brows furrowed. “You need to wake up Roo, he’s here.”
“Huh?”
Wake up, Roo.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
A POUNDING AT the door woke me from my dream. I opened my eyes, and the world was full of color again. The shock of being pulled from that dream state caused a sort of sleep paralysis. My body refused to do as it was told, but I could see all around me with perfect clarity. The pounding became more insistent, and I winced at the angry sound.
“What?” I growled.
“Honey?” The door opened a crack and my father stuck his head in.
Oh, I see how this is going to go. Terms of endearment already. I could only imagine the sucking up he was going to do. It seemed, after seeing my awesome witch-fighting skills at the beach, he’d changed his view on things. Suddenly I was “Honey”. I sat up in the bed, but held the covers to my chin while my father inched his towering frame through the doorway. When I gave no objections from deep under the quilt, he sat at the foot of my bed. It was an action he’d repeated many times in my youth. It usually heralded a lecture, reprimand or a deep and meaningful conversation.
“Roo-Roo.” His voice was a masculine rumble, the kind that came with age and wisdom. Ha! Wisdom my ass. I didn’t care if he was an ancient god. He was just my asshole father. I might have been fooled by the look of concern in the S-O-B’s eyes, if it weren’t for his unwavering and flat-lining aura.
“Bruce.” Son-of-a-bitch.
He narrowed his eyes. I could practically see the cogs turning in that big head of his; he didn’t like me using his first name. For his age, he looked pretty damn good. No crow’s feet around the blue eyes, no sagging lids, supple skin beneath his beard, blonde of course. I guessed most gods were. Cash and I were the abnormal ones, and The Ludus would probably be full of Barbie and Ken dolls.
“I can’t say I’m happy with your exchange with Samson but, after much debate, it’s decided we can’t break the mentor-progeny agreement and he will continue your preparation for your trials.”
My brows shot up. “I don’t see why you being happy should be my concern. You left me to the whims of a psycho in favor of a better candidate for your bloody Game.” Yeah, that’s right S-O-B, I know why you left. “And it doesn’t explain what you’ve been doing since you finished with Cash. There’s a bunch of time missing. You want a say in my life? Then you need to be honest.”
His lack of reaction was more damning than an admission. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweet-pea. I’m well aware of my inopportune timing with my expedition to America, but I apprised your aunt before I left.” His forehead crinkled for maximum effect. “Did she not mention any of it to you at all?”
“You know very well Aunt Lucy had been possessed.”
“I did not. Did you?”
Well, he had me there. It had taken me three years to figure it out. “I guess not.”
“Well, I’m here now, and she’s gone. We can see about mending the bridges.” He patted my leg. “I’m proud of the way you handled yourself with the witch. By the way, do you know what happened to her glass necklace?”
Yeah, I smashed it with the hilt of my knife and let the souls escape. “It was damaged in the struggle. Why?”
“It’s a stolen artifact, and we were hoping to return it to its rightful owner. That’s a shame.”
He stood up and rubbed his hands together. “Well, never mind. This recent tour of duty had me gone for much longer than I’d intended and you’ve missed your registration. I take it you’ve met the Gamekeeper?” His slight sneer told me he wasn’t a fan of Marc which made me like Marc even more.
I nodded.
“So this is what’s going to happen—you’ll go to a Ludus to train. I’m thinking the Sydney one would be best and, once there, you will be registered alongside your brother.”
I choked on the muffin I’d been casually nibbling, thumped my chest and swallowed. “What?”
He ignored my question. “You’ll live in the royal quarters for six months until you’ve completed your trials. Following successful completion, and entrance granted into the Game, you will announce your allegiance to the Urser House at the Libertine Ball and fulfill your duties as befitting of someone of your standing.”
“What did you say?”
“You have just over six months to complete your trials.”
“No, the other thing.”
“You have a brother. Well, half-brother if you want to get picky. His name is Lincoln.” He watched my face. “It’s not unheard of for royals to have more than one child to different biological partners. It’s so we can create a more diversified mix of bodies for Players to inhabit. I’ve produced hundreds of offspring over my lifetime.”
“You have other families?” A chill spread to my extremities.
“Yes. Well, just one at this point in time. But you will too because part of your responsibility in the Game is to create more Players.” He smoothed his black military pants. “Samson may have pulled you away from your bloodline, but that’s only temporary. Human law still stands and, as an unmarried female, you are subject to my authority. That includes where you live and who you live with.”
Son-of-a-bitch.
“But Cash is my sponsor,” I said weakly.
“That’s all changed—in fact, you were the one that started the ball rolling, if you remember? The video of the witch attacking you sparked the adjustments to the Geneva Convention, treaties and protocols. Cash was only your guardian temporarily. He’s not your husband, so that leaves me.” His voice rose in pitch and his aura twitched.
“What about our home? Who’s going to manage the vineyard?” Yeah, okay, I clutched at straws. I hated wine, but it could be my only way out.
He flared his nostrils, then his aura went haywire. His energy suddenly increased, and I found it hard to breathe. Had he been holding back all this time? Was it a game to him? Was he still holding back? My eyes watered, and my mind reeled, but I refused to let him see his effect on me.
Finally he pinched the bridge between his nose and spoke as if I were a cumbersome child. “I’ve had just about enough of this, La Roux. I don’t
know why you think you have any say in the matter.” He pointed at my chest. “I own that body, I made it. You have to do as you are told. I’ve arranged for Lucy and Leila to be cremated, and the Estate is being sold. The money will be held in a trust until you complete your trials. There’s nothing left for you here. You’ll return to Sydney with me.”
“You had them cremated?” I straightened, fuming. “You had no right to make that decision without me. I’m their family too.”
“They were both maleficent victims, they had to be burned.”
“But I wanted to have a memorial, I need to…” The words wouldn’t come. I needed to say goodbye? Pay my respects?
He looked at me like I was fourteen again. “Well, let this be your first lesson as a Player: human life is fleeting. Death is what it is. I loved your mother dearly, and her life was cut short. You have to pick yourself up and move on, or you get left behind.”
He wasn’t Leila’s father. He’d just admitted it by calling her human. And he’d loved my mother? I’d thought she was just a breeding machine. But to fight him was futile. If I stayed, my friends would be in danger and the ones I’d lost would still be gone. A lump stuck in my throat. Tommy.
I would leave, but on my terms.
I steeled my eyes. “Before I go to the Ludus, I’m going to help Cash take his brother’s body home. Tommy’s death was my fault. Cash is my mentor and I want to keep training and, in case you haven’t noticed, Cash was blinded in the attack. He’s going to need help for the next week or two. I won’t leave him while he can’t see.” My father gave me daggers. “If you let me do this, I’ll not kick up a stink about the rest.” I cringed as the words left my mouth but it gave me more time to come up with a better plan. I sure as hell wasn’t going to live under his command, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to breed for the benefit of this stupid Game, I didn’t care what he expected of me.
His face softened, and he drew me into a hug. My tangled hair caught in his calloused hands as he stroked my head. He smelled like coffee, not at all like a soldier. It reminded me of my childhood and his early morning visits to the local café for a “real coffee”. Not the instant kind we had at home. For a god, he sure seemed human sometimes. My stomach squirmed. I didn’t want to have nostalgic thoughts about him. I wanted to hate him. He had just used my mother to gain sympathy. I didn’t trust him.
He hugged me tighter. Tears stung my eyes, but I gritted my teeth. I was torn. How could this coffee-scented, hugging man be the black hole of a devil?
“Oh, Roo. I only did all of this to avenge your mother and it’s all ended up a complete mess,” he said cryptically and kissed my head. “Never mind, we’ll get back on track.”
I pulled out of his embrace and sat stiffly. It was time to face my family head on. “Well, that may be, but the dad I knew and the one sitting in front of me are two different people. As far as I see it, we were born into these bodies with no memory of our former selves for a reason. You need to earn trust and you’ve lied to me my whole life.”
He lifted his chin. “I cared for you and raised you for the first twenty years of your life. Can you not trust that I have your best interests at heart? I always have.”
I shrugged. “Like I said, that was a different person, and I am a different person. I agree, it’s time to mend bridges but if you want me to trust you, then you have to trust me. Let me go with Cash, bury his brother, then I’ll come to this Ludus place in two weeks and we’ll take it from there.”
An awkward pause filled the room. His energy rattled, but eventually he nodded and stood up. “So, I’ll leave you in Samson’s hands for two weeks, and then meet you in Sydney. By that stage I may have had the Tribunal overturn his mentorship and have gotten you out of this mess.”
I feigned a yawn and covered my mouth with my hand.
“Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I need to take the team back to the City for debrief and tie up loose ends. I suggest you do the same. It may be awhile before you come back to this town, if ever.”
He left the room, and I chewed over our conversation until the thumping sounds in the house had stopped. I combed my fingers through my scraggly bird’s nest, then flattened Leila’s disheveled sundress and padded downstairs barefoot.
I slowed at the bottom of the steps. The house was eerily quiet. I tiptoed around, poked my head into the kitchen, and found it empty. No dishes in the sink, no newspaper on the table, just dust and the afternoon sun filtering through the window. I guzzled a glass of water and resumed the tour of the ground floor. I wandered past the front hall again and noticed a fist shaped hole in the wall, next to the photo frame gallery. I didn’t know which bastard had done it, but someone had been pissed off.
I peeked into the living room. Everything seemed the same with its Victorian couches, grand ornate coffee table and bookshelf filled with dusty old books. I was just about to head back upstairs when I heard shuffling from the couch. A familiar essence trickled into my awareness. It grew stronger as I focused on it. Strange. I could only sense him when I knew he was there; his aura tried to hide.
I peered over the couch. Cash snoozed in the fetal position, facing the quilted wall. I found a throw rug stored under the coffee table and placed it gently over his body. He whimpered and rolled onto his back, brow creasing and lips parting as he inhaled. The ambient light shone against his sweaty brow and his tattoo stretched tightly over his neck, up to the base of his ears. He still wore filthy clothes from the night before: a dirty white business shirt and suit pants. He must have been in too much pain to move.
He flinched and twitched every so often and I’d bet my bike he was reliving a past life. I crouched and watched silently. Every now and then, he muttered something under his breath in another language. It sounded like Mandarin at one stage, then unmistakably French. A thousand lives flooded his consciousness, some of them good and some probably bad. An ache spread in my chest.
I wanted to ease his pain. Should I try? Maybe I should try a game. “All right,” I whispered to myself. “Here’s the game: if I pull more than three strands of hair out, I’ll touch him and help alleviate the pain. If not, I’ll go back upstairs and wait until morning.” I ran my hand through my hair, gripping any strands that came loose. I held my hand in front of my face. Nothing. I rolled my eyes, duh. I had just washed and brushed my hair. The results were skewed.
I thumped my head with my palm. “Stupid,” I said softly.
“Don’t beat yourself up, Probie, that’s my job.” The words that came from Cash’s mouth sounded so much like his brother’s that I startled and fell back on the coffee table.
“You’re awake.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.” He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.
“How are you feeling?” I asked. “Do you want a drink? Something to eat?”
He opened his cloudy eyes and tilted his head towards me. “A water would be nice, thank you, but I don’t think I could eat.”
When I returned, he sat up and downed the glass in a couple of gulps then flopped back on the couch, arm over his eyes. I set the empty glass on the table.
I lowered my fingers to his forehead, but pulled them back at the last second. “I thought I could help with the pain. Don’t get me wrong. I’m pretty pissed off that you didn’t tell me about my father, but I guess I understand. He’s an asshole, and I screwed up too. I’m sorry about that. But maybe I can help with your pain, do something good for once.”
“No, I’m sorry I yelled at you, it was a difficult situation.” He rubbed his temples and spoke with his eyes closed. “I should have told you the truth, I just didn’t… care at the time. I do now…” His words trailed off with an exhaled breath. His voice probably echoed in his skull like a jackhammer. I’d avoid talking too.
Without waiting for an invitation, I made myself comfortable, sat sideways on the carpet next to the couch and put my cool palm on his hot forehead.
“Oh.” A sharp sigh escaped him. “That
feels good.” Then he turned into a rag doll and sank lower on the couch. “How are you doing this? It’s like your fingers are morphine. They instantly calm the turbulence and stop the pain.” His hand rose to cover mine. “Don’t take it away.”
I smiled. I was actually doing something right for once. “I don’t know how I do it. It’s not part of my witchcraft side. It didn’t work on Alvin. Only you.” I shrugged. “I just hope I’m not taking something from you. I seem to have this uncanny ability to accidentally cause damage. Tell me if you feel weak or lethargic okay?”
“I don’t,” he breathed. “Definitely better.”
I sat quietly and waited until his breathing evened out. Then I had to ask, “What’s it like, with him in there?” My voice came out steady, but it made me uncomfortable to know he had Tommy’s and thousands of other people’s memories churning through his brain. But it was more than memories; it was Tommy. “What do you remember?” I prompted, keen to see if we experienced the same thing.
He opened his eyes and stared blindly at the ceiling, then slotted his palms to rest behind his head. “It’s like I’m trying to remember the words to a familiar tune. My body seems to know how to move to the melody, but my brain can’t find the words. Sometimes, I’ll see visions or memories like I’m watching a movie. Other times it’s just feelings, smells or sounds.” He shivered at the last word then slid his arms down and interlocked them on his chest, careful not to dislodge my palm from his forehead.
His eyes fluttered closed as I stroked the line over his brow with my thumb.
“I haven’t called Ma yet,” he said under his breath.
I didn’t know what to say, so kept quiet. Eventually, his breathing evened, and I lowered my head on my arm. This close, I could hear his heart beat in his chest, then echo in his half-hidden aura. They slowed, and I sensed the tension ease out of his body as he drifted to sleep. The shadows of his abdomen moved with each intake of air and I had the sudden urge to trail my fingers over the ridges then stopped short. Not here for that. This was purely for medicinal reasons, I told myself and locked away my emotion. I had feelings for him, I could admit it, but the connection probably had to do with experiencing a life-changing trauma with him. They called it hero syndrome or something. Yeah. That’s what it was because I couldn’t admit it meant anything more. If it did, then it could easily be taken away from me.
Soul Thing (The Game of Gods Book 1) Page 29
