by Keta Diablo
“What! No!”
“Do it; or I'll do it for you. Stick your goddamn finger down your throat...now.”
Marcel never bluffed. If she didn’t do it, he would. Once she started tossing up the contents of her stomach, she couldn't stop. Marcel had one arm around her waist and held her long hair back with his free hand.
After an eternity passed, she emitted a groan. “I think I’m done.”
“Give it a minute, yet.”
“He couldn't keep his dick in his pants.”
“What?”
“Leif. Oh, never mind. Has the minute passed yet? I just want to go home.”
He picked her up again, laid her gently on the seat. She heard the click of the seat belt and felt him move, hovering over her. “God, you smell.”
Their eyes locked. “You came for me, Marcel.”
“Mom had a bad feeling and told me where you went.”
A familiar fire sped through her veins. “Oh, I thought....”
Searching his eyes, she knew he had withdrawn to that secret place inside again, a place not a soul could penetrate.
He moved away from her, shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side of the car. After slipping behind the wheel, he started the engine and left a trail of burned rubber in the parking lot.
Chapter Seven
A freight train roared through Cecily’s head. Opening her eyes proved beyond painful, and who the hell had poured a bucket of sand down her throat? These were minor issues compared to the white-hot pain traveling from toes to scalp.
Dizziness forced her back to the pillow when she attempted to sit up. Perhaps, if she rolled over, she could command her legs to move from bed to floor. Halfway through the roll, she ran into a rock-hard body.
Marcel jackknifed up. “Cecily, you’re awake. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Wait...what?” Confusion reigned when she looked down at the white sheet covering her torso. “Yes, you can tell me what you're doing in my bed. Where are my clothes?” She gave him the stink eye. “And who the hell undressed me?”
His soft, gritty voice drifted around her. “Ah, you remember now.”
She rubbed her temples and then fingered her left eye. “Some of it, yes.”
“One, I’m in your bed because you were talking batshit crazy. I started out in the chair but that didn’t seem to settle you down. Two, I didn’t think your sheets would fancy the vomit, and I couldn’t stand the smell. Three, since you and I were the only ones in the room, I undressed you.”
“Jesus, Marcel, you undressed me?”
“Yes,” the Apollo clone said. “I assure you that’s all I did.” He nodded toward her eye. “Other than ice that shiner.”
“Oh.” She paused to think. “I was talking batshit crazy?”
“Yep, the drug does that sometimes.”
“What drug?”
“That part you haven’t remembered, huh?”
“I can't think right now. Maybe you could ask your cold, black heart to give me a minute.”
“Take all the time you need.”
She wracked her brain as fragments of the previous night slipped in like a slow-rolling fog. “Leif...he slipped something into my drink.”
“Right.”
She hated his calm demeanor, had always despised that nothing seemed to rattle him. An inner smile found her. Leif had rattled him...or what Leif had done to her had. She wouldn’t look at the man with the sleep-tousled hair, the magnificent gray eyes and cocky smile beside her. God, Cecily, he’s like an addiction you can’t seem to break. You’re as bad as a heroin addict who keeps coming back for more knowing one day it will kill you.
At last she found her tongue. “I asked if you knew what kind of drug?”
“Might have been a roofie, also known as the forget-me-pill. My guess, he slipped cherry meth into your drink. That takes effect in fifteen minutes, can last for hours and most of the time causes vomiting.”
Wrapping the sheet tighter around her, she showed him her back. “Why am I not surprised you know quite a bit about date rape drugs?”
“Seen my share but if you want to verify what it was, I pulled the pills from the pocket of his shirt. A pharmacist should be able to tell you.”
“Oh, hell, what difference does it make now?” She snuck a peek over her shoulder. “You’re sure you didn’t...we didn’t....?”
He emitted a half-snort half-laugh. “It might surprise you to know I don’t have to drug my women to fuck them.”
“Your women? God, you’re so such an ass. Can’t you ever be serious?”
“I am. I said I didn’t touch you other than to remove your clothes, ice your eye and....”
She shifted her body around. “And?”
“Hold you. You were calling out for Calder.”
Her heart fractured all over again. If she were standing, she would have collapsed, whether from the pain in her chest or the remnants of last night, she didn’t know. The tears came unbidden as she slumped into the mattress, her voice weaker than a kitten’s. “Someone stole my soul, Marcel. I don’t think I can go on. I miss him so much.”
He nestled her into his body and wrapped an arm around her waist. “I know; me too. More than you can imagine.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Take one day at a time.”
She gasped. “Last night is returning in fragments. God, Marcel, you almost killed Leif.”
“Wish I would have,” he whispered.
“I know you've always had a temper, can hold your own, but where did you learn to fight like that?”
He grabbed her by the shoulder and twisted her around to face him. “You don't know me, Cecily.” His stone-faced expression sent a shudder through her. “If you did, you'd run back to Minnesota like a scared rabbit...like you did two years ago.”
The journal! She had to talk to him about what she found in Calder’s room, the writings, the names, the dagger, but not until she cleared her head. Marcel would outwit her if she didn’t have all her faculties.
“What, nothing to say to that, my little gazelle?”
“Yes, I have something to say. You almost killed a man last night. You followed me, and what gave you the right to do that?”
Wearing a pair of black jeans, he sprang from the bed like a loose-limbed jungle cat. “Yes, I followed you, and if I hadn't, you'd have been raped by that snake or worse, dead.”
She tossed the sheet back, flung her legs over the side and faced off with him from across the bed. “I don’t want you to follow me again, you hear me? I’m not your responsibility and...and I can take care of myself.”
A flicker of knowing passed through his eyes. “Like you did last night?”
“He caught me off guard. I assure you; it will never happen again.”
Marcel plucked his shirt from the floor. “I’m glad to hear that.”
“Oh, go away. I’m in no mood for your snark. Anyway, I need a shower and then we,” she wagged a finger between them. “Need to talk.”
He bowed at the waist and swept an arm toward her. “Whatever you say, Cecily. I'll be downstairs making Her Highness breakfast.”
Marcel stormed from the room and she wobbled into the shower. Dropping the sheet, she stepped in, turned on the faucet and allowed the hot water to roll down her battered body. Pain terrorized her face when the pulsating water hit her bruised eye. She covered it with her fingertips and thought back to the day she healed the starling’s broken wing. Heal little beauty of the sky...heal.
When the ache relented, a smile stretched her lips. Marcel followed me, followed me and saved me from Leif.
* * *
She finished her shower and returned to the room to dress. She selected a pair of jeans, a sleeveless, almost see-through blouse and sandals. About to leave, she glanced at the nightstand and spied a set of keys. Her heart raced. Marcel must have left them behind.
Keys in hand, she stepped into the hallway and an eerily quiet hous
e. Hugging the wall, she stopped in front of Mae's room and put an ear to the door. Not a sound from within. She scurried toward the padlocked doors further down and inserted every key with painstaking patience. Please let one work. On the second to the last one she tried, she heard a click and after a quiet turn of the handle, the door creaked open. A conglomeration of odors assailed her─a musky, aged scent, leather, vinegar and something akin to mineral oil.
The myriad of aromas didn’t bother her but the items in the room almost brought her to her knees. Weapons of every shape and manner filled the room. In one corner, swords and shields were propped against the wall. In another, crossbows and quivers of silver-tipped arrows lay askew on the floor. Someone had mounted rows of cabinets on the walls. Her stomach performed a series of somersaults as she walked toward one and opened the doors. Rifles, guns, and box after box of silver bullets stared back at her. Shoulder holsters, ankle holsters and a shoulder scabbard with sheathed crossed swords filled another cabinet. With a lump in her throat, she scanned the room again and took note of the empty hooks attached to the wall. Oh. My. God. Someone has obviously removed additional weapons from the room. She focused on the first cabinet; her eyes drawn to the crossed swords with pearl handles. Pearl handles with symbols.
An exact replica to the symbols on Calder’s dagger. What does it mean, Cecily, think...think? After all these years of wondering, she’d finally discovered what lay hidden beyond the padlocked doors. Had Calder discovered this room? Did it have something to do with his warning to her the day he showed up on campus?
Chaos swamped her brain. Although mesmerized by the enormous array of weaponry, her mind searched for answers.
She didn’t hear anyone enter the room and jumped out of her skin when he spoke. “Are you adding breaking and entering to your Nancy Drew skills now?”
Closing her eyes, she willed her heart to cease its frantic beating before turning to face Marcel. “I always knew something dark and ominous occupied this room. Since coming home and discovering─”
“What, huh, what do you think you’ve discovered during your amateur sleuthing?”
“It all makes sense now.” She looked down at the floor.
“You think you know, but you don't.”
She didn’t mean to scream but could no longer control the torrent of emotions coursing through her. “Stop it, Marcel, do you hear me, just stop! I know more than you think I do. You underestimate me, asshat, you always have.”
He crossed his arms across his chest, a stance that pissed her off even more. “I found Calder's journal and his dagger, the one with the pearl handle and symbols, an exact replica to the handle on those crossed swords in the cabinet.” She nodded toward it while a rising sob in her throat threatened to strangle her. “So fuck off, already, Marcel. I’m tired of the lies and the secrets, so tired, I’m beginning to wonder what I ever saw in you.”
“You don’t know the half of it. Last night, I told you to run...run back to that quaint, peaceful, hick town you live in. I’m telling you again now. Go home!”
“Not on your sorry ass. I took the dagger to the University. I know what it’s made from.” She put a hand to her forehead. “God, how can this be happening?” Tears streamed down her cheeks and in the next moment, hysterical laughter bubbled up her throat. “I had no idea the people who lived in this house collected Egyptian artifacts. Stupid, stupid, girl.”
He took a step toward her. “Cecily, stop, please.”
She thrust an arm out. “Don’t touch me! Do you hear, don’t you dare touch me!” Scalding sorrow gripped her heart as she fell to her knees. “Calder is dead, ohmygod, he’s gone, and...and I have no one left.”
Marcel advanced, dropped to his knees and pulled her to him. “Don’t cry. I can’t stand it when you cry.”
“Don’t cry? God, Marcel, I’ve cried so many tears Mae’s garden won’t need water for a month.”
He stroked the sides of her head. “I know, I know. What can I do to take the pain away?”
She looked up at him. “Tell me the truth. Not knowing is killing me, eating me alive from the inside out.”
He shook his head. “I can’t.”
“You mean you won’t. I spoke to Mr. Bridger at the funeral home. Calder didn't die from a car accident, did he?”
He shut his eyes against her words.
She struck hard and fast, pummeled his chest with her fists, ran her fingernails down his cheeks while he tried to subdue her. “Tell me, goddamn it! He didn’t die in a car accident, did he!”
“Stop it, Cecily, you’re going to hurt yourself. No, all right, he didn’t die in a car accident.”
She pushed away from him and bounded to her feet, and he was right beside her, moving with the speed of lightning. She lashed out again, this time with her feet, her arms, her long nails, striking anything within range. “I hate you! I hate you!”
He grabbed her wrists, pinned them at her sides and held her close. “I couldn't tell you, Cecily. So many times I wanted to but I was sworn to secrecy. I took an oath.”
“Secrecy! Do you think I give a shit about oaths and your fucking secrets? Calder is dead.” The words cut through her like a knife.
She didn't know how much time passed before she was able to catch her breath and speak again. When she did, her hoarse voice whispered the words. “Were you with him when-when he died?”
“Yes, I was there when he drew his last breath.”
She rocked back and forth, unable to stop the tears from flowing. “Tell me, I have to know.” Silence reigned in the cold, stark room. Long anguished seconds later, she looked into his eyes. “Who killed him?”
“Not-not who, what.”
“A demon?”
She didn't know what she expected him to say but when he answered, another piece of her heart fell into the abyss. “Yes.”
Her strangled moan echoed in the room. He stroked the hair at the sides of her head. “There's so much you don't know. I don't know where to begin.”
She hiccoughed through the words. “If Gus were here, he’d say, “Get your cows over their buckets, Marcel. You have to tell me. I have a right to know everything.”
Chapter Eight
Cecily didn’t know how they ended up in the kitchen. Marcel held her hand and she followed him down the stairs in a trance-like state. When he set a plate of sausages, eggs, toast and coffee in front of her, she almost vomited again. She looked away from the yellow yolks staring back at her while a hundred questions tramped through her brain.
How far back did the duplicity go? Who was involved, and why had she never pursued the glaring clues smacking her in the face while Calder was alive? God, how many times had they discussed the mysterious obscurities—the locked rooms, anonymous phone calls and the hastened departures of Gus, Elliott and Marcel?
When Marcel slid into the seat across from her, she pushed the plate away and wrapped both hands around the mug.
“Not hungry?”
She shook her head. “I can't eat right now.” Leaning back in his chair, he watched her, his expression tentative. He was waiting for her to speak. Before she did, she took in her surroundings. “Where is Mae this morning?”
“Gone for the day. The note on the fridge said something about golf and lunch with the Garden Club.”
“I haven’t seen Elliott since the day after the funeral.”
She recognized this expression─eyes darting left to right, a quick chew of the upper lip─worry. “Ditto.”
“Why? Why haven’t we seen or heard from him?”
“You’re not the only one who’s hurting, Cecily. While you and I were doing our thing, that left a lot of time for Calder and Elliott to form a tighter bond. I knew he’d take his death hard, but never imagined he’d crawl into a cesspool and couldn’t see his way out.”
What a fool she’d been when it came to what she and Marcel once shared. “Our thing...is that how you think of it?”
“No, no. I didn’t mean it that w
ay.” Gray and violet eyes met and held. “Your black eye is no longer black and doesn’t look as puffy and angry as before. In fact, it’s greenish-yellow like it would be several days after the injury.”
“Hot showers do amazing things.”
“Hmm.”
“Don't, Marcel, don’t change the subject, and don't pee on my back anymore and tell me it’s raining.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, stop lying to me. Upstairs you said you wanted to tell me so many times. Now is that time. Calder is dead, apparently at the hands of a....” God, it was unthinkable. Could she say it? “A demon.”
He drew a breath and released it on a long sigh. “Why couldn't you let it go; why didn't you just go back to Minnesota and let it be?”
“I can’t, not anymore. I've always known something, but I guess I was too scared to open Pandora's Box. When Calder died, every bone in my body screamed, ‘it’s not from a car accident.’”
He gave a bitter laugh. “Must run in the family, the bone thing. Calder used to say before-before we went out, ‘My bones ache.’”
She swiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. “Most of the time, it’s in my shins but now it’s all the way down to my toes.” She leaned forward acutely aware of the wave of nostalgia washing over her. “When we were children, we had a secret hiding place in the wall in his room. We took an oath not to tell anyone. Calder said if your family had secrets, our family should have them too.”
Marcel scrubbed a hand over a day’s stubble on his chin.
“I remembered the hiding place the day after the funeral, and that’s when I found the dagger and the journal. I took the knife to the University to find out what it’s made of or if they knew what the symbols meant. The metallurgist said it was made from nickel and meteorite rock, metals melted down and used by the Egyptians centuries ago.”
He spoke soft and low. “Metal from the sky. They called it a gift from the gods and they were right.”
“All the weapons upstairs are made from meteorite and nickel?”
