Shadows and Stars

by Becca Fanning

  “Smithie.” His groan was response enough. My eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark, but from what little I could see, it didn’t appear there were any obstacles between us. Rushing over to his crumpled mass, I dropped to my knees at his side. “What happened to you? Did the necromancer do this to you?” Obvious questions, almost rhetorical really, but I needed to get him talking. At least coherently, instead of the muttering nonsense.

  “Angel baby, is that you?” The blacksmith reached for me, his hand finding mine and holding on tight. “How did you get here? How did you find me?”

  “Trap door still works.” Unsure if he could see it, I offered a reassuring smile anyway. “Somebody set a fire in my apartment. Hester said she saw a man holding a hot coal in his bare hand.”

  “And you thought it was me?” Smithie coughed, clearing his throat. He sounded weak, defeated. Nothing like the boisterous soul trapper I’d befriended. “You were always safe from me.”

  “Safe from, not with? Interesting distinction.” Adjusting my position, I shifted my weight to the balls of my feet, preparing to help Smithie sit up.

  “I wouldn’t presume to think I could protect Apollyon’s daughter from anything but myself.” He released my hand, bracing himself against the floor to push up into a sitting position.

  The A in Big A could also stand for alpha. Smithie’s turn of phrase sort of made sense. Saying I was safe with instead of from meant he could protect me from anything—and anything included Big A. The blacksmith may be a lot of things, but suicidal wasn’t one of them.

  “I’m no good without my coals. He took them all.” Smithie’s head lolled against his chest, his body threatening to slide back down the wall he’d propped himself against. “Doesn’t matter; he’ll be here soon.”

  “Do you know who he is? Smithie?” I nudged his shoulder, afraid he’d dozed off. “The necro, did you recognize him?”

  “Mortal enough to set off the alarm.” Will the Smith drifted in and out of consciousness; the magic that kept him alive for so long weakened without his coals to fuel it.

  “Alarm? What alarm?” As if I really needed to ask. “Shit. Smithie, can you get us out of here? Just up top, to the marsh?” Hooking him under the armpits, I tried to drag him in the direction of where I thought the stairs were that I’d started to descend before the pondweed got ahold of me.

  Panic set in—something that had been happening with more frequency since taking the necro case. It wasn’t something I was accustomed to feeling and I wasn’t one to run from my problems or Big A. Except I’d disobeyed a direct order and, as much as I lived to push his buttons, that simply was not done. So, sticking around to find out just how much I’d pissed off the Morningstar was not high on my priority list. Getting the hell out of Smithie’s keep and saving my own ass were currently at the top.

  Relief flooded my system as the pondweed snaked itself around my arms and legs. Smithie must have heard me before he passed out and used what little strength he had left to get me back to the surface. Knowing what to expect, I kept my body relaxed, not fighting the aquatic plants as they wrapped around my wrists and ankles for the second time. One hard jerk and I was being pulled back the way I came, up to the surface. After a couple deep breaths in and out, I held in the last, filling my lungs with air just before the cold water slid over my face.

  The ride up was faster than the trip down. Jackson was right where I left him, thrashing around in the water trying to find me. The pondweed uncoiled itself from my arms and legs, letting the natural buoyancy of my body take me the rest of the way. Jackson grabbed a hold of me the second I breached the surface, wrapping his arms around my back and hoisting me up. He steered us back to shore until we reached a point in the marsh where I could touch bottom and get my feet under me and walk on my own two legs, but he never let go of my hand.

  Waterlogged and freezing, we trudged up the bank and away from Smithie’s place.

  “The water was so dark. You almost drowned.” Hopped up on adrenaline, Jackson had a wild look in his eyes.

  “Almost drowned?” My teeth chattered, clacking together in time with the uncontrollable shivering that started as soon as the cold air hit my soaked clothes. “How long was I gone?”

  “What? I don’t know. A minute or two. Why?” The Sin Eater rung out his shirt the best he could without taking it off.

  “We can talk about it in the car. With the heat on full blast.” Hugging myself in the hopes of bringing the shakes somewhat under control, I started for the car. “We need to get out of here, Jackson. Like yesterday.”

  “What happened in the water? What’s going on?” Jackson stood his ground. “Talk to me.”

  “Pretty sure Apollyon’s on his way.”

  That got Jackson into motion. Placing a hand on my lower back, he gently pushed me forward, encouraging me to pick up the pace. Neither of us said a word until we were back in my Mini Cooper with the heat blaring and the engine roaring as I backed us out of the lot at North Point Park and headed back to the city, filling Jackson in on what happened with Smithie on the way.

  TWELVE

  THE INSIDE of my car smelled like a dumpster and a filthy fish tank had a baby in the backseat. The windows were cracked, but the heat was almost certain to bake the pungent aroma into the upholstery. Whether Dr. Detail could get the funk out was debatable, but I was willing to pay him triple for trying when everything was said and done. Until then, the orange tree-shaped air fresheners scented like coconut would have to do. Jackson dug through the contents of my glove box until he found a brand new three pack buried in the random essentials of travel tissues, flashlight, lip balm and whatever else I’d shoved in there. Ripping open the plastic wrap, he hung all three from my rearview mirror.

  It wasn’t much of an improvement. The coconut just added another layer to the trashy, oyster smell that filled the car. Gag reflex in full effect, I rolled my window down all the way and vowed to get Cooper a whole new interior.

  “We obviously can’t go to my place.” A grimace settled on my face when I thought about all the things I’d have to replace. If they could be replaced at all. The things I had were treasures I’d found over the years. My apartment was a journey from junk, all up-cycled from yard sales and swap meets.

  “My place is in the green zone. We should be safe there. At least for a little while.” Jackson gave me the address and directions.

  Not that I needed them. I’d been working the city a lot longer than he had.

  The green zone, or neutral territory, was a small section of the city deemed safe for angels and demons alike. Mapped out centuries ago, it covered several blocks inside the art district including the popular watering hole and negotiation destination, Mount Royal Tavern. It was home to several notable representatives from both sides and, as luck would have it, the resident Sin Eater.

  “We should be safe there.” Jackson seemed to relax now that we had a direction and some semblance of a plan, if only a short-term one.

  “Apollyon will find us.” Taking my attention from the road, I spared a glance in Jackson’s direction. “It’s like devil GPS or something.” I shrugged. “He always finds me, eventually.”

  “So why the cat and mouse?” The Sin Eater struggled to keep up with me and my convoluted life. Not that I blamed him.

  “Because I blatantly disobeyed him. Like threw my disobedience in his face and Smithie got caught in the cross fire.” I waved away Jackson’s protests over my blame in Smithie’s fate away. I called it like I saw it. “Would the outcome have been the same if I’d stayed out of it and let Jax take over? Maybe, maybe not. Things played out the way they did because I played my part.” I flicked the turn signal down, making the left into the green zone. “I just need somewhere to think. Going to your place will buy us some time. He’ll find me, but being in the green zone slows him down. Like getting a bad cell signal or something.”

  “It’s that building over there.” Jackson pointed to a gray stone building with a small pa
tch of grass sectioned off by an ankle-high wrought iron fence. A turret on the front of the house set the tenement apart from the other more traditional homes that had been converted to apartments over the centuries.

  After parallel parking in one of the reserved spots for his building, we got out of the car. Jackson led the way up the stone steps to the main entrance to the tenement. Four floors, four apartments. Jackson explained that the first two floors, having originally been designed as part of a single dwelling, were more spacious. His apartment, being on the fourth floor, was not. It was closer to an attic, which these days would be called an efficiency.

  “You hungry?” Jackson dug his keys out of his pocket, unlocking the door and holding it open for me. “I make a mean grilled cheese.”

  “Are you hungry?” I turned to look at him, half in and half out of the door, a hint of surprise in my voice. “We ate damn near the whole breakfast menu at the diner.”

  “Not really, no. I was just trying to be a good host.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s funny. There’s been zombies, a ghost girl and whatever the hell happened back at the marsh, but having you over to my apartment is what rattles my nerves.” With a nervous laugh, Jackson shook his head and walked past me, flicking light switches as he went.

  “I always wanted a window like that.” Pointing toward the walk-in bay window, I quickly changed the subject. “An over-stuffed chair, a pile of books. You know, the typical fantasy.”

  “We must have had very different upbringings, because my fantasies were much different.” He acknowledged my eye roll with a wink before heading into the kitchen, which was separated by a half wall converted into a countertop with two bar stools. “Coffee?”

  “Do you really have to ask?” The worn leather couch called to me. Its comfortable-looking cushions sang a siren’s song almost impossible to resist, but I needed to think and sitting down would only lead to a nap. Not productive thinking.

  Apollyon should have figured out it was me tripping Smithie’s alarms. He’d know I was still trying to bag the necro and come looking for me. I needed a plan, something to convince him I was the right person for the job. That, and to let me stay topside, because he knew the best way to punish me was to make me sit at court with him.

  “How’d you score such a nice place in the green zone?” Pacing around his living room, I stopped to look out the windows overlooking the busy street below.

  “One of the perks of being a Sin Eater. It comes with the job.” Jackson rested his arms on the counter separating the kitchen from the living room, waiting for the coffee.

  “And you got the job because the guy at the bar quit, right?” The small talk with Jackson helped me think, appeasing the part of me that was intrigued by the Sin Eater and driven to distraction, while the rest of my brain was free to focus on more important things like trapping a necromancer and outwitting a pissed off Big A.

  “Dane? Yeah.” Jackson pushed himself off the counter as the pot of coffee finished brewing. “He didn’t really quit. Politely asked to resign is more like it.” He pulled two mugs down from a hanging rack nailed to the wall beside the coffee pot. “He got burnt out, lost focus on what he was here to do and the Order pulled him.”

  “And you’re not worried that will happen to you?” I moved over to the counter, sitting on one of the bar stools, after Jackson set a steaming mug on the countertop for me.

  “What, get distracted and lose focus? Nah.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and came around to join me, sitting on the stool next to mine. “I’m pretty good at multitasking.”

  “I bet.” Trying not to laugh, I rolled my eyes and took a sip of coffee. “So how did you end up with the Order? Being a Sin Eater I mean.”

  “Family business.” Jackson set his mug down, resting his elbow on the counter to lean on. “One Sin Eater born every generation. Some people in the Order say our last name should be weed not Reed, because we’re everywhere.”

  “Huh, so it’s genetic? You’re born a Sin Eater?” Blowing steam off the top of my cup before taking another sip, I listened with rapt attention as Jackson explained the history of a group of people I knew very little about.

  “Being born a Sin Eater is less about DNA and more about astrological charts. My sister’s lucky that the Order was only recruiting first-born sons at the time or she would be the Sin Eater in the family and not me.” He smiled, so at ease talking about who he was and where he came from.

  I envied him that, a family, a history you weren’t embarrassed to talk about. “You have a sister?”

  “A twin. Two minutes older and she never lets me forget it. If you ask her she should have been the Sin Eater, not me.” Jackson chuckled. “She’s probably right too. Eldest twin born under a Gemini moon? She would have made a stronger Sin Eater than me. But, like I said, she’s lucky they weren’t recruiting girls.”

  “So, it’s a curse then? To be a Sin Eater?” Maybe we had something in common after all, something besides wanting to stop the necromancer. I’d been cursed at birth. It was the only logical explanation for my predicament.

  “Not like you think.” Jackson pulled up his sleeve, exposing the tattoo I’d noticed at that bar. “Sixpence none the richer isn’t a band. Well, it is, but that’s not why I have this.” He traced a finger over the Old English-style lettering. “This is how much a Sin Eater was paid. Sixpence. They ate the sins, saved a soul and were only given a lousy sixpence as payment for carrying the weight of other’s misdeeds and were social pariahs to boot.” He shook his head. “There’s a lot the Order doesn’t tell you. Like how it feels to have the sins of strangers inside you. Or how we’re still outcasts, just better paid. A better class of loser. My sister thinks she knows everything about being a Sin Eater. She only knows what the Order wants us to know.”

  There it was. The common thread between us. We were both outcasts. It might be for different reasons—me because I belonged to Apollyon and him because he ate sins and knew everyone’s secrets—but we both knew what it was like to skirt on the outside of social circles.

  “Is that her there, with your parents?” I pointed to a silver-framed photo on the counter of a young woman who looked about my age and surprisingly unlike Jackson, standing next to an older couple who bore a striking resemblance to their son. “You’re fraternal twins?”

  “Yeah, I got the good looks and Gillian got the brains.” He closed his eyes as soon as he said her name, letting out a sigh as he resigned himself to his fate and the anticipated onslaught of Jack and Jill jokes he had to know were coming.

  “They didn’t.” I didn’t bother to hide my laughter. “That’s terrible. Jackson and Gillian?”

  “They did and that’s not the worst part.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Our house sat on top of a hill.” He joined me in my laughter, this time at my expense for having believed his joke about the house he grew up in.

  Jackson prattled on about his family, where his parents were from, what they did for a living. It all sounded so normal. It sounded like all of the things I’d wished for as a little girl growing up in Apollyon’s court. Normal, like the family in the diner.

  Except that wasn’t a normal family. Well, the real family was probably normal but not the spirit walker that attached herself to them to find me. My mind raced, trying to keep up with all the different thoughts talking about Jackson’s family had stirred up. Shoving my emotional baggage out of the way, I got a better idea of what my subconscious was trying to tell me.

  “I know what the girl was trying to tell me.” I knocked over my empty coffee mug as I hopped off the stool. “Do you have a computer?”

  “Don’t bother.” Apollyon popped into existence on Jackson’s sofa. “She won’t be needing it.”

  “Shit.” This was what I wanted, what I planned for—Big A showing up. But the part where I proved myself by figuring everything out took longer than anticipated. “That was quick. Look, I can explain.”

  “Save it.” Anger simmered in Ap
ollyon’s eyes, belying the calm, cool demeanor of the fallen angel sitting on a couch in a Sin Eater’s living room. “I’m quite adept at finding you, Angelica. Even in the green zone. I had quite a bit of practice when you were a teenager, if you recall.”

  I’d developed a habit of getting lost on purpose when I was younger.

  “Big A, please.” I walked over to stand in front of Apollyon, who was still seated on the couch with his arms casually resting on the back of the couch. “I think I figured it out—where we’ve been going wrong tracking the necromancer.”

  “The necromancer case I instructed you to turn over to Jax?” Big A quirked a brow, a quizzical expression on his face.

  “That would be the one, yes. But, wait, just listen,” I pleaded, hating that I reverted to sounding like the teenager he’d caught trying to run away for the hundredth time.

  “If you were working the necromancer case, I might be inclined to listen. As it is Jax’s case, you will turn over all your findings to her.” His word was final.

  Or it was supposed to be.

  “Jackson and I were just having breakfast at the diner when…”

  Big A stood, cutting off my sentence. “You weren’t just doing anything.” Apollyon’s power filled the room, my confidence wilting like week-old flowers in a vase as the pressure built in the apartment. “Are you really trying to lie to me, Angelica? Me, the Prince of Lies?” He turned around, focusing his attention on Jackson. “Just like the rest of your ilk. Are you to blame for this little rebellion, Sin Eater?”

  “From what I’ve gathered, Angelica’s got a rebellious streak all her own.” Jackson raised his hands in mock defeat. “She doesn’t need any help from me.”

  “What methods, pray tell, have you been using to come to this conclusion about my daughter?” Apollyon knew more than he let on.

  He knew about what happened in the cemetery. How could he not? He was the Devil, and the Devil was in the details. He made it a point to know things, to know everything. Pretending to be a couple on lover’s lane or not, what Jackson and I had done together went beyond what Apollyon was willing to tolerate in our working relationship. He was laying the trap, moving in for the kill, and Jackson was the prey.