It had been more than a decade, and only one friend to mourn his passing. How pathetic.
Strangely, though, more people knew of him ten years after his death. Thanks to that bloody novel. Not that his name had been Jacob Marley.
No, in his life, he had been called Jacob Clarke. His friend had been called Benjamin Allen. He supposed Clarke and Allen hadn’t had enough of a dramatic bent for the novelist. Both of them had been miserly bastards—Jacob had come to realize that in the years since his…death.
Although Benjamin hadn’t always been. Not until he lost the woman.
Jacob had never met her, nor did he wish to. He did remember how his friend had been when they’d first met—a laughing, jovial lad. And then it had changed. Slowly. If the changes the woman had wrought on Ben were the risks, Jacob was happier without them.
The fairer sex hadn’t ever been a big necessity in his life, not any longer than a night or two, at least. He did enjoy those nights.
But that was all he’d needed.
His life had been focused on his business, the one he’d built with Ben. They had lived for making money, and more money, and more. Then Jacob had found himself in a position where he simply wasn’t going to live as he had anymore. Or he wouldn’t live at all.
The idea of death hadn’t appealed to him. The idea of giving up the life he’d known had appealed even less. But he’d had little choice. He’d walked in on a fight that hadn’t been his own and one thing he’d always enjoyed almost as much as money…a bloody fight. That one had been bloodier than most and if he’d stopped to think, he would have realized it wasn’t a normal fight.
But he hadn’t stopped and by the time he’d figured it out, he’d been bleeding from too many places. As his life’s blood spilled out of him, the vicious battle in front of him had ended and the victors had turned to face him. One had been curious—a lean man with a naked scalp and a biting intelligence in his eyes. The other man’s face had been impassive.
The choice had been given then. There was a world Jacob hadn’t ever dreamed about, and he could join it. Angels. Demons. Death. He could become one of the angels, one of the Grimm. He could kill the demons. Or he could let nature take its course and he’d die of the wounds he’d taken. The choice was his.
Jacob should have taken the death.
The one reason he didn’t completely regret it was that he could look back at the waste of his life—now, years later—and see it as a waste. And perhaps convince Benjamin to find something else.
Something more. Before it was too late.
“Don’t you think you should stop living this empty mockery and find something that makes you happy?”
Benjamin lifted his mug to his mouth, shrewd eyes set under bushy gray brows. “Happy? Like you are?” He snorted.
“Have I ever told you I’m happy?”
Instead of answering, Benjamin took a deep drink of the ale he’d come to love—too much. It had aged him. The ale, the grief, the loneliness. Perhaps all of it. He looked like an old man now and he should have had years still left in him.
But he did not.
Sighing, Jacob rose from his chair.
“You should be happy,” Ben said, staring into his ale. “That fool published his piece of drivel and made you rather famous. I actually tried to pay him not to, but he insisted.” Benjamin’s mouth twisted. “I’m a laughing stock.”
“I thought you said he had changed the names.”
“Oh, he has. Ebenezer.”
Jacob lifted a shoulder. What did he care? Save for Benjamin, nobody knew Jacob was still alive—nobody knew how much truth the story held. Most people who had known him in life had likely forgotten about him.
Except for Ben. And one night, Ben had spent too much time in his cups. That night, he’d been drunk when he’d spoken a little too freely with somebody he never should have spoken to at all. And of course, that fault lie with Jacob. He never should have returned here all those years ago, never should have sought out his old friend.
But he had done so, had continued to do so, and over time, he’d told Benjamin more than he should have. Then Ben had told somebody else more than he should have—a novelist, one far too intrigued by Ben’s supposed drunken ramblings.
Well, they were drunken. They just weren’t as…insane as one might think.
It wasn’t until months later that Ben saw the novelist again and heard what the man planned to do—work some of Ben’s story into a tale of his own. Oh, there were other inspirations. And the novelist already had some success. Nobody could trace the piece back to Ben, and nobody, save for Ben, knew how much truth lie in the tale.
Well, nobody except for those like Jacob. The truth was actually far more bizarre, Jacob knew.
He never should have sought Ben out. If he hadn’t been so bloody lonely in this new life.
Pacing the floor, his booted heels muffled on the lush, but dusty, carpeted floors, he went to stare out the window. A cold rain fell—a typical London afternoon. He’d spent the past two months in Africa. The heat had driven him mad. He missed London. He missed his old life. His missed his friend.
My friend…the only true friend I have.
How pathetic. But it was his own fault. He hadn’t settled into his life because he hadn’t let himself. He needed to fix that. He simply lacked the energy to care. Ennui could even haunt angels, it seemed.
Turning, he looked at Benjamin. An old man now. Made old by bitterness, loneliness, grief; an empty life.
Soon, Ben would be gone. Jacob had seen it when he’d first seen him earlier.
Benjamin was not just aging poorly. He was ill. An air of weakness, illness hung on him.
He’d die before he’d ever really enjoyed his life.
And that strange tugging unfurled inside him. He felt the ghosts that haunted his friend pulling at him once more.
Ghosts, regrets, loneliness…they were all one to Jacob—this unwelcome gift that had emerged only within the past year.
Now…
Her ghosts were pulling at her harder than normal. Jacob sighed as they slipped out of the now-silent house. Something in the mall had set her off, but he didn’t know what. Nor would he let himself look.
Celine needed her privacy. Just as she’d needed this fight, he imagined.
There had been three parasei there.
All were dead now.
Celine had killed two of them. After he’d dispatched the first one, he’d stood back and let her handle the other two, knowing she needed it. The fight was all that mattered to her.
The fight, the push to drive memories and pain from her mind. But this one hadn’t been hard enough for her. The harder the fight, the easier it was for her to forget for a while. Or maybe she pretended she’d actually be able to lose the fight. It would take more than a few demons to do her in, though.
“You did well,” he said quietly as she cleaned her weapons.
Under the close-fitting black sweater she wore, her shoulders tensed. But she didn’t say anything.
She rarely spoke to him.
Even after all this time.
She didn’t speak unless she had to.
She didn’t let him help her.
And there was nothing he’d done that seemed to ease the pain she carried. He didn’t know how he was supposed to do that, but the only thing that would help Celine would be if she could move past that pain.
Fat lot of good I’m doing her…
She became more disconsolate with every passing day. And more angry.
To his dismay, Jacob had found himself becoming all too bothered by the fact. Not because she was his to train—Celine didn’t need training. She needed healing, she needed help…and he was fast coming to need her. He was in no position to help her. Yet he couldn’t pull away, either.
Abruptly, he said, “We won’t be doing a search tomorrow. You do whatever you want for the next thirty-six hours.”
She didn’t know where Jacob disappeared to, n
or did she care.
All Celine cared about was the fact that he’d turned her loose for the next little while. She was going to take those hours and hoard them.
They’d spent the past few days clearing out an area of the city almost thirty miles from the house they used—too damn far away. It took too much time to get back there. She had to waste even more time in the shower, but she had to get the blood off of her. The parasei had been damn easy to kill, but they had bled all over the place—all over her.
Showered, changed, then the next thing she did was take the car.
In another two hours, she was back home.
Thirty-eight hours later, Jacob stood in the middle of the house, his hands linked behind his back, his gaze resting on the counter where the keys to the car should be.
They weren’t there.
Celine wasn’t here.
She wasn’t anywhere in the immediate vicinity, because if she was, he would have been able to feel her.
The car was gone, she wasn’t close by, and that told him everything he needed to know.
Sighing, he closed his eyes.
She’d gone back.
Again.
Just as he’d known she would. Those ghosts had been haunting her too much. When she was like that, home would always pull at her.
Until she managed to cut those threads.
Maybe…
“No.” Turning away, he started for the basement. He’d train. He couldn’t wear himself out, but he’d damn well try and then he’d do a search around the city, see where they needed to focus on next.
The medallion at his neck heated.
And he felt his mind drifting back to Celine…and her ghosts.
“I can’t help her.”
His pathetic, cruel talent worked best on those dancing too close to possession. If he showed them what they were already doing, what would become of them, it was often enough to weaken the pull. The strong ones could stop things before it was too late, and sometimes it was even enough for those who weren’t so strong.
But he wouldn’t use it to dredge up old regrets, old ghosts. He’d done that before and it had been a bitter, sad fuck-up. And to use it on Celine and let her see what life would have held for her?
The worthless hunk of metal he wore around his neck grew hotter still and Jacob scowled. “She’s already dancing with madness. How much closer to the edge can she get without going insane?”
Except that made his gut clench with another fear. Instead of how much closer, should he worry about how much longer? She’d lived on that edge ever since she’d come over. He knew what that walk was like, but he hadn’t had the same bitter, angry regrets that haunted her.
How much longer…
The stretch of road where she’d lost everything looked pretty much the same. The winding, twisting roads up in the Knobs of southern Indiana didn’t look much like a place of death and demonic activity, but that was what she’d stumbled upon years earlier, after that fight with her husband.
She’d needed to be alone. So full of guilt. So full of grief. Desperate to say something to undo the ugly words she’d thrown at him. Desperate to forget the ugly words he’d thrown at her.
She’d gone for a drive, thinking maybe, just maybe she’d find enlightenment or peace.
What she’d found was chaos and pain and death. She should have died. Would have been easier.
Anything was easier than living with these memories.
Anything was easier than living.
You stupid bitch. I should have left you in the projects where I found you.
Bastard. Why don’t you just leave me the fuck alone…
Hissing out a breath, she pulled her knife and moved to the tree closest to the edge of the road. The angel wings she’d carved into the bark six months ago were still visible. But the scent of blood was long gone.
So she set about carving the mark deeper into the tree and once she’d gone over it again, she sliced the tip of one finger open—deep. It had to be a deep cut because she healed so fast. It took five slices before she managed to completely paint the wings red.
The air was thick with the smell of her blood when she was done.
It would take a while to fade, which meant any demons in the area would scent it as easily as she did.
They’d scent it. And if they had a brain in their skulls, they’d see her mark and stay clear of this place. They’d look at those wings and figure it out. She’d died here. Nobody else should have to.
Once she’d finished, she turned away and headed toward her car.
There were still several more stops to make.
Jacob stood there staring at the wings, his heart a heavy ache in his chest.
Still following the same pattern.
She wouldn’t stop.
Not until something made her stop. Not until something made her see.
His gut churned as he realized what it might take. Pain twisted his heart and he closed his eyes, muttered, “I can’t do this to her.”
But he already knew he would have to. In truth, he’d been coming to see it for a while. He just hadn’t wanted to accept it.
Knowing where she’d go next, he teleported away.
He couldn’t let her keep hurting like this.
Even though it would involve hurting her more to begin with, if it made it easier once he was done, if it let her begin to heal…
The wounds she carried were full of poison. They needed to be purged.
As he appeared behind a man he despised, Jacob unleashed some of the power inside him.
And the man never knew.
Chapter Two
Stupid bitch.
Ugly words.
Celine carried them like a scar on her heart, those final words her husband had ever spoken to her. Ugly, ugly words, but they weren’t responsible for the worst scars.
No, she was responsible for those. The words she flung back at him had been even worse.
Words she could never take back.
Words she could never apologize for.
Words she hadn’t meant.
Words she’d taken to her grave…only she hadn’t stayed dead.
She stood at the edge of the cemetery where a marker had been placed. A marker, but no body. Her husband stood there. Staring down at the grave. Head bowed, hands in his pockets. His hair was getting long again. And a thick streak of white was there, right at his temple. It didn’t make him look old—just made him more striking. But Gavin had always been that. He’d stolen her heart from the very first time she’d seen him. Even now…
“’Til death do us part…” she whispered, her voice husky, eyes locked on his bowed head.
“Death has parted you, Celine.”
She closed her eyes at the sound of her trainer’s voice. Jacob. She’d come here for some private time. Why was he following her now?
“Didn’t you say I had some time off?” She continued to stare at Gavin, absently rubbing a hand over her heart. It bumped against the heel of her hand, reminding her that it still beat, that she still breathed, that she still lived.
Death—had it truly parted them? How could it have parted them if she was still here?
“I gave you thirty-six hours. It’s going up on forty hours now. And it’s not the hours…it’s how you spend them. You cannot keep this up.” A hand came up, rested on her shoulder. It was warm, so warm, she felt it through the layers of her leather bomber jacket, her sweater, her T-shirt. She shouldn’t feel the cold, she’d been told. But she did. She was always cold. Whether it was July or January, she always felt frozen to the bone. Of course, this particular January was more frigid than normal, it seemed, and if it wouldn’t have felt so wrong, she might have moved closer, let Jacob’s warmth seep through her. It was wrong, though. Terribly wrong.
“Why are you here, Celine?” Jacob continued to stand there and, as though he sensed her chill, he moved closer. That lean, long body managed to block the wind and the chill and the warmth
coming from him managed to penetrate the icy shroud that gripped her.
She hated even feeling a little warmer. Hated any sort of comfort.
Tears pricked her eyes as she continued to stare at Gavin. “Is there a reason why I can’t be here? It’s not like I’m needed anywhere at the moment.” She reached up, toying with the medallion she wore.
She’d made a mistake, accepting it. She’d thought the second chance she was offered would be a second chance with Gavin—a chance to undo the harm she’d done that night. A chance to take back words she hadn’t meant. A chance for them. A chance for them to fix what they’d done, what they’d said.
She hadn’t realized it would entail her living a life without him…a very long life without him. Watching him age. Watching him mourn. And sooner or later, she’d watch him die.
“You choose to watch him mourn. And you don’t have to watch him die. Leave him to his life.” His thumb stroked against her neck. “You can leave this behind. Let him go.”
Swearing, she pulled back from Jacob and moved away, crossed her arms over her chest. It didn’t do anything to dispel the cold inside, or the ache. “Stay out of my head.”
“I’m not in your head, sweet. You broadcast your thoughts too randomly.” Jacob shrugged, looking unconcerned.
The wind kicked up, blowing her hair into her face. She caught it in her hand, holding it back. Jacob stared at her with an unblinking, gunmetal gray stare. “You cannot keep this up,” he said quietly. “You need to let him go.”
“I can’t.” She advanced on her trainer until she was close enough to jab at him. Why couldn’t he get it? Damn it, the rest of them had eventually gotten it through their heads and given up on her.
Jacob, though, he’d stuck it out with her for nearly nine months and he didn’t seem to show any sign of losing patience. He just showed signs of not getting it. Any of it. Jabbing him in the chest, she spat again, “I can’t. Don’t you think if it was just that easy, I’d let it go?”
“I don’t know…would you?” He reached up and closed his hand over her wrist. He held her tight, but carefully, his thumb resting just over her pulse. “Could you let go of that guilt? That anger, that rage? Of him?”
Grimm Tidings: Grimm's Circle, Book 6 Page 2
