by Jamie Magee
Indie raised her brow. Was he telling her she was screwed and tattooed no matter what she did?
“The souls you want to release, their circumstance should be weighed against your own heart. You know...without being approached what souls need freedom, and immediately so.”
Her heart wanted Skylynn free. She knew that without a doubt.
“Secondly, you must keep the war in mind, the playing field if you will. You must ask yourself who is hindered and needs to be released, and who is strong and able to fight even though they are hindered.
“So basically I’m a coach or something, and I get to throw players in, tip the scales?”
“Part of it.”
“And the other part?”
“You are meant to rise above this point, and to do so you will have to move asunder dark souls that stand in your path.”
“How many?”
“Five,” Phoenix breathed. Indie hadn’t failed to notice how tense he’d become during the last part of this conversation. Not in a scared way but in a way it was clear he didn’t want to hear the truth.
“On the contrary, three remain.”
Phoenix eyes met The Reaper. “Whom has she destroyed?”
Oh boy.
The Reaper glanced to the empty chair that had a thing for pipes, then to Phoenix. “Two fell the night of Genevieve’s transformation.”
“We were not responsible for both.”
They had to be talking about Rasure and Cadence. Guess that answered the question on whether Cadence was dead or not. One gift basket coming right up!
“Cadence was marked to be challenged, who brought her down is not the case in point. The point is she is no longer. Three remain.”
“And should this course be pursued, this next rise?” Phoenix stated coolly. “Tell me Reaper, are you setting me up to surrender my soul mate to a cause that escapes my imagination?”
The Reaper let his eyes move across Phoenix. “One soul will rise to the position in question,” before Phoenix could even look devastated he went on. “I see but one soul before me now, part light, part dark, balanced perfectly.”
His words eased Phoenix’s tension. Looks like the future definitely held the title of The Queen of the Veil, but also had the title The King of Grief, attached to Phoenix.
Phoenix shifted in his seat, surely wondering if those close to him were also selected to rise. Since Guardian had been fighting The King of Fear all this time, if he overtook him, he would become said King. Surely he was wondering if Draven was fighting for the throne of The King of Shock.
Before those questions could leave Phoenix’s lips, The Reaper raised his hand.
“Brevity,” The Reaper said once again. “Do not seek absolutes from me on behalf of your comrades. This meeting is confidential, even if you chose to speak of it, the words would escape you. Each that you serve with must find their understanding of this path. They must accept or decline on their own merits.”
Meaning that if Phoenix was trying to get answers for Guardian and Draven it wasn’t going to happen. Awesome. Um, not. Indie thought if Phoenix knew for sure Guardian would be with him throughout existence he would have far more peace than he did.
“Unfortunately,” The Reaper said. “The paths to come into power as the Queen of the Veil and to rise to your destined fate must be conquered simultaneously. The first souls you release will lead you to the marks that are needed to raise you, choose them carefully.”
“My standing question, or point, is that I do not know how to free them.”
“The souls carry the answers.”
Indie let his statement hang there.
“It is not your place to grant wishes, those who dare to ask you for a reprieve must already be fighting for a way out. If they have no fight, then they have no right to ask for a way out.”
Indie settled in her seat. Skylynn had not asked her for an out, but then again, Indie and she were close enough that she didn’t need to. She had been given several answers and was still uncovering them. Thanks to Skylynn, text was being decoded as Indie sat there.
“Shall we try an exercise? Would you like to revisit this morning?” The Reaper asked her.
Her stare told him she did, but she didn’t get why one second he told Phoenix he could not tell his buddies about this meeting and the next he was inviting them there.
“Remember to listen, to guide you have to listen.” The Reaper said as he took a sip from his wine.
That moment Cashton appeared in the empty seat to Indie’s left. He seemed uncomfortable to find himself here.
Now that he was in full form Indie was able to take in his features. Those eyes of his were insane. They were dark around the edges, but a deep blue blazed from the centers out. He had dark hair and was built like a lean warrior but had that relaxed musician style that Draven had carried. Hot. Heartbreaker.
Phoenix fell into his role faster than Indie did.
“I hope we didn’t interrupt your evening.”
Cashton’s eyes never met The Reaper’s, as far as Indie could tell, he only saw her and Phoenix.
“Nothing more than basic plotting...” he said guardedly not sure of what he could discuss that was occurring behind the scenes.
“Do tell?” Indie questioned as she adjusted her stance and leaned forward.
“Umbra, The Lord of Grief. Word has it that Camlin has surfaced as well, he manages trepidation.”
“We were looking for him?” Indie asked.
“We were,” Phoenix said, with a wayward glance to The Reaper, who looked like he was enjoying the show. “Umbra is one of the Lords of Death, he manages those souls that died before their time or that are misplaced. It’s a possibility that his power, taking him down will help us with our clock situation.”
“And the other one, Camlin was it?” Indie asked.
“Shadowed souls,” Cashton said to her. “He’s been missing for a while, but he is The Lord of Death and controls trepidation. He’s a pretty hands on Lord, meaning he handpicks and brands souls that he wants to become shadowed, basically cursing them.”
“To what end?” Indie asked.
“Their power,” Cashton answered. “If he can control them then he can enter dreams and bestow worry, capitalize on that emotion, basically he’s the guy that makes you dream that you’re naked walking through town. Bottom line, it’s about power. When this side goes to hell in a handbag, worry will be a dominant dark emotion.
Talk about having your cake and eating it, too. This jerk had branded Indie’s best friend and was planning to put the entire universe on Xanax.
Indie reached for Phoenix’s hand under the table. He blew her away, today she was knee deep in Falcon charity events, and he was not only trying to get Skylynn out of being shadowed but also trying to solve the clock mystery. Talk about a power couple.
“I’ve zoned in on Umbra’s lair,” Cashton said, “We’re still looking for Camlin. In theory, if we can release the dead around either of those Lords, it should raise you to power, and relieve The Reaper at least to the point where those that died under the Lords circumstances can actually see him.”
“I understand you came to see me to help you, though,” Indie stated easing into her role. So far he seemed indifferent to which Lord of Death Indie went after. He should care if it came down to a choice between Indie freeing him or Skylynn.
Cashton’s eyes met Indie’s. “I want nothing more than to be released, but this battle is not about me.”
Honorable.
“And how are you the way you are? What is your case? Did Draven not tell me you were alive?”
Cashton dared to let a smile linger on his lips. “I’m a member of The Selected. I was trained in the bright reality to come here and bring balance.” He let his eyes fall from hers and adjusted his weight in his seat. “I had a dream, and in that dream I saw…I saw my soul mate. I broke rank and came here. I misjudged my descent and have been trapped in death since.”
“You
came here based on a dream of—a girl.”
“It was more than a dream. She’s a target. A new soul. I wanted to get here before she did, so I could catch her as she fell, so I could defend her.”
“And you have not found her.”
He shifted his eyes away from Indie. “I have. It’s complicated. New.”
“Your lover—”
As soon as she said that his eyes met hers. “My soul.”
“Your soul, is she in this war?”
One nod.
“The war of light and dark, the war that Phoenix and Draven are in?”
“Meant to be.”
“Can she fight without you?”
One nod.
Phoenix raised his chin. “How hindered are you without her? Or how hindered is she?”
Cashton tried to smile, his gaze fell to the table then raised to meet Phoenix’s “How hindered were you?”
Silence filled the room.
“How long have you been like this?” Indie asked.
“I preceded Phoenix, and you, my dear queen.”
So, forever. “And now, you feel now, is the time for you to be released.”
“No, I felt it was urgent the second I discovered where I was.”
Indie studied him carefully, picking up on the subtle essence of his energy, the emotions around him. He had a heavy hand in this war. She sensed that he did. He impacted more than his soul mate, more than his sister—Indie’s gut told her he was vital, needed.
“You know without a doubt that this is your war,” Indie stated, hoping he would tell her all he knew of this fight before them.
He stood, pulled his shirt up, and turned his back toward her.
Phoenix breathed a flame in his direction, on his back there was a crest, a crest Phoenix had told Indie all about. One that meant it wasn’t suggested that Cashton should fight, it was promised.
“I see,” she said.
He dropped his shirt, turned and took his seat.
“I need to be clear with you. I’m still understanding my role in this,” she said to him. “You have my attention. I will deeply consider your path out of the prison you are in,” she could not bring herself to promise him a way out because she didn’t know what that was.
One nod was all he offered.
“All right, mate. Tell Draven I will meet up with him in the morning.”
“Will do.”
And like that Cashton vanished.
The Reaper leaned forward. “Well done.”
“How so? I didn’t solve anything.”
“You listened. If anything he pointed out how you could revive others.”
“Can you tell us if the Lords are a wise enemy to choose?” Phoenix asked.
“They harbor many souls, dark emotions.” He grinned. “I have extended this meeting beyond the time I had allotted. I must ask to end it now,” The Reaper said as he stood.
Indie was out of her seat and standing in a heartbeat. She had a million questions for Phoenix, and she wanted to be alone with him before she forgot a single one of them.
The Reaper came to her side of the table and reached to kiss her hand. “We will meet again when the waters are not so troubled.”
Indie bowed to him and took Phoenix’s arm. When she reached the door, she glanced back wanting to take in the image of her father once more. When she did, she saw a Mark Twain look-alike sitting in the pipe chair, whittling a stick, in concert with The Reaper.
Odd, so very odd.
Chapter Nine
River wasn’t in over her head, but she was overwhelmed. She’d gone through three books so far, she wasn’t decoding every single word, though.
The way her little extra insight worked was that her eyes would land on the words then she would see what they were saying, but it was like pulling a dream by its tail, backward. She would see the result then had to figure out why. That was really hard when there were no translations for their meaning.
There were no translations for this text. Bonafide, legit real deal. Her issue? She felt like she was reading a sci-fi script. These were not ancient texts from caveman times. It was almost like it was set in the future, talking about the past, which, apparently, is where River currently was. In the past.
She was going to have to walk or run soon and let this process, let the scenes blossom in her mind.
She was leaning over the table, so she could see every detail in the text she was reading. Then, all at once, she sensed a presence behind her. She felt strong hands start at the back of her knees and ease north with an obvious destination in mind, as soon as she felt them dip between her thighs she let out a not so silent moan.
Had I really called him? No way.
Mason was the one haunting her every thought, ever since his best buddy left her down there. Her imagination was having way too much fun daydreaming about what might have been. Yep, in her mind she was ready to make the boy question ever laying his hands on another girl. She was ready to make him sweat, make him forget that high-class socialites existed. Of course, that was in her mind. Not real life. Nope. In real life if that happened, she might puke, blush, faint, all of those things.
Dagen leaned his body against hers as his lips met her neck. “No tights. I like it,” he breathed between hot, wet kisses.
Usually, River was a goner at this point. Unglued, out of control, a lust filled mad woman that needed her next hit of Dagen ASAP.
Mysteriously, that was not the case tonight.
Guilt slammed into her, maybe even regret. That made no sense at all to her, zilch.
Maybe it was because of a name that popped in her head that should not be near any brain cells of hers if Dagen’s intent had any hope.
“Jamison sent you to watch me?”
Talk about a curve ball. Dear old Pops tells me to think of how sad I would have been if Mason checked into the Veil of Death this afternoon. Then he sends a boy that he knows is my catnip to me tonight. What the? River thought.
Dagen let out a wicked laugh telling her loud and clear no, she’d have to be dying, or rather, Jamison would have to be dead before he sent Dagen to her.
River turned to look up at him. Dagen was all of six four, broad shoulders, built like some kind of Celtic warrior, dark hair, with eyes that were like diamonds, an otherworldly blue. He was walking sin. His nature as an Escort was to understand emotion. His emotion of choice, the line he was bred from, was Exaltation. It was something that is clearly felt in passionate, intimate moments, moments that they had shared over and over, sometimes for days at a time. For a long while, they had been each other’s peace. A place they escaped to when the hell around them became too much, when they just wanted to forget what they last lost and what was still left to be done.
River never really saw an end to what they had going on, because she never really grasped the beginning. Therefore, she didn’t think for the rest of her existence every time she had a sinful little daydream play out in her mind, every time she felt the desire to feel someone on more than an emotion level, whether it was about Dagen or not, that he would appear.
That might be problematic down the road…
Not today, of course, because it’s not like River had a crush on a boy she once knew, it’s not like the emotions she had buried for Mason Wade had broken out of their prison. Not at all.
Dagen’s eyes glided down her body, not even trying to hide the obvious desire. “Did you forget to tell me something?” he said in a deep husky whisper.
River was drawing a blank.
His hands eased down her sides, squeezing just above her pelvic bones. “Someone marked you.”
Marked? “Um, yeah, I was knocked out, and they were trying to take the pain away, or so I was told. I don’t know what he used. Saige’s daughter is here, though, whatever it is I’m sure it’s safe.”
His sultry stare left, anger engulfed his eyes. “Who knocked you out?”
“I don’t know, all I know is he likes to hide out in clocks.
Is that really why you came here? A bit territorial aren’t you?”
“By nature,” he said dismissively, as he stared all around her, reading her energy, her aura, as clearly as if he were stepping into her mind. “That’s not why I came.”
“You want to clue me in?”
He stepped back and leaned against the table next to her, crossing his arms. She was reading his energy, too. He wasn’t thrilled to find her here.
“You know we’re tracking any and every way to take down a Lord of Death. I had a lead up this way. When I get here, I find your Daddy’s peeps lingering here and there, then you right in the center of what I was hunting. With a mark of another man on you.”
“It’s not like that. I was out cold. I didn’t hook up with anyone,” River said indifferently. She was more interested in any lead he was hunting. He didn’t share all his battle plans with her, he couldn’t, but she knew enough. Every day he was getting closer to freeing Rydell from the bonds of a Lord of Death called Crass, and once that happened, Rydell was going to hunt down and kill the sovereign that bore him. The man currently sitting in Raven BellaRose’s throne, the very girl that River was destined to protect from evil. Dagen was a kingmaker and made no bones about it.
“Are you hunting someone with the scent of rain? Like a bad storm.”
One nod. “Who knocked you out, River? Where are the others?”
“In the Quarter. I told you I’m not sure who knocked me out. This guy, the creeper that smells like rain—could he help you take down Crass?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“You’re sure enough to hunt him, though.”
A smirked lingered on his lips “A missing Lord of Death has made an appearance,” he glanced around. “At least his scent has. Yeah, that was enough to make us want to check this out.”
“Rain.”
One nod.
“Why would he help you take Crass down?”
“He wouldn’t. But if I kill him then the shadowed souls within his command will be released.”
They’d never talked about Skylynn or the text she’d read about her. Dagen had no idea that he very well could be solving more than one family problem of hers. River tilted her head telling him to go on.
