His hand felt as if it were in a white-hot fire, and finally he hissed and gave in, madly scratching the crack of his ass as he jumped around with his tongue out. By the time he finally felt the urge to jump out of the room, Samantha was bent over laughing. He adjusted his shirt and grunted. “Glad you’re feeling better.”
“That was the best thing ever.” She cackled, slapping her knee. “Okay, okay.” It occurred to him she wasn’t going to make this easy. “While your intentions are pure, you are welcome in my home.” She nodded. “Should do it.”
Eli frowned. Could he enter on those grounds? Honestly, he wasn’t sure what his intentions regarding her were any more. If he entered, and the protections tossed him out, would he ever be able to recover the trust he’d gained? He grimaced. “I’m not certain that’s going to work.”
“So you are out to get me?” She asked softly.
He sighed. “It’s part of the long story. Technically, I’m ordered to have very bad intentions toward you.”
“Your orders and your intentions are separate. What do you want?”
What in the world did he want? Going back to his quiet time of offering something less hellish than life didn’t seem to be an option any more. “I want to tell you what’s going on so I can figure out what’s going on.”
She shrugged. “Try. Your intentions sound pure, but it’ll be good to know how far those words get me, anyway.”
He took a breath, frowning. She had already folded this into her worldview. With a small grimace, he stepped forward, nearly winced in expectation. But the burning pain never came, and he sighed.
Samantha rose, nodding. “So either you’re okay, or the words don’t get me very far at all.”
The pulse of her concessions wrapped around him like invisible strings. He took a breath. No one had ever tied him so completely with words. “No,” he murmured. “I think it’s probably the most iron-clad requirement I’ve ever heard.”
She tilted her head. “What’s it feel like?”
“Fishing line. Around my wrists, ankles, neck, and each, single claw.” He tried on a smile which came out more like a grimace. “It’s a little terrifying.”
“Do you often feel fear?” she asked.
“No,” he answered honestly. “Do you?”
“No.” She turned. “Not fear. Bathroom’s that way. Wash your hands–I’m going to change.
He nodded, complying with the strings of words trailing behind him.
2
When he came out of the bathroom after nearly five minutes, Samantha was sitting on her chair, frowning at the computer screen. He watched her for a long moment, as if trying to decide what to tell her. It was so strange that she could feel him in the apartment, track his every movement, and with careful thought feel how his concessions hovered over every inch of skin, like a vulture waiting for betrayal.He sat on the couch across from her. “All right,” he said. “I’m going to throw a lot of information at you.”
“I’ve got it.” She spread her fingers across the computer keys. Notes. She could focus on notes and keys and the screen and pretend this was just another client meeting.
Eli eyed her. “I need you to be honest with me,” he said. “Because other than the Angelic and Damned descendants, you’re the most sensitive human in the world right now.”
She blinked. “Angelic descendants? How many of them are there?”
“Less than five hundred,” he said. “Their numbers roughly equal the number of Damned descendants.”
“And you’re a Damned?”
“Yes.”
“And so was that lady?” She shuddered.
Eli nodded. “I need you to tell me about her. Seeing is a big deal…but breaking out of a glamour is a bigger one. I need to know how tough of a Damned you were up against.”
She took a deep breath, staring at the comforting glowing light of her screen. Disengaging her fear from her mouth, she forced herself to speak. “She was beautiful. You know Nicole Kidman? Like her, perfect twenties coif, short skirt, smirk.” She crossed her arms. “I didn’t see her, exactly. I saw a crow, sitting on the bench between us and I said it was weird how tame they were…” She tensed. “She asked me how I saw her pet.”
Eli frowned. “So she had a crow as a familiar? Was it Damned?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “It screeched at me…and I saw hell.” She shivered, remembering that beak opening, the fire she had glimpsed down its gullet, and rubbed her face. She needed to get a hold of herself, take some deep breaths. It was over for now.
* * * *
Eli pursed his lips. A Damned who wandered as a blond bombshell, with a Damned crow as a familiar? He pressed air through his teeth. There were only a handful of demons with crow familiars. The birds were petulant in life, in death they would only cleave to someone with an equal amount of mischief and sheer thirst for carnage in their heart. His heart dropped.
“Shit,” he breathed. “Samantha…shit.” This was bad, really bad. She quailed under his gaze. “You broke a glamour off of Cyrene.”
“Um?” Samantha’s eyes were widened. “What’s that mean?”
He rubbed his hands, shaking his head. “Damned…you know the term sell your soul?”
Samantha nodded.
“We’re the ones you sell to. Our power is directly correlated to the number of souls we’ve collected. I’ve got around seven thousand.” He stared at his hands. They were shaking just at the thought. “Cyrene as more than twenty.”
“How do you…” Samantha was staring hard at her computer screen, obviously not looking at him. “How do you get your souls?”
Eli shook his head. “I’m just a scavenger. I don’t usually actively go after them. That’s why my count is so low. Most make deals. Some yank them out from under the Angels, off war zones, plagues, droughts, that kind of thing.”
Eli could feel the rising horror in the air like a mist of botflies. “You said…you said my mother had some unfinished business…with a Diego,” she whispered. “Is…is that what this is about?” Her voice had dropped until a pin’s falling would have drowned it.
Damn, she’d made the connection fast. He nodded.
“What?” She swallowed. “What was her deal? What was the business? You freaked out when you found out I was her daughter.”
Eli’s jaw twitched. Shockingly, he didn’t want to tell her. He’d never relished hurting people unless they deserved it. Sure he was a Damned, and he enjoyed a good slaughter of a war criminal, but this wasn’t on his list of ‘fun things.’ Still, the way Samantha watched him, he knew she’d call him on a lie.
“I told you my orders intended you harm.” He sighed, looking down. Just because he hurt her didn’t mean he had to watch. “The orders were to follow through on Diego’s failed tie up of a first-born harvest.”
It took a long time for it to sink in, but he felt the repercussions dawn on her. “What?” she asked. “Firstborn h–” She lost her breath, tried again. “Harvest?”
“Harvest,” he repeated. “Your mother asked a boon of Diego. He demanded her first-born in exchange. She agreed.”
He ventured a glance at her. In the cold computer light, her hand was covering her mouth, eyes were wide and brimming with tears.
He was relieved when the computer went to sleep and the monitor flicked off.
The first response to a deeply emotional disaster was denial. At least, that was what he’d always heard, and here it was holding true. After the screen on her monitor went dark, Samantha drew her fingers over the mouse pad, waking the screen up again. “No. No, there’s no reason to think you’re telling me the whole truth.”
“The concessions?”
“So long as you aren’t trying to hurt me, your intentions are pure. Your information is wrong.”
Eli rubbed his forehead. “Look, I can’t offer you anything to prove it, because the fact is I was sent with hardly any information at all. Do you really treasure your mother’s memory so much?”
“Of cour
se I do,” she snapped, voice a bit too shrill. She rubbed her temples. “Look, I still have work to do, or at least pretend to do. Can you come back tomorrow?”
He frowned. “It’d be safer if I stayed. I don’t know if I made a big enough deal about you breaking that glamour.”
“I won’t let anyone but you in.” She looked up at him. “Please. I’m serious. I need to be alone right now.”
“And I’d rather not test your threshold,” he said. Technically it didn’t matter who got the soul, so long as the records achieved balance. But harvesting Samantha himself and letting Cyrene get her were two very different things. He didn’t think he could allow the bitch the pleasure of getting her paws on Samantha, especially since it was quickly becoming apparent just how valuable and talented the mortal really was. “Cyrene is dangerous and unscrupulous. She’s also got a big mouth. You’re in huge danger.”
“I know, I know.” She shook her head, pleading again. “Please.”
This was a bad idea, he just knew it. But the way her lip trembled, he knew what it was like to just want to be alone so a proper melt down could be had. And he had just dropped a bomb on her. He sighed. “I’m checking on you. Six o’clock tomorrow morning. In the mean time I’ll try and scare up some answers.”
She nodded. He slid out the door, relaxing as the strings around his consciousness loosened and fell away. The door wasn’t enough to muffle the sound of her sobbing.
* * * *
“Francis. Got anything for me?”
“Eli! I was just going to call you.” Francis’s voice was loud, even over the background noise of whatever bar he was in. “Hey, why don’t you meet me at the Park? I’ll bring the sipping whiskey!”
“Francis, how much have you drunk?” He kept his voice calm, pretending to be a concerned friend so any listeners would be thrown off track. “Did you rob a liquor store?”
“Nah, nah. Look, I’ve got some important stuff for you. Say, half an hour?”
“Sure,” Eli said, and hit the red button. The Park was exactly half an hour walk from Samantha’s apartment, if he hurried. Less than twelve hours was pretty quick turn-around. He’d been expecting to have to hound the older Damned.
Francis was waiting for him under an orange lamp, leaning against the pole, his hell hound crouched at his feet.
“Hey,” Eli said. “Everything okay? You so–”
Francis whipped around, grabbed his elbow. “Listen,” he hissed. “You didn’t tell me your target was being stalked. I’m in a whole mess of trouble right now.”
“I didn’t know myself.” Eli growled. “What’d you find?”
“Your target, Samantha Parker, the daughter of Marie Parker is fucking up the balance. Do you know how big a deal that is? The Doll said she told you!”
“So the Angels get a leg up, so what?”
Francis cuffed him across the ear. “It’s not that simple, boy. The balance isn’t a justice scale. We don’t give a shit about the Angel’s having a leg up. But we do give a shit about the world coming to an end.”
“So what is the balance, then?”
“A plate on a pin.” The man growled. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “You got yourself in deep with this one, Eli.”
“Why do you think I came to you? Something’s fucked up and I want to know what!”
“All right. Look. Samantha’s a sensitive,” Francis said. He walked them along the path, pausing streetlight to streetlight, darting glances around. His voice dropped. “Word is out. Cyrene wants her. And I don’t mean is on the lookout for her, I mean on the war path, going to find her and eat her bit by tiny bit. She’s got this theory Samantha’s soul can feed her more than once or something…”
“What the hell?” Eli snarled. “I’ve touched the girl. She’s got the same amount of soul as any other human.”
“Yeah, but it’s a soul who saw right through her illusion and apparently juggernauted a glamour.” Francis whistled. “Frankly, I don’t blame her for being curious.”
Eli eyed him with caution “Curious. What do you mean?”
“Experimentation. Folks like Samantha don’t come along often. Cyrene said there was one a while ago everyone and their mother tried to get their paws on before he damned himself to get them off his back.”
“Fuck,” Eli rubbed his temples. “And Cyrene wants her?”
“Says if it’s natural, we need to know her secrets. If there’s an artifact on her, we need to lay hands on it before anyone else does.”
“It’s not an artifact,” Eli said. “Can’t be. Aren’t they like, obvious as fuck?”
“Some,” Francis said with a nod. “But some blend into their user so well they are indistinguishable when worn.”
Eli’s mouth went dry. “The ring.”
“The ring? Her mother’s wedding ring?”
“That has to be it. I’ve never seen it off her. Its power blending into her would explain a lot.”
“Yeah, but how did her mother’s wedding ring get the power? It isn’t old is it?”
“I don’t know. It looks pretty new, but maybe one of the stones is refurbished,” He clapped Francis on the shoulder. “Thanks, buddy.”
“No problem,” Francis said. “But be careful, for fuck’s sake. You’re messing with something huge.”
“Yeah,” Eli grumbled. He frowned. “And Cyrene…” Anything Cyrene wanted, he wanted to keep away from her. Damn this had gotten complicated fast.
* * * *
Eli went back to Samantha’s flat and sat outside, frowning. If anyone knew crazy scary, it was Francis. He’d said something about screwing up the balance. So had the Doll.
He should have known this wasn’t going to be an in-and-out job. The balance was what kept the Angels from attacking the Damned, and vice versa. It was what kept the world from destroying itself. It was what in-betweeners used to monitor the health of their world. Eli couldn’t see or sense the balance. He just didn’t have the power or the training. But if they were worried, he should probably be worried too.
The scale wasn’t exactly black and white. Francis had always said it was more like a disk, resting upon the point of a pin. So weights could be added, subtracted, and the pin shifted accordingly.
That meant when they said the balance was shifting, they weren’t talking about a linear tip to a side. They were talking about the entire plate wobbling around.
No wonder everyone was freaking out.
He checked his watch. Six AM. They’d gotten through the night. He trudged up the stairs to Samantha’s apartment and knocked.
Samantha was a bit of a mess when she answered. “It’s six already?” she murmured.
How could this woman be rocking the plate? He was accustomed to thinking of ones who affected the balance as great and powerful; the Lucifer, the Messiah, greater inbetweeners. She was so vulnerable. This was insanity. She looked as much a wreck as he felt thinking about the whole thing. “Hey. Denny’s is open. Want to grab breakfast?”
“Denny’s sucks,” Samantha muttered. “IHOP and you’ve got a deal.”
He chuckled. “Deal.”
* * * *
“So, if you’re supposed to be harvesting me, why aren’t you?”
Eli poked at his pancake. Damn people put a lot of sugar in things these days. “I don’t like Cyrene. If she wants you, I want to keep you away from her.” He shrugged.
Samantha frowned at him. “So, couldn’t you do that by harvesting me?”
“Do you want me to harvest you?” What was it with her and being so damn quick on the uptake?
“Um. No. Obviously. But knowing is half the battle and all.”
“GI Joe. Cute.” He snorted.
“You’re avoiding the question.”
Eli rolled his eyes. Women. “Yes. I could keep you away by harvesting you. But I would also kill you, and Cyrene wants you alive for some reason, since she didn’t just harvest you on the street. I’m Damned but not stupid. Something’s up.”
> “But they told you to harvest me,” Samantha pointed out. “So shouldn’t you?”
“Well, yes, I should. But though we report to a higher power, Damned still have independent minds. We still make all our own decisions.”
“So Cyrene doesn’t have orders and she’s trying to trap me, but you have orders and you aren’t?” Samantha frowned. “You must be kind of a black-sheep, if you’ll pardon the expression.”
Eli chuckled. “I’ve got one thing on Cyrene, little as it means in our world. Humanity.”
“So you’re a Damned but you’re still human in your head?”
Eli shrugged. “Yeah. It’s strange. I guess that’s another part of it. You’re weird, I’m weird, maybe your weirdness will help me with mine.”
Her lip quirked down again as she studied him over a bite of eggs covered in strawberry syrup. The waitress came over, refilled their coffee, asked if they wanted anything. “I’m good,” Samantha muttered. ”So, what you’re saying is, you’re lonely.”
It hadn’t exactly been what he’d meant to say. “Well, yes. But that sort of comes with the territory.” He considered a question, and then decided to go for it. “Are you lonely?”
She sat back, folded her arms and studied him again. “Yes. Mom died when I was born, Dad about died with her. No siblings. I had a lot of trouble making friends. As it was, I spent most of my childhood trying to come to terms with the thought I’d killed my own mother.” She sipped her coffee. “Then it turns out she tried to kill me first.”
“She must have been desperate, to make a deal with Diego.”
“I don’t know. Dad never talked about her. I don’t even know how they met.” Samantha dragged her pancake around her plate. “So what’s it like, being a sane Damned?”
“Boring.” Eli snorted.
“So why are you sane?”
“Bureaucratic loophole.”
“Happen often?”
“Not unheard of, not common either.” He tapped the plate with his fork. “I’m pretty sure a friend of mine is the same way, but we don’t talk about it. He drinks a lot.”
Pandora's Ring Page 3
