“You sure know how to distract a girl.” She slowly levered herself out of the bed, groaning and wincing. He quickly went to help her. “Besides, if we’re having company, I’d love to be clean.”
He nodded.
“And maybe I should phone in to quit my job,” she said. “What day is it, anyway?”
“Wednesday.”
“Yeah, you know my phone has some angry messages on it.”
“It was pretty obvious you were kidnapped, actually. Of course, I could sense the wards Cyrene shattered.” He perched her on the lip of the counter and started to run the water.
“Bitch was disguised as you, by the way.” She closed her eyes, hissing as she stretched out her arms. “I had just thought I could use the wards to force you to tell the truth and find out if you were lying about my mother.” She looked at the blood still under her nails. “Guess not.”
“There’s more to the story,” he said quietly, and took her hands to guide her into the bath. “There has to be, because you’re alive, Samantha. If she’d gone through with it, you wouldn’t be. You’d be in with Diego, still an infant.”
“But what does the ring have to do with it?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, and took the miniscule soap out of its wrapping. “Francis is a genius at this type of obscure stuff. We’ll tell him everything, he’ll check you out, and I just bet he’ll have a theory for you.”
“All right,” she said, leaned back and let him wash her weary body.
* * * *
His phone rang at 5 AM. Samantha was asleep again, and Eli quickly answered. “You here?”
“Yeah. Super 8?”
“Room 403. Make sure no one sees Hammy. And quietly–she’s sleeping.”
“Right.” He heard Francis sigh. “Damn, you’re fucked, Eli. I thought you said you didn’t like her.”
“You’ll get it when you get here,” he replied, and terminated the call. There was a quiet knock. Eli rose, peeped out through the spyhole and found Francis’s salt and pepper hair. He opened the door, and Hammy the Hellhound woofed quietly in greeting. He ushered them in, holding up a finger to his lips as he patted the hell hound. “Hey, boy,” he said, and then shook hands with Francis. “Thanks for coming.”
“Shit clearly went down,” Francis drawled. “You never said who, exactly, screwed up Cyrene. You don’t have the raw power, boy.”
“It was her,” Eli said, pointing to the bed where Samantha was curled up on a clean blanket, the bloody sheets piled in a corner.
Francis’s expression snapped to a frown. “You’re telling me a mortal broke Cyrene’s soul bonds and then knocked her out?”
“Hey man, don’t wake her up.” Eli held up a hand and waved them into the bathroom. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying. I don’t know how, but it had to do with the ring. Remember you thought it might be an artifact? You were right.”
“Was I?” he asked. Hammy sat on his haunches at the bathroom door. More or less a gigantic black boxer, he wiggled in joy because they’d found their target. “I can check her out while she’s asleep, as long as you tell me everything.” Francis eyed Eli. “Including how the hell she’s still alive.”
“Right.” Eli rubbed his temples. “At least there’s breakfast.”
* * * *
Francis didn’t speak or move as Eli filled him in on the events which led to shattering the ring, and then retraced their steps to their current room. He grimaced when Eli finally finished. “You’re damn lucky you didn’t actually kill Cyrene, or your hiding place wouldn’t have held up so well.”
Eli’s mood soured. “I was hoping she’d managed it.”
“If she’d killed her, the soul energy would have been twice as intense. Even you probably couldn’t have saved her then, Eli,” Francis said softly and sat on the bed beside Samantha, stroking her hair. “I guess I see what you mean about her, though. All the grace of thirty thousand saved souls, all the compassion of a mortal, none of the blinding justice of the Angels.” He nodded. “Sort of the good of everything, bad of none.”
“Watching her gain that power…” Eli shook his head. “I’ve never seen or heard anything like it.”
“I imagine. It’s never been done before.” Francis patted Hammy’s knobby head, turned it enough his hot breath wasn’t blowing in Samantha’s face. “Frankly, if I wasn’t looking at her now, I wouldn’t believe it. A ring can contain one soul, maybe two for something of high quality and sentimental value. But twenty thousand? That’s simply not possible.”
“But that’s–”
Francis cut him off. “You said she was babbling something about two voices fighting?”
Eli nodded.
“As wildly unlikely as it is, two voices brings it back to the realm of logic.”
“How do you mean?”
Francis hummed tunelessly, frowning. “A ring cannot hold twenty thousand separate souls. However, one or two souls with bonds on twenty thousand souls? That might be possible.”
“You’re saying the two fighting are Damned.” Eli murmured.
Francis nodded. “And given who the ring belonged to, I’d even say there’s a good chance we could guess who they are.”
Eli frowned. What did they know about the ring? It belonged to Marie Parker, who married young to a rich man who was wild about her. So much so, to this day he had not remarried. Sentimental value, quality– Check. Marie made a deal with Diego for her firstborn child. Only, she decided not to give up the baby. Diego was dead. He hadn’t asked when, he’d assumed it had been recent. But what if that was wrong? What if his last job had been collecting on Samantha Parker? Which meant… “Diego.”
Francis nodded. “He was up around thirty thousand souls when he disappeared.”
“That means…” Eli glanced at Samantha again, floored. “That means the second voice is Marie.”
“Marie Parker,” Francis repeated. “In order to fight Diego for her daughter’s soul on even ground, she must have Damned herself soon after the birth.”
“Can you even do that?”
“I did.” Francis frowned. “It takes a huge amount of will and someone worth fighting for.”
Eli found himself breathless. That explained a lot about Francis. He thought about asking who Francis had been fighting for, but they’d never talked about their past before, and now probably wasn’t the time to start. “But if she couldn’t beat him, then...”
“She would have settled for trapping him,” Francis confirmed. “Very neat. Very easy to understand. It explains a lot.”
Eli sat and patted Hammy’s head. “Gods. She’s been fighting him for twenty-five years.”
“And the agitation of the souls and the fighting rubbed off on Samantha, making her more sensitive, as well as probably conditioning her to receive the souls when you finally broke the ring.” Francis shook his head and sat back. “She needs to get in there and talk to them.”
“Damn, Francis, she just got off the initial near-death experience.”
“I know,” Francis said. “But even with your support, if she wants to live, she going to have to start figuring out what powers she has and utilize them. She can’t do that if Diego is still locking in on those souls. And we aren’t even counting what Marie is like as a Damned. She could have lost her mind by now.”
“That’s a pleasant prospect,” Eli commented. “And now we have to tell her Marie’s alive after all.”
“After a fashion, anyway,” Francis said. “I’ll leave you to it. Hammy’s still itching for a run. How about I get a room here and we do it after breakfast?”
“No one on our trail?” Eli asked.
“Not yet,” Francis said. He laughed. “Everyone’s still trying to work out whether Cyrene’s telling the truth about a mortal with that kind of power, or if she just doesn’t want to admit you beat her.”
“Ah, to be a celebrity,” Eli drawled.
* * * *
Samantha stared at the two men and the dog in front of her. The dog
perked its ears as she looked it over. A boxer. She loved boxers, and held out a hand in invitation. The dog took it, leapt onto the bed and snuffled her hand, arm and face as she tried to process what Eli had just said. We’re pretty sure we know what happened, Samantha. When Diego came to collect on your mother’s promise, she damned herself and locked them both in her wedding ring.
“What about the body? Are you saying my dad buried an empty coffin?”
“In this case, Marie’s soul would have left her body,” Francis said. “Her physical body would have died. So, no. By all rights, the doctors probably had no idea what happened–her body simply switched off.”
Samantha swallowed hard. Those were exactly the words her father had used when she’d asked what killed her mother. Her father. What was she going to say to him? She scratched the dog to take her mind off the emotions roiling at the base of her throat and let out a breath. The dog panted, then kerflopped onto her outstretched legs and rolled over so she could reach his stomach. “So, Mom and Diego were the two voices I heard.”
“Probably,” Eli said . “It’s what makes the most sense.”
Samantha nodded. It did add up. But she didn’t want to believe it. “What about Cyrene? Are we safe here?”
“For now,” Eli said. “We think you should use tonight to try and talk to the two voices. Gauge what’s going on.”
“See my mother,” Samantha whispered. “What the hell do I say to her, Eli?” She drew her arms around her, shivering. “Hi Mom, glad you weren’t heartless enough to actually go through with your deal with the devil. What did she ask for, anyway?”
Eli glanced at Francis, who shrugged. “Not sure. It’s not in the records. Rarely is–they let each Damned deal with it themselves most of the time.”
She pressed her lips together then leaned forward and hugged the dog. His mouth opened into a fiery inferno, but Samantha was too preoccupied to care. He was a firm body to hold onto. “I like your dog,” she murmured. “What’s his name?”
“Hammy,” Francis said with a faint smirk. “Best damn hell hound in the world.”
“I bet you are,” Samantha said, playing with the dog’s ears. “You’re way better than that stupid old crow Cyrene has.”
Francis chuckled. “Damn straight, he is.”
Hammy woofed quietly and sat up straight.
“Does he actually understand us?” Samantha asked.
“Not directly. He understands you through me,” Francis said. He grinned as he reached over and patted the dog’s head. “A companion is like an extension of your own soul. That’s why they’re so powerful. It also makes them a bit dangerous to have, though, because if the companion is trapped or killed, the master is severely vulnerable.”
“I’d love to throttle that Damned crow of Cyrene’s,” Samantha muttered. “Just because it’s ugly.”
Francis laughed. “You’re right. It’s a pretty damn ugly bird. Nothing like what Eli almost wound up with though.”
Eli glanced sidelong at Francis as Samantha looked up curiously. “Which was?”
“Vulture,” Eli grumbled almost sullenly. “Someone thought it’d be funny.”
“Thankfully for him he was judged unworthy of a companion. You’ve got to be pretty damn powerful for it. Fifteen thousand souls at least.”
Samantha tilted her head. “How many do you have?”
“Twenty-six thousand or so.” Francis shrugged.
She stared. “Wow.” She said. “It must be loud in there.”
“Occasionally,” he said with a wink and a smile. “But at least it’s never boring. I’ve got to take care of some things, so I’ll see you after dinner, all right?”
Samantha smiled, grateful Francis was there, and patted the dog on the head again. “Thanks, Francis. You too, Hammy.”
* * * *
The dog licked her hand a few times–which Samantha accepted though his tongue was just under boiling water temperature–and scrambled off the bed after his master. Eli sat down instead and bid farewell to Francis. He smoothed Samantha’s hair. “You know,” he said, “for a second there, I was worried you were gonna ditch me for the dog.”
She laughed, holding up her arm to show the red marks where Hammy had licked her. “Somehow I don’t think his oral would be quite as good.”
“I see how it is,” Eli teased. “You just want me for the sex.”
“Obviously.” Samantha said, and chuckled. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “You know, nothing to do with saving my life twice, coming after me against a she-demon twice your power, and then getting to the bottom of what the hell was happening while I was passed out on the bed. Nope. Not a bit.”
Eli’s heart warmed, and he kissed her deeper, murmuring, “You know, you should eat something. Maybe there’s a place here where we can get some clothes.”
“Got any cash?” she asked as she leaned back. “I’m afraid if we use a card we’ll be tracked.”
“Don’t worry. We’re covered.” He pulled her up and found the sport coat from the car again. She pulled it on sans shirt or bra and looked at herself in the mirror. “I’m not sure I could call this decent.”
Eli smirked, leaned over to her and braced a hand at the small of her back. His lips traced a line down her neck and into the deep valley of cleavage revealed by the jacket. His tongue lengthened to flick at her nipples. Samantha gasped. “Eli…”
“Yes?” he asked, slowly moving back up, pushing the lapel back so her other breast was revealed to his fingers. She moaned faintly. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“Fuck breakfast,” she said, grabbing his shirt and pulling him closer.
He chuckled. “I can’t imagine that would be comfortable. Toast is too scratchy, eggs would just get everywhere, and can you imagine the burns from biscuits and gravy?”
“Eli,” she groaned, trying not to laugh. “Come on, I’m trying to get you to screw me here.”
“Oh, really?” He grinned and pushed her back, kissing her. “In that case, I think I can manage.”
* * * *
It was a strange sensation to go into her own mind with the intent of talking to voices not her own. Samantha tried to recall the description Eli and Francis had given her. Just keep diving, Eli had said. If Diego takes a swing, remember how the wards on your apartment worked. The magic is similar.
So, as he said, she kept diving. Not quite a walk, or a swim, the experience was as easy as a thought. Her mind did the traveling, and down she went. She couldn’t help but wonder if there wasn’t a white rabbit with a pocket watch in front of her.
It wasn’t black, precisely, but absent of light, like she was in the middle of the night sky. Samantha looked around wonderingly and caught her breath. Stars? How were there stars in the depths of her mind?
“Souls, Samantha,” someone said. Samantha started and looked around, eyes wide as she found a Damned across from her, a woman who smiled with supernatural beauty. “The stars are souls you are carrying with you.”
Samantha swallowed hard as she stared at the Damned before her. She didn’t look like Eli, or Cyrene. Her feet were still feet. Where claws should have been were merely red nails. The horns on her head were small, and her hair was the same mousy brown as Samantha’s, if thicker and more curly. Samantha took a breath, tried to speak and failed. Finally, she croaked, “Mom?”
Marie Parker nodded, smiling. “Hi, baby. It feels like forever since I held you.”
“Twenty-five years,” Samantha whispered, too stunned to feel. This was her mother. The one who at first gave her up for something untold, and then fought for her life so hard she Damned herself... “Mom, I–” Samantha choked faintly, trying not to cry.
Marie had tried to bargain with her soul. She had done nothing to deserve her tears! Even when her mother had saved her life, she’d only gotten her into a bigger mess when she’d left the ring for Samantha to find.
“I know,” Marie said. “I deserve whatever anger you bear toward me. B
ut Samantha, I’m so glad you’re here.”
Samantha just stared. “Why?” she asked. “What happened?”
“I don’t know if we have time, darling,” Marie said as she looked around the darkness they floated in, gaze focusing, star by star, until she looked back at Samantha. “If Diego interrupts, I suppose we’ll just pick it up later.”
Samantha looked around. “Where is Diego?”
“I drop kicked him that way,” Marie said, waving vaguely. “He wanted to terrorize you.” Samantha nodded. Marie tapped her elbow as she frowned. “I was very poor, Samantha. Frighteningly so. I had no money, no family, hardly any friends. I was a druggie. I was out of a job, out of an apartment, out of hope.” She chewed on her lip. “You’ve never met my parents because I ran away from home after my father beat me. I was seventeen and desperate.” Her voice was calm, direct, void of self pity or self deprecation.
“It was the middle of December in New York City when Diego found me. I was hypothermic from sleeping under a bench. I could have gone to a shelter, but I was too proud.” She sighed. “When he asked me what I wanted, I said I wanted everything. Clean clothes, a job, a place to live, a husband rich beyond my wildest dreams with a heart of gold. Diego offered all that and more for the soul of my firstborn child.” She laughed, pushing hair out of her face as Samantha stared. “I thought he was joking. I said yes. And so I turned into a modern day Cinderella. Diego gave me a fresh set of clothes, led me to an empty apartment where I took a shower, and then pointed me to a catering company, which just so happened to desperately need a pretty bartender for their soiree for New York’s elite that night. I met your father, we talked for hours on end and he asked me out. He was enamored, he said.”
Marie went quiet, watching the souls around her. “It all went uphill from there, but it never dawned on me the guy who gave me a leg up in the park had been serious about my firstborn child. Not until I found out I was pregnant with you.” She studied the stars again. “Things started happening fast. Your father had no idea, even when an in-betweener cursed me at two months.”
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