Sin & Chocolate (Demigods of San Francisco Book 1)

by K. F. Breene

  “But to not know the son of San Francisco’s ruling Demigod is in town?” Kieran asked, stopping outside the closed door of room three.

  “Even if she did know, without seeing a picture, why would she assume it was you?” Jack asked.

  “I think it proves she’s thoroughly entrenched in the dual-society zone, like the report states,” Donovan said. “People live there for a reason, and unless they are criminals hiding from the government, they have no reason to know what goes on in either society. Politics rarely affect them.”

  Kieran nodded, because that was absolutely true. That piece fit, and it connected with her living arrangements.

  Her magic and her power level were the odd ones out. Someone like her shouldn’t have slipped through the cracks, which typically meant someone like her hadn’t.

  The whole thing was dangerously mysterious.

  8

  Kieran

  “Time is wasting,” Zorn reminded him.

  In other words, quit stalling.

  Kieran turned the handle and pushed into the room, fighting the gloom that descended on him whenever he allowed himself to think about his mother’s long convalescence.

  This time, the thought reminded him of Alexis debating, aloud, over the price of that blanket.

  If there was one thing that drove Kieran to his knees, it was the memory of the large, sorrowful eyes of the children in the hospital in Galway. The sight of their suffering, and their tiny, frail bodies, had stayed with him.

  He clenched his jaw with the memory.

  He hadn’t been able to do much for them or their parents, for fear of stepping on the local governing body’s toes. Not nearly enough. He believed in karma, and his bucket had to be next to empty.

  The least he could do was buy a good, warm blanket for a sick kid, even if that “kid” was actually a teen. Or so the file had said. He’d be fifteen now, infected with a terminal ailment affecting one percent of magical people. Apparently, a non-magical teen girl lived with Alexis as well. He hadn’t been able to verify this, but then, he didn’t need to. He’d seen the fear and sorrow on Alexis’s face when she mentioned the kid. It was the same look he’d seen in the mirror for years as his mother deteriorated before his eyes.

  It was a look he’d do nearly anything to banish.

  “Demigod Kieran, how nice of you to visit…”

  The low, thick voice jogged Kieran out of his reverie. He didn’t even have time to point out the inconsistency to Zorn—the magical government knew about Alexis’s wards, but not about that potent, dangerous magic. Something still wasn’t lining up…

  “Demigod Kieran.” Kieran found himself facing a middle-aged woman sitting on the other side of a rectangular table. Her elbows rested on the table’s surface and a smile sat on her slightly wrinkled face.

  “Yes,” he said, taking two steps toward the empty leather chair facing her.

  “Hello.” Her smile widened and her eyes glimmered. “I’m Clare. Please, sit down.”

  His guys filed out of the room, though Zorn gave Kieran an assessing look before shutting the door.

  He was alone with a clairvoyant…and possibly his mother.

  His gulp was loud in the quiet room.

  “Now, let me get up to speed,” Clare said, moving her hand to touch a deck of tarot cards resting just off to her right. Various bells waited to her left, each with characters inscribed on its surface. Candles of various colors, heights, and smelliness glowed on either side of the table. “You learned of your mother remaining in this world from an Oracle?”

  “From a Ghost Whisperer, like yourself. Her services were a gift. A passing amusement.”

  “But she heard the voice of your mother.”

  A familiar heaviness pressed on his chest. Though he’d asked Zorn to explain the situation to her before setting up the meeting, hearing a stranger talk about something so personal sent shock waves of unease racing through him. He maintained focus so as not to accidentally lash out.

  “Yes,” he said.

  Clare took her hand back from the tarot deck and reached with her other hand before lightly resting her two fingers on the second bell. “You believe she is trapped in this world?”

  “That is what I have been told, yes.” Told by a handful of Ghost Whisperers, plus one Necromancer who’d felt her, but hadn’t been able to summon her spirit.

  Clare’s brow lowered and she touched the third bell. “Hmm,” she said, her eyes losing focus. “And you want to help her cross over?”

  “Yes.” A wave of sadness threatened to drag him under. He struggled to the surface, and a strange tingling sensation crawled into his shoulder and through his middle. “I want her to finally be at peace.”

  “Yes, I see.” Clare picked up the last bell of four before jerking it. The toll pealed through the room, crawling up his spine. She set the bell down before picking up the first bell. This time, she held it daintily before gently moving it side to side, the toll higher and slow.

  Kieran tried to ease his stiffness. Tried to stop the flutter of hope in his belly that this woman, unlike all the others, would have answers. That she’d be able to help his mother find peace, once and for all.

  “Let’s see…” Clare picked up the tarot, movements slow. Dramatized. She shuffled them, a highly practiced movement, before laying them out in a cross-like pattern. “Now…”

  One by one she read the cards, mostly mumbling. She asked him a few questions along the way, and stopped often, tilting her head and listening. Halfway through, she stopped what she was doing altogether.

  “She’s here,” Clare finally said, putting her finger up. “She is…speaking…” Her voice dipped lower, and each word took on a different lilt. “Live…happy…”

  Kieran’s heart stopped. Only one other Ghost Whisperer had been able to replicate his mother’s tone and way of speaking—the first one he’d sat with. The way she’d mimicked his mother’s speech had convinced him. And now, those two simple words were enough to confirm his mother was trapped in the world of the living, and moreover, she was in the room with him right then.

  “Go…life…the place…” Clare moved from side to side, lightly shaking her head. “She wants you to live your life in peace. She’s happy here. She wants you to be happy, too.”

  He sat forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “Are you sure? Because the first Ghost Whisperer—”

  Clare held up a hand. “Find…the place—there’s the place again—life…peace.” She kept swaying from side to side. “Hmmm. I feel… I feel…” She shook the third bell three times, filling the room with sound. “Find the place. It must be the place where her skin is kept. And life… That could be ‘live.’ Live in peace.”

  She was guessing, Kieran could tell. She was one of the better Ghost Whisperers he’d sat with, but she wasn’t as good as the first one he’d met. And she hadn’t been able to tell him all he needed to know.

  Clare’s eyes fluttered open. “She is coming through very strongly,” she said, before slightly bending to her right side. She came back with a small silver tape recorder. “Let’s try the EVP recorder and see what we find.”

  Kieran’s heart sank as quickly as his hope. This was exactly the same road he’d been down all those other times, and like those other times, he foresaw nothing useful would come of it. If his mother was indeed trapped here, he had no way to break her free. His failure meant her continued suffering.

  Just like when she’d been alive.

  9

  Alexis

  Something I couldn’t identify dragged me out of a deep sleep. I looked around my small room. The closed curtains hung placidly, lit from behind by a streetlight that barely cast its glow over the backyard fence. No shadows interrupted the plane, indicating there were no trespassers outside my window.

  Frigid air caressed my face, but there was no draft to hint at an open door. The shadows lay as they normally did, a murky soup collecting in the corners and draping my furniture.<
br />
  I took a deep breath. I’d probably been awakened by some nightmare I couldn’t remember. My mind had been playing tricks on me all evening. Every little noise jarred me; every shadow falling across the windows had me looking more closely.

  But everything was as it should be in my room. All of it. If the stranger had come back tonight, he wasn’t peeping in the windows.

  A wet, barking cough shattered the silence. As it was ending, another vibrated through the walls.

  My heart lurched, and I jumped out of bed. My door burst open a moment later.

  Huge, fearful eyes adorned Daisy’s thin face.

  “Something’s wrong,” she said, emotion choking her voice. “He won’t wake up. He just keeps coughing.”

  Chest tight, I wrapped a robe around myself to keep out the chill and rushed to the next room. A small nightlight projected a forest scene in a circle on the ceiling. Daisy still needed a nightlight to keep the memories of life’s beasties away. Mordecai always chose the theme, which coincided with what he was learning.

  Soft green light fell on the blanket atop his body. A wet cough shook the pile, as though Mordecai’s lungs were filled with mucus. As though he might soon drown in it.

  “Steam,” I said in a harried breath, rushing forward. “Get the steamer.”

  “It’s on! It’s right there.” Daisy flung a finger at the old air purifier in the corner, which I’d found on the street in a pile of items set out for donation.

  “The steamer,” I repeated, gently laying my palm on Mordecai’s forehead. Clammy. No fever. Thank God.

  “Right, right. The steamer.” She rushed out of the room.

  I checked his pulse. Slow and steady. At least that was okay.

  Another cough racked his body. His eyes fluttered but didn’t open.

  Usually these coughing spells would have the whole house awake, starting with him. The fact that he wasn’t waking up…

  “Oh God,” I choked out, putting my hands on his cheeks as hot tears crowded my eyes. “Please be okay. Please.”

  “Here.” Daisy held out the steamer as she entered the room. Not paying attention, she kicked the post of his bed in her haste. “Motherfucker shit-eating cake fucker!”

  I closed the distance and grabbed the steamer, ignoring her swearing. A toe would heal. Whatever was going on with Mordecai might not.

  “Come on, Mordie,” I said, barely able to speak through my panic. “Wake up, Mordecai. Wake up.”

  “Shit fuck damn. Motherfucker, that hurt.” Daisy limped out of the room.

  “Mordecai…wake up.” I shook him softly. Then harder. “Limp back in here and fill this steamer up,” I yelled at Daisy. “I’m going to get him to sit up.”

  “I got the cough syrup.” She limped back in, grimacing with each step.

  “Turn the light on.”

  “Right, right.”

  Harsh yellow light saturated the room, making us both squint. Mordecai’s eyes fluttered again, and this time, slightly opened. He squinted, too.

  “Good. That’s good.” I handed back the steamer and took the cough syrup. After placing that on his side table, I pulled his ratty old blanket away, unable to help a smile and another wash of tears as I discovered the new turquoise blanket wrapped tightly around his person. He was using it for comfort, keeping his family close.

  That meant he was worse off than I’d thought. He only got sentimental when the pain was at the breaking point.

  A sob ripped from me. “We have to get more anti-morphing serum, Daisy,” I said, burrowing my arm between his back and the mattress. “He’s…he’s…” I couldn’t say it. I didn’t even want to think it. The D-word.

  “How much do we need?” She limped back in with a bleach-white face and fear-soaked eyes. I rarely cried in their presence, so when I did, she rightly thought the world was ending. “How close are we?”

  “I’ve got three hundred and two. I get paid on Friday.”

  She waited until I had muscled Mordecai to a sitting position before putting the steamer on the edge of the bed. “What about rent?”

  “It’s mortgage, not rent, and…the bank will give us a couple months before kicking us out. They always gave my mother a grace period when things were tight. And I’ll try to get some overtime at work.”

  “Your boss hates you. He won’t give you an extra dime if he doesn’t have to.”

  “Then I’ll sell fake drugs to your friend. We’ll figure it out.”

  Mordecai slumped forward. A cough tore through his chest and he hacked on the liquid building up in his esophagus. Air stopped. His chest worked, but nothing was happening.

  “Oh God, Lexi, he’s not breathing!”

  “Help me straighten him,” I yelled, getting behind him and pulling on his shoulders. “Never mind. I got it. Plug in that steamer. Set it to full blast.”

  She knocked over the air purifier in her haste, extremely clumsy from panic. The prongs of the steamer’s plug hit off the wall, then the plastic panel of the outlet, before finally finding the holes and slipping into place.

  Wrapping my arms around Mordecai to keep him upright, I sobbed again, this time in relief, when he sucked in a wheezing breath. Daisy fiddled with the settings of the steamer, nearly knocked the thing off the bed, and then straightened it and angled it toward his face. Tears dripped down her cheeks.

  Minutes trickled by. I held Mordecai. She held the steamer. Together we cried softly as he labored for breath through the violent coughing episodes. But finally, finally, the wetness of the coughs eased. His breathing evened out.

  He wiggled in my arms and coughed some more.

  “Oh, thank God.” Daisy flung her arms around him, thwapping me in the face as she did so.

  “What happened?” I asked, afraid to let go, lest he slump over and fall off the bed.

  “He opened his eyes. His eyes are open!”

  “What’s going on?” Mordecai said quietly, his voice scratchy from all the coughing.

  “Get him the syrup.” I pushed my captured hand against Daisy’s chest. “Get him the syrup.”

  “Why can’t we just take him to the emergency room and pretend we have money until after they treat him?” Daisy asked, unscrewing the cap. “No one can pay upfront. They bill people.”

  “They run credit, and I don’t have any,” I said, guilt tearing at me. “I’ve tried.”

  “Then fine. I’ve got a new plan.” She wiped her face with the back of her hand, smearing tears across her cheek. “I’m going to find someone with magical medical and marry them. Then I’ll claim Mordie as a dependent, and we can take him to the hospital.”

  “Your plan needs work,” Mordecai said weakly, and I struggled to hold my sobs back. He didn’t need to know how much we worried about him. He’d feel guilty for causing us grief. He didn’t need to expend energy on anything other than staying alive.

  “We got this. Just hang tight for a few more days, Mordecai, and we’ll have medicine for you.” I chanced easing up the hold. He tipped forward, but caught himself.

  “I don’t know why it’s getting worse. It’s only been a week since my last dose,” he said softly.

  “Puberty.” I rubbed his back. “Your body is probably going through some big changes right now, bud. A growth spurt, maybe. I’ve heard that your dad was a big guy. And shifters feel puberty harder than humans.”

  “We don’t have the money to support my habit—”

  He barely got to finish the word.

  A slap rang out and he fell back into me. Daisy kneeled in front of him with new tears streaking her face, her expression screwed up in anger. “Don’t you talk like that. We do have the money. It’s just a matter of finding it. You two are my family. I need you. Both of you. So, don’t you dare give up. We’ll get you that medicine. And fuck you for scaring me.”

  Silence fell over us, gooey and thick with emotion. I should’ve berated her for slapping him. I should’ve yelled at her for swearing.

  But as the chuc
kles bubbled up through my middle, all I could do was laugh and hold on to Mordecai for dear life.

  “Fuck you, too,” he said, reaching out for her.

  She was right—it was only the three of us. Our family was all we had in this world, and it was unthinkable for us to lose him. We couldn’t.

  Somehow, I had to get that medicine.

  10

  Alexis

  Eyes puffy and fatigue dragging at me, I lugged my tired butt into work the next morning. Mordecai hadn’t made any kind of recovery, but the syrup had eased his coughing enough to let him sleep soundly.

  Neither Daisy nor I had gotten a wink. We’d sat on her bed, hugging each other, watching over him to make sure he was okay.

  Stale air greeted me as the glass doors slid open. The cream floors shone in the bright fluorescent lights attached to the ceiling overhead. Racks of clothes spread out in front of me, and shelves of undergarments rose up behind them. Toiletries were to the right, and way in the back was my section—the bed and bath section.

  In a national chain that had everything, why had I gone to that other store for a blanket? Because this particular store was owned by a bunch of magic-hating jerks, run by another jerk, and its products were designed by jerks to break or fall apart within a few months so customers would have to come back for more. Still, it was a job I sorely needed, so I dealt with it.

  You get what you get, and you don’t get upset.

  I sighed. I hated when my mother’s sayings randomly crowded into my head to sour my already bad mood.

  After dipping my timecard into the time-stamp machine, I made my way to my section and stared for a moment at the utter destruction only a few hours had wrought. Bathroom mats lay trampled on the ground, towels were wadded up, the colors mixed, and a toothbrush holder littered the floor in pieces—people were slobs when it came to perusing the wares of a cheap store with no personality.