by Jessa Slade
When she didn’t answer, he poked his head out around the curtain. “Get in while the water’s hot. I won’t bother you.”
“I don’t mind being hot and bothered.” She gave up on the laces and toed off the shoes before stripping. She slid into the shower next to him. “If you’re not still mad at me for going with Fane.”
“I’m furious.” But his hand smoothing lather over her shoulder belied his words. “Just don’t do it again.”
She rested her forehead against his chest. “I won’t go anywhere with the angel-man,” she promised. How easy was that?
He took a small step back, as far as the shower allowed, and tipped her head up to stare into her eyes.
Oops, had she sounded too accommodating?
But his gaze was soft. “Are you still mad at me?”
“For what?”
“For being an idiot?”
“Oh. Well, if I held that against every man . . .”
“Not every man. Me.” He brushed his thumb along her bottom lip. “I want to be your only man.”
“You are,” she whispered.
“I want you, Nim, as I’ve never wanted anything. Not for the fight, not for the teshuva or myself. For you. I love you.”
Slowly, as if he wanted her to have time to object, he lowered his head to replace the touch of his hand with his lips. He slicked his fingers through her hair and tipped her head back to kiss her neck. “I’d give the rest of myself, all my words of love, everything I am, for you.”
She closed her eyes as the water beaded along her lashes.
He knelt, streaming kisses down between her breasts to her belly. He spanned the small of her back, eased her toward his mouth to kiss her navel. “I’d give my other hand, my life, my soul, for you.”
“Just give me this.”
“Always.” He traced the lines of her reven with his tongue, and his kiss slipped lower yet.
He brought her to climax against the wall of the shower, eased into her, and rocked her hard until she came again. Then he kissed her gently once more. “I’ll see you tonight. Maybe we can go out in the boat. Far out.” And he left her standing there.
The water had turned to ice before she stopped crying.
She left a note on Mobi’s tank: Rats are in the fridge. Label says “yogurt” so Ecco won’t eat it. She added a smiley face, which looked really lame, considering he’d be reading the note because she was dead. So she sketched the smiley into a heart. Then she just ripped off that part of the paper and tossed it in the trash.
What he’d said in the shower . . . He knew her in ways no one else ever had. He’d touched her when that had been the one thing she’d forbidden.
Now she remembered why. A touch could hurt. And it hurt worse when the touch was gone.
She left her hopelessly disgusting sneakers in the bathroom, found the strappy new heels she’d bought with an angel’s money, and teetered down the silent hall on her toes so the heels wouldn’t click.
She’d made it as far as the front door.
“Going somewhere?”
She stopped, pivoted slowly, not to be coy but because the five-inch spikes prevented anything else. “Out.”
Ecco appeared from behind one of the columns supporting the inner walls. Walls, she knew, that had been cross-braced the last time the league had confronted Corvus and almost lost. The big talya swept her with a rude gaze. “Nice shoes.”
“Thanks. They don’t come in a size eleven.”
He smiled, sharp as his missing gauntlets. “Size fifteen, sugar.”
She didn’t think she could take Ecco, even without his gauntlets. She didn’t want to take him on. If she never saw another single drop of talya blood . . . She tossed her head, wishing she had the dreads to lash around. “I’m meeting Jonah later.” There. That would explain the sandals and shut the man up.
She gestured at the box in his arms. “Moving out?” She managed to infuse it with the tone that said, Running away? Insults would make him glad to see her go.
“Leftovers from last night,” he said. “Sera wanted to run some experiments. She thinks Corvus was up to something superbad.”
“No doubt,” Nim muttered.
“Worse than usual. Tenebrae, encased in glass . . .” He shook his head. “Strange way to keep them fresh.”
“I’m sure Sera will figure it out,” Nim said. “If you’d take her the stuff sometime this century.”
Ecco’s gaze fixed on her again. “We’ve got forever.”
Not necessarily. Corvus had said “tonight.” “Trust me, us female talya aren’t that patient.”
Ecco snorted. “Seems to me you girls put up with far too much.”
“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “Someone will find you one day.”
His face tightened. The broken glass chimed in the box under his grip. He turned on his heel and left.
That had been almost too easy. A man rocking gauntlets shouldn’t wear his heart on his sleeve.
The heat tried to flatten her as she stepped out onto the street. Luckily, her spiky heels kept her upright. A passing truck driver honked his horn, and she flipped him off. It was good to be out in the city.
She walked the streets like a hooker looking for a trick. And it would be a trick to see how Corvus contacted her. How would he even find her? He couldn’t exactly call the @1 number and ask for her.
Somehow, come night, she didn’t think he’d have a problem. Which left her with a few hours to kill.
Suddenly, she wished she hadn’t used quite that phrase.
She couldn’t even shop, since she hadn’t taken Jonah’s wallet. Well, she’d taken twenty bucks, but only so she could catch a cab to her doom, as soon as she figured out where her doom was.
In the meantime, the new sandals were wearing a blister on her heel. She needed a place to sit while the demon did its patch work. So she walked to the Congolese diner.
The dinner rush was on, but there were still a few open seats at the counter. She slid onto the stool and reached for a menu. Ms. Mbengue had the page in her hand before she could complete the gesture. “Thanks.”
The woman nodded. “Coffee?”
Nim hesitated. “Chai, please.” She concentrated on the list of odd items so she didn’t have to meet the other woman’s gaze. “I guess I’ll have whatever Jonah ordered before.”
“That was breakfast. Would you like to try something more substantial, since it’s getting late?”
Nim let the menu drop, wondering at the edge in Ms. Mbengue’s voice. Nothing so simple as jealousy; that was easy to recognize. Not pity or disgust either; those were easy to pick out too. The woman was watching her with something like . . . yes, it was kindness.
Nim wrinkled her nose. She had enough kind women in her life now to start her own support group. Somehow she doubted they’d give her a “you go, girl” cheer on her plans for the evening. “Whatever you think is good.”
Ms. Mbengue gave another brisk nod. “It’s good you trust Mr. Walker. He is a good man.”
“Good, good, good,” Nim muttered under her breath as the woman bustled away. That’s exactly why she had to track down the evil djinn-man on her own. Because the good man had rubbed off on her, got his goods all over her, and see where she was now?
Unfortunately, blaming Jonah for loving her didn’t make her feel any better than sitting at his favorite diner without him. Bad enough she had to save his life—a life he was so damned eager to throw away because of her mistake. She also wanted to save him from loving a woman who could never be good enough.
Ms. Mbengue brought a bowl of steaming stew along with the chai, iced this time. The woman hovered, until Nim realized she was supposed to give some indication that the choice was to her liking. She took up her spoon with a silent sigh. Her breath kicked up the scent of potent spices. Oh, so that was how kind the lady was.
Nim tweaked her demon to standby and took a sip.
Fires of hell. Tears sprang to her eyes, too quic
k for the demon’s healing.
“Jonah prefers his pepper soup with more chili sprinkles.” Ms. Mbengue hefted a small pot of red flakes. “Would you . . . ?”
Nim gestured silently at her bowl, and Ms. Mbengue added a pinch. “He says it brings out the flavor.”
“The flavor of hot?” Nim asked hoarsely.
Ms. Mbengue smiled. “Ginger and tamarind.”
“Ah yes. I taste it now.” She’d never taste anything again, since she’d been told the teshuva couldn’t restore what had been permanently removed, like her tongue.
Ms. Mbengue gazed over her head. “Doesn’t the day feel cooler now?”
“Pretty much anything would be cooler right about now.”
The woman’s smile deepened. “Try the tea.”
Nim did as ordered. To her surprise, the chai, lightened to the color of Jonah’s hair with milk and sugar, took the edge off the burn. “It’s very good.” Good, good. Just like him. She wished she could kick herself, but she might cause real damage with these heels.
“You’ll have to bring him in for a last supper before we close next month. My landlord stopped in, and it seems the end has come at last.”
If only she knew. Nim took another sip of soup and wondered if breathing fire might distract the sharp-eyed Ms. Mbengue. “I’m sure Jonah will come by.”
“He’s a man who deserves to find a light in his life.” The woman hesitated. “You could choose much, much worse.”
“I’m about to,” Nim assured her.
Someone in the kitchen called urgently.
“We all have fires to put out,” Nim said. “Maybe that’s what you meant by ‘light.’ ”
Ms. Mbengue gave Nim a sharp look, the kind that reminded her the woman shared her origins with the executioner’s sword and the four-pronged throwing knife. “No, I meant the light in his eyes when he looked at you.”
Nim stared down at the pepper flakes floating in her bowl like mocking malice eyes. “He was hungry.”
“He’s in love. Don’t you care?”
The rush of heat that went through Nim had nothing to do with the spices. Oh, she cared. For once, she cared so much about being the warrior he needed and the woman he craved.
As always, the only way she knew was to put her body on the line. “Enough chilies will burn it out of him.”
Ms. Mbengue said something in a language Nim didn’t know, but she wished she could memorize it, since she guessed it’d come in handy next time she wanted to swear around Jonah. Not that there would be a next time. Another call from the kitchen made the woman shake her head. “Fight your own battles, then.”
“I will,” Nim said softly to the woman’s back. Jonah and the league had taught her that.
The dinner rush slowed as she finished her soup, and a few people lingered over their cups. Ms. Mbengue topped off her chai once without another word, and the golden liquid darkened to plain old tea. Nim left a few bills along with an @1 business card she’d snagged from Jonah’s wallet. Maybe Ms. Mbengue would check in with Jonah in a few days, out of curiosity, and offer some of her chilies and wisdom.
Nim figured the least she could do was give him his harem back.
Shadows had settled into the cracks of the city, although the sky between the clouds still held streaks of blue. Lighter blue, like Corvus’s eyes, to the west. Yellow too, like . . . Wait, the sun was too far down for those fiery streaks.
Heat lightning stitched a ragged line between the clouds, gathering the dark masses closer. The white glare faded, but the streaks in evil’s cheap-ass light show remained.
Salambes. In an arrow over the city, pointing east toward the darkest part of the sky.
Good thing she’d always favored the night shift.
CHAPTER 26
Nim avoided a cranky mother wielding a stroller like a war chariot to herd her two kids out of the fountain. “If you don’t come out of there right now . . .”
Could the unstated threat possibly be worse than the mass of tenebrae streaking the sky like gangrene? Nim seriously doubted it. Anyway, the kids weren’t impressed.
Sera and Jilly had told her that children, crazy people, religious wackos, and sometimes artists might occasionally catch a glimpse of other-realm emanations. So she amped the teshuva, walked past the shrieking girls, and said in her lowest demon harmonics, “Listen to your mother.”
The girls spun toward her and froze. She didn’t know what they saw; maybe just stranger danger. That was true enough too.
The oblivious woman wrapped them in towels while their teeth chattered, and Nim walked on. That was one little family who wouldn’t be caught in the thunderhead of demonic ether building above the pier. She let her fancy heels slow her just a bit, to give them a few extra moments.
More people were coming toward her off the pier. The park was closing; the weather closing in. With luck, no one would be left to suffer her latest—last—mistake.
She might not be as good as Jonah, as crazed as Ecco, as . . . as much of an ass as Archer, but at least she could win the league a smidgen of advantage against the dark. And this time, she wouldn’t drag anyone else down, down, down with her.
She wished doing the right thing felt less lonely. But that was what Corvus had demanded.
A cop directing the stream of traffic out of the parking garage and past the entrance gave her a hard look as she passed, bucking the tide of pedestrians. But her heels and short skirt weren’t entirely out of the realm of possibility for a nice girl taking a simple stroll on the boardwalk with her beau.
Luckily, he wasn’t the fashion police, because the black vinyl trench coat didn’t work with the ensemble at all. Except for hiding the throwing knife pinned between her shoulder blades, of course.
And she didn’t have a beau either.
She walked past the amusement park, past the mini golf and the shops, past the stained-glass museum and theater, past the grand ballroom where the curved facade reached almost to the water, and stopped at the edge of the pier.
The lake on all three sides was black, the city lights dimmed by the lowering clouds. But to her demon’s eyes, the fiery stain of the salambes overhead slicked the water like a burning oil spill. She tried not to hunch her shoulders at the psychic weight of the tenebrae above them. If she hunched, she’d skewer herself on the throwing knife at her back.
“You came.”
At Corvus’s distinctive slurred voice, she turned with only the faintest wobble. Not from the heels—she was far too professional for that—but from the fear that did unfortunate things to her knees. The thin traceries of the reven on her thighs raced like the heat lightning, there and gone again. She faced the gladiator with her teshuva guttering, one tiny match head against the raging flames of hell.
She imagined that match head against her skin, and she stiffened her knees. Yeah, this was going to hurt, but at least it would only be her doing the hurting. “I’m here, just like you asked.”
The djinn-man opened his arms in a hallelujah pose, and birnenston spewed from the open sores of his reven. The poison hissed on the pavers. “The only one of your kind to listen.” He clawed at his arm, and after a moment wrestled off the anklet. Birnenston welled from the gouge the too-tight chain had left in his skin. He held it out. “For you.”
She didn’t reach for it. She’d have to step too close. Besides, if he wanted her to have it, that couldn’t be good.
He twirled the loop around his finger. “You think you can take it from me, as you’ve taken everything else in your life.”
“I always gave a dance in return,” she said.
His blue eye twisted toward her. “I know you did more than that for your talya mate. You gave him his soul back. We want ours.”
“I don’t have your soul. They told me it’s woven in to the Veil, until the end of days.”
“So end days.” His voice thrummed with longing. “You were a slave like me, dancing to the masters’ whims. End it.”
“I wa
nted to, every time some wanker undertipped. But I can’t.” She hesitated. Actually, with Sera and Jilly, she almost had. So she added with reluctant truth, “Not by myself, anyway.”
“Even I can’t destroy the world alone—though please don’t think I haven’t tried—which is why you are here. And where are your league sisters?”
She frowned. How extensive was that brain damage? “You told me to come by myself. Remember?”
Both eyes—birnenston yellow and strangely celestial blue—focused on her in disbelief. “And you listened to me?”
Even evil thought she was a fuckup. A dust devil of cotton-candy threads, sulfur stink, and malice whirled around them, caught in the etheric centrifuge. “I couldn’t ask them to die.”
The djinni’s fury reverberated in a language of hatred she couldn’t quite make out under Corvus’s snarl. “Since when do you care about anyone else in this world?”
“Since I fell in love.”
She put her fingertips over her mouth. Her teeth lingered on her lower lip, as if she could bite off the V in “love” and stop herself before she said more. Where had that confession come from? And to say it to this monster? How sad.
But with the words said, an emptiness gaped around her. An endless, needy longing to be filled.
For a heartbeat, her knees wavered, and the poisonous darkness spread through her veins. After years of dancing alone, how had she let someone else become her other half? She’d sworn, with each burning match she snuffed on her skin, that no one else would steal her body, her soul, her life.
The stench of sulfur—from those old matches and from the swirling nightmare of tenebrae—sucked tears from her eyes. Around them, the malice hissed, as if sipping her pain.
Not that her petty commitment issues mattered anymore. She would sacrifice any chance of keeping body, soul, or life in order to save the league, the city, and maybe heaven itself.
Slave, he’d called her, and he was right. She had feared all she had left would be stolen. But what he didn’t understand, and what she’d finally learned, was that it could still be shared. That knowledge, bittersweet, was all she had now, so she said it again because she always flaunted what she had. “Since I fell in love with Jonah, and he with me.”
