City of Souls

by Vicki Pettersson

  By the time Hunter was gone, so was Felix, shot through with an anchor in his side, and cursing Tekla with a bald lack of respect. Meanwhile, she’d also woven between my three walls, and I created a fourth on the fly, just to buy myself time. I was too tired to make it invisible, but my mind was still clicking at warp speed, and that gave me an idea.

  My next one was opaque, black as a Shadow’s heart and as wide as the room. I pivoted and ducked behind it…then realized I was three feet from the warehouse wall and running out of space.

  “Tekla…I give up!”

  “Push yourself, Jo.” She answered, and the wall behind me shook.

  Shit. “No, I can’t—”

  “Agents of Light don’t ever quit!” And her anchor plunged through the concrete barrier at my back, barely missing my shoulder.

  Yelping, I ducked. She wasn’t going to stop. So I pleaded. “Tekla, I can’t be hit!”

  “Oh, I bet I can hit you,” Jewell said, from my other side. I whipped my left arm out just in time. My wall didn’t rise to full height—it was too hurried for that—but it halted her momentum and she tumbled over its top. By the time she somersaulted into a standing position, I had another wall erected. I couldn’t see the impact, but I heard her groan.

  And then back to Tekla. Dammit! I was too unfocused now. I was getting tired, my eyes darting around as quickly as my thoughts, and I wondered why these bitches weren’t taking each other out instead of closing in on me.

  That’s when I saw it. Lunging without hesitation, I grabbed Hunter’s barbed whip—the conduit of an ally who was still alive—and squeezed its handle. Its weight felt awkward as I whirled it around, but it lashed out like a lightning rod, and took down Jewell with a resounding snap. She screamed, though whether from pain or surprise, I couldn’t tell…or care. I whirled and again, the whip responded as if it was my own.

  Maybe it was due to the aureole Hunter and I had recently shared again. Maybe it was because, as he mentioned earlier, he’d lived inside of me only a short time before. But I wasn’t just holding his weapon, I was using it effectively, and the more I moved—erecting walls with the torque of my palm, leaping atop them, now hunting Tekla—the more I reveled in the ease of my armament, even while I wondered at it.

  Hunter was alive. This conduit was an extension of his body. And yet it was responding agilely to my touch.

  I let out a battle cry and leapt to the rafters, whip hissing from my palm.

  “Kairos!” Someone yelled from the sidelines, and I thought, yes. Maybe that was it. I was the Kairos. I couldn’t replace my own conduit—not with the original still out there, still a part of me, and still yearning to be united with me as I did with it—but I could use those of my allies. Because as I caught air, I felt the way Hunter looked in battle: confident and lithe…and scary as shit.

  “That’s bullshit!” Someone else said, echoing my next fleeting thought. So I pivoted at the apex of my flight, took the whip’s handle in both hands, and wheeled it around like a discus. I caught Tekla’s anchor right at its release, and pulled, yanking her from her feet…

  “Stop!”

  The cry rocked the building, rippling in the air like a physical blow. Tekla, still sprawled on her stomach, cursed under her breath—a rarity for her—and shut her eyes, probably to reinforce the mental walls she’d put up around the building. I dropped to the ground with a soft bend of my knees, breathing hard, but smiling inside. I was still fast. My wall work was improving. Keep that bitchy edge, I thought as I straightened and turned to the others, and I might be okay yet.

  But Warren was not smiling. “Jo, you’re with me. Bring the whip. The rest of you, clean this place up.” And he stalked back to the panic room while the others continued silently staring at me.

  “Why’s he pissed at us?” Riddick muttered, kicking at the debris of one of my walls that had collapsed under Warren’s cry. It ricocheted into another, and both disappeared in a puff of smoke.

  “How did you do that?” Jewell asked as I passed. I shrugged and swallowed hard, risking a glance at Hunter who, ominously, hadn’t moved. He just stared as he held his bloodied forearm tight to his side, eyes flicking to his whip before winging back up at me. I kept walking…and once inside the panic room, Warren posed the same question.

  “How did you do that?”

  I shrugged uncomfortably as he shut the door behind me. “I—I don’t know. I wasn’t able to use the replacement conduit that he was making me at all.”

  “Because yours still exists.” Warren nodded impatiently, already knowing that. “Have you used or practiced with this whip before?”

  I shook my head. “Never.”

  He frowned. “So maybe it’s this bond between you two. Maybe because you just—”

  “Okay!” I held up a hand just to keep the thought from passing his lips. I hated my relationships, or my emotions, being displayed so openly. Still…could that be it? Were Hunter and I somehow linked now? Share a body and bed…share a soul and conduit?

  A quick rap at the door and Hunter peeked in, still looking disturbed, and I could understand why. Touching someone else’s conduit—using it as your own—that was like reaching inside a body and shifting around a person’s organs. An apology was already on my lips when Warren snapped.

  “Not now, Hunter.” He waved him away and motioned for him to shut the door.

  “There’s a call—”

  “Ignore it!”

  “It can’t be ignored!” Hunter held out the phone, his good arm steady in the air, eyes leveled on his troop leader’s face. Warren frowned at the text on the screen, then crossed the room for a closer look. Once there, he stilled altogether. “Oh.”

  Hunter’s gaze shifted to me.

  “What?” My first thought was that Vanessa had been captured again…or maybe one of the others. But Vanessa was safe in our underground lair, and everyone else was here. So…“What?” I said louder.

  Warren finally looked back at me. “I don’t know whether to tell you that I’m sorry or not.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “It’s your father, Joanna. Or…not your father, but Xavier.” He swallowed hard.

  “What about him?” I stepped closer.

  “He died, Jo,” Hunter said, stilling me again. “In the middle of the night.”

  17

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  My loss, I thought, staring at the suit of yet another man smiling placatingly in front of me. I’d arrived at Xavier’s compound directly from the warehouse, and had to push aside the thoughts of my relationships with Hunter and my ability to use his conduit as if it were my own, for the time being. But the fact was, all my thoughts seemed to be sluggish right now, and I finally gave up on trying to remember this man’s name—or even care—and simply nodded. This pattern repeated itself as I moved on through the sitting room, the family room, the living room…all the misnamed rooms in Xavier Archer’s house, while I avoided the sympathetic gazes of the strangers around me and thought about my loss.

  The man who’d despised me practically since birth was dead. The man who blamed me for my mother’s abandonment was dead. The man who treated people as usable objects, and siphoned his soul to the Tulpa in return for unlimited power and money was, finally, dead. I looked around at all that remained.

  I’d lost nothing.

  But strangely, I didn’t feel I’d gained anything either.

  “My condolences, Ms. Archer.” I did recognize this man. This was John, Xavier’s closest confidant, and a man who moved like an offensive lineman instead of a lawyer. He’d never given either Olivia or me a second glance, but that had changed now. I could see him developing plays as he looked at me, looking for weaknesses, figuring out if I needed to be double-teamed, trapped, or cross-blocked. And why not? Once a Playmate, a plaything—arm candy to be given a second glance but not a thought—Olivia Archer was no longer simply an heiress. She was a mogul. John, I knew, had strategies for dealing w
ith moguls.

  I made my way to the winding staircase and the upstairs corridor under the watchful eye of John and the army of sycophants Xavier had left leaderless, though I knew I wouldn’t be followed. They thought I was in shock. Xavier’s personal physician had already offered me soothing sedatives, so I’d take the path of least resistance and play the part of the frail princess until I could get out of there and back to searching for Jaden Jacks. I didn’t feel bad about the hypocrisy, pretending to care when I knew I did not. Xavier had gotten what was coming to him. He was an ass, he was greedy, and I’d never loved him.

  So why was my heart heavy, as if I did?

  I dodged two maids who averted their eyes, arms filled with linens, their Spanish whispered once they thought I could no longer hear. The household staff had returned upon Helen’s orders, and were putting things back to order, dusting and scrubbing and wondering what I was going to do with all this space and belongings, with their paychecks and all their lives. Their gazes were just as assessing as John’s, which was probably how I ended up in Xavier’s vacant wing. There was no other reason to be there. But it was quiet, and with Xavier’s body still in residence, no one seemed ready to tread there yet.

  Exactly what I needed.

  Yet I hesitated until the soft dulcet tones of Spanish arose again behind me, then pushed the door open and slipped inside.

  The first thing I noticed was that the flowers sent by well-wishers were no longer moldering in lukewarm water, the table once holding them now a bald spot among the rest of the ornate tableaus of the sitting room. I crossed to the window where thick curtain blotted out the sunlight and shoved it open. Xavier was dead. He couldn’t say a thing about it.

  As if approving of this belated rebellion, the storm clouds that’d been dogging the valley last night had thinned and parted, revealing a tender blue sky and a sharp morning sun. I saw John step outside on the patio below me, the bald spot on his head a perfect O from directly above, a phone to his ear as he lit a cigarillo. Unlocking the window, I slid it open an inch, all I’d need to hear his end of the conversation even though I was thirty feet above him.

  “Of course she’s incompetent,” he scoffed on a thin stream of smoke. “A figurehead is all…with the emphasis on her figure…”

  He laughed, and so did the person on the other end of the line. I did not.

  “…an easy mark for anyone with the intelligence above that of a soybean. I’ve called an emergency meeting with the board of directors. Yes, we’ll handle that now. And her…”

  He disappeared under the back portico, totally unaware that I was there…and I was a woman who disliked being handled. Guessing he was going to take this conversation into the inner courtyard, I crossed into the bedroom, where I could watch and hear him from Xavier’s window. I was so preoccupied by listening in that I forgot about Xavier’s body, lying like an empty shell on the linen shore of his crisp bedsheets. I was also halfway through the room before I realized I wasn’t alone.

  “He underestimates you.” The voice was strong and low. Charbroiled.

  My gut reaction was to run. I jolted, automatically reaching for the mask in my bag, though the reaction could be attributed to the shock of finding someone else in the room. I played it off that way…and turned around to face the Tulpa.

  He was seated in a straight-backed chair next to Xavier’s bed, looking neither large nor small, not overdressed or under, but as comfortable in this clothing and body as he was in any other. The skin he lived in today was pale, but a blank-slate pale, without a freckle to mar the entire canvas. It made him look as lifeless as the corpse next to him, and made me wonder if he’d hidden in the dark long enough to gather enough power to willingly take on these features, or if they’d been superimposed upon him by the mind and expectation of one of his followers. Perhaps Lindy—or Helen—as she was downstairs? I forced myself to calm. My scent was masked; I’d injected the pheromones before leaving the warehouse. I was here as Olivia, so Olivia I would be.

  Still, I couldn’t help a fleeting wish for a layer or two of Micah’s protective webbing. “Y-You heard what he was saying?”

  Of course he had. His hearing was sharper than a jungle cat’s.

  The Tulpa shrugged. “Don’t worry about John. He’ll come at you head-on, full-force, like he’s in a demolition derby. I, on the other hand, learned long ago to be more circumspect around beautiful women.”

  His smile widened, dimples appeared, as if that was supposed to be a compliment. Knowing what I did of his past, how it intertwined with my mother’s, I remained on guard. “Who are you?” I asked. Like I didn’t know.

  “You mean Helen hasn’t mentioned me?” He tsk-tsked at the shake of my head. “I was a mentor of sorts to your father. A benefactor, if you will.”

  But he still didn’t say his name. I tilted my head, frowning. “Daddy never mentioned you either.”

  “I was a sort of fairy godfather, if you will. There when he needed me. Behind the scenes the rest of the time.” He stood, unnaturally unwrinkled. I took a step back, and he smiled benignly. “I could do the same for you.”

  “I—I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You’ll need help running this empire.” He gestured to the window, then folded his hands in front of him. “Navigating men like John who see only dollar signs when they look at you. They’ll see you as someone to run down on their way to a financial utopia. But I could teach you how to nullify his greed while using his skills for your own gain. I’ve known many such men myself.”

  He was the archetype for such men.

  I bit my lip, nodding, then changed the subject lest he think me too smart. “So what are you doing here now?”

  “Paying my respects, of course.” He sighed heavily, looking over at Xavier. “Saying good-bye.”

  Seeing if there was anything left of Xavier’s soul to drain, I thought wryly. Maybe I should offer him a straw.

  “Well,” he said in the wake of my silence, “at least promise me you’ll think about it.”

  He held out his hand. I looked at it as shock struck me like a bolt. He’d know who and what I was as soon as I touched him. He’d feel my too-smooth fingertips. And from the narrow, assessing look in his eyes, that was the point. He wasn’t here for Xavier, he was here because he knew Olivia Archer would be also. He was testing the waters of this relationship, beginning to build trust on both sides.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  I swallowed hard, making damned sure to keep the scent of my emotions dampened, and took a step forward. But I let my gaze veer to Xavier’s lifeless body, willed my face into a teary frown, and ran right into the footstool that’d been pushed thoughtlessly aside.

  “Ow!” I leaned down, rubbing at my shin.

  “Are you okay?” Though buried beneath layers of control, the annoyance was sharp in his voice. I glanced up and gave him one of Olivia’s most sheepish and sweetest smiles.

  “I’m such a klutz. I mean, I fell down half a staircase just yesterday. See?”

  I pushed up my shirt to reveal the marks I’d received from Hunter. Most men would focus on the petal smooth belly and curve of my hip. The Tulpa, I knew, was only seeing the bruises. He relaxed further into the shadows, no longer interested in touching, testing me. Why should he? I was clearly mortal. “You should be more careful.”

  “That’s so true,” I said, pulling my shirt down. I nodded vigorously, then looked again at Xavier.

  “Oh…” The Tulpa stood fluidly. “How rude of me. Of course you want a few moments alone to say good-bye.”

  “Yes.” I lowered my head, pretending not to see his outstretched hand. Fortunately, he dropped it. “Thank you.”

  He slid by so smoothly I expected to hear a rattler’s tail. I stepped to Xavier’s bedside to ward off my shudder, and bit my lip as I looked at Xavier’s body.

  “You may call me if you need anything at all. Helen knows how to get ahold of me.”

  I nodded but didn’t look up, n
ot wanting to give him too much deference, too early. Olivia would have no idea who he was, so this first impression wouldn’t leave much of a visible mark. But he would be back, I now knew, hearing the sitting room door snap shut. The Tulpa was going to try and use me. The Archer dynasty was too vast and strong to allow a little lost soul to get in the way.

  I lifted my gaze to Xavier’s face, wondering how he’d feel about that. Again I was shocked from thought by his appearance. He was hardly much more than a skeleton with skin, a thin, brittle covering that would be decomposed by week’s end. I will not feel sorry for him, I thought, clenching my jaw as my gaze drifted down his once-great frame, snagging on the fingers that had once curled in cast-iron fists. They were pencil thin now. I could reach out and snap them like twigs.

  No, I’d waste no sorrow on Xavier. The man had willingly sold his soul for status. He’d given the Tulpa a front of respectability, and a base from which to operate. Xavier, more than any other person, had helped the Tulpa actualize in this world.

  And he’d treated me like refuse.

  “Don’t think of that,” I muttered to myself, wiping at my eyes. There must have been pollen or dander or dust mites thick in the room. “Just focus on facts.”

  And the fact was, it made no difference that someone else would have taken up the mantle if Xavier had refused—there was no shortage of people who’d abandon morals for money—because it had been him. All through my youth. Even while I suffered, I thought, sniffling, he continued to fuel and feed that limitless evil.

  So Xavier hadn’t died from something practical, like a disease that had forgotten to question his station and power and status before creeping up to strangle his arteries. He hadn’t even died from something as dramatic as a broken heart. No, he’d finally expired because there was so little left inside of him that was still human. This physical shell, which looked like it would blow away in the faintest of winds, was simply the last of him to fall to rot.