Scrubbing my athames, unfortunately, was a task I had to do myself. Keres blood could stain.
I ate dinner afterwards, then stripped and sat in my sauna for a long time. I liked a lot of things about my little house out in the foothills, but the sauna was one of my favorites. It might seem kind of pointless in the desert, but Arizona had mostly dry heart, and I liked the feel of the moisture on my skin. I leaned back against the wooden wall, enjoying the sensation of sweating out the stress. My body ached—some parts more fiercely than others—and the heat let some of the muscles loosen up.
The solitude also soothed me. Pathetic as it was, I probably had no one to blame for my lack of a social life except myself. I spent a lot of time alone and didn’t mind. When my stepfather Roland had first trained me as a shaman, he’d told me that in a lot of cultures, shamans lived outside of normal society. The idea had seemed crazy to me at the time, being in junior high, but it made more sense now that I was older.
I wasn’t a complete misanthrope, but I found I often had a hard time interacting with other people. Talking in front of groups was murder. Even talking one-on-one was uncomfortable. I had no pets or children to ramble on about, and I couldn’t exactly talk about things like the incident in Las Cruces. Yeah, I had kind of a long day. Drove four hours, fought an ancient minion of evil. After a few bullets and knife wounds, I obliterated him and sent him on to the world of death. God, I swear I’m not getting paid enough for this crap, you know? Cue polite laughter.
When I left the sauna, I had another message from Lara, telling me the appointment with the distraught brother had been arranged for tomorrow. I made a note in my day planner, took a shower, and retired to my room where I threw on black silk pajamas. For whatever reason, nice pajamas were the one indulgence I allowed myself in an otherwise dirty and bloody lifestyle. Tonight’s selection had a cami top that showed serious cleavage, had anyone been there to see it. I always wore a ratty robe around Tim.
Sitting at my desk, I emptied out a new jigsaw puzzle I’d just bought. It depicted a kitten on its back clutching a ball of yarn. My love of puzzles ranked up there with the pajama thing for weirdness, but they eased my mind. Maybe it was the fact that they were so tangible. You could hold the pieces in your hand and make them fit together, as opposed to the insubstantial stuff I usually worked with.
While my hands moved the pieces around, I kept turning over the knowledge that the keres had known my name. What did that mean? I’d made a lot of enemies in the Otherworld. I didn’t like the thought of them being able to track me personally. I preferred to stay Odile. Anonymous. Safe. Probably not much point worrying about it, I supposed. The keres was dead. He wouldn’t be telling any tales.
Two hours later, I finished the puzzle and admired it. The kitten had brown tabby fur, its eyes an almost azure blue. The yarn was red. I took out my digital camera, snapped a picture, and then broke up the puzzle, dumping it back into its box. Easy come, easy go.
Yawning, I slipped into bed. Tim had done laundry today; the sheets felt crisp and clean. Nothing like that new sheets smell. Despite my exhaustion, however, I couldn’t fall asleep. It was one of life’s ironies. While awake, I could slide into a trance with the snap of a finger. My spirit could leave my body and travel to other worlds. Yet for whatever reason, sleep was elusive. Doctors had recommended a number of sedatives, but I hated to use them. Drugs and alcohol bound the spirit to this world, and while I did indulge occasionally, I generally liked being ready to slip over on a moment’s notice.
Tonight I suspected my insomnia had something to do with a teenage girl…But no. I couldn’t think about that. Not yet. Not until I spoke with the brother.
Sighing, needing something else to ponder, I rolled over and stared at my ceiling, at the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars. I started counting them, as I had so many other restless nights. There were exactly thirty-three of them, just like last time. Still, it never hurt to check.
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Copyright © 2008 by Richelle Mead
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Succubus on Top Page 33
