“Be careful, Eunomia,” he said.
“I always am,” I answered, closing the door behind me and realizing after the fact that I could have simply rematerialized from our room. Now I had to walk through the inn and risk the glares of perfume-woman, since two other visitors were currently standing in the hall with me and chatting near the stairwell.
I blamed Brennan and his pheromone power for my lapse in planning. I really did need to ask Artemis about how to counter that.
I made my way out of the inn, out onto the street, and then around a corner where I ducked between delivery trucks outside a small grocery store. Now, I was able to get to work.
I reappeared in a large pasture, relieved that this part of Cork hadn’t changed much since the last time I’d been there. It would not have done at all to have reappeared in the middle of a cafe or, worse, someone’s bathroom. I had that unfortunate experience once, and it left both me and the poor human emotionally scarred for sometime afterward, I am sure. I got my bearings, and started walking east. I felt calm settle over me as I eased into my work, and I was grateful for it. I focused on my reason for being in Ireland: Boyd O’Connor. The kindly doctor, or so he’d once been considered, had murdered eleven children in his care over the course of seven years. At least, that was what the public knew about him. Those tasked with judging and punishing souls know better. In addition to the eleven deaths he’d been accused of and successfully tried for, he’d also murdered at least six other people, always people who had turned to him for help. One had been an unmarried woman who had found herself pregnant after a tryst with a man who worked for her father. She sought the doctor out to help end the pregnancy, and he’d given her a concoction, telling her it would do that very thing. Instead, it caused a slow, painful death, and he sat and avidly watched every single moment, the woman tied to a chair in the root cellar of his home in the country. That was where I would head first. Even if the home itself was gone, souls were usually drawn to places they’d had a strong emotional attachment to in life. Good emotions or bad didn’t really matter. All that mattered was the strength of the emotions. And the doctor had definitely had a strong affinity for the things he’d done in that house. Torture.
That had been his particular little kick, I thought as I neared the home he’d lived in. Watching death happen. He’d done it with every one of his victims, prolonging it for as long as possible, as if it was a show he never wanted to end.
The old stone house was still there, to my surprise. Long since abandoned, dilapidated. It was likely that no one had wanted to live there, knowing a murderer had lived there. The details had all come to light during his trial. I could hardly blame the humans. Even now, even knowing what I know of the dead and spirits, I disliked walking through the gaping front door. The windows were all broken out, the inside of the home littered with leaves and other debris. The roof had long since collapsed, as well as part of the second floor, and daylight flooded into the main floor. I walked through, stepping over beams, making my way to the back of the house. The cellar door was outside, set a bit away from the house. It had been a root cellar, I remembered, tucked into the gentle slope around the house. I checked the house just the same, able to feel the remnants of his energy signature there. It was fairly recent, and I was hopeful that he was not too far.
I stepped out of the house and made my way to the root cellar. Its doors seemed to be gone completely, nothing more than a dark hole in the side of a mound of earth. It was likely that thrill seekers had done that, coming to see, in person, the place where he’d caused death. While he’d killed the children, slowly, so that they wasted away, in hospitals, there had always been rumors that his other victims had been taken here to die. As it was, the rumors were completely true. More so than many realized at the time.
I stood in the doorway of the cellar, and he was there, sitting on the floor.
“Ah, you. I was hoping you’d show up soon. Nice hair,” he said, his voice somewhat scratchy, as if he needed a lozenge. Hanging did that, sometimes.
I did not answer. This was not the reaction I was expecting.
“So, let’s get on with it, eh? You’ve brought someone for me?”
I stared at him, shook my head a little and eased my black dagger out of its sheath.
“Why so quiet?” he asked, looking a little more alarmed now.
I leapt forward before he could react, and plunged the dagger into his side. He struggled for a moment, and he was nearly completely solid, much, much stronger than he should have been. He screamed, and struggled, and cursed me as the strength slowly leeched out of him, thanks to my dagger. I turned him over and wrapped the thin black chain around his wrists, leaving my dagger right where it was.
“What in the hell is your problem? Worthless bitch!” he screamed, enraged.
I didn’t answer. I numbly took his arm in my hand and closed my eyes, focusing on rematerializing in the Netherwoods.
Tisiphone was on duty in the holding area, and she greeted me with a hug as Boyd O’Connor’s soul raged impotently beside me.
I met Tisiphone’s eyes. “We have a problem.” I debated sharing what he’d said. I wasn’t ready. I needed time to figure it out, to process it all. “This one, like the last, was much stronger than he should have been, given the amount of time he was free. We need to find out how that is possible.”
“They must have had help,” Tisiphone said, catching on. I nodded.
“Have you made any progress with the Biset?” I asked, wondering about the Frenchman I’d captured in Paris, and she shook her head in irritation.
“It is as if there’s a blank spot there in his memories, and I’m assuming whoever helped him is there. We will keep working at him, and this one as well.”
I nodded my thanks and turned the soul over to Tisiphone, pulling my dagger from his side as I did. He continued to rage at Tisiphone, and one thing became very clear: I’d caught this one by surprise.
When he’s been waiting for someone else.
I observed for the next couple hours as Tisiphone did her thing. It was not something it was possible to watch without feeling disturbed. Furies are feared for a reason. Watching the things she did to the soul of Boyd O’Connor reminded me of that, very clearly. I did not merely stand by and watch. I helped. I used my dagger on him, and usually the pain of that alone is enough to get a soul to break. Whatever secret he was keeping, most notably who had helped him escape, and who he’d been waiting for, he was determined to keep it. Or unable to tell us, which was even more disturbing.
There are no secrets from the Furies.
We made him scream. It was not enough. Tisiphone came as close as I have ever seen to losing her temper, and, after a while longer, after she used more mental manipulation on him with no success, she gave me an irritated shake of her head. I retrieved my dagger from his chest. Tisiphone punched him in the face, hard, and I knew that was for her, because she was frustrated and worried about Mollis, more than anything else.
We walked out of the cell together and Tisiphone slammed the heavy door behind us, locked it. She was covered in blood. Which was another bad sign. Souls don’t bleed. He was on his way to a corporeal form, just as Biset had been.
“I will have Mollis take a crack at him,” she snarled, still angry. So much rage in the Furies. “He will talk.”
“Perhaps he cannot.”
“We’ll make him talk,” she growled, her eyes glowing. “My daughter cannot continue like this. Nether attempted to take control today.”
I had been about to argue with her, but that news brought me up short. I clamped my mouth shut. “Is Mollis all right?”
“She kept her under control,” Tisiphone said with obvious pride. “My daughter is strong. She should not have to deal with this. We have one more. Hopefully that will help her condition,” she said, eyes still blazing.
“I will not stop until they are all back.”
“I know you won’t. There is no one more capable o
f this than you, Eunomia. Thank you for handling this,” she said, beginning to calm down.
“We will get to the bottom of it. I promise you.” She nodded. “I must return to Ireland now. I have one more soul to find there, and then the shifter and I will return here until we make our next move.”
“Excellent. Make them pay,” Tisiphone said, a phrase the Furies often said to one another.
I gave her a small smile. “I always do.”
I took a deep breath and focused on rematerializing back in Cork.
Moments later, I was standing in my dark room at the inn the shifter and I were staying in. I could hear the television in Brennan’s room, the volume low. It sounded like a sporting event, maybe. I made my way to the lamp beside the bed and clicked it on, kicked my boots off, then made my way into the small bathroom. I washed my hands thoroughly, as if Dr. O’Connor’s filth still lingered there.
He’d acted as if he’d expected me, or, at the very least, someone. I closed my eyes and leaned forward on the vanity countertop. The possibility that tiny hint had opened up was one I did not even want to contemplate. I would have to, of course. I would have to tell the Furies, the Goddess of Death.
I needed to see it for myself first. If he’d meant what I thought he meant… I shook my head. If he meant what I thought he did, it meant things were not only messier, but much more dangerous for me. I am a good fighter. Just like all of the Guardians. Warriors. Death’s own hunters. If things went wrong when I faced one of them, I could very well see my time in the mortal realm come to an end.
I walked out of the bathroom, eyed the door between my room and the shifter’s. It also meant I should not allow company when I was out on a mission. Endangering myself was one thing; endangering another was something I would not abide.
I would tell Mollis so when we returned to Detroit. I was not sure if Brennan was asleep or not. I did not see lamplight beneath his door, so he may very well have dozed off. Rematerializing, for those who are not used to it, can be quite exhausting, especially when traveling great distances, as we had. In addition, the time change would have confused his system.
Why was I disappointed?
I pushed the thought aside and stretched out on my bed and pulled my small laptop out of my bag, booted it up and picked up with the next show in my Netflix queue. The modern human world certainly had its advantages. Hephaestus was right about that much. I settled the laptop on my stomach and leaned back on the pillows, every once in a while stifling a giggle as I watched.
There was a knock, and then the door opened. I jumped up, making sure the laptop was facing away from the doorway.
“Hey. I saw the light and thought I’d check in and make sure you were okay.”
“Yes. I am. I am fine,” I said, standing awkwardly next to the bed.
“So I see,” he said, leaning against the door jamb. “How did it go?”
“Fine. I was able to apprehend him easily and turn him over to Tisiphone. Tomorrow I will go after the next soul from Ireland. And we will try to track down Lethe.”
He nodded. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I said.
He was watching me, and I knew he wanted to ask more. He glanced at the laptop. “What are you watching?”
“Nothing.” I felt heat rise to my face, and he noticed as well (damn his preternatural shifter senses.)
He grinned. “Why are you blushing? Are you watching porn or something?”
I sputtered. “No. I am not watching porn!”
“I don’t judge,” he said, still grinning.
“Well, I am not.”
“Then what else could it be? What can possibly be embarrassing enough to make an immortal badass blush?”
“Nothing,” I said again, edging closer to the bed.
He crossed his arms. “I’m watching soccer.”
“Good for you.”
“But I’m bored.”
“Such hardships,” I said in mock pity.
He laughed. “So prickly, Tink.” And then he became a little more serious. “Are you hungry?”
I shrugged. I was, but I hadn’t realized it until just then, my mind still spinning over what the soul had said to me.
He went into his room, and came back with a grocery bag. I watched him as he carried it over to the dresser. He caught me watching him and he shrugged. “I didn’t want to stop for dinner in a restaurant. And I didn’t want to eat with the other guests here, so I just stopped at the grocery store after my meeting.”
I let out a short laugh. “What do you have?” I asked, giving up, knowing there really was no getting rid of him and that my stomach was now growling.
“Bread, peanut butter, some cheese that I haven’t tried yet, grapes, apples, cookies…”
“I will try the cheese. And an apple would be perfect.”
He handed a small wheel of cheese to me, along with a green apple.
“Do you want tea?”
I shook my head. “How did your meeting go?” I asked him.
He shrugged, still rifling through the bags. He’d changed into sweatpants and a white t-shirt, and I did like the way the pants hung from his hips.
I forced my eyes away.
“It was good to meet the guy, I guess. Have a face to go with the name. He didn’t have a lot to say. Things are pretty quiet here. No reports of unexplained activity. They mostly have shifters and witches here, I guess,” he finished. “Sorry I didn’t find out more.”
“I did not expect much. But it is better to ask around than not, yes?” I settled onto my bed, sitting cross-legged, and used my dagger to cut a thin wedge of cheese. I popped it into my mouth. It was pungent, with a bit of a bite to it, and an underlying creaminess. I cut another wedge and handed it to Brennan, who had settled himself at the foot of my bed, lying on his stomach. He took it, bit into it, and made a face.
“Ugh.”
“Very well. More for me, then,” I said. I cut a slice of apple, layered a thin piece of the cheese onto it, and took a bite, sighed happily.
When I looked up, he was looking at the laptop.
He was grinning. “You were watching ‘The Golden Girls’?”
I glared at him. “Not a word.”
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“If you even breathe a word of it, I will acquaint you with my dagger,” I warned him.
“What’s the big deal?”
“I am death’s hunter. This,” I said, gesturing toward the laptop, “does not fit the rest of what I am. I do not even understand why I find four older mortal ladies living in Florida as amusing as I do. It is nonsense.”
“It’s funny, Eunomia. That’s why you like it. It doesn’t make you less of a badass hunter.”
I took another bite of the apple and cheese, well aware that I was scowling.
“It’s called ‘having a personality,’ and it isn’t a bad thing, you know,” he continued.
“My sisters did not have such frivolous interests,” I said, taking another bite.
“Yes, and your sisters were monsters,” he said, and the mild tone of his voice made my gaze shoot up to his. “From personal experience,” he added.
“I am sorry,” I said, chastened. “I should not have brought them up.”
“I’m a big boy, Eunomia. I don’t need to be protected from the memory of that day, though I notice that you seem uncomfortable about it.”
“I am,” I said quietly.
“You shouldn’t be. You saved my ass. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”
I took another bite of the apple, though I did not feel hungry anymore. The stupidest things came out of my mouth when I was with him, I thought in annoyance.
“I just keep thinking about what it must have been like for you, to have these beings who looked exactly like me, who sounded exactly like me, doing those things to you.” I could not look at him. “How can you stand the sight of me now?”
He didn’t answer, and long aw
kward moments of silence stretched between us. My stomach turned, and I regretted eating.
“Eunomia,” he said. “Look at me.”
I forced my gaze up to his. There was no anger there, no hatred. Instead, I found kindness and empathy.
“You are not your sisters. I know that better than anyone else. Maybe I even know it better than you do.”
“And what makes you so sure?”
He smiled, just the tiniest lift of the corner of his mouth. “Because you were the only one saving me. I don’t look at you and see them. I look at you and see the one who fought to free me, the one who ended up bloody and torn bringing me out alive.”
I hated the way my heart pounded, stupidly. There was no reason for it, and I knew that if I could feel it, he could hear it. “Well. I don’t find you all that annoying. I could not just leave you there.”
He laughed and shook his head. “You are this close to corrupting me now, smooth talker,” he said, winking at me, and I shook my head. “So,” he said, still smiling.
“So,” I mimicked him, taking another bite of cheese and apple.
“What’s the story with Big Red?”
“Who?” I asked with a laugh.
“Triton.”
I shook my head and waved it off.
“Come on. If you don’t tell me, I’m gonna think the worst of him. And the worst I can think is pretty bad, Tink.”
“Leave it alone,” I said, meeting his eyes.
“It’s just you and me here. And I’m curious. And I want to feel a little less like you’re all speaking another language.”
“What do you mean?” I asked him, and he shrugged. He lay down on his back, folded his arms, resting his head on his hands. I could have stared at the way his t-shirt stretched across his chest for quite a long time, but I remembered myself and looked down at my ugly bedspread.
“You all have all this history together, right? Literally, thousands of years. You all know each other and there’s nothing weird about being immortal or having seen empires rise and fall. And then a couple of years ago, I find out that’s in my blood, that I’m going to live a very long time. Not immortal, but still—“
Guardian (Hidden Book 6) Page 10
