Then we were in private, and he turned to face me as if bracing for bad news. I slowly lifted my hand, allowing a ball of flame to coalesce before me. I watched his eyes, and didn’t miss the pure hatred that suddenly replaced the gasp of shock.
“I disgust you,” I growled, “because I can do this.”
“It’s an abomination!” he snapped. “Only god should have the power to do such things. Demons stole this and gave it to the worst of your ancestors. How dare you! If Father David knew,” he spluttered in outrage.
I blinked in disbelief. “Let’s say that incoherent string of words is true. That makes me guilty without choice.”
“No,” he snapped. “You could choose not to use it, or to turn yourself in!”
“Or… I could choose to use it for good, just like everyone in the world does with any of their gifts,” I snapped.
“I see the devil already has your ear, blinding you with temptation. It’s disgusting. I don’t even want to be seen with you. I knew there was something wrong with you. Ever since you saw my flyer. You’ve used your serpent tongue to infect Father David and Roland, haven’t you?” he seethed, spittle flying from his mouth, his eyes wild.
I took a maddening step closer, watching his shoulders tighten, and his face contort in rage. “You hate us. Want to kill us. Don’t you? On God’s behalf.”
He was actually shaking as I took another step closer. He tried to step back, but a bench was in his way. “I…”
“Exactly. The game’s up, Benji. No more murder. No more inciting riots. It ends. Now.”
“I—”
I slapped him across the face, my vision pulsing red. How dare he? To preach to crowds, and incite hatred with subliminal messages. Hate was hate. It didn’t matter who the target was. Either he had killed, or he had convinced some of his followers to do it. Because of this deeply ingrained hatred that was so apparent on his face.
“How dare you?” he roared. “You are vile, disgusting, a temptress—”
I slapped him again, breaking the thin skin of his lip this time. A drop of blood splashed onto his chin. I grabbed him by the shirt, shaking him, and heard a crash from behind me. I let go and spun, hands up to defend myself.
Desmond stared, horrified. Brigitte stood behind him, a mask of absolute terror covering her face. I smiled at Desmond, waiting to see his honest personality erupt to defend his mentor.
Instead, he dropped like a sack of wheat, falling boneless to the ground. Brigitte darted down to Desmond, patting his cheeks, and shooting terrified glances to Benjamin, sobbing openly, her hands shaking. She finally glanced at me, face a mess of tears, pleading with me. “Please… Please, just let him go. He’ll give you whatever you want. Just let him go,” she begged, holding her hands together in prayer.
I blinked. “What the hell?”
I rounded on Benjamin, who was staring with concern at Desmond’s form, all his anger and disgust with me snuffed out. “Blood sickens him. Never has been able to stomach it. Let me go to him. Make sure he didn’t hurt himself in the fall,” Benjamin pleaded, not meeting my eyes.
I shook my head, bewildered as I stepped aside. Brigitte latched onto him, clutching his face, and seeing only the split lip, she squeezed him in a hug, as if he had been on the verge of death.
Father David’s voice called out. “Is everything alright back here?”
Then he was standing before Desmond, staring down at Benjamin and Brigitte who were both now checking on Desmond together, brushing back his hair and speaking soothingly to him.
Father David slowly lifted his eyes to meet mine. “I think you need to leave. Now.”
“This is Shepherd business.”
“And you’re not a Shepherd!” he snapped.
“Maybe I should call Roland,” I argued. “I hear bombings are wonderful for cellphone reception.” I clenched my fists as I glared at him.
“Leave. Now, Callie,” he warned, fire in his eyes.
With nothing else to do, I turned and ran, heading away from the celebration. I wanted to scream, to shout, to kill. Roland could be dead. The killer was still out there. Amira was still laughing as I chased pawns on the board.
I growled as I ran, thinking furiously.
Cain was doing whatever the fuck the world’s first murderer did in his spare time. Dorian Gray had led me on a wild goose chase. And I still had the black stalker to worry about. Or, the man in black, as Dear and Darling had called him… Maybe I needed to seek them out and ask them a few more questions.
But what the hell did I do now? Had I let my emotions get the best of me? Had the Vatican bombing been entirely unrelated to my investigation? Because after that clusterfuck at the church, I was confident that none of them were involved. Benjamin hated me on a level I couldn’t fathom, but he wasn’t a killer. And his disciples were sheep, in every sense of the word.
I had picked up Benjamin, sensing only a frail old man beneath. Desmond couldn’t even stomach a bloody lip. And the look of horror on Brigitte’s face hadn’t been feigned. If I had ever seen fear for the first time in someone’s eyes, it had been right then. Her world had literally crumbled to the foundations at seeing me holding Benjamin by the shirt, blood on his lips.
To be honest, I felt a little sick to my stomach myself. What in the world had made me think that a single one of them had a backbone. Had I seriously read too far into Dorian’s comment? Had it just been a jab about the church? My phone chirped at my hip and I answered it as I ran.
“We have another one,” Beckett said regretfully into the phone.
“Motherfucker!” I shouted.
“Hurry,” he said. “Head to the Sprint Center as quickly as possible. I already removed the most incriminating evidence, but this one’s not going to be as easy to cover up.” He told me which level, and I groaned. The same level we had parked at yesterday. I was getting sick and tired of my stalkers.
I hung up, glanced around me, and then Shadow Walked to the lowest level of a staircase in the same parking garage, not wanting to risk scaring the hell out of everyone.
Especially when showing off magical talents was getting people killed.
Chapter 35
I appeared in the stairwell, glanced around to make sure there were no cameras – even though it was technically too late to worry about something like that since I’d appeared out of thin air already – and took off up the stairs, counting the levels.
I opened the door cautiously, not sure which side of the parking garage the chaos would be on. And found myself staring right into Beckett’s face through the crack, who was pointing a pistol at me. Seeing it was me, he hissed, but didn’t lower his pistol. His face looked torn as his eyes darted to my feet and then back to my face. He mouthed two words. Bear. Run.
Then he shouted loud, but his eyes begged me to get the hell out of here. “Freeze!” I heard radios squawking, and then shouting as several voices suddenly demanded to know who was fucking with the crime scene. Then they were shouting into radios, calling for backup.
I released the door, turned around, and pounded down the stairs. What the fuck? Of all the stairwells, I had chosen the one where the murder was?
“Freeze! This is a crime scene!” A voice shouted from a few levels below. I heard the shouting on the other side of the door near Beckett, and the pounding steps of more police racing my way from below. I Shadow Walked, just as I heard the door above me opening.
I appeared in the alley where I had first met Dear and Darling, not having consciously chosen to go here, but it had apparently been the first place on my mind in my panic.
“Well, this just won’t do,” Dear chided from behind me with a sigh. I whirled to find the two of them sitting in the exact same chairs, almost in the exact same position, frowning at me.
“No, it really won’t. Now she knows our secret spot,” Darling agreed.
“Well, we may as well let her inside. Feed a stray once,” Dear trailed off, smiling at me.
Darling nodded. “Come with
us, Callie,” he said, climbing to his feet.
“I’d rather stay out here if it’s all the same,” I said, voice quivering from the adrenaline rush.
Dear blinked at me, and then turned to Darling, face questioning. Then they both turned back to me. “Well, of course it’s not all the same,” they said in unison. “Nothing is the same. Not ever.”
I frowned. Were we talking about something specific, or were they being weird again?
“Regardless, you really should take off those shoes. Bear blood smells so vile.” Dear pinched her nose dramatically.
I flinched as if struck, glancing down at my boots, lifting them up to inspect the bottom. And a very nervous chill shot down the base of my spine. My right sole was covered in blood – almost the entire length of the shoe.
Which meant… I had left footprints in the stairwell. Which meant evidence. Now I knew why Beckett had glanced down at my feet so pointedly. And why he had wanted me to run. And I was already connected to a few of the other murders, at least as a witness. Still, having evidence of me at the fourth crime was not good. It was actually quite terrible.
“Ah, I see the blood is a surprise,” Dear said, brushing at her dress absently. “Which means you’ve been poking your nose into things again. Come. We have just the solution. Freely given, mind you. Unlike those damned politicians, promising the moon and stars, lying their ass—”
“Easy, now, Dear. Don’t get worked up. It makes you poor company. Are you coming?” Darling asked, turning back to me.
I stared at him, then the brick wall behind the chairs. They were both just standing there, talking to me over their shoulders.
“I… guess. Where exactly are we going again?” I asked, walking up to them nervously.
Darling sniffed pointedly. “You are not going anywhere again, you are going somewhere for the first time. But Dear and I are going there again.” He shook his head, annoyed. “Honestly, it’s like none of you think before you speak.”
I was too focused on his words to realize they were both reaching for me, but before I could react, they briefly touched me with their fingertips on either shoulder, and I was suddenly in…
A swanky, old world shop of some kind. Oxblood leather couches decorated the place in artful positioning, and antique artwork, paintings, advertisements, and all sorts of newspaper clippings adorned the walls. Etched glass walls created tiny enclosures in the massive room.
And the walls were covered with shelves of shoes.
Of all sorts. And I’m not talking sneakers.
I’m talking quality, hand-stitched leather. Pirate boots, flats, loafers, and a dozen others. Nate would have been in heaven in this place, wherever we were.
I cleared my throat uncertainly. “Those are very nice dress shoes,” I said, surprised to find that I was sitting in a very comfortable leather chair.
Darling slowly turned to me, as if I’d just insulted his mother. “They are not called dress shoes,” he said, voice dripping with ire. Then he was pointing, firing off names like a gun as his finger flew. “Oxford, Brogue, Derby, Chelsea Boot, Loafer, Chukka, and Monk Strap,” he added finally, pointing down at his own… dress shoes. He was breathing heavily. My head spun.
“Oh, okay. I like the… Monk Strap best,” I said uncertainly, pointing down at his footwear.
He scowled doubtfully before Dear shushed him away. I could have kissed her.
Dim lighting suffused the place with a soothing, relaxing, and peaceful glow. Like a home. My eyes drank it in, wishing I had someone to share it with. Like Claire.
I realized Dear and Darling were now staring down at me from rolling ladders on the walls. They glanced from me to their shelves, then slid down a few feet before glancing back. They would climb up or down a few rungs, slide some more, shoot me another look, and then continue on. I watched them, speechless, for what felt like five minutes. I realized my boots were gone, and jolted in surprise.
“Easy, child,” Dear cooed. “They’re in the incinerator. No muss, no fuss. We’ll get you stitched up proper.” Then she was back to searching, reaching back into the shelves to reveal even more shoes behind those in front, as if the shelves went back for eternity. Like the Mary Poppins rack of shoes.
“What… is this place?” I whispered, stunned.
“Darling and Dear. Finest leather goods in all the worlds,” Dear said, her voice muffled as her head was buried into her shelf.
“I’ve never heard of you,” I said thoughtfully, wondering why she had made that plural.
“Those who know of us don’t talk of us,” she called out, still buried.
“And if they haven’t heard of us, they likely can’t afford us,” Darling added with a mirthless chuckle. “Ah, here they are,” he said reverently, pulling out a pair of exquisite, calf-high boots that looked designed for my exact musculature. They looked about as comfortable as a fur stocking molded directly from my legs.
Dear sighed. “Well played. I was thinking the slippers, but you have the right of it.”
“I always do,” Darling chided confidently.
“Except when you don’t, of course,” Dear replied with a sweet, cunning grin. Then she winked at him in a manner that was more befitting a bedroom.
“Well, we do have guests, Dear. Perhaps later,” he said, laughing loudly.
“If you ever learn to finish a job on time,” she muttered, pointing at the boots he still held in his hands. Then, hearing how that sounded, she chuckled throatily. “Well, perhaps not on all occasions.” And this time, she winked at me. But I wanted no part of this verbal swordplay.
“Okay,” I interrupted quickly. “So, you guys make shoes?”
They frowned in unison, looking offended. “There are shoes, and then there are shoes,” they said hotly. “But we don’t just make shoes. Holsters, weapons belts, bags, satchels, saddles…” Darling hopped down from his ladder. “Anything, really. As long as there is great need. And if we’re interested in the terms.”
They approached me like snakes, stalking up on either side as if planning to eat me.
Then they were before me, kneeling at my feet, and sliding the shoes over my…
“Ohhhhhhhhmygaaaaaaawd,” I moaned in disbelief, wriggling my toes. It might have been the best sensation I’d ever experienced outside of sex. I don’t say that to be a drama queen about shoes, filling the obvious stereotype of girls and footwear. I mean it quite literally. It felt akin to a lover trailing a feather up my calves in the middle of foreplay.
The.
Shoes.
Fit.
Perfectly.
Like a second skin. Despite their perfect fit, if I wanted to wiggle my toes, it was as if the leather momentarily stretched to accommodate my desire, and then shifted back to the snugger fit immediately after.
“These are shoes,” Darling said proudly, beaming at my ear-to-ear grin.
Chapter 36
I almost felt like crying. “I’ve never been alive before this moment,” I said, face entirely serious. Dear clapped her hands excitedly. I laid it on thick, hoping to god that their price wasn’t going to turn me into a bank robber. Because, for these shoes? I might just do it. “It’s like I’m seeing color for the first time after thinking the world was black and white.”
Darling’s shoulders straightened like a peacock’s tail. “That is very kind of you,” he said, dipping his head in a slight bow. “Now, we must discuss price.”
I prepared to Shadow Walk out of here without realizing it. I wanted the shoes that badly. I caught myself at the last second, knowing I couldn’t resort to theft. The guilt would eat me alive.
“For showing me life for the very first time in my existence, I fear to hear the cost…” I said.
Darling’s mouth clicked closed, and Dear shot him a very considering look. For a full minute, they didn’t blink. I wondered if I was actually open to selling my soul for these shoes, and had decided that I might be, when they finally turned back to me as one, unified i
n whatever decision they had come to.
Dear cleared her throat. “Two things,” she began. I nodded hesitantly. “One, that you show us mercy in the days to come, remembering this kindness between us.” I nodded, waiting for her second request. “Two, that you end this nonsense going on outside.”
I blinked at her. “Nonsense?”
Darling clasped his hands behind his back. “The murders, Callie. They really are bad for business, and our kind have more often than not been associated with such atrocities.”
I opened my mouth, a dozen questions going through my mind. “It was always my intent to end this nonsense, as you call it. But I’m having trouble finding the killer, and I keep finding myself coming back to square one.” I decided not to pounce on the obvious question. What were they, and why were they typically suspected of such heinous crimes?
They considered me thoughtfully. “And if we can assist you in this matter?” Dear asked.
I tapped my knees with a finger, considering. “Please don’t take offense by this, and understand I have a point.” They nodded, waiting. “I don’t know what your kind means.” I held up a finger as they clamored to answer. “And I wouldn’t normally care, but I seek the truth. If your kind is typically accused of such things, and since I don’t know what you are, how do I know you aren’t simply guiding me towards a personal target, bribing me with shoes?”
They considered that in silence, not taking offense, and turning back to each other for another private conversation. After recent events, I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear they were Isis and Osiris, or something crazy. Which briefly brought back memories of the demon’s house, and how Johnathan had been obsessed with how many supernaturals that seemed to gravitate towards Missouri. What was I stumbling into, and why? Did Roland perhaps have another reason to make Kansas City a permanent home? Because it was in Missouri?
I realized they were staring at me, and met their eyes. “We appreciate your question,” Darling said. “You have given this thought, and not accused us of anything at the same time, even though you called to question our intent. This is wise.”
Feathers and Fire Series Box Set 1 Page 45
