Soul Merchant (Isabella Hush Series Book 5)

by Thea Atkinson

  I imagined my pulse was hammering along quite nicely. My heart was certainly stuttering. He always did that to me and yet...

  His fingers moved to poke at my eyelids and while I expected the annoyance to shift the swoony feeling off, it did nothing of the sort, and that pissed me off more than anything.

  "Bugger off," I said and tried to swat his hand away.

  "Your eyes are different," he said with a narrowed gaze.

  I jerked my chin toward the grimoire I'd dropped onto the floor.

  "I told you already. Shock," I said. "It's a physiological thing." I wasn't dismissing it, but I wanted him to pay more attention to the book. "I found that on his shelf. What will you give me for it?"

  He tilted his head toward the hall, giving the box his renewed attention before he regarded me again with a narrowed gaze. The molten flecks of his eyes sparked like flames dancing within. I felt his weight against my chest.

  "What was in the box?" he said

  I lifted a finger to correct him. "What is in the box, you mean."

  His gaze darted again to the foyer as he realized the difference in verb tense.

  "Yeah," I said. "About that. It's got a snake in it."

  I saw him swallow.

  "Nice big black one with bright red eyes," I said nodding at him as his expression went ever so carefully blank. I knew from experience that he didn't want me to guess what he was thinking.

  "I wish you wouldn't do that," I said.

  His russet eyebrows scuttled down. "Black, you said."

  "Yup. Black as Cleo's heart. It bit my landlord. Poisoned him. Paramedics took him to Emerg’."

  He reached for my eyelid again, and I whacked his arm with the back of my wrist, blocking his touch.

  "I came over to complain to my landlord because my door was open and the lock broken. I found him on the floor. I found the box on the table, and I found the snake on the bookshelf."

  I tried to hoist myself onto my elbows but a gentle pressure from his palm on my chest held me down.

  "Speaking of our Queen of the Nile, I want Cleopatra's head on a platter," I said. "A silver one. And then I want you to buy back the platter so I can melt it down."

  "Explain," he said and so I did, filling in the best I could.

  "It won't do any good to bring you her head," he said. "Vampires don't die that way. But if she did send the snake, she would have had to do it at least week ago. She hadn't even heard from me then."

  My stomach gurgled and I felt the awful wracking’s of bowel complaints. I clutched my belly and tried to roll off the sofa. Even though he sat beneath my legs, his weight from the waist up as he leaned over me was too much. I fought off a wave of sweat and held my breath till it went away and I could talk again.

  "I don't understand."

  He scooped beneath my knees and shoulders and in one movement stood with me in his arms. I felt even dizzier with the movement.

  "I know the box style," he said. "It's from a shop in my bazaar. They have a long waiting list."

  I sucked the back of my teeth as I tried to look up at him and failed. I ended up letting my head fall backward. It felt much better that way.

  "I should have known your dastardly bazaar would be involved," I said as he strode for the door with me hanging like a doll in his arms.

  I didn't mind him carrying me home. To be honest, I didn't think I had it in me to walk alone so I wasn't going to protest. But I wasn't so out of it that I would forget the next most important thing.

  "Don't forget the book."

  "We have more pressing things to worry about than an alleged grimoire," he said with that same clipped tone.

  "Like what?" I said, trying and failing to stretch out toward the book in the hopes of snagging it on my way by.

  "Like keeping you alive."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I DIDN'T DOUBT HIS worry for me, but really; it was unfounded. I knew the snake had released all of its poison into my landlord. That was why the poor man had been taken out on a stretcher and I was still—sort of—standing.

  I wasn't quite as concerned about my imminent death as Maddox seemed to be. There were other things that needed to be addressed. Like Cleopatra getting her just desserts for such a heinous thing as to send a rattlesnake via cake box delivery. But I played along, and enjoyed the feeling of being in his arms as he headed from the living room.

  "The book," I insisted. "It's my pay. I'm not letting you take me out of here without it."

  He grunted in the back of his throat, but at least he looped the box's string around his index finger, freeing up his other hand to hook the book. He carried both as he strode to the hall, opened the door, and carried me out onto the stoop where a breeze washed over my face and made my eyes water. I was just glad it didn't carry a wave of diaper stink to my nose.

  Maddox pulled the door closed behind him with an audible click.

  "Don't lock it," I said with a yawn. "I don't know if he has his key with him."

  "Don't worry," he said. "I'm not interested in keeping his apartment safe from thieves."

  He didn't so much as look at me, but I could make out the movement of a half grin on his mouth. I imagined he thought his little jibe about my vocation would make me laugh. It didn't.

  We were standing on the stoop and while I could feel a fresh breeze against my cheek, it wasn't cool like the first one. In fact, everything was starting to feel as though things were brushing against skin that was numb from cold. There was pressure where I rested in his arms but no real sensation.

  I must be really exhausted. I all but stretched in his grip like a cat in the sun until he looked down at me and broke the spell.

  "You look funny," he said.

  "You see in the dark now?" I said.

  His jaw clenched for a moment as he shifted me higher against his chest as he went down the stairs to the sidewalk. I thought he would say something sharp and stern because I was changing the subject and he was detail oriented at best. But he didn't.

  He gave me a tidbit of information I didn't expect to hear instead.

  "I've always been able to see in the dark," he said. "Part of what I am. What I was. The demon fighter in me, I guess."

  "I thought all you did was guard that damn stone," I said, sincerely surprised, even as I loathed the thought of the stone that had taken me to Hell.

  I didn't want to think about the stone itself or where it was, off in his father's clutches, safe as far as we knew, and protected from evil men like Absalom who would use the power within for God only knew what.

  I was just glad it was gone. The tether I had to it, that was created when I traveled to hell and back had nearly made me immortal like Maddox. I'd come within stink's distance of living forever.

  Instead, the magic just clung to me like a bad smell.

  I looked up at the chin that had set itself into a position that made me think he would have a headache later.

  "So," I said, trying to tease out even more of his past because up to that point, the most interesting thing I'd learned about him—and quite by accident—was that he was a virgin. "You were some sort of warrior before you were a cheesy bazaar owner?"

  "I wasn't always a guardian," he said tightly. "I did have a life before that, Isabella. Many lives, in fact."

  "Sheesh," I said. "Snappy much?"

  He obviously wasn't interested in talking about himself. Not that it surprised me, but it did disappoint me. I shifted in his arms, trying to find a way out but he clutched me tighter.

  "You can put me down now."

  "I told you, you don't look right," he said.

  "No doubt it's the narrow escape from a nasty vampire and a poisonous snake," I said. "Fear can do that to a gal."

  He made a small grunting sound in the back of his throat that indicated he was not of the same mind as I was.

  "I'm feeling better," I said, mentally running down my body parts and testing out how each one felt. I was surprised to feel as though I was
telling the truth. My legs were heavy, I was still dizzy, but the spot where the snake had bit me on the arm didn't sting quite so bad anymore. I could even feel an almost pleasant warmth stealing its way from my solar plexus, which had to mean my heart was beating oxygen through my tissues just fine.

  "Put me down," I said as he strode down the steps and aimed himself in the direction of my apartment. "I'll just go sleep it off in my bed."

  I tried to stifle another yawn but he caught me and snapped at me.

  "Don't you dare go to sleep. We have to get you to the bazaar."

  "What?" I said, perking up at the mention of his bazaar enough to lift my head off the cushion of his arm. "You didn't say you were taking me there." I struggled in earnest then, but he tightened his grip enough that I protested again.

  "I'm not going to the Shadow Bazaar."

  He didn't argue but neither did he stop walking with a determined stride that indicated he had already made up his mind.

  "It's almost morning," I said, pleading now. "You've got a lovely grimoire to sell thanks to me, I saved my landlord's life, and I, unlike you, am a human in need of rest."

  He stepped up his pace and was rounding the short fence where Mr. Smith had added several extra garbage cans to border the property. The stink indicated he'd filled at least one of them with fish.

  He was muttering words I couldn't make out, and I got the feeling he was talking more to himself than to me. I needed to remind him he wasn't carrying a sack of flour.

  "I want to go to bed."

  "Kerri has a shop in the bazaar," Maddox said. "She might have something that can help."

  "Kerri?" I said, intrigued, despite myself. I hadn't seen her since we had stolen an ancient coin from the museum that Maddox said belonged to her. That had been months ago. I would be happy to see her. But it wouldn't be in the bazaar. Not if I could help it.

  "You're baiting me," I said.

  "No, I'm not. She really might be able to help. It's why I need to take you to the bazaar."

  He rubbed at his nose with his finger, squeezing me close enough that I could feel his heartbeat against my cheek. The corner of the box knocked into my nose and made my eyes water. I could sense the snake inside recoiling.

  I batted it away. At least, I tried to. I ended up swatting at it like a quadriplegic trying to grab a spoon.

  "And why is that again?" I said, absently trying to wiggle my fingers and grapple with information at the same time. For some reason, doing both seemed impossible.

  "She has a potion shop there."

  "And let me guess. I need a potion," I said, wriggling in earnest now that I realized my fingers weren't truly obeying me, and realized that the harder I struggled, the less I seemed to move.

  "Oh great," I said. "You're not playing fair."

  Whatever he was doing to me, it was making me pretty damn tired. "You and your magic can just leave off. I'm not going through that Blood Gate again. Not ever."

  My arms and legs felt logy. They didn't obey me so easily. I slumped in frustration. I couldn't remember being this tired.

  "Maddox," I said, giving it another try before giving up. "I'm really tired. Can't you squeeze me through some less evil portal tomorrow?"

  I watched the way his throat tensed into bands of muscle.

  "Maddox?" I said again.

  "You won't have to go through the Blood Gate or the Fire Gate," he said. "Don't worry."

  I noted he was heading toward my basement window instead of my stoop and while I thought about questioning him on it, his tone shifted to something akin to apology.

  "I made a gate for you so you wouldn't have to travel the worst of them," he said. "Now that you're my employee, the gate will recognize you. Only two beings can go through it. You. And me. At least, theoretically."

  He said this last part with a bit of a musing tone and I gathered that while he was feeling a sense of urgency, he wasn't so sure that his magic would work on me.

  "Oh fuck me," I said. "You don't even know if I can go through the damn thing."

  I gave a good go at struggling but discovered I couldn't move, a fact that he seemed to notice at the same time I did.

  "Good Gods, Isabella. You're like dead weight," he complained.

  "Then put me down," I said. "No one asked you to manhandle me in the first place."

  He grunted as he hitched me up higher. "I'm not sure why I was so worried about you. You certainly haven't been wasting away on that sofa."

  "Chips and vanilla ice cream," I said, feeling a bit ashamed as I envisioned myself dipping rippled chip after rippled chip into a big bowl of French vanilla ice cream.

  "Feels more like a few dozen plates of Canadian Poutine."

  I had no idea what poutine was. I didn't care.

  "OK. That's it," I said. "Put me down."

  He looked down at me as we neared the basement window. His head canted to the side for a moment and then he released me.

  Just like that.

  Pulled his arms away and I landed on my butt on the grass before I noticed he'd done it.

  I lay there, looking up at him, feeling queerly outside myself. The dew from the grass sopped through my jeans, but I didn't feel cold. The fall should have hurt. I should be angry. Terrified. Something. I should scold him for being so nasty.

  "You have a portal in my basement," is what I said.

  The box hung from his finger and he dangled it over my face. He tossed the book on my lap.

  "How long has it been there?"

  He swung the box back and forth. "A while," he said with an exhale.

  I did the math on a while. It came out to about the time Absalom had escaped with the threat he'd be back, and when I'd refused to let Maddox move in with me to protect the magic that clung to me.

  "So what you're saying is the portal is how you've been watching me. And how you got here so damn fast."

  He tapped his temple with his finger and the box swung back and forth in the air. I could hear the snake sliding back and forth and I had the feeling I should wince or something. Instead, I was mesmerized by the motion until he tucked it beneath his arm.

  "And what did you call this one?" I asked.

  The Blood Gate had required my blood in order to transport me, the Fire Gate had literally been made of flames, that I only managed to pass through because I was tucked in his arms and cloaked by his power.

  He grinned as he crouched in front of me. I could just make out the way his eyes flashed in the light from the basement window which I knew, just knew, wasn't really turned on inside my house. I never left lights on without curtains hiding me from outside eyes.

  "What do you think?" he asked, and crossed his elbows over his knees.

  I had the feeling he'd watched every single bit of junk food I'd crammed into my gob while lying on the sofa in my sweats. The snacks flickered through my mind like a movie.

  "Please tell me it's the vanilla ice cream and chips gate," I said.

  He chuckled but his expression didn't move into one of humor. He still looked worried and I thought his laughter was for my benefit and not his.

  "What else would I call it?" he said. "I had to name it the Pussy Gate."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE PUSSY GATE. SINCE he'd created the portal weeks earlier, I knew the name had nothing to do with the taunting I'd given him through the evening. That could only mean it was an expression of what he thought of me. I was a pussy.

  "I'm not scared of the gates," I said, trying and failing to whack him on the arm. "They just fucking hurt."

  He caught my arm in the middle of its awkward swing and held it aloft in between us. In one deft movement, he slipped his index finger beneath my elbow and balanced it there like a fulcrum.

  "Are you having trouble moving, Isabella?"

  He stared at my arm for a long moment and then pulled his finger away. My arm felt like it wasn't attached to me at all. I dropped like a stone.

  "I'm tired," I said, waspish. "It's
been a hell of a long day."

  His face went about the same shade as a piece of old gum as he leaned toward me and into the yellow light that bled out from my basement window. He pursed his lips, but only for a moment, as though he was trying to keep from saying something he'd regret. In the end, he couldn't stop himself.

  He scooped me up again by grabbing me by the waist and tossing me over his shoulder.

  "You are one stubborn wench," he said.

  He adjusted my hips so that the fleshier part rested against his collarbone, more for his comfort than mine, I guessed. I couldn't feel a thing. "And mouthy," he said. "Good Gods, you're mouthy."

  I might have kept my mouth shut, out of Scottie-ingrained habit, had I not heard a subtle tinge of admiration in his tone.

  "I'm not mouthy," I said. "I have opinions."

  He ignored that, choosing instead to sigh deep in his throat in a way that made his breath rattle. He stooped to retrieve the grimoire from my lap.

  "And you have literally zero qualms about stealing from someone you know."

  "Hey," I said, this time feeling stung.

  "Hey nothing."

  He was striding toward the basement door much faster, and I was bobbing along behind his back as though I was a doll with too big a head. He hitched me up again when I started to slide.

  "It's all true. All that and more of it. I've spent centuries avoiding the wiles of the most demure, most sensual, most manipulative women ever and it's one small, mouthy little human who gets to me."

  His hand slid up the back of my thigh as he spoke, but I heard the movement of his dry palms sloughing the surface of my jeans more than I felt the warmth of his touch.

  "Well, I tell you," he went on. "I'm not going to let you, let me, let you pretend nothing is wrong because you don't want to see it."

  "You're not making any sense," I complained even as I tried to turn my head so that my nose wasn't smashing into his spine every step. He'd said something interesting, hadn't he? Something I'd let slip by? His grumbling was making it impossible to focus on one thing.

  I gathered that we had made it to the basement when he kicked at the door with a little more force than I thought was necessary. I smelled the deep musk of non-use and told myself that was a good thing.