No Earthly Treason (The Necromancer's Daughter Book 2)

by Genevra Black

  Mercy’s head spun at the light touches. She wanted him. She wanted this so bad, but—

  Gently but firmly, she placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back a bit. “Hey….”

  The vættr stopped, peering down at her. She unwound her legs from his waist, and he pulled his hands back like he had touched something hot. Probably afraid of being devoured—he’d mentioned that sjóvættir tended to make meals of each other at the smallest slight.

  Thankfully, it was much easier for her to stand alone in the water. “Fisk … I like you a lot. And I can’t even tell you how much I appreciate your, um, companionship. I like being close to you.” She sighed. “But … I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

  He simply tilted his head.

  “I just left a relationship, and I need to focus on healing.” Mercy looked deep into his eyes, willing him to understand. “I think I want to be with you, but with everyone going on…. I need time.”

  Fisk seemed to mull this over, searching her gaze. At length, he smiled, and hugged her close once more so he could nuzzle her cheek. His voice was raspy as he spoke: “For you, I would wait an eternity.”

  Mercy blinked. Tears fell down her cheeks, but she was grinning. She wiped them away with the heel of her palm before wrapping her arms around his neck and planting a kiss on his mouth, which he returned very eagerly. Sure, she had just told him she wasn’t ready, but one little kiss wouldn’t hurt, right? She wasn’t sure she could help herself if she tried.

  Suddenly, the glass door slammed open. Mercy practically jumped out of Fisk’s arms, whirling to see who had interrupted them.

  It was Cal. Worry was etched on his features as he stomped in, but it was replaced with bemusement, then disgust, as he realized what he’d walked in on. “Well,” he grumbled, “this gives a new meaning to the term hooking up.”

  Mercy crossed her arms. “Can we help you?”

  “Where’s Tilda?”

  “She’s coming back soon, why?”

  Cal jerked a thumb toward the stack of towels sitting on one of the lounge chairs. “You’re gonna wanna dry off.”

  She was already climbing out of the pool, with a little help from Fisk. “What happened? Is Edie okay?”

  The revenant simply shook his head.

  “I knew there was something odd going on,” Tilda said as she set a tea tray down on one end of her long dining table. Antoniu was close behind with a plate of tiny sandwiches. “When she was here, I found her going through my things. She was asking all sorts of strange questions.”

  A glare was plastered on Cal’s face as he watched Mercy take one of the sandwiches. He tried to look anywhere but Tilda. She wasn’t stupid; she probably knew he’d been avoiding her. He didn’t wanna see that hurt look on her face, like their failed relationship was all his fault. He’d gotten enough of that at the party.

  Mostly, he ended up looking at her skinny boy-toy wraith. What the hell was with that? She could do better.

  “Should’ve never trusted that Norn,” he mumbled. “There was no reason for her to insist on seeing Edie alone. Should’ve known something was up.”

  “You couldn’t have known it would come to this.” The vampire smoothed her skirt out and sat across from him.

  The revenant shook his head and said out loud what he’d been thinking earlier: “She was at Zaedicus’s shindig. Anyone who goes to a place like that belongs there.”

  Tilda went silent.

  “Someone has to go after her,” Mercy said, already on her second sandwich. In the time he’d known her, Cal had found out she was a big stress eater. “Can you still feel her?”

  “A little. The thoughts I’m able to pick up aren’t very coherent, though. Makes me think she might be unconscious.”

  Fisk huffed. “How could this be? What has she done to anger the Norn?”

  “Herself? Probably nothing.” Cal fished his phone out of his back pocket and flashed Satara’s message around the table. “She was baiting her so she would lure Astrid to the house, and the kid fell for it hook, line, and sinker.”

  Mercy’s face was twisted with worry as she devoured another sandwich. She stored it in her cheek like a little squirrel when she spoke. “She has Satara and Astrid, too?”

  “Astrid pissed her off like a hundred years ago or something, so it makes sense she’d want to get back at her. But why now? And what the hell is going down in there?”

  “We have to help her,” Tilda cut in, wringing her hands.

  Cal clenched his jaw. Yeah, we aren’t doing anything, he wanted to say, but kept his mouth shut. Even he had the sense not to bite the very rich, manicured hand that was feeding them at the moment. “I’m not doing anything until I know what’s going on in there.”

  “Who cares what’s going on?” Mercy snapped, staring at him in astonishment. “We know everything we need to, which is that our friends are in trouble!”

  “And what kinda wards do you think she has on her house?” he returned. “What’s her security like? How’d she trap them, and what’s she using to keep them trapped? We went into Zaedicus’s mansion without a clue and look how that turned out.” He gestured to her legs.

  “What do you think we should do, Cal, find blueprints of her house?”

  “Might help.” He growled. “Can you let me do what I need to do? You’re not going, anyway!”

  “I assumed you came to find us because you wanted our help.” Mercy crossed her arms. “But fine. What’s your plan?”

  Cal stood and crossed his arms, too, looking around the room in thought. It had been a long time since he was in this penthouse. He’d known it would make him uncomfortable, but he’d never imagined he’d be this on-edge. “I wanna find someone who can tell me what I’m up against. Someone who knows the Norn, or can tell me what she had Edie doing for her.”

  “Wait, what do you mean?” Tilda asked.

  “A few days ago, Edie sent me out on some so-called errands, and when I came back, she was gone. I found her outside the Norn’s place. I think she was having Edie do some of her dirty work, maybe somethin’ related to getting revenge on Astrid. Getting something or recruiting someone, maybe.”

  No one spoke as he began to pace. He walked to the living room and sat down on the couch, holding his head in silence. A few moments later, he sprang back up, quickly coming back to the table.

  “There was a kid,” he said, stabbing the table with a finger. “When I finally found her, she was coming out of the Norn’s building with a girl. Maybe like sixteen. She probably knows.”

  Antoniu, who had been standing next to Tilda’s chair with his arms crossed behind his back, leaned down to whisper in her ear.

  Tilda’s expression changed from one of confusion to surprise, and she glanced at Antoniu before looking to Cal. “What did she look like?”

  “Uh, uh….” He racked his brain, trying to recall details. At the time, he’d been so focused on being angry at Edie that he hadn’t looked at her for very long. “Mid-teens, a couple inches shorter than Edie, maybe Asian? No, Native?”

  “She could be Inuk,” Mercy suggested. “Dumb people mistake them sometimes.”

  Cal shot her a glare.

  Antoniu leaned in to whisper in Tilda’s ear again. She nodded, then looked back at the group. “He thinks he knows who you’re talking about. She’s a young courier he’s worked with a couple of times.”

  Cal looked at Antoniu. “All right, Creepy, where can I find her?”

  Maintaining eye contact with the revenant, Antoniu slowly leaned down once more to whisper in Tilda’s ear.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Sissel sat at the kitchen table, watching the TV flashing in the living room. The smell of cooking soup filled her nose, making her stomach growl. Her dad didn’t make soup for them very often, because it usually involved vegetables getting slimy and wet and she hated that, but he’d found some traditional recipe he wanted to try.

  He’d taken the day off for some reason, and she cou
ld tell it was bad news. He had been circling her like a vulture the whole morning, wanting to know what she was doing, insisting on spending time with her. When she’d finally asked, “Did someone die?” he had seemed surprised, then walked on eggshells the rest of the day.

  Parents were so weird. She rested her head in one hand, using her foot to pet Shorts, who had curled up under the table. Dad had turned on the news while he cooked. The metal whisper of the spoon as he stirred the pot was getting to her, so she shot a glare at his back and strained to listen to the TV instead.

  “Police were called to a horrific scene at the Freegue Bridge homeless camp late last night, where they found the mutilated bodies of thirty-one men, women, and children. Law enforcement were apparently alerted when workers across the river noticed the encampment burning and sounds of panic, leading some social media users to theorize that this strike was organized by a group known as ‘the Watchers.’ Several occupants of the camp are also missing in the wake of the apparent attack….”

  “Takanna!” Dad said cheerfully, setting a bowl of soup in front of her with one hand and clicking the TV off with the other.

  Sissel took her spoon, peering into the soup. “What’s this?”

  “Suaasat, except I couldn’t find any good meat for it, so I used chicken, and … you don’t like cooked onions, so I used onion powder.” His nostrils flared, and little lines appeared on either side of his broad chin as he smiled sheepishly. He sat across from her.

  She spooned a little and laughed good-naturedly. “So it’s chicken and potato soup.”

  “Ha. How about you enjoy your soup instead of sassing me?”

  Sissel tried a couple spoonfuls. It wasn’t the most boring thing she’d ever eaten, but it definitely wasn’t traditional suaasat. She wondered why he had insisted on making it even though the ingredients didn’t really work for them. Hoping to solve the mystery, she asked, “So … what’s with all the Greenlandy stuff lately?”

  Dad chuckled. “I’m an Indigenous Studies professor. Greenlandy stuff is what I do.”

  She squinted at him. He knew what she meant, but he was dancing around the subject. “Yeah, but I’m not taking one of your classes. The food, the documentaries that have been on non-stop, the books you gave me. You’ve even been speaking it more.”

  He took a spoonful of soup, probably trying to look casual, but the subtle pinch of his eyebrows wasn’t fooling her. “What, I can’t be proud of our culture?”

  “Daaaaaad.”

  “Okay, okay.” He began to fiddle with the napkin at the edge of his plate. At length, he sighed and said, “I’ve just … been thinking about Mom a lot.”

  Sissel inhaled through her nose. She never stopped thinking about mom, and she doubted her dad did, either. “Why?”

  “Our anniversary. It’s today.”

  She was quiet for a while, stirring her soup. She didn’t remember much about her mother, but she knew she missed her. She had always made Sissel feel so safe, so understood, and so loved. Dad did those things, too, but it was different somehow, and Sissel longed to feel that connection again. Dad must want to see Mom again, too, but he didn’t talk about it much, and as far as Sissel knew, he wasn’t actively looking for Mom like she was. He’d probably given up hope after so long.

  Speaking of looking for Mom, she had some people she needed to talk to, soon. Maybe she could find Khenbu again and ask him some questions, or follow up on other leads. She kept them all in a document on her phone, as well as a hard copy in a notebook.

  She sighed a little. “I’m gonna go out soon. I have some stuff to do.”

  Her dad responded with silence for a few moments, then: “Sissel….”

  Oh, no. Here it came—whatever he’d been waiting to tell her today. She could tell by his hesitation and the tone of his voice.

  “I don’t really want you going out.”

  “Today?” She wrinkled her nose. “Why?”

  “Er, today, or … ever.” Before she could protest, he continued, “There are crazy people out there. I don’t need to tell you that. You’ve seen the news about the riots and the killings and the attacks, especially on the attuned community—”

  “So?” she snapped, already outraged. “I can take care of myself. This is how I make money.”

  “I let you start couriering because I knew how precocious you are, and yes, I know you can take care of yourself. But you’re a kid. You’re not as powerful as you think you are—”

  “You’re not as powerful as you think you are.”

  “—and it’s not safe.” He raised his voice a bit, trying to be heard over her. “There are too many Gloaming running around looking for trouble. You can’t control all of them.”

  “This is bullshit.”

  “Not to mention it’s getting colder out. There was frost on my windshield yesterday morning.”

  “I don’t care about the fucking frost on your fucking window,” she mumbled, pushing her soup away and standing from the table.

  He remained sitting, but gave her a stern look. “Watch your language.”

  “I’m fine. And you know you can’t tell me what to do.”

  He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. “Are you really going to manipulate me into letting you out? Are you really going to do that?”

  She clenched her jaw. They had had numerous talks about her powers and how to use them ethically, and she didn’t even want to imagine how much trouble she’d get in if she mind-controlled her own dad.

  “This is so stupid. They’ve been bothering people for months and you never said I had to stay home!” She shook her head, brows furrowed. This was so random and unfair, and she was confused. It was like he had waited to drop this bombshell at the worst time.

  “Things have gotten exponentially more dangerous, and you can’t trust the police; they aren’t doing anything about it.”

  “I trust myself!”

  “You’re fifteen years old.”

  “So, what? You get to control everything I do? Am I just never supposed to have my own money or any fucking friends? I can never go outside, you’re gonna lock me away in a cage?”

  “Sissel, you are not being fair. You know I’m trying to keep you safe!” He sighed. “You’re right, I should have made you quit running a while ago. But I’m doing it now, effective immediately.”

  Hot, angry tears welled in her eyes. Why was he doing this to her, locking her away like she was a criminal? She hadn’t done anything but go about her life, and now she was being punished. She felt like ripping out her hair and stomping her feet like a little kid. The rage was overwhelming, so she tried to squish it down. She’d known her dad her whole life, so she knew what made him really angry, and it wasn’t tantrums.

  Without fully meaning for it to happen, she adopted a snarky tone instead, like she was talking to the biggest moron in the world. “You literally can’t control me, dumbass.”

  “Watch your language!”

  “I don’t even know why I’m surprised, to be honest, like, all you ever did was try to control Mom and make her normal. I’d leave, too.”

  She regretted going quite that far the moment the words left her mouth, but there was no going back.

  Dad flinched, took a deep breath, then stood. His voice was infuriatingly calm when he spoke again. “Go to your room. You’re grounded.”

  Sissel’s rage boiled over as she marched to her room and slammed the door. “I hate you!”

  Pressing her back against the door, she sat, resting her head on her knees. She wrapped her arms around her head, blocking out the sunlight that streamed through her windows. As the tears flowed freely, she tried to cry as loudly as she possibly could, to make sure he could hear how much he had hurt her. Maybe he would come and take back the punishment. He probably wouldn’t even care, though. Either way, she’d be vindicated.

  Eventually, though, she ran out of tears—then she ran out of thoughts that could conjure more tears. The anger drained out of her
body, and she was left feeling lighter … though irritated that she had gotten herself into this situation.

  Then, inconveniently, she started to feel bad. They didn’t usually fight like that, if at all—she tended to avoid conflict—but it wasn’t fair. It didn’t make any sense. She had taken care of herself during that fiasco with Edie; she could take care of herself anywhere. Did he not think she was smart enough to avoid the New Gloaming? ’Cause it wasn’t that hard.

  Or maybe there had been a tiny kernel of truth in what she had said about Mom. He said he’d been thinking about her a lot, anyway. Maybe he’d finally decided that keeping his only daughter locked away was the only way to keep her safe, to ensure she didn’t disappear like this wife had.

  But it wasn’t fair. She was her own person. She wouldn’t go anywhere. He should have some faith in her.

  Sniffling, Sissel dragged herself to her bed and sat down. As she did, her phone vibrated in the pocket of her hoodie, so she took it out.

  [1 New Message]

  [Antoniu]: I have a job for you. Meet me at the usual place.

  A little spark of hope lit up her heart. Her dad was being stupid and unfair, but she didn’t necessarily have to do what he said. Might as well go get something done instead of sitting around.

  She read the message again, considering this as she crossed the room again to lock her door. Antoniu was kind of a weirdo, but he didn’t seem to have a great concept of money, so he always tipped well. It was also kind of cool to talk to a wraith that wasn’t enthralled but wasn’t feral, either. He was the only one she’d ever known.

  She pulled her boots on and laced them tight, then knelt on her bed to open her window. Their apartment was on the second floor, but this wasn’t her first time sneaking out. She climbed out onto the roof and scooted until she reached the fire escape outside her dad’s window, then dropped down.

  Old Town Plaza, where she usually met Antoniu, wasn’t that far a walk from here. She texted him that she’d be right there and started on her way.