Soothsayer

by Cari Z

  That settled that. They’d found him, found him before Jakob ever came and threatened me here, and had snatched him up as a hostage without bothering to tell me. It made me feel way better about my mom and Marisol’s chances, and way worse about Andre’s, but I had a plan. The beginnings of a plan, anyway.

  Sören touched my arm and smiled at me. “You already arranged for a sacrifice!” he whispered excitedly. I felt sick, witnessing his glee. “It’s perfect!”

  It was so, so far from perfect, but I wasn’t ready to confess anything to Sören yet.

  I shifted in my chair so the little Buddha dug less into my hip and looked over at Roger and Annie. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to fly us to Chicago?”

  “Hell, son,” Roger drawled. “All you had to do was ask.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  There was a long list of things I needed to review before my actual confrontation with Ólafur and his brood. The trouble was, I couldn’t quite remember any of it. Most of it was setup, things that I needed to do at just the right time in order to get the result I wanted. I was heading out to conduct a symphony of violence and lies, and there was no time for rehearsal. Everything had to happen just right, which would take an unholy amount of concentration, but my mind swam around like a guppy in a fishbowl, turning in endless circles but not getting anywhere at all.

  When we arrived in Chicago, landing at a private airport instead of one of the big ones, it was after midnight, and I was exhausted. I accepted Annie and Roger’s offer of a safe place to spend the night in the back room of their office here in Chicago, which as places that were well-protected went was about as good as it got. Security cameras watched all angles of approach, and each of the employees―and how they were so goddamn perky after midnight I had no idea―were all armed to the teeth. When I saw the cot in the back, which looked way nicer than any “cot” I’d ever slept on before, I could have cried with relief. I still had a few things to do, though, so I left Sören chatting with Annie, who’d mastered small talk like no one I’d ever met before, and pulled Roger aside.

  “This is the last favor, I swear,” I said quietly. Roger just chuckled.

  “Hell, Cillian, you’re keeping my Annie busy, and that’s plenty worth a favor or two. She hates downtime. What do you need?”

  “I need something to wear tomorrow. Something better than this.” I didn’t have time to run to the suit shop, and they wouldn’t have exactly what I was looking for anyway.

  “Yeah? What exactly?”

  I told him. I specified color, lengths, durability, everything I could think of. Roger just nodded, his expression never more than calm. This was a man who knew how to roll with the weird. I had to give him that. If I survived this, I was going to owe him and Annie so, so much.

  “I can handle that,” he said once I finished. “You sure you don’t want one of these too?” He held something out, and I stared at it for a second and then started to laugh.

  “Oh man, that’s perfect. Yeah, I want one of those.”

  “Thought so.” Roger patted my shoulder. “Go get some sleep, Cillian. Everything else’ll keep until morning.”

  “Sure.” I undressed and lay down in the dark, but I just couldn’t fall asleep. Somewhere out there, Andre was in the hands of Ólafur Egilsson, probably being interrogated about what he knew, how he knew it, and who I was to him. That was on me. Somewhere out there, Marisol had been driven out of her home, her shop, her entire life because she’d been a friend and mother to me when I’d had almost nothing. Somewhere out there―and I had to believe this―my mother was on the run, forced out of the home she’d made for herself, the first place she’d felt safe in maybe her entire life, all so that she wasn’t turned into leverage against me while I did something objectively insane.

  Sören entered the room and lay down behind me, tucking his body in close to mine, knees to knees, chest to back. He wound his arm over my waist, and I let him snuggle us tighter together. He felt cold, but maybe I was getting used to that now, because it didn’t bother me the way it had at first. His lips touched the back of my neck, and I felt myself crack inside, just a little. Everything I had done, I’d done for him. Was it worth it? It had to be worth it―it had to be worth what was going to happen next.

  “Promise me you will not risk yourself needlessly,” Sören said. His voice was like the murmur of wind over water, stirring ripples that danced across the surface of a calm, quiet pool. “You are not expendable. Without you, there is no bargain.”

  “I know how it works.”

  “That is not a promise.”

  “That’s all I can give you.”

  There was silence for a long moment, and then the chill changed. Sören gasped and started to shake, and I rolled over instantly. “Sören?”

  “Cillian…” It was him; the difference was immediately apparent. I gathered him into my arms and drew him close, but things were different this time around. He got warm faster, his shivers subsiding to occasional tremors after only a minute or so, and when he finally pulled back, there was more sanity than before in his bright blue eyes, and more fear. “Oh my god, what are you doing?”

  “I’ve got a plan.”

  “What plan?”

  “Sören, it won’t work if I tell you.” I actually had no idea if it was going to work regardless, but I couldn’t share it with Sören, not in either form. It would just make both of them worry. There was one thing I needed to know―one piece of the puzzle I wasn’t sure of yet. “I do have to ask you something, though. Will you be my second?”

  Sören shook his head. “I can’t be your second. I’m the prize here.”

  “No, you’re not. The vættir is, but you aren’t.”

  “Cillian, we’re the same.”

  “That’s not true.” I made Sören meet my eyes. “I know it’s not true. You might live in the same body, but fundamentally you’re two different people. Otherwise how could you be a sacrifice for him?” I sighed. “I’m not asking because I expect you to sit down with your father and negotiate on my behalf or anything. I just―it seems like something I need, and you’re the only one I trust enough to ask. So please, trust me now. Be my second.”

  “Nothing good happens when you ask me to take things on faith.” Sören stared at me, eyes wet, his fingers digging too hard into my back. I loved it, every bit of it. I felt like I could breathe again, like my heart was really beating for the first time since I’d seen him last. I was growing fond of the landvættir. I could admit that to myself, but everything I was doing, every stupid chance I was taking and problem I was causing for the people who loved me, I did for Sören. “Fine, I’m your second, whatever, but Cillian, fuck, please tell me you know what you’re doing.”

  “I love you.” That was the more important sentiment here, I thought. “Just…keep that in mind, okay? You’re not making me do anything. I’m doing it all because I love you.”

  He smiled a little. “Asshole, that’s my line.”

  “You already got your chance to use it. It’s my turn now.”

  “Cillian…” Sören surged forward and pressed his lips to mine. Oh god, this, this felt good, it felt incredible, warm and soft and so full of want for me that I couldn’t help but respond. This wasn’t anyone but Sören, the man I loved. My body responded so fast it left me dizzy, my cock straining in my briefs. Sören didn’t reach down to touch me, and he didn’t touch himself, although I wasn’t sure if that was because he didn’t know how I would take it or if he wasn’t hard himself, but he thrust his thigh between my legs and pulled me into the kiss, going deeper, taking even more of me.

  I let him have me. I let him have everything―it was all his anyway. I had never felt so overwhelmed by another person, so desperate for them. I didn’t know if it was good or not, what we had together―a love forged on a bedrock of violence and guilt and sacrifice. It wasn’t normal, I knew that, but then normal wasn’t ever going to apply to me in any meaningful way. Sören held me close, and
I rutted against his thigh like a teenager, pressure and heat and an unbearable ache growing in my groin. God, it had been forever since I’d come and even longer since I’d actually enjoyed it, and now I was with him, and it might be the last time, and I needed―I needed―

  Sören swallowed my cry, muffled it with his lips and soothed the wreckage of my body afterward with hands gone gentle now, almost worshipful as he stroked over my chest and neck.

  He finally cupped my cheek and stared at me. “You’re crazy,” he whispered, and I managed to nod through the fugue of my orgasm. “You’re so fucking crazy that whatever you’ve got planned just might work.”

  “Will work,” I mumbled. Sören didn’t call me on my bullshit, just helped pull off my soiled clothes, wiped me down gently with my T-shirt, and then wrapped his arms around my waist and settled his head on my stomach.

  “I love you.” He pressed the words into my skin, rolled them across my belly and the ink I had there, a tree with branches like a skeleton’s fingers, reaching into the pale sky of my torso for an empty embrace. “I fucking love you, you crazy bastard. You have to live, Cillian. You have to live.”

  “That’s up to Fate, babe.” And some very careful timing, but for the first time since I’d kidnapped Sören out of that hotel room, I had faith, finally, that something good might come out of this. “I need to sleep,” I added regretfully, because my vision was blurring, and I was so tired I thought I might pass out in a minute. “Will you stay with me?” Just you, not both of you?

  “I will. All night.”

  “Good.” I fell asleep with my hands in his hair, the comfort of his weight―his warm, living weight―on my body. It was a perfect moment.

  ✩✩✩

  When I woke up, Sören was no longer holding me. He also wasn’t Sören anymore. Eyes like purple smoke stared at me curiously, and my heart sank. “Where is―he said―”

  “That he would hold you all night. It is no longer nighttime, Cillian. The sun is high, and you have much to accomplish this day.” He held out a bundle of clothes. “Roger brought these for you.”

  “Oh.” Well, letter of the law and all that. I was grateful for what little time we’d had. I sat up, gave myself a cursory sniff, and decided fuck it, I didn’t really need a shower. I did my best with the sink and some paper towels before I came back out and started getting into my new gear.

  The suit was nicer than I’d expected, a light gray herringbone with a beige shirt. No tie, a sturdy leather belt with a Texas-style buckle shined to a mirror sheen overlaying the standard one, a leather jacket, new shoes, and on top of it all, a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. Oh fuck, I’d just asked for them for verisimilitude, but I hadn’t realized just how badly I wanted one until I laid eyes on them. I opened the pack, pulled one out, and lit it, smoke alarms be damned. The first drag felt like a fucking blessing.

  “You made that face with Sören last night.”

  “Shut up,” I muttered, blowing the smoke out with a grateful sigh. Nasty habit, true, but sometimes all you needed was a fucking cigarette. This was the only one of my needs I could control right now, so I took my time with it, smoked the cigarette down to ash, and tapped it out in the sink before I got back with the program.

  I dressed quickly, rummaged in the pocket of the jacket until I found the thin gold chain I’d asked for, and knotted it around the Buddha’s neck before clasping it around my own. Kind of an awkward necklace, but I’d deal.

  I grabbed my gun, because that would certainly be expected, and then headed out into the main room, with Sören blissfully silent behind me. Good, I didn’t want to answer any questions about last night.

  Roger was there, playing on his phone, but he looked up when we came in. “Hey. Lookin’ sharp!”

  My answering smile was vicious. “Good to know.”

  “You got everything you need?”

  “I think so.”

  “Well then.” He put his phone away and stood up. “Where can I drop you boys?”

  I glanced at Roger’s eyes and, happily, got a glimpse of something I’d been wondering about. “You can drop us at the nearest Denny’s.”

  “Really?” Sören asked excitedly.

  “Really.”

  Roger didn’t ask, just drove us ten blocks to the garish yellow building that had become synonymous with the landvættir’s favorite things. “See you later,” Roger said with perfect assurance. I shook his hand.

  “You know it. Tell Annie thanks, from both of us.”

  “You can tell her yourself, son.” He drove off and we went inside, and Sören ordered the most obscene waffle I’d ever seen, more fruit and syrup and whipped cream on top of it than you’d find in a bakery. He ate every bite with relish, and I sipped my coffee and had a few pieces of toast. I didn’t want to start shaking from low blood sugar in the middle of what was about to come.

  I finally interrupted Sören in the middle of his second waffle. “Are you happy?”

  “Very happy,” he said after swallowing. “This is my favorite food.”

  “Good.” It wasn’t much, but if he had to remember me any way, I wanted it to be as someone who liked him enough to get him what he wanted. “I’m glad.”

  “Cillian… Sören was very upset last night.”

  “I know.”

  “He was also very happy.”

  “That’s good.” I had known that too, but I didn’t mind hearing it again.

  “You do have a real plan today, don’t you?”

  “Of course.” What was it with everyone doubting my plans? Were they really that bad?

  A black SUV pulled into the parking lot, and I threw a twenty down on the table. “Looks like our ride is here.”

  “Oh.” Sören put down his fork and stared pensively at his plate. “I don’t want to go with them.”

  “Maybe after today you won’t have to again.”

  “Good. That is what I want.”

  You and me both. I stood up, waited for Sören to join me, and then headed outside toward my own fate.

  I had plans, I did. Hopefully they would be enough.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The SUV wasn’t as luxurious as I’d expected, but it was gratifying not to be cuffed immediately and stripped of everything I had on me. The driver who met us did take my gun, but that was just good business. He considered over the lighter and the pack of cigarettes, but I gave him a look and said, “Those might be my last fucking request, okay?” After a moment, he shrugged and handed them over before showing us into the back of the car.

  The younger brother was inside. He also held a gun on both of us. “Hello, Rolf,” Sören said pleasantly as he settled into a seat.

  “Just keep your mouth shut,” Rolf snapped, his eyes darting anxiously between us. He was shorter than his older brothers, a little slimmer, and had none of the stolid forcefulness of Artύr or the whiplash intelligence of Jakob. He looked even younger than Sören, honestly, and I was a little surprised that he was the one who’d been sent to fetch us. “Both of you.”

  “Talking passes the time better,” I said. “How have you been since Chicago, Rolf? Not running after us, obviously.” I took in the slight tremble in his hand, the slick pallor of his face, and came to a few conclusions. “I guess someone had to hang around and be the gopher for your dad while your brothers were busting their asses.”

  “I told you to shut up.”

  “I know, I know.” I held up my hands. “Or rather, I guess I don’t. It’s not like I know what being cooped up with a megalomaniacal, magic-wielding, abusive parent is like. How’s your shoulder, by the way?” Rolf was holding his right side very stiffly, and I remembered from before his father’s penchant for grabbing Rolf a little too hard by the arm and shaking him to make a point. It looked like the last time he’d done it had resulted in dislocation.

  “It’s none of―it’s―”

  “Is he still injuring you?” Sören frowned darkly. “He no longer has the excuse of his temper, a
nd that was a poor reason to begin with.”

  “I’m fine,” Rolf bit out. “Just keep your mouths shut, all right? We’ll be there soon.”

  I didn’t say anything, but I didn’t stop looking at Rolf either. He squirmed under my scrutiny, and I suddenly realized what was going on here. Rolf was a test, a chance for me to prove my intentions. If I meant to go in guns blazing, the best way for me to start things off would be to take Rolf hostage. Maybe Ólafur had hoped I’d kill him, which would give him leave to dispense with some of the formalities that were coming up and just blow me to smithereens once he had Sören safe again.

  No, nope, wasn’t gonna do it. Formalities were going to save my ass once “negotiations” got going. Formalities were keeping Andre alive right now and what made me more than 50 percent sure that Jakob had been blowing smoke up my ass when he’d talked about killing Marisol and my mother. Magic was a tricky thing, and the older it was, the more formalities and ritual became a part of it. I didn’t know much about Icelandic lore, but I did know that Ólafur wasn’t going to start things off inhospitably, not now. Being inhospitable had cost his family too much. I had no doubt he’d never meant to kill me after he realized what was going on, not even when he sent Artύr after me. We had bargains to discuss and sacrifices to lay at Sören’s feet before there could be any killing.

  Rolf being here, and being so obviously out of his depth, was an invitation for me to break the rules of hospitality before Ólafur did. He was bait, plain and simple, but I wasn’t about to swallow this worm down. Besides, the kid had obviously been through enough.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Shut up.”

  “There’s no need to be a broken record. I’m just asking a question.”

  “We’re going to my land,” Sören said, eagerness shining in his eyes. “I can feel it drawing closer. My power is growing.”