by Sarah Fine
As they rode down the elevator together, another thought occurred to Eli. “Hey, do the police have the video captures from that intersection during the assault? They must have everything on camera.”
Cacy shook her head. “That was part of what Rylan just told me. After a little pressure, the police admitted that fourteen minutes of video has been deleted from their databases. It was an inside job.” Her face blanched. “That’s not public information—please don’t tell anyone.”
Eli moved to stand in front of her, making sure she was looking at him. “You can trust me, Cacy.”
For a moment, she gazed into his eyes, and he wanted to reach out to her, to comfort and reassure her, feel the softness of her skin, and help her shoulder the weight of her sadness. The impulse was so strong his hands actually rose from his sides. But before he could touch her, she turned away, looking like she’d rather be anywhere in the world but standing next to him. As soon as the elevator doors opened, she was talking fast and walking faster. “Thanks, Eli. I shouldn’t have asked you. Thanks again. I’ll take the rig. You can head home. See you tonight. Bye!”
She hopped into the rig, slammed the door, and drove away without waiting to hear his response. Eli stood in the ambulance bay, rubbing the back of his neck, his mouth half-open, thinking maybe it was good she didn’t give him a chance to speak, because he had no idea what to say.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Cacy smoothed the skirt of her black silk dress and shifted in her chair, wishing she was at home in her PJs rather than crammed into a law office with all her relatives. She sat up straight, focusing on the antique books behind the polished wooden desk and reading the spines one by one. This was how it had been for the last few days. No matter where she was, she counted, cataloged, kept her hands and thoughts busy. It was the only way she’d kept herself from falling apart.
Work had been a total necessity, and she’d buried herself in both her jobs. She hadn’t even had time to visit Debra, Alex, and Peter since that first day. The city had been terrorized by a string of arsons, many of them in the Chinatown emergency response zone. Cacy had spent her nights saving as many lives as she could—and guiding the souls of the ones she couldn’t, the ones who’d been Marked. There had been many. So many that she and Dec, along with the rest of the Ferry clan, had been working nonstop. Their bank accounts were swelling, but Cacy was just tired of all of it, and disgusted by the sight of the Kere, who were so pleased with the bedlam, delighted by the suffering. Normally, Trevor would have been the exception, but she hadn’t seen him since the night of her father’s death. She wondered if he was avoiding her.
Or maybe he was as busy as everyone else. The other paramedics looked ragged and demoralized, shell-shocked by the chaos. Except for Eli. He simply did his job. Did it really well, in fact. Never complained. Never got freaked-out. Never slowed down. It left her wondering what his life had been like to that point, if the last few days hadn’t left him exhausted and reeling like everyone else.
Every time she returned from a “coffee break” spent in the Veil, Eli had already cleaned the back of the ambulance, refilled their supplies, and gassed up the rig so she didn’t have to. They hadn’t spoken much since she’d made the mistake of letting him go with her to the hospital. She’d needed it to be that way; she’d felt terrible about what had happened between them and anxious about what he’d seen. But he hadn’t asked any more questions. He hadn’t pressed her for information. Hadn’t acted mad or resentful. He’d just . . . been there. She’d never felt so in tune with anyone. When they were on a call, they were in perfect sync. A great team. It was both completely satisfying and impossibly frustrating.
Because being that close to him was harder than she’d ever expected. She found herself wanting to reach for him and lean her head on his shoulder. She wanted him to put his arms around her, and she pictured burying her head against his chest. But she didn’t want him to think she was using him—or that she would put his standing with Len and Dec in jeopardy. She also didn’t want this sense of connection she felt with him to grow any stronger. So she’d kept their interactions professional. She’d thought it would get easier.
It hadn’t.
Dec plopped down in the seat next to her, pulling her from her thoughts. He tugged at the collar of his dress shirt, looking so uncomfortable that Cacy almost laughed. Almost.
“See?” he said quietly. “I made it on time, like I promised.”
Rylan sat on Cacy’s other side, looking dignified and solemn. He’d been as busy as everyone else since their father’s death, but not guiding souls to the Afterlife. He’d been making sure everyone knew Psychopomps Inc. was still in business. Making sure the Kere and the Keepers of the Afterlife knew the Ferrys were still able to uphold the treaty, still strong enough to stand in the gap between the two warring sides. Humans did not need another war between the Kere and the Keepers.
Cacy glanced over at her eldest brother. He winked at her. But the pale-purple circles under his eyes told her it was all taking a toll on him. Yesterday, they’d been given word that Moros was in town. Probably making sure Rylan was still in control, keeping the gold flowing to his Kere. She didn’t envy Rylan this responsibility. Cacy tucked her arm under Rylan’s and squeezed.
Aislin sat on the other side of Dec, her platinum-blonde hair in its perfectly round bun, her dress perfectly unwrinkled, her demeanor perfectly composed. But like Rylan, there were circles beneath her distinctly red eyes. No way. Had her ice-queen sister actually shed some tears? Cacy hadn’t thought that was possible. But then again, she hadn’t spoken to her sister since the night of their father’s death when Aislin had coldly refused Cacy’s offer to help with the funeral arrangements.
All around them, the rest of the Ferry family sat in ornate carved chairs or stood at the edges of the room. At least fifty people had showed up for the reading of Patrick Ferry’s will and the naming of his executor, the person who would be in charge of seeing the will honored. More would have come—there were at least a thousand Ferrys living in Boston—but everyone assumed Rylan would be executor, so that part was a formality. Most of her uncles and aunts and first cousins were here to suck up to him, and to see if any money or property had been left to them.
Mr. Knickles, their family’s portly little lawyer, bustled into the room, followed by two bodyguards, who remained by the door. He skittered to his desk and set down a rectangular silver plate. His eyes flicked along the front row, where Cacy and her siblings were seated. He looked nervous.
He cleared his throat. “I have verified the electronic signature of Patrick Ferry and can attest that this will is authentic, as I witnessed its recording,” he said in a reedy voice. “Copies will be available after the official viewing for those who have the executor’s approval.” They’d all been stripped of their electronic devices before entering the room.
Cacy nudged Rylan with her shoulder, and though his eyes were focused on the rectangular plate, a tiny smile played on his lips.
Mr. Knickles looked up. “Everyone ready?” He nodded and tapped the silver plate. Cacy held her breath as a three-dimensional image of her father sprung from its surface. Even though she’d prepared herself, it made her chest ache to see him again. Rylan’s arm tensed beneath her fingers. As their father smiled and squared his shoulders, Cacy realized he was wearing the same suit he’d had on the day he was killed.
“Dearest family,” he said. “I am sorry to be speaking to you like this, under what I am sure are the saddest of circumstances for you.” His lips curled into a sardonic smile. He had once told Cacy it was hard to love a person unconditionally if you had too much to gain from his death. “But I assure you, if I am with my beloved Mara, I am happy. There is no need to spare me another thought, apart from the wonderful, happy memories I share with each of you.
“Now, to the question of my executor. Ah, such a job I would not wish on anyone.” His
smile turned regretful, but his eyes glinted with a hint of mischief. Most people wouldn’t be able to spot it, but Cacy had spent years memorizing every nuance of her father’s expressions, trying to figure out how to distract him from the gnawing hole of sadness her mother’s death had opened within him. Her mother had asked her to take care of him, and Cacy had taken that job very seriously. Now, her heart sped as she saw that look in her father’s eyes. It meant he was about to say something no one expected.
Please don’t make Aislin the executor. Cacy made a pleading expression at the 3-D image, as if that would make him change his mind. To her surprise, he smiled, like he’d seen her. His eyes weren’t directed at her, but she wondered if he’d predicted she would know something was up.
“I ask that each of you respect my executor and follow my wishes to the letter, no matter how you feel about them. I have done my best to be fair, and my holdings are extensive, as are my secrets. Respect my executor and you respect me and my memory.”
Cacy glanced around. Most people looked bored. They were waiting for this part to be over with so that they could hear if they’d been gifted one of the Charon’s houses or yachts or jets or subsidiary businesses. She was suddenly gripped with the desire to run from the room. This was too much like scavengers gathering around a carcass. Her father’s carcass. She pulled her hand from Rylan’s, gripped the arms of her chair, starting to push herself up to go, and cast one final glance at her father’s tall, lean form.
His eyes burned with incredible intensity as he said, “My executor is named as follows: Cacia Sybil Mara Ferry.”
Cacy fell back into her chair as if her father had shoved her. The room was completely silent. She looked around. Fifty pairs of eyes were riveted on her. Aislin’s eyes were wide and shiny with shock and anger. Cacy swung her head around to Rylan, who was looking back at her with concern on his face. “You all right?”
Cacy nodded numbly and stayed in her seat as her father went on to detail how his fortune would be divided. She should have been listening, since apparently she was in charge of making sure his wishes were honored, but she couldn’t hear anything past the clamoring thoughts in her head. Why? Why had her father done this? Why not Rylan? Why not Aislin, for fuck’s sake? Why her? Was this just another attempt to pull Cacy into the corporate fold? Another form of velvet revenge?
She stared at her father as his lips kept moving, his words whooshing past her like the wind, waiting for him to take it back, to say he was joking. But he didn’t. And soon it was over. Everyone filed out of the room, leaving her sitting with Rylan, Dec, and Aislin in the front row.
“Ms. Ferry,” said Mr. Knickles, nodding at Cacy. “I know you must depart for the funeral mass, but will you please remain for a few minutes so you can look over the list of beneficiaries and sign off on their electronic copies?”
“Sure,” Cacy said, putting a hand to her churning stomach.
Aislin stood up abruptly. “I have to meet the priest and finalize the hymn list for the service. I’ll see you all at the cathedral.” She spun on her heel and marched from the room. Dec gave Cacy an apologetic look and a kiss on the forehead before following Aislin out.
Rylan put his arm around Cacy’s shoulders and pulled her close. “Aislin’s going to get over it. Let her get through the funeral, and she’ll settle down. She’s been working hard to make it—”
“Perfect. I know.” Cacy tilted her head up so she could see her big brother’s face. “How about you? I thought it would be you. I swear I didn’t know anything about this, Ry. I would have told you.”
“I know. And it’s all right, Cacy. If it wasn’t going to be me, I’m glad it’s you. I trust you, and you can always come to me if you have questions. Father hid his secrets well, but he trusted me with most of them. I can help you out if you come across something you don’t understand.”
She sighed. “Thanks. I’m going to take you up on that. Business isn’t my thing. That’s why I’m a paramedic.”
Rylan grinned. “He was really proud of you, you know. He talked about it all the time. You and Dec. How you were out there doing good.”
“Really?” Cacy blinked at the sting of tears. She’d always thought her father had resented her decision.
“Yeah,” said Rylan, his voice husky. “Now come on. Let’s get this done, and then we need to get going. We can’t be late for the service.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Eli sat in a pew, surrounded by strangers, wondering whether being here was a good idea. He had worn his nicest shirt and jeans, but every other guy he could see was wearing a suit and tie. Sun filtered through the elaborate stained-glass windows, casting colors across the deep-brown stone floors. The high domed ceiling had a coppery shine to it. He’d gotten here early, giving him the chance to count every arch, as well as the chance to get more and more nervous as the time for the service drew near. Why had he even come? It was his day off. He could have been sleeping or out exploring the city. Instead, he was at a funeral. For a guy he didn’t really know.
Then his reason for coming walked up the aisle at her eldest brother’s side, her head held high. Her eyes swept across the crowd. She nodded at people in every row and reached out to grasp several outstretched hands and hug a few particularly tearful folks. Her brother did the same. As they approached his row, Eli’s heart beat so loud in his ears that he was surprised other people couldn’t hear it. Cacy’s hair was loose and curled around her shoulders. She wore a plain black dress. She looked achingly beautiful and heartbreakingly sad. He stared at her without blinking.
Hoping she would look at him.
Praying she wouldn’t.
Totally confused.
Just as he’d felt every second he’d spent with her. He’d never been so tied up in knots around a woman. She didn’t seem to be doing it to him on purpose. She’d been completely professional. When he arrived at the station, she was always there first, laughing and chatting in the locker room. She’d greet him enthusiastically in front of everybody and disappear out to their rig. Whenever he tried to talk to her, she was polite but always cut the conversation short with an excuse about having to restock supplies or fill out postaccident reports. After a day or two, he’d stopped trying to find a way to ask her about that night at his apartment, because she seemed totally determined to pretend it never happened. Not that they’d had much downtime to talk, anyway. They’d had at least a dozen utterly harrowing calls over the last week, and Cacy had been nothing but cool and decisive. Which was great. Fine. She seemed all right, dealing with her father’s death like a champ. Eli was glad for her, really.
So why did he want her to look at him? Not just a glance, but a real look, like she had given him the night of their first shift. Why did his whole body tighten up every time she brushed against him, straining for more? Why did he look forward to work, not because he could use the barely controlled chaos to avoid thinking about his problems, but just because he knew she would be there? Why had he offered to go with her to the hospital, and why did he keep hoping she’d ask him to go with her again? And why was he here now, even though he obviously shouldn’t be?
Cacy was a row away now, looking like some modern-day princess, delicate but unbreakable. She did not look pleased when her eyes settled on someone a few feet to Eli’s left. Eli cast a sidelong glance at the tall olive-skinned man down the row. Ex-boyfriend? Estranged cousin? The man was staring at Cacy and her brother with an amused smile on his face. He nodded at them. Eli turned back to see Cacy’s reaction, and that was when she spotted him. Eli swallowed hard as everyone else in the room became invisible, as he wordlessly tried to let her know he was only there for her. Only to support her. Not to upset her. Not to ask anything from her. Only to be there for her if she needed him.
Cacy smiled. A real smile. One he hadn’t seen since the first few hours he’d spent with her. She rose up on her toes to whisper something in
her brother’s ear. Rylan Ferry turned sharply in Eli’s direction, a look of shrewd curiosity on his face. Eli’s stomach dropped. But then Rylan smiled too, and Cacy nodded at Eli before walking on.
The mass was painfully long, and the woman sitting next to him was wearing so much perfume that Eli’s head began to pound. Even so, he was unable to take his eyes off Cacy. As the mournful, heavy hymns played, filling the enormous space with echoing sound, Eli stared shamelessly. And he noticed a few things. She seemed most relaxed with Rylan, staying close to him and whispering in his ear every once in a while. She also seemed comfortable with Dec, who sat on her other side. But with her sister, it was a different story. Neither woman acknowledged the other. Not even a look. It was like both of them were trying to pretend the other didn’t exist.
The service ended, and the Ferry family filed to the back of the cathedral. It looked like the only way out was through the receiving line. Eli wiped his palms on the legs of his jeans. The woman next to him gave a little hmph.
Someone behind him chuckled. “You look like a fish out of water, my friend.”
Eli turned to find it was the olive-skinned man who had spoken. The man’s thick black hair was slicked back away from his face. Eli was no fashion expert, but he knew enough to realize the guy was loaded. The pea-size diamond stud in his earlobe kind of gave it away, as did the glittering cuff links at his wrists. Eli was wearing a basic button-down shirt. No tie. He didn’t own one. Just as he was thinking it would have been smart to buy one for the occasion, the man smiled politely and said, “Did you know Patrick Ferry well?”
“No, not at all. I work with his daughter.” Eli stepped out into the aisle and let the man out ahead of him, hoping to put some space between himself and the snotty lady with the headache-inducing perfume. As he did, he noticed the man was wearing gloves. Odd, since this time of year the daytime temperature of the city rarely dropped below a hundred degrees.