by Page,Selena
"Murder causes me upset, Alejandro. That’s something you Tintreach thugs never seem to understand."
A muscle twitched in his cheek, and something akin to anger flashed across his eyes. Unconsciously, she tensed, ready for the old Alejandro Sanchez to burst through the piety and come at her. Just as quickly as it had appeared, the anger was gone. Swallowed behind the saddest, most compassionate stare she’d ever received. He turned, heading deeper into the maze.
"Goading me into anger is unbecoming, Lieutenant. It is also rude. You are a guest in this house. Please, I ask kindly that you remember your manners."
"A guest," she repeated, shaking her head. "Guests aren’t held prisoner. Call me crazy, but that seems ruder than me asking a few questions that pertain to my investigations."
"Lieutenant Caprice wasn’t invited into this hou--"
"Yeah, yeah. Tintreach explained that to me. But since I can’t shed my skin as readily as you both can, you get the cop and the woman. It’s part of the package. Deal."
A frustrated sigh left his lips. "Very well. You asked who led me to God? It’s simple. Marta Tintreach showed me the way to the light. I saw her face every moment after she died. I was mad with grief, though at first I didn’t know it. It was only when I came face to face with Iowin Tintreach did the full weight of what I’d done fall on my shoulders. I could see her staring at me through his eyes, and I could see they’d forgiven me for her death. That knowledge alone, that someone could forgive me for taking the life of their loved one, drove me to madness.
"He was wreathed in flames, Lieutenant, the angel of vengeance. I now know that it was magic and not God that called those flames into being. Yet are the two not the same, magic and creation? Fire and judgment? I saw my path to redemption in those flames, and I pledged myself to his leadership. Not to worship him, you must understand. But to help him root out the evil that plagues our home, to stop others from suffering loss at the hands of the misguided. I wanted nothing more than to atone for the wrongs and sit as his hand in vengeance."
"You were with him when he killed his brother, weren’t you?"
A single tear slipped down his cheek. "I was. I helped with the ritual that shattered Sean Tintreach’s power, trying to make up for the power I stole from Marta Tintreach at her death. I saw evil that day, Lieutenant. I saw true evil in the black flames licking at that creature’s soul. We performed an exorcism for lack of a better term, a magical cleansing on his poor body. We couldn’t cleanse him, though, no matter what we tried, for he had no forgiveness in his heart. In the end, all we could do was stop him. All we could do was alter his empire into a fighting force for justice."
"Great, you became the modern day Knights Templar. What do you want, a medal?"
He paused, both in word and in step. "An apt comparison. Was it not the law of the time that turned against the Templars?"
Alynia shook her head. "Not a scholar here, just a cop. That’s for the historians to decide."
"I wonder if those who set flame to the pyres said the same thing. Again, I wonder if history will record the destruction of the Tintreach Empire with the same sad hindsight."
"I think you’re putting the laurel before the proverbial burning alive. Comparing a crime syndicate’s destruction to a Pope sanctioned order is a bit out of your league."
"You will understand in time. I did. So did the others. Once Iowin explains it to you."
There is more, Alynia, so much more I want to tell you. But now is not the time.
"Explain what?"
"That is not my secret to tell," he answered gently, coming to a stop.
"That’s not fair. That’s half a story. If we go back to the beginning of this conversation, I can point out how rude it is leave a guest hanging like this."
"It’s only half the story from the outside. Look inward for the rest." He bowed, almost reverently. "Now, I must take my leave."
Leave? They were in the middle of a hedge maze. There was no leaving. "You told me you were going to show me the way out."
He stared at her a long moment, so long in fact that she fought not to fidget, not to remember that stare from catechism. In the moment it took her to glance down at her shoes, he was already heading away from her. Leaving her alone. She closed her eyes slightly, felt along the ward outside her peripheral vision. She was at the center of the maze, at the--
Slowly, in that horror movie way, she turned and felt her breath catch. She was in the heart of the maze, all right. Both literal and proverbial, and Marta Tintreach's face stared down at her
Chapter 7
The statue was exquisite, the detailing so complete as to almost appear alive. The damn thing seemed to breathe, and for a moment she thought she was staring at a ghost. Marta stood resplendent, life-sized on a three step marble stair. The entire statue was made of pure, vein-less white marble, polished so it glistened in the fading afternoon sunlight. Garbed in white robes with two perfect wings extended behind her, she held an expression of serene repose.
To Alynia’s eyes, the expression was of true forgiveness.
She didn’t know how long she stood there gawking at the thing. Her brain was trying to move past the absolute perfection of its artisanship and deduce whether it was a moving memorial or a horrifying one. It wasn’t the portrayal of Marta as an angel, per se. It was that the statue was too perfect. Marta had been as human as anyone. That meant she'd had flaws, both of the physical and mental variety.
Alynia wasn’t sure if she was gazing at the idealized memory of Iowin's dead wife or his version of what a perfect woman truly was. That was the creepy part.
As she stood there gaping, the sun started to set. Cool evening light dimmed to shades of scarlet, washing over the white statue in crimson shadows. It pained her heart, that image of Marta surrounded in blood. A sorrow deeper than Alynia had thought possible. Whether she was feeling it through the sigil or whether the feeling came from herself didn’t matter. Iowin denied himself even this. Here, in his perfect garden with his perfect statue he received no comfort. The blood on his hands tainted everything he touched, and he failed to keep the blood from washing over Marta.
Alynia was running before she knew what she was doing, heading into the mini-cathedral as if hell itself was at her heels. She had to get away from the image of the blood-soaked angel. Somehow knowing it was the sunset couldn't remove the fear from her heart nor the thought that perhaps her own future was painted in those shadows. She ran from the thought that love couldn’t conquer all and good people died no matter what one did to stop it.
Not to sound overly dramatic, Alynia, but are you certain you want to know? This conversation could break you. He had said those words at the beginning, tried to warn her. She’d been too foolish, too arrogant, to see the warning for what it was.
The double doors closed behind her with an echoing boom, and she sagged against them, gasping for air by the lungful. The desire to cry, to give way to giant wracking sobs, was almost too much to resist. Before this day began, she had been so certain that Iowin deserved everything that was coming at him. It had been his decision to walk this path, and it would be his fate to reap the consequences. She wasn’t sure anymore. Even murderers deserved some respite from their crimes, even if it was only in their minds.
"You get used to it, you know. The attacks of conscience and the pains of the heart."
For the second time that day, she reached for the sidearm she didn’t have, her heart hammering in her chest. "Lauren?"
Of all the people she might encounter here, she should have known Lauren Tintreach, the widow of Sean Tintreach, would be at the top of the list. She should have known Iowin would keep her close, protect the woman that had loved his brother despite what he was.
Lauren spared a soft and almost empathetic smile before turning back to her task. A hundred or more daisies dripped from a basket in her hands, all but pooled at her feet. Delicately, she plucked one up, weaving it into the floral archway before her. Her hai
r was longer than Alynia remembered, floating around her waist in soft brown waves. Her face held a few more lines than when last they’d spoken, too, making her look older and yet somehow more beautiful at the same time.
Alynia stepped into the cathedral proper, the ridiculous clicking of her heeled sandals echoing loudly in the reverent silence. Candles lit the entire place, the scent of beeswax buried only slightly under lavender incense and wildflowers. There were two rows of five pews arranged before the altar, the stained glass windows rising high above, spilling colored light across the worship section of the room. Everything polished and shined, from the expensive mahogany pews to the gray marble floors.
It would have been breathtaking and beautiful if she weren't so afraid.
Lauren stood off to the right, working over a beautiful iron sarcophagus. The man pictured in exact relief--almost as exact and realistic as the statue of Marta--was none other than Sean Tintreach. Other rows of pedestals lined that side of the wall, empty of coffins.
"Daises were his favorite flower," Lauren murmured almost absently. "In the beginning, he would bring me bouquets of them by the bucketful. Said they were the only flowers that captured the sunshine and the summer breeze. Even at night, they symbolize hope, love, and the simple pleasures of life. But that was before."
"Before he went dark," Alynia said just as softly.
Lauren nodded, holding out a few flower stems. "Before the drugs took him from me, before the deaths and the unexplained secret meetings, we were truly happy. He would wake me every morning with a daisy, caressing up and down my face until I woke giggling at him like a girl."
Alynia took the offering, trying not to twist them in her hands. "I’m sorry for your loss. Truly."
"No, you’re not." Lauren smiled sadly, taking the sting from what should have been harsh words. "Thank you for saying so, however. I know what my husband was in the end, and you did not know him as Iowin and I did. You cannot understand the pain of watching someone you love fall into darkness."
She thought of the statue of Marta, of the blood shadows, and didn’t bother to hide the flinch. "I can imagine. I’m watching someone do that right now."
"Some you cannot help." She pulled one of the flowers from Alynia’s hand, weaving it into the archway. "Some you must simply love and understand, regardless of their actions."
Alynia shook her head before she registered the action, whipping her hair back and forth. "I don’t believe that. I can’t believe I’m supposed to stand by and watch him fall. Love isn’t acceptance of the bad within someone, Lauren. Love is fighting with all your might to pull them back, to force them to hang on to what drew you together in the first place."
"For some."
"For everyone," she reached out, caught the other woman’s arm. "Look, I’m not making light of what you went through, Lauren. But neither could I stand by and let Io--let this person destroy their own soul. I have to stop them. Something has to be done."
Lauren stared her right in the eye, right into her soul. "Are you sure you’re strong enough for that? Strong enough for you both? I wasn’t. So now I mourn."
Alynia stared at the other pedestals, a chill rising up her spine. "You live here in this tomb, don’t you?"
"No, I live in one of the houses behind the maze."
A huge chunk of ice formed in the pit of Alynia's stomach, the layout of the compound flashing before her eyes. There were six distinct mansions in the back of the property, mansions she’d assumed belonged to Iowin’s street warriors.
"Who lives in the other five houses?"
Lauren turned back to the floral arch over her husband’s grave, adding more flowers. "Father Sanchez lives in one. The other three are held in reserve."
That left one unaccounted for. "Who else lives there?"
Lauren smiled, almost laughed softly. "You do, now."
The flowers in Alynia's hands fell to the floor.
Chapter 8
She couldn’t breathe. Her arms were limp at her sides, hands clenching and unclenching slowly. She didn’t feel them, didn’t know what they wanted to grasp.
Hell, she didn’t know what she wanted in that moment, and that realization sent the screaming in her mind into overdrive. She was a veteran cop, a Lieutenant, for God’s sake. Why did indecision grip her heart at every turn, forcing her to second-guess every decision? Lauren all but spelled out the terms of her kidnapping, and instead of blasting her way out of the gilded cage, she dithered like a child?
Shock, she was going into shock. That was natural, right? One didn’t get a verbal load of that magnitude dropped on one’s head without having some kind of reaction. But what she felt wasn’t really shock, was it? The cold sweat pouring down her back, chilling her forehead, was an indicator that her body was certainly experiencing shock-like symptoms. But her heart wasn’t racing. It was beating steadily; her breath was apparently pushing in and out of her respiratory system evenly. She was so damn calm that in that moment she could have stood like that forever. In fact, part of her brain was content to do that. To stand in that moment, to exist until she died in that memorial tomb-like cathedral. Until she was nothing more than a marble statue with Roman robes and outstretched wings.
Another woman lost to him, another angel drenched in the blood of his wrong-doings, dead through no other fault than loving him.
Lauren watched as if from a distance, the look in her eyes something fractured and hollow, as if she lived her life in a perpetual state of shock. Her own eyes, Alynia noted with a sick feeling, must have matched the look in Lauren’s. Lauren was what Alynia was going to become if she chose to stay in this room, in this beautiful maze of secrets and revelations. Her future on full display if she didn’t fight. Run far away from him and escape the shadows and the blood and the death.
She was watching a cycle play out before her eyes, a never-ending circle of suffering.
For some reason part of her mind kept flashing back to the cut-crystal windows of his bedroom. They served as protection from the outside world, from the people that were trying to kill him, or so she’d believed. A new thought struck her hard, stealing what little semblance of sanity pushing through the unnatural fog of panic. Now, she wondered if they obscured the outside world so he wouldn’t have to look at it. So he wouldn't be reminded of what he lost.
Her mind’s eye replayed the moment in their love-making when he had stared at her badge. It had reminded her of how a man would look at the sun. Awe and love, reverence in those jade green eyes, gratitude for the life and the joy it gave. And then he’d ripped his eyes away, almost as if the light reflected in the gold was too bright. He couldn’t stand to look at his former self.
So he collected the pieces he could of his past, securing them behind the walls of his power. Precious gems to protect, to give him joy in his lightless world.
Alynia’s stared at the daisies at her feet, fingertips numb and her head spinning. As much as all the revelations had taught her about the man he now was, it had shown her so much more about herself. If she saw him now, she might surrender. She might fall into his arms as Lauren must have done when this was revealed to her, too. And then she would be frozen. She would bear that look most people mistake for serenity.
Broken daisies and broken promises.
I am the job now, Tintreach. So don’t tell me to divorce myself from my work and chat about the fucking weather. It always circles back to the job for me.
"No," she whispered, shielding her soul from the panic with memories of her badge, the feeling of good solid steel in palms chasing away the numbness.
Lauren jerked in surprise, hand hovering over the daisies she’d been weaving into Alynia’s hair like a crown. "No?"
Alynia pulled back, raking fingers through her hair and stepping on the daisies falling from her dark locks. Fresh air pumped into her lungs with the distance she put between herself and the other woman. "I can’t accept it, Lauren. I can’t accept this world he’s created. I can’t let myse
lf die inside because I love him, because I want to give him some joy in his life."
Lauren shook her head, almost as if in disappointment. "Then you missed the entire point of what he wanted to show you."
Alynia shook her head. It seemed everyone was telling her she’d missed the point of something. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she stood at her full height.
"No, I think you missed the point. Look at you, at the way you act. He brought you here to live your lives in peace, not die quietly in his stead. You think your presence here is healing him, but it isn’t. You have to realize that it’s not. You’re putting an emotional bandage on a wound that needs serious dressing. If you love him, if you want to help him, then--"
"Then what?" Lauren snapped, eyes blazing so bright they almost outshone the candle flames. "What would you have me do? Convince him to turn himself in? To end this so-called life of crime? Do you think prison would help him?"
"Look around you! This place is a prison, a prison of his own making."
It was Lauren's turn to shake her head forcefully, tears flying from her lashes in prismatic droplets. "No, no. We are safe here. Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you give up the pain like we all have?"
"This isn’t giving it up," Alynia said, reached out to her. "This is living in it, wallowing in it, letting it numb you to everything else. I won’t do it. I won’t lock down my life and help shoulder the burden of choices he made on his own. I won’t pay for his crimes. I love him too much."
Lauren turned from her, head bent, arms wrapped around herself. Was she holding onto herself in an attempt to comfort her soul or because if she didn’t, every piece of her would fly apart?
The silence weighed on them both, broken only by Lauren’s quiet sobs.
"Come with me," Alynia whispered.
"No," Lauren whispered back. "No, you know nothing of love if you can say those things."