Iniquity (The Premonition Series Book 5)

by Amy A. Bartol

  “I do.” His nod is automatic.

  “We have ta approach da aingeals carefully, Finn,” I warn. “I do na know how dey’ll react ta any attempts we make ta take Genevieve.”

  “Do ye tink dey’d harm her?” he asks wi’ renewed anger in his eyes.

  “Maybe. If dey still believe dat we’d change her, den aye.”

  He processes da information. “We will be more dan careful den.”

  “Good.

  RUSSELL

  Crashin’ onto a hardwood floor, the dagger embedded in my side rattles and digs deeper. I roll onto my back and grip it by the hilt, yankin’ it from me. It makes a sickenin’ suckin’ sound as the muscles in my abdomen clench in pain. Openin’ my palm, Brennus’ dagger drops from it to land beside me with a loud clatter.

  “ARRRRR,” I shout between my teeth. “FFFAAAAAHHHHH—”

  Anya looks down at me. She kneels beside me in an attempt to see my wound. I sit up straight, tryin’ not to show her how my hands shake. My heart is a black sinkhole in my chest as thoughts of Emil and Sheol erode it further.

  Anya tucks her long, black hair behind her ears, “Let me see,” she demands. Her dark wings are retracted inside of her back. Someone has given her an oversized, red woolen jacket to wear, but because she was magically forced into the portal, she got to keep her own clothes too. Her hands are buried in the red sleeves. She’s tiny without her wings—fragile and delicate. I find her fingers and hold them in my grasp. Her eyes shift to mine, lush as green fields. I want to sink into them, drift down her valleys—find my way back to her.

  “I’m not dyin’. They didn’t want to kill me just yet,” I explain to reassure her. Anya leans her forehead against the middle of my chest, murmuring broken words in Angel. My hand comes up to rest against the back of her neck. Soft tears wet me. “Shh, it’s gonna be okay. We’re okay.” I repeat those words like a mantra, wantin’ her to believe them even when I don’t.

  She lifts her head from me. It’s smeared with my blood from my chest. Her eyes shine like broken bottles in sunlight with unshed tears. She’s determined to hold them back. Her fingers touch the edge of my jagged skin. A steady flow of blood seeps from it. There are many more slices, but that one is the newest. From over Anya’s shoulder, Brownie hands Anya a kitchen towel. I suck in my breath as Anya uses the fabric to apply pressure to slow down the bleeding while I heal.

  “What’d ya just say to me in Angel?” I ask Anya as I pant against the pain.

  “I told you that you’re a mess.”

  I laugh, and then wince as shootin’ pain in my gut reminds me not to do that. “I wasn’t always this bad. I keep wonderin’ how I got here when just a couple of years ago I was cuttin’ lawns for gas money.” I try to smile.

  “Now someone is cutting you.” She frowns in concentration.

  “I’ll heal.”

  “This time,” Anya murmurs. Over her shoulder to Brownie, she says, “Close the portal.” Brownie moves to a table near me. She lifts a white pitcher and drops it on the floor. The painted blue porcelain shatters into a hundred pieces.

  “It’s closed,” Brownie says. She looks like a child playing dress up in oversized men’s clothing.

  Relief floods through my veins as Buns runs into the room in a blur of speed. “What happened?” she demands. The bright white oversized tank top she wears is covered in splotches of blood, but it’s obvious it’s not her own blood. She’s fully intact—no pieces of her were lost or left behind.

  “Nothing! It’s okay,” Brownie assures her as she holds up her hand to stop her impending freak out. “I just killed the portal so all of Sheol can’t follow us here.”

  Behind Buns, Zephyr limps into the room from a doorway that leads to a kitchen. The hollow part of my gut twists. His cuts aren’t bleedin’ now, but they’re everywhere and have taken on the appearance of dents in an old rusted coffee can. Like me, he got to keep his clothes because he was magically shoved into the portal by Brennus and didn’t have to shapeshift to get here, but everything he’s wearing is cut up and gory.

  I raise my chin to him in greeting. “You okay?” I inquire.

  He frowns, like it’s a dumb question. “I’m a Power,” Zephyr replies.

  “Right.” I look ‘round the room; it’s a log cabin in that it’s made of, but it’s not rustic or lackin’ in any amenities. Long glass doors and windows overlook a calm, frozen lake outside. The porch that wreaths ‘round the back of the house would be great for sittin’ and playin’ an old guitar, singin’ songs ‘round the outdoor fireplace. They’d probably be blues songs, though. I don’t think I’m capable of singin’ anythin’ but the blues now. “Whose house is this?”

  “Mine,” Zephyr says.

  “Nice.” I grimace as I get to my feet, holding the towel to my side. “That was kind of crazy back there,” I add with my thumb over my shoulder.

  Buns goes pale. “Sweetie, Zee said Emil opened Sheol.”

  I pull the towel away from my stab wound, probing my side gently to see that the edges have already closed over. “Yeah, I didn’t know it’d be like that.”

  “Like what?” Brownie asks.

  I shrug to cover for the fact that just thinkin’ ‘bout it makes all the hairs on my arms stand on end. “You know, like there is just a very thin veneer of our world between us and them—like wallpaper.”

  “You didn’t know that?” Anya’s green eyes fix on me. I shake my head mutely. “Where did you think Hell was?” Anya asks.

  “I thought it was a lot farther away—you know, like literally somewhere down below, but it’s not! It’s just behind every gray day, every sunset—every friend turned enemy—”

  “So is Heaven,” Anya assures me. “It’s there, too.”

  “Emil just tore away my blinders! He cut the air with a knife—it’s not even a crappy metaphor—literally, a knife!” I begin to freak out inside and I can’t calm down. Wiping my hand through my hair, I start to pace in front of the window.

  “He has a key to Sheol,” Buns says. She sits on the arm of the cream-colored sofa in the middle of the room, watchin’ me. “That means there’s a knife that opens Heaven, too.”

  I stop, turnin’ to look at her. “How do you know that?” A shiver of fear runs crookedly through me.

  “Sweetie, there’s no Yin without Yang.” She glances at Zephyr, “Who’d have it?”

  Zephyr thinks for a moment. “That is an excellent question for Phaedrus. He is well-equipped to locate what’s hidden.”

  “Why would you want a key to Heaven,” I ask, and then pause when they all turn to look at me like I’m insane. I hold up my hand. “I mean, except for the obvious reasons!”

  Zephyr answers, “Emil just opened a window to elicit help from Sheol. Because he acted first, we’re entitled to do the same. Balance.”

  My frown turns ugly. “I know why I’m here—it’s not about Evie, it’s Emil. No way he gets to live. NO WAY!” I shake my head. “He doesn’t get another lifetime. Can we destroy a soul? You’re reapers.” I wave my hand back and forth between Buns and Brownie. “Is there a way to end a soul so that it never gets to Sheol or Heaven? I want him to have zero chance of comin’ back.”

  Brownie answers, “If Emil’s knife is powerful enough to tear the fabric between our worlds, it could potentially dismember a soul.”

  I straighten my shoulders and stand to full height. “How do we find Phaedrus? I need that divine knife, if it exists. The last time I saw him he was with Tau in Ireland. Do you think he’s still with him?”

  “You said Tau is at Dominion’s fortress in the Gulf of St. Lawrence?”

  “Maybe. Do you think he’d be with Reed or with Evie?” I ask.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Zephyr says quietly. “We don’t need to know where Phaedrus is to get him here.”

  “We don’t?” I ask in confusion.

  “He’s right.” Brownie smiles at me for the first time.

  “Okay, am I missin’ somethin’?
”

  “All we have to do is ask for a miracle.” Buns says.

  I scowl. “Is that all—just a miracle? And how do we do that?”

  “We pray,” Anya says at my side.

  “That’s your plan?” I ask as I rub my forehead. “’Cuz I hate to point out the fact that I’ve been prayin’ for us all along and we’re still gettin’ our asses kicked!”

  “You’ve been doing a good job, Russell,” Brownie says with a newfound grin. “We’re all still alive.”

  I stare at Brownie like she has lost her flippin’ mind, because she has. I don’t tell her so though. “Okay, so we pray for a miracle and Phaedrus appears, like a genie outta the bottle?”

  Buns shrugs as she holds out both her hands palms up. “With travel the way it is these days it might take him longer to get here. We may have to work on him, too—invoke Heaven to send him. He believes he should follow Tau’s orders, but Heaven comes first. If Heaven deems that he help us, then he will.”

  I try not to give her my skeptical face, but dammit if it isn’t hard not to. “Glad to know how this all works. So, do you think Heaven will be on our side because from this perspective we’ve been on our own for a while now.”

  “There are rules,” Zephyr says. “Heaven is reluctant to disturb the balance or the scales tip in favor of Sheol.”

  “And nobody wants that,” Buns agrees emphatically, as she point her finger at me.

  “I don’t know ‘bout any of y’all, but I do my best prayin’ before a meal—sometimes after. Do you think we can eat somethin’?”

  Buns looks skeptical. “You might want to take a shower first. I have to go forage the island for food. This place is a seasonal resort—only a handful of humans remain on the island this time of year. We can go to the closed restaurants and see what they have in their freezers and pantries.”

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “We’re in the Straits of Mackinaw.”

  “We’re by the U. P. again?” I shudder. I don’t want to be anywhere near the Upper Peninsula

  “Yeah. Missed it?”

  “Not really. No,” I respond, “and just so you know for next time, I’m all for warm climates.”

  Buns hops down from the arm of the sofa. “Noted.”

  “I will go with you,” Zephyr tells Buns.

  “It’s okay, Zee—”

  “I. Will. Go. With. You.”

  “Ohh-kayyy,” Buns states, holdin’ up both her hands, like she wants to keep her head. “But there’s nothing scarier than you on this island, Zee.”

  “Do not try to appease me,” Zee replies.

  Buns indicates that I follow her. Climbin’ the stairs to a row a rooms above, she shows me to a bedroom that has an attached bathroom. “Brownie and I will scout for some clothes for you while we’re out,” she grimaces as she assesses my size before she turns to leave.

  “Thanks,” I call after her.

  The shower is like a spa. With my hands braced against the tile wall, I lean my head down so water runs over my face. All the caked-on blood drains away from me as if the torture of the last few hours didn’t exist. But it did. I have bruises inside me. No matter what I do to protect my friends or myself, we’re vulnerable. There’s no magic that’ll stop what’s gonna happen—whatever is meant to happen will happen. We’re here for a purpose. I know what it is now and nothin’ else seems very important. Emil has to be obliterated. Once he is, I’m truly free—one way or the other. Knowin’ that is a type of freedom in itself—freedom from fear. I’ll fight the fight, and then this will end. I want it to end.

  Somethin’ about that last thought shocks me. It’s not that I want to die—that isn’t it. I just want to be free to make my own decisions, to have my own existence separate from Emil’s or Evie’s—somethin’ that’s mine—somethin’ beautiful.

  I shut off the water and exit the shower. Findin’ a towel on a shelf, I use it to dry off. Wrappin’ it ‘round my hips when I’m done, I move to the bedroom. The house is quiet. I pick up my bloody clothes from the floor where I’d thrown them and go in search of the washin’ machine.

  When I locate the laundry room, I stop in the doorway, takin’ in the view of Anya in nothin’ but a tight black cami and the sexiest pair of black underwear I’ve ever seen in my life. In truth, they’re just normal underwear really, but they’re coverin’ her so they’re enough to make my entire body flush. She has her head in the dryer next to the washin’ machine. I have to readjust my towel before I clear my throat, “Urr hum.”

  Anya lifts her head fast and smacks it on the edge of the dryer. She stumbles back a step. “Uhh,” she moans, putting her hand to the back of her head.

  “Aww, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you,” I put out my hand as I move to her. Droppin’ my clothes in front of the machine, I ease her hand away from her head so I can see if there’s a bump growin’ on her scalp. On impulse, I lean down and kiss her hair. “I think it’s okay,” I murmur. “What were you doin’ with your head in the dryer?”

  Anya turns in my arms to face me. A soft pink blush is colorin’ her cheeks. “I was trying to make it go—I don’t know how it works,” she admits with a frustrated frown.

  “You don’t have to figure it out on your own. You just have to ask one of us and we’ll help you.” I smile down at her as I rest my hands on her upper arms.

  She blinks at me for a second, like she’s unsure of why I’m smilin’. Her lips turn down as she waves her hand in the air, disregardin’ my comment. “Zephyr and the Reapers have gone for food, you were in the shower and I’m capable of dissecting a problem and finding a solution.”

  Turnin’ away, she gathers up our clothes from the floor and shoves them in the dryer. She grasps the laundry detergent, twistin’ off the cap with the aim of pourin’ it into the dryer. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I pluck the bottle of detergent from her grasp. “You don’t wanna do that.”

  Her eyebrow raises as she watches me pull the clothes back out. “This is a dryer,” I nod toward the appliance in question with an easy smile. “You use it after you wash your stuff. This,” I nod toward the front loader, “is a washin’ machine—it cleans ‘em.” I dump our tangled pile into it. “You wanna use the cold cycle so the color doesn’t fade.” I turn her away from me to face the washer. With her back to my chest, I trap her between my arms. Liftin’ her hand to the button, I slide my hand over hers, usin’ her finger to press the settin’ on the washer. The soft heat of her skin against mine is enough to make me ache inside.

  My lips brush the top of her ear as I murmur, “You don’t want to mix light clothes with dark—especially anythin’ white with anythin’ red ‘cuz your whites will come out pink—and then people will laugh at you.”

  She leans back into me. “You sound as if you speak from experience.” She turns her cheek to brush against mine.

  “Let’s just say my sisters inherited a few of my t-shirts when I was learnin’ to do my own laundry.” I release her hand and unscrew the cap from the detergent, placin’ it in her grasp. “You’d usually just want a little detergent for a small load like this, but our clothes are sort of destroyed, so...” I pour out the soap, before slidin’ open the dispenser drawer, allowin’ her to pour the contents of the cap into it.

  “Do you have anythin’ else you want to put in there before we start it?” I ask. I close my eyes, breathin’ in the perfume of her hair; it clouds my brain. I open them again as Anya turns ‘round in my arms. Facin’ me once more, her silky skin causes mine to vibrate at her touch. She lifts her hand and grasps the towel ‘round my waist. With a gentle tug, she takes it from me, reachin’ behind her and stuffin’ it into the washer at her back. A smile plays upon her lips.

  Standin’ in front of her without a shred of clothing, I don’t feel vulnerable—I’m powerful. I move so that we’re a hair’s breath away. Towerin’ over her, her head only reaches my chin. I’m not fooled though; she’s delicate, but she’s ferocious—a warrior. She has the cu
nnin’ to turn me inside out. “You forgot this,” I murmur, reachin’ for the hem of her cami. I ease it over her head; her long, hair falls through it, black silk against her flawless skin. I toss her cami behind her into the washer.

  My finger traces her shoulder, before windin’ down her. She bites her bottom lip. I run my thumb over it, rescuin’ it from her cruel mouth. I want to feel it pout against mine. She traps my thumb with her mouth, sucking it in, doin’ things to it that makes my knees weak.

  My other hand trails leisurely down her to her abdomen; her muscles contract. Desire is a railroad spike through me. Her shallow breathin’ is air for my soul. I catch hold of the edge of her black underwear, hookin’ my thumb through the side of it. The lace is warm liquid against my fingertips. I continue down, tuggin’ the thin scrap of material away from her.

  A snap draws my attention upward; her midnight wings spread wide from her back. My heart thunders in my chest as her wings serrate to black arrow points. They shine with iridescent fire in tones of purple, blue, and green.

  The crickets inside me remind me every second just what desire is. They’re ready to consume everythin’ in their path. I grasp her ‘round the waist. She leans against me. The impact of her skin against mine fills me with insatiable hunger. The low, passionate sound that breathes from her has the muscles low in my abdomen contractin’. My wings punch from my back, spreadin’ out, responding to hers. When she sees them, she smiles—they must be talkin’ to her—tellin’ her things that I haven’t said.

  Extractin’ my thumb from between her lips, I cup her cheek. My neck bends as my mouth hovers near her ear. “What did my wings say to you,” I whisper, before brushin’ my lips to the place just beneath her earlobe.

  “Something I didn’t know,” Anya murmurs.

  “What?”

  Her half-lidded gaze seduces me. Easing closer, her lips flirt with mine, hoverin’ just above. “You missed me.” The vibration of her silky voice drives me crazy with a rough-edged need to possess her.

  I nip her bottom lip, suckin’ it into my mouth before lettin’ it go. “I—”