The Ryu Morgue (A Jane True Short Story) (Trueniverse Book 2)

by Nicole Peeler

  This time, he was successful. His hand closed on the writhing fabric, but now he was wrestling both the shawl and the woman it possessed.

  It wrapped around Maeve’s neck like a boa constrictor, even as her body bucked underneath him, threatening to throw him off. She bit at the hand holding her wrists, and he swore.

  “Damn it, Maeve! Fight it!” Her eyes darted toward him, but her teeth found the soft flesh between his thumb and pointer finger, sinking deep.

  He yanked that hand up, her head following with her jaw’s death grip. He used the opportunity to get a better hold on the back of the shawl. He pulled with all of his strength and the shawl finally began to give way, its freed ends reaching out toward Maeve in an eerie parody of a hug. Her teeth sank deeper into his hand as he finally separated her entirely from the shawl, throwing the fabric toward the other end of the patio.

  “Maeve?” he asked, cradling her head in his free hand. She looked up at him from where she had her teeth still sunk in his flesh, her violent bucking slowing.

  But not fast enough to keep him from reacting, like any male vampire would, to the pain/pleasure of her strong bite and the shift of her hips and soft belly against his groin.

  She let go suddenly, gasping in a breath as tears abruptly formed in her eyes. “Oh my God, Ryu, what have I done?”

  Freed from her teeth, he jerked himself back so that he sat sprawled at her feet. She sat up, tears streaming down her cheeks, her plump lips bloodied.

  “Your face,” she said, reaching a trembling hand toward him. “Your hand...”

  “I’m fine,” he said, the husky tone in his voice having nothing to do with anger, but she obviously took it that way.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, dropping her hand. “I don’t know what happened...”

  “I do,” he said, trying to get a rein on his feelings. Especially the ones currently making a tent of his trousers, a tent he fervidly hoped Maeve wouldn’t notice. “And it’s not your fault. I told you the shawl was safe. Clearly, it wasn’t.”

  “But why did you...”

  “Because it wasn’t magic. At least, not the kind I was testing for.” Ryu struggled to his feet, surreptitiously adjusting himself while thinking of anything other than the memory of Maeve moving underneath him.

  “What was it, then?” Maeve asked. She was still crying, but Ryu thought it was more of an aftereffect of the shawl’s influence than out of true emotion.

  He held his uninjured hand out to her. She hesitated, then accepted, and he pulled her to her feet.

  “God, look at us,” she said, and then she started brushing at his clothes, her hands batting at the dirt and leaves covering his formerly pristine slacks. And absolutely not helping his more embarrassing reactions to her attack. He grabbed both of her hands in his to stop her and she blanched at the wet squelch of his bloodied skin against hers.

  “Sorry,” he said, pulling his hands away. “I’m all right.” He concentrated, invoking his magic to heal his cheeks and his hand.

  It worked, but he was going to have to feed soon to top up his power. He’d used up more than he intended with the wine experiment.

  “Wow,” Maeve said, marveling. “That’s pretty neat. But you’re still all bloody.”

  He didn’t have the heart to tell her that she was too. A smear of blood decorated her full, already red lips, her lipstick smeared with the blood in a way directly reminiscent of vampire sex.

  Good vampire sex.

  He cursed his overactive imagination, reaching for a fallen napkin and plunging it into his water glass. Then he drew her toward him, wiping the blood and lipstick away before it completely distracted him. When he was finished, he realized how close he’d brought her, and how her gray eyes were staring up into his with a shock that only partially attributable to the shawl’s magic.

  He let her go, busying himself with wetting the other side of the napkin to scrub at his own face and hand.

  “I am sorry,” she said. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shining. “That wasn’t...it wasn’t me.”

  He eyed the shawl huddled on the gray stone floor. “You needn’t apologize. I told you the shawl was safe. As for that not being you...It wasn’t, and it was.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice sharp.

  “It wasn’t like you to attack me, no. But like the people we examined at the morgue, the hatred for supernaturals was part of you.”

  She ducked her head, refusing to answer his implied question.

  “You don’t have to tell me what happened to you,” Ryu said, reaching to touch the wrist he’d hit. She winced, hurt, as he’d expected. He used a little more of his dwindling magic to heal her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again, but he knew that this time it wasn’t about the attack.

  “And once more you don’t have to be sorry. You feel what you feel,” he told her, placing a finger under chin to make her meet his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me your secrets.

  “That said, you need to get over it. You work with us now. And you’re working with me, right now. I can’t have a partner that secretly wants me dead.”

  “I don’t want you dead,” she began, but interrupted her.

  “Maybe not consciously. But what happened with the shawl says otherwise about what’s going on in your unconscious. You’ve got to face your demons.”

  Tears were again rolling down her face. He noticed with a pang that she was an ugly crier, making her all the more vulnerable, invoking that masculine need to protect shared by humans and supernaturals alike.

  “I do,” she whispered. “I really do.”

  “Good,” he said. “Because even though we’re not literally facing a demon this time, we’re facing something even worse.”

  Maeve looked at him, curiosity transcending the clusterfuck of emotions showing on her puffy, pale face.

  “Oh?” she asked. “What is it?”

  “Only the biggest pain in the ass possible. A god.”

  TWELVE

  Maeve fidgeted in her seat, picking at the lid of her empty coffee cup and wondering whether she ought to get another. She normally didn’t drink coffee after three pm, but today wasn’t normal in any way. Not least because she’d slept until two, despite being someone who woke at six in the morning no matter what had occurred the night before.

  Ryu had warned her she’d crash after the shawl’s possession, and crash she had. By the time they’d gotten back to the hotel and Ryu had secured the shawl and run a few diagnostics on her to make sure she wouldn’t try to kill him in his sleep, it had been midnight and she’d barely been able to keep her eyes open. She’d fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow and hadn’t woken up until noon the next day. After realizing Ryu wasn’t in the room, she’d gotten up with every intention of getting ready, only to use the bathroom and then go back to bed for another two hours. She’d only barely managed to drag herself out of bed and into clothes, then to the hotel lobby in search of coffee.

  Stifling a yawn, Maeve wondered where her erstwhile partner had gone off to.

  Probably to solve the case alone, she thought, frowning at her coffee. And it would serve her right, for attacking him like that. Shawl or no, she apparently couldn’t be trusted.

  “There you are.” Ryu’s smooth tenor sounded from behind her and she started, knocking over the empty cardboard cup. “Easy, it’s just me,” he said, taking the chair across from her.

  His amber eyes raked over her. “You look like hell. No offense.” He grinned, taking the edge off his words. “But I don’t sense any magic in you. Any desire to kill me this morning?”

  She groaned, feeling her face heat up. “No. And I can’t apologize enough. I feel horrible about last night...”

  “Don’t. Seriously. You busted the case wide open. We never would have figured out what happened without your having put on that shawl. Now we know, and I was able to send for what we need.”

  “And what, exactly, do we know?” Maev
e decided to take his words at face value and stop beating herself up. Especially as they needed to get a move on to put the kibosh on this case.

  “I’ll explain in the car. Are you ready?”

  Maeve nodded, standing and then grabbing her jacket from the back of her chair. “I think I am. You tell me. Do I need anything special?”

  Ryu’s eyes again raked over her. Maeve had donned her most comfortable skinny jeans, a long-sleeved tee and a yoga hoodie, and pseudo-combat boots made for fashionable ladies. Her hair was in a ponytail. He seemed to approve, nodding to himself.

  “You’re perfect. And everything we need is right here,” he said, holding up a padded manila envelope marked COURIER. “Let’s go.”

  They retrieved the rental, and Ryu drove. Maeve wasn’t surprised to find them heading back out to Pai’s.

  “So what is she?” Maeve asked. “Last night you said something about a god, but that you weren’t sure. I take it now you are?”

  “As sure as I can be until we confront her, yes. And, unfortunately, I do think we’re dealing with a minor deity. They’re always the worst.”

  Maeve felt a bit lightheaded. Her work for the US government, and now her work for the Initiative, meant that she was constantly confronted with disturbing new aspects of the supernatural world. But this was definitely the first time any gods had been involved.

  “So, you really mean a god?” Only after she said it did she realize how faint she sounded.

  Ryu shot her an amused look. “Yes, but this one is fairly manageable.”

  “Oh, good. A manageable god. How nice.”

  “The downside is we are dealing with something old and rare, if she’s what I think she is. But the good news is she isn’t one of the old things powerful enough to kill with a look.”

  Maeve swallowed, her mouth suddenly feeling dry. The day was bright and crisp, the sun shining off the vineyards they sped past. It looked so normal...everything always looked so normal. Except they were talking about going to confront a god.

  “What is she, then?” Maeve asked.

  “I’m pretty sure she’s a Moirai,” Ryu said, slowing down to take a few sharp curves then rocketing back to his normal Speed Racer mode. “Do you know what Moirai are?”

  Maeve frowned, thinking back to her training. “Isn’t that the Greek word for the Fates?”

  “Very good. But it’s not a Greek word, it’s Old Tongue for ‘weaver.’ They’re an incredibly rare and ancient race with the ability to weave destiny. There were only ever a handful, and they’re so purely magical they almost never reproduce. There were enough born, however, to spread out and create havoc.”

  “How did they do that?” Maeve noticed a few familiar landmarks, indicating they were near Pai’s farm. She tried to quell the nausea in her belly, but felt her stomach roll anyway. Although that could be as much from Ryu’s kamikaze driving as fear.

  “You’ll notice that almost all human societies have a similar mythology involving spinners and weavers of fate. A goddess who creates and cuts off the threads of her worshipers’ lives.

  “Pai, if she’s who I think she is, is short for Päivätär. She’s ruled as a goddess over many peoples, most recently the Finnish.”

  “Wait, I’ve heard of her. She’s associated with the sun, right? She’s in that Finnish epic poem.”

  “Yep, that’s our girl.”

  “The weaving makes sense now, then,” Maeve said.

  “Yes, it does. It also makes sense why I couldn’t sense anything magical done to the shawl. The Moirai’s magic is a part of them, it’s not...forced upon something. The shawl is magic, but its magic is part of it in a way I wasn’t looking for. It’s also interactive, meaning it’s totally inert until it comes into contact with a living thing.”

  “But the Fates didn’t make magic shawls...at least not in mythology.”

  “No,” said Ryu. “Back in the day, they were able to interfere more directly. But that’s illegal nowadays, in our society. So she’s found a sort of workaround, I guess, through knitted goods. Thank the gods she didn’t use Etsy.”

  “So, are all gods and goddesses really supernaturals?” Maeve asked, feeling like a light bulb had gone on in the woodshed of her mind.

  Ryu grinned at her. “Well done, and yes. Most pagan gods and goddesses are, at least. Your Jesus was human, I’m afraid.”

  “No, that’s fine. A bit of a relief, really. And are they all still alive? Like Pai?”

  “Many are.” Ryu pulled down the long, single track road that led to Pai’s. “And many, like Pai, do their best to interfere like they used to, despite it being strictly illegal in our world to do so. Setting yourself up as a god draws too much attention.”

  “Well, that’s just common sense,” Maeve said, still feeling lightheaded. She’d never cease to be amazed by supernaturals.

  She also realized they were very close to the farm when she saw Pai’s mailbox at the end of her long driveway. Ryu slowed, then pulled over, stopping the car next to the mailbox. He reached into the back seat where he’d stashed the courier’s envelope.

  “I’ll take on Pai directly,” Ryu said, his voice serious and his eyes locked on Maeve’s. “I want you to stay out of the way. Just because she’s limiting herself to weaving latent magic like the shawl doesn’t mean she has to—she’s probably nearly as strong as she was when she was a goddess.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Distract her,” Ryu said. “And don’t get yourself killed.”

  Maeve gave a small, sarcastic bow. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

  “Good. Ready?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Then let’s go.” Ryu got out of the car, and Maeve followed, wondering for the millionth time in her life why she couldn’t have gone into something sedate, like flower arranging.

  THIRTEEN

  Ryu held up a hand to Maeve as they neared the main house. They’d seen no sign of Pai, and the whole farm was eerily silent. Ryu gestured for Maeve to stand at the bottom of stairs leading up to the porch. She drew her gun and aimed toward the door, nodding at him to proceed.

  He didn’t have the heart to tell her the gun wouldn’t work on Pai any more than in it would work on him, unless she managed to fatally wound the Moiroi and knock her out before she could heal herself.

  Creeping up to the door, Ryu armed himself with his own missile—a mage ball juiced with as much power as he could spare.

  Which really wasn’t much.

  The truth was he should have fed last night. But it hadn’t felt right, after what happened with Maeve, to leave her in the room alone. Granted, she’d passed out, snoring like a lumberjack, the minute she’d gotten into bed. She wouldn’t have noticed if he slipped away. And yet he’d stayed, guarding her while she slept, after he’d made a few necessary phone calls to source the item they needed to get the upper hand on the Moirai.

  He touched the polished wood of the door frame, listening for any sound from within the house not only with his mind, but with his power. Pai’s signature absence was indeed absent—she wasn’t at home.

  He shook his head at Maeve, who swiveled away from the steps, guarding his descent. She nodded toward the barn and he moved in that direction. The wide double doors were closed, but as they neared, they heard singing coming from within.

  “The Old Tongue,” Ryu whispered. “A working song, invoking the sun and the loom.”

  “Sounds ominous,” Maeve whispered back. “Have a plan?”

  “I’ll go in through that door, up there,” Ryu said, pointing. “The one that leads into the hay loft.”

  “How do you know it leads into a hay loft?” Maeve whispered.

  “I’ve seen enough movies,” he replied softly. “It’s always a hayloft.”

  “Okay, Errol Flynn. What do I do?”

  “You wait ‘til I’m in, then fling open these doors. Distract Pai so I can take care of her.”

  “Take care of her? How?”
/>   “She can’t be killed, only incapacitated. That’s where these come in.”

  He reached into the courier bag, pulling out a pair of gleaming scissors.

  “Are those gold?” Maeve asked, blinking at the bright yellow metal.

  Ryu nodded. “And heavily spelled.”

  “What do you do with them?”

  “You’ll see when we get the door open. Ready?”

  Maeve nodded. Ryu gripped her hand suddenly in his. “Be careful,” he said.

  “Of course. And you.”

  He could hear her heartbeat racing, but her voice and eyes were calm. She was well trained, and as ready as she’d ever be.

  He used the decorative lattice on the barn to help swing himself up, motioning to Maeve to open the big doors. He heard her do so, turning at the same moment he heard them crash open, so that he saw what she must have, in the same moment.

  Pai was sitting in the center of the barn, at a spinning wheel that looked ancient yet well cared for, its intricately carved surfaces made out of a wood Ryu didn’t recognize, probably from a tree that had died out long before his own birth.

  She was spinning bright blue wool, which glimmered in that strange way that Maeve’s shawl had. Now the true nature of the glimmer was revealed.

  Pai’s long braids were down, her gold and silver hair falling about her in a monstrously abundant wave, reminiscent of a German fairy tale. She was spinning strands of that hair into the blue wool, so it sparkled in the dim light cast by a dozen or so lanterns.

  “There you are,” Maeve said conversationally. Pai had looked up as soon as the door was opened, but she seemed neither surprised nor worried at Maeve’s presence. Ryu crept forward a few feet into what was indeed a hayloft that covered only a third of the space available, so he could easily see Pai at her wheel and hear Maeve at the door.