Hand of the God

by Sonya Bateman

  Apparently I was feeling better. At least a little.

  “Sorry.” I handed the nearly empty container back to her and wiped my mouth. “Guess I was thirstier than I thought.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ve already had plenty,” she said with the beginnings of a smile. But hers wouldn’t take, either. “We’re all going to head back into Roswell. We’re taking a jeep and one of the box trucks, so we can …” Her face fell.

  I knew what she’d been about to say. So we can bring Taeral’s body. “It’s fine,” I said. “Really.”

  She nodded, obviously fighting fresh tears. “Anyway,” she said on a shuddering breath. “I’ve arranged for a jet back home, and for a team to come out here and clean up this mess. NSA, not … them.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Rex is going to Pennsylvania with Chester. I’ll have a car ready to take them there, and your van is waiting at Fort Bennett.”

  Listening to her, trying to process normal, everyday things like logistics and my van and home, was a real struggle. My mind was a million miles away, entirely focused on my brother and how I was going to fix this. But I couldn’t just blow her off. So I forced my attention back to the here-and-now, and gave it all to her. “Thank you for arranging all this,” I said. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. You’re incredible.”

  Her lips quivered into an approximation of a smile. “Do you need a few more minutes?” she said. “We can wait. That jet isn’t going anywhere without us.”

  “No, I’m good.” I pushed off the ground and held a hand out to help her up. “Let’s take him home.”

  Chapter 33

  Someone knocked at the door to the library, or whatever the hell this room was. I’d never actually been in here before. “It’s open,” I called, and then picked up the shot glass I’d just filled with whiskey and knocked it back.

  I didn’t really taste it. Hadn’t tasted the last eight shots, either. Or twelve, or twenty, or however many I’d had.

  The door creaked open slowly, like it was sorry for disturbing me, and Abe walked through it. He stopped short when he caught sight of me. “Jesus Christ,” he blurted. “I came to see how you were holding up, but … Gideon, this is beyond not so good.”

  “Holding up. Is that what I’m doing?” I grabbed for the fresh bottle I’d just opened and missed both of them. “I thought I was celebrating. We won, you know. Want a shot?”

  Abe moved cautiously into the room and closed the door behind him. “You’re drunk.”

  “See, this is why you’re the detective. I mean captain. You see the clues, and you put them together, and voila.” I made another flourishing grab, and this time I caught the neck of the bottle. I proceeded to slosh more whiskey onto the table than into the shot glass. “Yep,” I said. “I’m drunk.”

  Without another word, Abe crossed the room and gently pried the bottle from my hand. “Evan Williams,” he said in a tone that was trying real hard to be casual. “Cheap, but it gets the job done.”

  “Yeah. Taeral’s favorite.”

  He winced when I said the name, but he fished a second shot glass out of the dusty wooden box on the table — the box I’d found shoved into the recesses of a cabinet in the kitchen, where Sadie had probably hidden it — and poured himself a slug. “All right,” he said. “Let’s drink.”

  My hand shook as I reached for the glass I’d filled. I glared at it until it stopped, then picked up the shot and clinked it with Abe’s. “To victory,” I said.

  He didn’t echo the sentiment. But he drank.

  I dropped the shot glass on the table. It wobbled, tipped over and rolled off the edge to land with a soft thump on the floor. My bleary eyes tracked the movement and fixated on the cup sparkling from the carpet. Broken glass catching the moonlight. I had to clean it up so it wouldn’t cut him. He just needed the moon, and then everything would be okay.

  “Gideon.”

  A wrenching sob split the air. There was a pause while my brain worked out that the sound had come from me.

  “Gideon,” Abe said again. “It’s okay to mourn.”

  “I’m not mourning!” I jumped from the chair I’d been slumped in, staggered and nearly fell before I caught myself and forced the anger back. It wasn’t directed at him, and I couldn’t let it out. I needed it. “Didn’t you hear me? I’m celebrating,” I said. “Nobody else would celebrate with me, so thanks for having a drink.”

  Abe stood there for a moment, looking at me. There was no judgment in his gaze. No pity. Nothing but pure human love, and pain — not his own, but mine. The pain he wanted to take from me and lessen my burden.

  He opened his arms.

  I managed to hold out for about ten seconds before I fell into them, and the floodgates burst.

  It went on for a long time. When my broken sobbing finally trailed into shivery little breaths that were trying to come together, I stepped back and swiped at my eyes. It didn’t make much of a dent in the mess that was my face. “Ugh,” I said. “Man-tears.”

  He smirked and produced a handkerchief from his pocket. I’d forgotten he carried those around.

  “Thanks,” I said as I took it, and then paused. “Uh, you don’t want this back, do you?”

  He held both hands up palms-out. “Go to town,” he said.

  I wiped off the tears and snot, blew my nose loudly a few times. Nothing like a good ugly cry to clear the sinuses. And my head. For the first time since we’d gotten home last night, I felt focused again.

  I already knew what I had to do. Now, it was just a matter of doing it.

  “Better?” Abe said, watching me crumple the handkerchief and shove it in a pocket.

  “Yeah. Thanks.” I exhaled slowly. “Sorry I didn’t call you sooner.”

  He patted my shoulder. “Don’t even think about apologizing for that,” he said. “I’m actually surprised you called as soon as you did, considering.”

  Abe probably thought I had arrangements to make, a funeral to plan. But I’d really called him because I was leaving, tonight, and this time I couldn’t tell him about it. I’d only wanted to see him before I go. Just in case.

  “So … do you need anything?” Abe said awkwardly, eyeing the open whiskey bottle, the two empties, and the four that were still full. “I mean other than booze, since I think you’ve got that covered.”

  “Not really,” I said. “I’m just glad you came.”

  “As if I wouldn’t.” He shook his head with a slanted smile. “Listen,” he said. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say you haven’t eaten anything in … a while. Am I right?”

  I made a sound that was almost a laugh. “Yeah, you could say that.” Not since the jackrabbits and cactus surprise back in the tunnel. After that I’d been too busy, right up until the point where I stopped caring about things like food and breathing.

  “That’s what I thought,” he said. “I have to go back to the office for a few hours, but why don’t you come out to dinner with me when I’m done? Take some time to sober up — and definitely take a shower, okay?” His nose wrinkled slightly. “I’ll pick you up around seven. We don’t have to talk, if you’re not feeling up to it. Just eat.”

  The actual smile on my face felt strange. “You know, that sounds really good,” I said.

  “All right. See you then.”

  He hugged me again, and I walked him to the door. Well, stumbled. By the time I saw him out, I was more or less steady on my feet as I made my way back through the house to my room, and my shower. Abe was right. I did not smell very pleasant.

  While I hosed down and scrubbed off the filth, I thought about everything that happened since I got home, and everything I still had to do.

  Holdrun hadn’t come with us. Good thing, because no one had asked him to. I didn’t know what he’d done, and I didn’t give a shit.

  Grygg had taken the news about Taeral stoically, the way he took everything, but I could tell he was badly shaken. Eli hadn’t really understood at first. But when Sa
die burst into tears while she was trying to explain, the little guy had cried with her. Even though he didn’t have the vocabulary to express how he felt, it came through loud and clear.

  Daoin didn’t know. I had no idea how to tell him that I’d gotten the son he actually cared about killed, and part of me hoped I’d never have to. I didn’t think I’d be able to stand the look on his face when he found out Taeral was dead.

  As for Sadie, I’d tried to comfort her the best I could, though I didn’t really know how. She insisted that she didn’t blame me for what happened — but I knew she did, on some level. It was impossible not to blame me. I was only alive because Taeral was dead. So now, whenever she looked at me, she’d see his body laid on a curtain beneath a shattered skylight, with broken glass as his litter. She’d see the reason Taeral would never wrap his arms around her again, never steal kisses when no one was looking, never drink himself into a stupor just to piss her off or swear brutal vengeance on anyone who harmed her. Never draw another breath.

  That was just one of the many reasons I’d planned my little upcoming trip.

  Sadie couldn’t come with me this time, either. She’d barely gotten out of bed since we came back, and even if she had the strength, I had a feeling she’d be opposed to my plan. She’d say it was too dangerous and she didn’t want to lose me too … even though deep down, I knew she’d trade me for him without a second thought.

  Still, I didn’t think I’d end up going alone. I had someone in mind — two someones, actually — who’d told me they would always help me if I needed it. I was about to test that assertion. They would be ideal for this particular mission, considering where I had to go.

  I suspected they’d at least understand what I was doing and why, though.

  After all, they were brothers.

  The water was starting to run cold when I turned off the shower, stepped out and dried off. Once I was dressed, I’d pack a bag so everything would be ready when I came back from dinner with Abe tonight. The Grotto should be open by then, and I wanted to leave as soon as possible.

  I had to go see a god about my brother.

  Thanks for reading!

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  More books by Sonya Bateman

  THE DEATHSPEAKER CODEX series page

  THE CURSING STONES (Avalon Rising, book 1)

  IN THE SHADOW OF DRAGONS

  The Gavyn Donatti series:

  MASTER OF NONE

  MASTER AND APPRENTICE

  MASTER OF ELEMENTS

  About the Author

  Sonya Bateman lives in “scenic” Central New York, with its two glorious seasons: winter and road construction. She is the author of the DeathSpeaker Chronicles series and the Gavyn Donatti urban fantasy series (Master of None / Master and Apprentice) from Simon & Schuster, as well as several standalone titles. Under the pseudonym S.W. Vaughn, she’s the author of the Skin Deep paranormal M/M erotic romance series.

  Contact her at sonyabateman.author@gmail.com, or like and post to her page on Facebook.