by Jamie Magee
Again, she heard the silent message in his words.
She stepped up to him. “You listen to me,” she said as quickly and low as she could. “I face my confrontations when the time is due—I sure as fuck do not send someone to handle them for me. You take your fucking ships back and you tell King we will deal with us face to face or not at all.”
Now his half smirk emerged. “The ships are yours, along with their cargo.”
“Do what?” Reveca said as her gaze moved to the boats on either side of her. Souls, dark souls.
“We’re not skilled at compressing souls, so of course you understand the need for dual ships.”
Reveca’s gaze flipped to Erios at the helm. Her one glance said enough. He began to make his way to the closest ship.
“You accept these gifts?”
Reveca’s glare snapped up to him. “You bring fully embodied souls this close to gates of the Veil? Is it your intent to have the dead overrun with evil?”
“Not at all,” he said crossing his arms. “Some have been suppressed, King had Erios begin the process days ago for he is now permitted within the Edge. However, we are not.”
“Who are these souls?”
“Most are from your list.”
Reveca jarred back, completely caught off guard. This was huge, and it was something she needed to think over before she approached Crass. The bargaining chip was too vast.
Dagen’s eyes remained cold, full of blame and distrust. “The lower part of your list. For the most part they were easy to find. The heavy hitters—in all truth, thus far we’ve only begun our hunt for them. There are a few aboard that rank midway.”
“You’ve been doing this all along? Do you not have a war with a God to prepare for?”
“Me? No. My charge was to guard Adair, Gwinn—you get the idea. Others, their charge was this.”
Reveca’s stare darted over the ships. What King’s people had gathered in weeks would have taken her years.
She knew King felt the blame for her having to deal with Crass. She knew it infuriated him that she was face to face with Crass as much as she was, but she had no idea he had the power to do this. He might as well have laid twelve dozen roses at her feet.
“Speaking of my charge,” Dagen said, raising a tiny silk bag. “We now have the means to summon Talley, and Adair is no longer luring him to her whereabouts.”
This was almost as shocking as the souls. Adair needed off the Boneyard property—Reveca had argued as much with both King and Talon. She was sure the girl’s instinct would lead her to the spell or answer to help Talley, but her arguments were weak. Talley, just hours before was sensed prowling the Boneyard. One step off the property and any plan to end this peacefully, correctly, would be over.
Reveca leaned forward, reaching for the content but Dagen caused it to vanish.
“What was it?” Reveca demanded.
“Splinters. Judge pulled them from the tips of her fingers.”
“Splinters?”
Half shrug.
“Is that where King is? Guarding Adair? Helping Judge?”
“I suppose when you speak to King face to face he can tell what he is doing and why.”
Dagen was too good at this fight. With words that seemed arbitrary he pointed a guilty finger at her. In his own way, he was saying she should’ve spoken to King after her sin and before she embarked on this torturous mission.
Reveca lifted her chin. “Give Erios and those with him possession of your ships. They will sail them back to the Edge and properly deal with the souls.”
There was no way Reveca was giving a soul to Crass unless she was sure they belonged there. She trusted King when it came to the souls. She knew he’d never harm without reason, but still. It was her obligation and her karma if one soul landed in the wrong hell.
Dagen nodded to his right, and seconds later four more crates appeared on the vessel she was on, ones that had been handled by Erios.
There was more shifting about, but Reveca kept her stare locked on Dagen’s. She was furious he knew her business. Furious the fight between her and King was a public matter. It was wrong. Not as wrong as her sin, but still wrong.
“As I said, the ships are yours, the souls are yours. These men are under King’s command and they will remain with you.”
As he spoke, just short of a hundred Escorts appeared on the vessel she was on. In uniform, they stood with their arms behind their back and their chins lifted slightly. Their chiseled features showed no expression. Dark hair, eyes as blue and sharp as ice. Warriors.
Dark angels surrounded her and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.
“I told you. This is a display of power. Power Crass will sense. Therefore he will make my life hell as he twists this barter, or worse, threatens to tell Revelin where King is.”
“Worse,” Dagen said, his lip wanting to twitch his half grin into place, but holding back. He pursed his lips before he spoke on. “Before you reach the docks, we will be scarce, afterward as well. Our protection ends and begins with Crass’s line of sight.”
“Then what is the fucking point? Oh. Right. I know the point. This is King waving his authority around, the almighty dark angel, second only to a great dark God, knows where I am at all times and can send armies to my heels.” She sneered. “This is the last fucking thing we need between us now.”
Dagen narrowed his eyes. She knew he had a host of words, more than likely insults he wanted to hurl at her, but he kept to his professional demeanor.
“Your protection was not sent to guard you against Crass.”
Reveca searched his gaze for an answer and found she was oblivious to whatever it was.
Dagen stepped forward, a mere inch from her, his voice low, quick, and deep, a tone she had only heard him and King use when speaking, one she had barely mastered understanding.
“Tonight was revealing,” Dagen said. “The Lady of Death, Ambrosia, nearly had a stolen soul in her grasp. One she’s thirsted for, for ages. And he was not only ripped back but, well, he was strengthened. Meaning Ambrosia will be feeling quite slighted tonight.” Dagen winked. “She may want to chat. In case she does, we are present.”
“You think I fear her? The wench?”
“Jealously,” Dagen said in his same tone.
“For all of my Sons, yes. I pulled them from death and I intend to keep them alive.” Her eyes nearly welled with tears but her anger masked their true purpose. “Your insults, words between words, are harmless. And once again, this is not your conversation to be had. Evidently King finds it easier to communicate our issues with you. I’m not playing this game.”
Dagen chose not to engage. “Ambrosia will strive to reach her daughter, and will surely use any method she can.”
“You think the bitch is going to kidnap me? I’m ransom for the child she tricked Talon into having.”
“Adair. The child has a name.”
Reveca felt the blow of his words, the punch laced with truth—this was not Adair’s fault.
“Seeing her daughter, allowing Adair this time could prove to be beneficial for several collective interest we have.”
Reveca glared in response.
“You agreeing to this meeting gives you a place of authority,” Dagen said, tempting the offer.
“I vowed to Adair’s father that I would protect her. Allowing her a conference with a Lady of Death is not a stellar way to keep my vow.”
“Then set the terms accordingly.” He winked.
“I don’t need your protection,” Reveca said adamantly.
“Perhaps.”
“You wish me to fear her, to turn my ship about, go home, wait for permission from King to do my biding, run my Club?”
“No.”
She almost slugged him.
“She would have found a way to speak to you one way or another after tonight. You made it easy on her.”
Reveca held Dagen’s stare as she nodded. The final moves were made on the sh
ip, all but one boat returned to the Edge. Reveca, her guard, and Sons sailed forward.
Not a word was said on the journey. Cashton leaned against the rail by the stern, looking into each of the men Dagen had brought, as if he saw deeper or understood more.
For a few moments Dagen had pulled him aside, out of Reveca’s sight. She was burning to know what was said or done. At once Cashton seemed both tense and empowered.
Rush stayed at her side. Steele was managing the helm, but both of them kept a defensive watch on the army around them.
Just as Crass’s lair came into view, Dagen winked at Reveca then they all vanished as if they were never there.
Rush opened his mouth. Reveca spoke over him.
“Angels. Dark ones. Do not fuck with them unless it’s a last resort.”
Rush’s stare slid to Cashton. He shook his head, and a boyish smirk came to him. “No, I’m just a dead guy. But hey, shite happens. Who knows where I’ll end up one day.”
“What the fuck,” Rush said on an exhale. He knew Cashton the least because he was always gone but he’d heard of his story, and over the last few days he’d made it a point to speak to him.
The others had said Cashton had a tiff with King, or King had one with him—Rush was curious. His wolfish ways left him with a constant burning inquisitiveness.
Those brief statements Reveca and Cashton had made had given him enough to question for a lifetime, but now was no time for questions.
Crass’s men were rowing out to greet their ship.
Chapter Four
Reveca’s mind should have been trained on Crass. She should have spent her journey setting her intent, calling the outcome she wanted forth in her mind.
Instead, she spent the first part doubting she should have left, midway through evaluating what she knew, and the last part face-to-face with a pissed off BFF slash first in command of King’s.
She was not ready and was doing her best to be so. She’d even told herself when they left she would be catching Crass off guard, which would be best. He wasn’t expecting her for a few more days at least.
The extra souls King had given her had added a valuable tool to bargain with, one that would allow her to speak to any of the souls she sent there.
King knew she had wanted to do so, she’d told him all about what happened at Latour’s, how what Chalice said seemed cryptic.
Before all hell broke loose tonight they were on her front porch discussing Akan, how his story did not line up with what Chalice had already said or what Evanthe’s journal had said.
He was not thrilled about her speaking to any of the souls she sent to Crass, especially not Tisk.
And sadly, out of the three, Tisk would be the only one with any information at all. Blackwater was too stuck in the modern world, the drug business; he only mingled with a little witchcraft. Holden was at his side.
Tisk, the whore, had been Zale’s pet, at least for a time, and as much as Reveca hated to admit it, she was a smart girl. At least when she wanted something, she was focused on who was holding the power.
Steele had stayed with the vessel. Rush and Cashton flanked Reveca as she began her journey into the pit of the earth.
Cashton told her before they left tonight he was whole, but he wasn’t. Reveca knew he wasn’t as strong as he normally was, but at the very least the mark of death was gone from him—Crass would not be able to outright sense he was a citizen of the Veil.
She had no choice but to bring Cash. His absence would raise too many suspicions, far more than adding someone to this meet and greet.
Which is where Rush came in.
Oddly, the dead, including the Lords of Death, didn’t favor the immortals Reveca had that wholly embodied the spirit of a wolf.
Her theory as to why was simple; the wolves embodied a soul the Lords of death could never control, and they were deeply connected to mother earth, protected by her. Everyone fears what they have no control over.
Reveca was aware of the aversion Lords had with wolves from careful observation.
The few sly words Crass had said about Talon in the past just proved her more so right. Crass sensed the wolf in Talon even though Talon was far more Phoenix.
In the past, when barters were made to free Cashton—at least on limited time intervals—Rush was present. To this day, Reveca would swear it wasn’t her bartering skills that ultimately freed Cashton as much as the fact that particular Lord would have agreed to anything to get her and Rush to leave.
To test her theory it was the wolf spirit that troubled the Lords, in later barters she had taken Steele along. Each and every time he was met with a degree of respect, and a grade of fear. Both elements were covered well with the asshole persona all Lords had, but Reveca had sensed it just the same.
In all truth, the only reason Reveca had originally brought Cashton instead of Steele when she faced Crass months ago was because, at the time, as far as she knew, she was bartering on her sister’s behalf. She didn’t care how well the barter went, it was her silent rebellion.
If she’d known King was who Saige sent her for she would have brought every wolf in existence with her.
There was nothing she could do about it now. Any major change up would put Crass in a place of power. It was bad enough he knew where King was and could open his big, fat mouth the first chance he had.
Crass was a fucked liability.
Their walk was slow and calculated. The cargo was before them. Reveca wanted Crass to have a moment to drool over the prizes she had brought. They were not his yet; she’d have to officially release them to him. It was no shocker he wanted these vile beings—she needed him to lust after them.
His lust should earn her the conference Reveca had to have but didn’t want. One with Tisk.
“It reeks,” Rush said under his breath.
His sense of smell—all wolves’—was acute. How tense he was told Reveca familiar souls were near. He was outright pissed he missed the action a few weeks back with Blackwater. There wasn’t a soul Reveca sent to Crass he wouldn’t have wanted to slay himself.
Especially Tisk. Her conniving ways had sent a girl Rush actually gave a damn about packing years back.
“Motherfucker,” he said a few seconds later. The hard, golden glance he slid Reveca prepared her for what she was about to walk into.
Good thing, because the last fucking thing she’d ever want to do would be to give Tisk the satisfaction of seeing shock in her gaze.
Tisk was perched on the side of Crass’s throne like some twisted pet, a sex toy. Her hair was wild, dark and crazy as ever. She was wearing next to nothing, basically only gold chains that barely covered her waist, and her chest.
Her fingertips were carefully caressing Crass’s shoulder.
Crass’s leer was as sick as ever. His bald head was shining, reflecting the glow from the torches lining the cave walls. Once Reveca stood before him looking bored as ever, his beady eyes hungrily searched her.
“Ravishing,” he said with a slight tilt of his head, one that was supposed to hide the suspicion he had about Rush’s presence. Reveca was almost sure he’d shifted back a bit on his rock throne.
Tisk glared. She was jealous Reveca was getting any attention and it took all Reveca had to not roll her eyes. The witch needed to get a fucking life as far as she was concerned.
“I must say,” Crass said at length as his gaze moved to Cash. “I didn’t expect you so soon. You seem to be on a calculated schedule.”
This was not good. Reveca was hoping Tisk was somewhere deep in the bowels of hell suffering immeasurably. Reveca’s conference with her would have been short and sweet because Tisk would’ve clung to anyone or thing that might be her escape.
The notion just went up in smoke. Tisk had whored her way out of the dungeons of hell.
Tisk, on Crass’s throne, was a nightmare. The girl didn’t know much, but she knew enough, and assumed even more. She could royally fuck Reveca if she hadn’t already.
It also meant Reveca’s plan to come and speak to Tisk, to find at least one answer, was now impossible. Even if Tisk knew what in the hell Chalice was talking about, she’d never say—not when she was laced in gold and a pet to the Lord who held her captive. It was a stretch to hope it would work if she was suffering.
Even though Reveca’s expression never altered, on the inside she was crumbling. For all she knew this was it, Crass would never let her leave, and the very last emotion between her and King would be anger and betrayal.
The Creator could not be this cruel.
“An odd observation to use. From my point of view my visits have been random.”
“Of course,” Crass said, taking in another hard stare at Cashton. “I suppose I was referring to how close it came to the phases of the moon.”
“Are we here to debate a calendar or the cargo I have with me?”
Lust filled his beady gaze as it moved to the wall the crates were on. A list, Reveca’s list, appeared in his hand. As it rolled out names were crossed through. As Dagen had said most were bottom feeders, a few were mid-listers.
“One might think you are eager to end our barter, as aggressive as you are. I’d expected to have relations with you for suns to come.”
Reveca ignored Tisk’s existence. “Well, when conniving bitches and crooked cops are taken out of my business the air tends to clear, allowing me to find those who’ve wronged you.”
Crass’s hand casually moved to Tisk’s bare leg and moved nonchalantly upward as if she were a cat he was petting.
“Conniving. The act comes with a thread of brilliance, at the very least observation.”
Rush stepped forward. It wasn’t a bold step, it looked more as if he were adjusting his stance as large, well-built men do from time to time.
Crass hissed as he drew his shoulders back.
Rush’s golden eyes glinted with a dare.
“Call your dog off,” Crass said to Reveca.
Reveca sheepishly grinned. “We shall leave.”
The sooner they left the better. This was a nightmare waiting to happen and now Tisk, a problem Reveca assumed was solved, was now back on Reveca’s short list.