by Jamie Wyman
Karma screamed again, a wail that sent my gorge rising. Flynn called her name. I looked up but saw neither hide nor chameleonlike hair of the technomage. Flynn sped out the door. Oh God. Had they taken her? Still inside the church, Nate was airborne, hovering above Francis Grey. The angel brought his spear back and took aim.
“Me or the innocents, angel,” Grey said. He lifted a fist and wrenched it in the air. Behind me, a massive stained glass window shivered. The metal veins stretched then dissolved into dust. The glass exploded.
I ducked and buried my face in the mass of the satyr’s hair, my breath trembling over his throat. Shielding Marius’s body, I felt his pulse in my cheek and waited for the dagger-sharp points of colored glass. They didn’t come. I could hear them tinkling and crashing against the stone floor, but nothing stabbed at me.
I lifted my head to find golden light shining around us in a dome of peace and protection.
I looked back to Marius. “Talk to me.”
He clutched my shoulder, fingers stretching to graze against my cheek. His eyes opened and fixed me with a leaf-green gaze. For an eternal instant we stared at one another, volumes of secrets and unutterable sins passing between us. His body tensed beneath mine, and my stomach fluttered as heat rushed through me in a wild torrent.
The corner of his mouth hitched with his smirk. “Shall I make it dirty?”
And just like that, the moment disintegrated.
I rolled my eyes and shoved off him. I ripped the jacket away from his wound and took in the rubble. Grey was gone. His golem, too.
“And here in a church, too” Marius continued, his voice weak but merry. “Catherine, you naughty girl.”
The satyr got to his feet and eyed Nate flying around the ceiling. “Something you don’t see every day.”
Considering how many oddities I’d seen over the past few days, the sight of a winged man more beautiful than the rarest da Vinci was par for my twisted course. Numb and tired, I watched Nate circle in the air as he searched frantically for something. I heard low noises coming from him.
“No,” he muttered. “No. Not her, too.”
Footsteps crunched over rock and glass echoed in the doorway, and Flynn came back inside. His face was lined with hard anger, fists balled at his sides. A muscle twitched in his cheek.
“They took her,” he said. “They took Karma.”
Marius held his hand to his bleeding shoulder as he turned to face the technomage. “And the veil with her, I suppose.”
Flynn nodded.
“Bugger!” Marius spat. He spun in a small, tired circle, eyes up to the sky. “Why can’t anything just be simple?”
I had to smile. How often had I asked myself the same question? Then again, we’d both learned long ago that nothing was simple when there were tricksters involved.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Undisclosed Desires”
When Flynn noticed the silent pulse of the church’s security system, we took the opportunity to make ourselves scarce. We left the church just as the first sirens began to wail in our direction. None of us wanted yet another stint at a police station. Marius had healed, his supernatural constitution rebuilding torn muscles and mending skin. Nate and Flynn helped me limp along to the Strip where Marius shelled out more than a few pretty pennies for a tower suite at the nearest hotel—the Wynn.
Nate handed my—Polly’s—jacket to the clerk and asked that it be cleaned and sent up to the room as quickly as possible. I blinked at him in surprise.
“That thing is covered in Marius’s blood,” I noted.
Nate shrugged. “They aren’t paid to ask questions here.”
I nodded mutely.
Marius led the way to the room itself, and I immediately realized that the satyr had chosen wisely. Two bathrooms—one on either side of the foyer—promised hot water and blessed cleanliness. One lavatory boasted a bathtub so large I expected to need a snorkel. In the other, a tall shower with more jets than an aircraft carrier. Flat-screen televisions stared blankly in both bathrooms.
I shook my head at the extravagance and stepped gingerly across the carpet into the sprawling main space of the suite. It was subdued and immaculate as any spa retreat with its smooth, ochre walls. Honey-brown curtains framed either side of panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows. Plain cream sheets and a mountain of pillows decorated the king-sized bed. Those light and fluffy muted tones of cream and brown reminded me of some kind of delectable pastry. My stomach rumbled so loudly that Nate tossed me a concerned glance. Before I knew it, he was on the phone ordering enough room service to feed a small army.
Posh as it was, I shuddered. We didn’t belong here. Just walking into the room, I felt like I stained the place. Marius, Flynn, and Nate didn’t look much better than I felt. Bloody, covered with grime and layers of dust from the destruction at the church, our clothes torn. Yeah, we’d make a pretty picture for the brochure.
The bed sang to me, beckoned to swallow me whole in those cloud-soft pillows. I wouldn’t enjoy it, though. I didn’t feel like I deserved it.
Not yet.
“Back in a few,” I announced to the room. Then I hobbled to the bathroom, ran the water as hot as I could stand, and sank into the bliss of a bath. Muscles loosened and sighed, a million little aches and pains floating away. Weariness seeped out of every pore. Settling back against the tub, I closed my eyes and let my mind swim in a trance as I soaked there. When the darkness of oblivion began to peel away and reveal the angry faces of gods and the claws of golems, I sat up and began the task of scrubbing myself clean of the sweat, blood, and ick of the past day’s fun. I found a few new scrapes and bumps, and my ankle throbbed. As I washed my cuts, they wept brackish fluid, tainting the water. Soon, the numbness receded and I could wiggle my toes stiffly.
Pruny, but blessedly shampooed, conditioned, and cleansed, I slipped into a fluffy robe and padded back into the suite. Marius, black hair wet and slipping over his bare shoulders, stretched catlike along the foot of the bed. The seam on his shoulder, though still angry and red, had healed measurably. A few bruises marked the muscles of his back, torso, and cheek. The steady, soft light fell over his olive skin, playing with the natural shadows along his arms and legs.
As I studied him, I both cursed and thanked the towel wrapped around his waist. I knew what lay beneath, not from hands-on experience but from seeing him stripped bare of the glamour he clung to so tightly.
Gods, that night had changed everything.
I’d been freed of Eris but acquired by Loki. I’d seen Marius for everything he was, and he’d stared right back at my naked faults. That moment of sheer vulnerability…the terrifying realization that I thought of Marius as more than just a bastard satyr. It seemed like so long ago, but the bitter taste of it lingered on the tip of my tongue. Staring at Marius, there in the luxury suite, I felt the fire of fantasy burn under my skin.
With one finger he flipped lazily through screens on his cell phone. “Do you ever regret it?” he asked, never lifting his eyes from his toy.
I blinked, face flushing with shame. Clearing my throat, I asked, “Regret what?”
“Not living up to your end of our bargain. Not freeing me of this troublesome curse.”
“I tried.”
I waited for him to pick up the fight where we’d left it months ago, but he didn’t. He didn’t even look at me. In so many ways, his reluctance to do even that minute courtesy dwarfed the sin of refusing to yell at me. I leaned against the tall desk near the foot of the bed.
Finally, when the silence threatened to choke me, I spoke up. “Where is everyone?”
“Your angel is having a shower while Flynn is off collecting a few things.”
“He’s not my anything,” I said sourly. I tossed a careless and slightly curious glance toward the second bathroom. Steam rolled out from under the door, and I thought about beautiful Nate…
“No?” Marius’s voice jolted my attention back to him, away from thoughts that woul
d surely send me to Hell. “You certainly did seem chummy.”
“I’m helping him find whoever killed his sister.”
“Did I imagine it or were your eyes about to pop out of your head along with your tongue as you gazed adoringly at him back at the church?”
I smiled despite the heat rising in my cheeks. “Jealous?”
His face twitched, and I heard him give the lightest of disbelieving snorts. Keeping his gaze trained to his phone, he nodded across the room to the table sagging with covered plates and carafes of coffee. “There’s room service over there. I’m sure it’s delicious, but then I wouldn’t be the one to ask.”
“Dammit, Marius, I tried! I gave it everything I could, which at the time was saying quite a bit considering I didn’t have the slightest clue as to how to be a mage.”
“Pleading ignorance, I see. And to top it off, we never got that date. For all these years I labored under the delusion that you were a prude. As it turns out, you’re a tease.”
“I am not!”
“You’re oh-for-two on your debts to me, Catherine. If you’re not a tease, you are something far worse.”
“Oh really?”
“Perhaps you never intended to help me when you struck up our deal,” he proposed. “Maybe you were so desperate for help you agreed to anything.”
“No, Marius, that’s not it. Look, I tried, okay? As for the date, yes, I know I owe you that, but right now we’re both a little busy. Dammit, I hate having red in my ledger. I hate it that I owe anyone anything, especially you.”
His eyes flew up to meet mine. His mouth hung open for too many beats of my heart. Marius studied me, brow wrinkling. Finally, he asked, “Why?”
Now it was my turn to stubbornly look away. Memories fluttered to the surface, thoughts of his touches, his breath on my skin and lips full on mine. No, I’d never kissed him. Those memories were of illusions put in my head by the Fae. But did that make them less real? Less potent? Since that night, I’d softened to him, the idea of bending to his charms. I’d wondered what it would be like if…
If I wasn’t afraid.
If he wasn’t cursed.
No. None of that could happen.
Rolling a shoulder and pulling my robe tighter around me, I answered him weakly. “Just…just cause.”
“Catherine,” he coaxed, his voice velvet soft. “Why especially me?”
I closed my eyes, and an appropriate lie flowed up in my mind. “You still belong to Eris. Owing you is like owing her.”
After a stretching silence that told me he wasn’t buying it, he said, “I see. Well, perhaps you could give it another go? Your talents have grown considerably, after all. And if you succeed, when this is over, we can have that moonlit dance…and perhaps a more enjoyable time.”
The promise smoldered in his eyes, in the seductive purr under his words. My skin prickled with the real memory of his body against mine in an elevator. So close I could feel his pulse in my own chest. The scent of him—mossy musk and spicy cologne—thick in the air around us. Aching desire and a kiss that never came.
Fear caught in my throat, tightened like a cold fist around my breastbone. If he wasn’t cursed. If I wasn’t terrified… Would I?
“I can’t, Marius. I told you the first time, I tried. Hera won’t let me break the curse.”
He blinked, eyes narrowing. “You failed to mention Hera.”
I began to protest, but then I realized I’d only told him about the Queen of Olympus in one of those damnable nighttime visits. He didn’t need to know that I’d dreamed about him. Marius would never let me hear the end of that.
I shrugged. “She said she won’t let you free unless you fall in lo—”
“Right, right, don’t say it.” He blew out an agitated breath. “Well, Catherine, it’s your loss. Shall I give you a consolation prize and remove the towel?”
Marius waggled his thick eyebrows, and I smiled despite myself.
“No, thanks,” I said as I pushed off the desk. I made my way to the small buffet of room service and began to feed one of the needs screaming through my body. The other one…well, that one would never be fulfilled.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Overdue”
After shoving a few croissants and a plateful of bacon into my mouth, I collapsed on the sofa. Hey, at least I didn’t face-plant into the food and start snoring. I woke up to the door slamming shut. Flynn stalked into the hotel room, his clothes still slashed with the claw patterns of golems. His flame-red hair stood on end, and the smears of dirt on his granite-hard face made him resemble some guerrilla terrorist. Eyes gleaming with fury, he ground his teeth. A tic beneath his left eye fluttered and twitched. Rage looked alien on Flynn.
Over one shoulder, he carried his garish orange backpack. My black duffel bag hung from the other. I didn’t have to look to know what was in it. I’d stashed the bag at Flynn’s a long time ago and kept it stocked with anything I might need if a perilous situation arose. A couple changes of clothes, a small laptop, a spare phone, chargers, a roll of cash, toiletries, and some of Flynn’s more useful gadgets.
Polly’s jacket, freshly cleaned and covered in plastic, dangled from his fingers. He draped it over one of the chairs and dropped my bag on the sofa beside me. “Thought you might want this.”
I nodded, stretched, and began to dig through the contents of the duffel. I’d never been so happy to see a hairbrush and a clean pair of underwear.
Bleary-eyed, I shuffled back to the bathroom. I went through the motions of becoming Cat. I combed through my still-damp hair, brushed away the remnants of sleep from my teeth, and pulled on the well-worn jeans and a T-shirt. The woman in the mirror looked more like me, albeit a much more bruised and scraped version than I preferred.
Back in the suite itself, I found a tense tableau. Flynn paced in front of the windows, shoulders hunched, with the air of a caged tiger. His fists worked at his sides, knuckles popping in an agitated rhythm.
Thankfully, Marius had gotten dressed. He’d opted for his casual uniform of artfully torn jeans, T-shirt, and leather jacket. I had to wonder if he’d glamoured himself an outfit again or if he procured new clothes from a shop downstairs. When my stomach flopped, I decided it might be best if I didn’t dwell on the tangibility of his pants.
He sat in one of the dinette chairs, one long leg crossed over the other at the ankle, his knee propped up by the arm of the chair. He was the picture of relaxation as he twirled the ends of his moustache. Despite his aloof expression, the satyr’s stare lingered on Nate with derisive curiosity. The angel sat across from Marius, fingers laced together and elbows resting on the table. Nate returned Marius’s gaze with equal intensity and doubled suspicion.
A giggle rose in my throat at the sight of bright and shining Nate—his shirt white as a 1950s detergent ad—sitting opposite the thieving Marius. Blue-eyed innocence with a halo of blond hair versus horned, leather-clad darkness. The angel and devil on my shoulders.
I coughed to cover my amusement. “So,” I said, drawing their attentions. “I think we should have a little talk.”
Marius’s tone was tart as his smile. “Where shall we begin?”
I curled up on the creamy sofa, drawing my legs underneath me. Flynn didn’t stop his pacing. It didn’t bother me, though. I knew that Flynn thought best when he was moving, when there was rhythm. I let him brood and concentrate, fixing my attention on Nate Harper.
“You’re an angel,” I said bluntly. “Do I have that right?”
His head tilted forward, coming to rest against his fists. Nate closed his eyes and tightened his jaw. Even now that I’d seen him, wings unfurled and fighting with a holy zeal, he couldn’t give the truth voice. His subtle nod would have to do for a confession.
The revelation of Nate’s heritage made sense of his odder personality quirks: his unwillingness to tell even the whitest of lies, to leave the scene of a crime or break into a wrecker lot. It wasn’t just a stubborn streak, nor was it
some archaic Boy Scout mentality. Nate couldn’t do those things. Goodness and a need to adhere to the rules lived in the code of every cell in his body.
“And Muriel?” I asked. “Her too?”
“Her too,” Nate croaked.
“And that would make your father…?” I couldn’t bring myself to say the deity’s name. I just let the question trail off so that Nate could fill in the blank.
“Missing.” Nate hooked his chin up at Marius. “If he’s to be believed, that is.”
“Pan’s balls, have I given you any reason not to trust me? Have I lied to you?” As soon as he’d said it, Marius shot a warning at me. “I’m asking him, not you.”
A wan smile tugged at my cheeks.
Nate stewed, refusing to humor the satyr with an answer.
I sighed. “All right, let’s take this from the beginning for a second,” I said, more to myself than the rest of the room. “Loki calls me because someone has killed an angel. He wants me to find out who did it.”
“How was she killed?” Marius asked.
“Crucified to the back of a tow rig,” I answered curtly.
Face placid, Marius stowed this information in the vault of his mind and nodded for me to continue.
“The same night Loki calls me, I get attacked by Francis Grey, a ferromancer with a hard-on for some veil I’ve never heard of. He tells me to hand it over or turn in the thief.”
Grey’s voice hissed in my head. I didn’t expect you to still have loyalty to Eris. Why else would you help her thief?
“Oh for fucksake, it’s you!” I cried out to Marius.
“Me? What did I do this time?”
“You! He knew from the start that Eris had sent you for the veil. Polly said someone had broken into her place. Grey must’ve assumed you’d actually stolen the veil, but why come after me if you have it? Why would he think you’d given it to me?”
He sighed. “Yes. I did break in to the Muses’s home. I stole what I thought to be the veil, then popped ’round your flat on my way out of town. You do owe me, after all.”