“Manly things,” Finn said, deepening his voice into a gruff approximation of what he’d decided a sexy lumberjack sounded like. “We’ll watch sports and slap each other on the arse, maybe rub a little while we’re back there.”
“Finn.”
“Order pizza,” Finn correctly quickly, pretending to be chastised.
“It won’t even be eleven A.M.”
“Brunch pizza.” Finn continued as if Donald hadn’t pointed out a flaw in his plan. “We’ll have ‘em throw some waffles on there.”
“We can get pizza, but I’m not letting you do the ordering.”
“Just the arse-grabbing then, got it.”
Donald only sighed.
****
“You’re sure they’re safe?”
“Even the witch,” Benedict said, subtly pointing out for the second time that he hadn’t been included in the hastily-changed plan.
“Well, I didn’t think the meeting would be so soon, nor did I know the potions would take so long to make.”
“As you’ve said,” Benedict said, seeming unbothered despite what Veruca had read as an unsaid complaint about the situation. “Everything will work out in the end.”
“You sound like Finn.”
“I’m going to choose to take that as a compliment,” Benedict said, throwing her a small smile.
She laughed, settling back into the car seat, trying her best to relax. “You should, I love him very much.”
“A while back, that would have seemed a bit strange, but I’ve had a lot of strange in my life lately and it sorta makes sense now.”
“You’ve been in this line of work long?”
“Depends on your definition of long,” Benedict said, and Veruca recognized the dodge for what it was.
“Ah,” was all she said, choosing to let the subject drop. Turning her attention to the road, she forced herself to take in the lightening scenery outside, hoping Donald didn’t resent her too much for leaving him with Finn while she went off to meet Belial. He’d seemed in a better mood after his walk with Finn, and she’d done her best to ignore the pain in her finger rather than focusing on it. She wasn’t sure that empaths could feel physical pain, but they certainly felt something when those around them were hurt.
It probably didn’t help him to concentrate on other things, but he didn’t crow too much or eyeball her finger with a long face so she had to assume things were all right.
Belial had picked a public place to meet, which hadn’t surprised Veruca. The actual safety of the cafe was up for debate, as she knew his power was incredible and he probably could have either placed his own agents throughout the area or simply controlled innocent bystanders if he’d wanted her to suffer at their hands. She had to trust her upbringing and the feelings she’d developed for him over twenty years not to steer her wrong, though.
She’d keep the banshee’s warnings in mind, but she’d hold hope close too.
The car slowing to a stop pulled Veruca out of a sleep she hadn’t intended to slip into, and she froze for a moment, panicked and a little lost. Benedict was calm, patient, sitting in the idling car next to her, waiting for her to get out on her own time.
Swallowing thickly, she turned to him, held his eye for a moment, and then simply nodded. He did the same, and she climbed out onto the sidewalk, knowing his professionalism made any further discussion unnecessary.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Belial approached on foot, looking every bit as commanding and impressive as Veruca was used to. He wasn’t an overly tall man, his origins seeming to her to be Indian, though likely before the area was ever thought of as such. His hair was dark, softly curled, even when styled, and his eyes were dark and intense. He dressed well, likely both because he was seen as a man of means and because it pleased him to do so.
Veruca had always enjoyed his presence in the past, trusting him like a father and wishing him the best. Now, though, she worried about what might happen when he sat down and didn’t get the answers he wanted regarding her earlier behavior.
“How are you?” he asked as he pulled out a chair, the small smile on his face a familiar one.
Veruca felt her brows jump at his nonchalance but she answered as she would have if the situation had been different. “I’m well, and yourself?”
“Busy,” Belial said as he settled in.
A waitress scurried over to smile at them both, an action Veruca recognized from many lunches with demanding businessmen who treated waitstaff poorly if they weren’t immediately attended to. Belial ordered plain coffee, asked Veruca what she wanted, and didn’t blink when she said she was fine with water. It was all so normal, Veruca wasn’t sure how to feel.
“You’ve hurt your hand,” Belial said after the waitress fled to get his coffee. “Would you like me to help?”
“No,” Veruca said, tucking her hand under the table without really thinking about why. “It’s just a broken nail, nothing a Band-Aid and time won’t fix.”
“Let me know if you change your mind,” Belial said, wiggling his fingers on the table to indicate he could fix it all with a touch.
Veruca swallowed thickly, worried in a way she never had been about him laying hands on her skin. It was ridiculous, of course. His power meant he wouldn’t need to touch her to do damage, but the whole situation made her nervous.
Obviously sensing her discomfort, Belial leaned over the small table with its creased, white tablecloth and tall, thin menus and caught Veruca’s eye. “I can’t help but pry, and I’m sorry. Your thoughts are screaming, your worry palpable. Let me assure you, regardless of what you’ve heard from the banshee, you’ve nothing to fear from me.”
Veruca took a slow, deep breath, holding it for a moment, letting it puff out her chest until it made her a little bit dizzy. Blowing it out as the waitress set down Belial’s coffee, she nodded once, and then dropped her gaze.
Without being able to look at him, she said, “I won’t give her to you.”
“Nor is she yours to give,” Belial said, surprising her as he continued to do. “She is her own being, one it seems who doesn’t like me a bit. I regret she’s had only tales of my evil deeds to tell you and can honestly say I would have preferred it be absolutely any other banshee who escaped the queen’s exile.”
“Would the stories be different coming from a different creature? A different necromancer? Perhaps another Reaper? You got them all killed—after taking thousands of lives yourself. You were a plague.”
“I was,” Belial agreed quietly, his eyes downcast. “I was vicious and determined and scared. There were rumblings that the queen had become aware of my actions, that she took issue with my taking of souls.”
“Of your theft of power,” Veruca stated, her gaze hard.
Again, Belial agreed, nodding once. “You’ve learned a lot about me in a short time, more than, perhaps, any other living creature outside of Fairy is aware. I am not without connections to the fae, to the upper ranks of the Fairy courts, and precious few have knowledge of how I got to be where I am. This is not a threat,” Belial assured Veruca as her heart began pounding intensely against her ribs. “I’m impressed you were able to glean so much and, to be honest, I’m glad it was you rather than someone else.”
“What do you mean?”
“You are my best Reaper, and not just because of your connections to Finn. I’ve found and secreted away many since the queen decreed all Reapers must be killed on sight, and you’re my favorite. It’s why I’m here with you now.”
“As opposed to what?”
“Let’s just say that there have been a few Reapers in my employ who have not deserved such generous treatment.”
“What comes now?” Veruca asked, her heart still thumping. “You asked me to get the banshee and I’ve failed you.”
“You haven’t failed me at all, you’ve just chosen to disobey me. That’s going to happen time and again and, while I’ve had to become stricter regarding disobedience in the recent past,
I trust you’ll make the right decision in the end.”
“About the banshee?”
“Yes. I’d like to speak with her, to explain myself and my plans for her.”
“Her issue is that you have plans for her at all,” Veruca said, her anger that he would press the issue pushing to the surface and making her lean forward, splaying her hands on the table as if she would shove it to the ground in anger. “You’re missing the fact that she no longer wants to be used, no longer wants to be a pawn. She’s just looking for a life, one where she doesn’t have to run or obey. She wants freedom, plain and simple.”
“And you both assume that’s not what I want for her as well?”
“Can you blame her?”
“What about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you believe I mean to steal her freedom as the queen did? Can you look at the life I’ve given you and honestly still see me as a man who would do such a thing?”
“You admitted to your past just minutes ago, I can’t disregard that.”
“You’ve known me for over twenty years, enjoyed a good life because of me, saved Finn’s life—several times,” he added with a wink. “Thanks to me. Can you disregard that?”
“That was for your own benefit, to entice me to collect souls and bring them to you to grow your power.”
“Do I not have more than enough power to control you in other ways? Could I not have taken you from your family, molded you as I wished, and sent you out into the world to take souls without mercy?”
Veruca didn’t have an answer. His point was valid. He was more than powerful enough to have stolen her as an infant and brainwashed her with his own propaganda, setting her loose on the world to collect on all manner of contracts, instead of just the ones she was comfortable taking.
“I just ask that you speak to her about speaking with me. She can choose the manner in which we do. We need not meet in person, or not in our present forms. Finn and Stefanie are not the only two capable of speaking through the dead.”
“That might be safer for you, in any case,” Veruca said without thinking. Belial laughed, leaning back in his seat, his amusement over the reference to the day before surprising her.
“I admit, I didn’t expect to find her there with you, nor did I expect her power over me to be so great. Sirens are some of the purer water fae and that mixed with a banshee’s soul—very clever by the way,” Belial said, distracted from his own musing by the revelation of what Veruca had accomplished. “You managed to integrate their souls in a way I’ve rarely seen. No doubt your connection to Finn helped?”
Veruca frowned, her unease over the situation having abated, but still feeling as if perhaps she shouldn’t reveal all her secrets about the banshee.
“My connection to Finn helps me in a great many ways. Can I get your word he won’t be bothered in all this?”
“I have not—nor do I intend to—harmed any of your loved ones. Any trouble Finn gets into will no doubt be his own doing.”
“So where does that leave us?”
“Exactly as we were before, but with my request to speak to the banshee in play. You know how to contact me, whatever her answer. Now…” Belial leaned in, a small smile on his face. “Your mercenary is no doubt going to mention that I have someone walking quite rapidly toward us and I apologize for that. The life of a well-known billionaire is a social one. I can ask him to leave if it would make you more comfortable.”
Just as he was speaking, so was Benedict, his voice low in her ear, warning her that she should be aware of a portly man approaching at a clip behind her left shoulder.
“No,” Veruca said, realizing she was ready to be done with the meeting, regardless of Belial’s approaching companion. He was human, Veruca could feel it, and likely unaware that Belial was anything other than a hedge fund something-or-other out to lunch with an attractive young woman.
“Naadir,” the man said as he stepped up next to them, holding out his hand to Belial to shake, ignoring Veruca as if she were nothing more than another piece of the cafe’s furniture. “I didn’t know you were in town.”
“It wasn’t planned, Winston, but it’s good to see you. This is my associate, Veruca.” Gesturing to her, Belial rose to take Winston’s offered hand. “She has to go, but I’ve got this lovely table if you’d like to join me. Perhaps we can discuss that property on Eighteenth you’re holding onto.”
Winston exploded with laughter, his jowls jiggling and making Veruca glad she wouldn’t be forced to stay and be polite. She wanted a long nap, an even longer hug from Finn, and a shower. Instead, she had to speak to a banshee and make a trip to Fairy.
“It was good seeing you, Naadir,” Veruca said quietly, reaching out to shake his hand, hoping he understood the gesture as an admittance that her worry over the situation had dissipated. He could read it in her soul, no doubt, but she wanted to make the gesture anyway.
He took her hand, held it between his and, for an eternal moment, time stopped around them, leaving him to smile gently at her, give a soft nod, and use a little bit of the empathy he possessed to sneak into her chest and pluck out the worry that remained there.
Turning and walking into the world, which moved once again at its own pace, Veruca held her head high as she said to Benedict, “Meet you at the car.”
****
Benedict didn’t ask any questions as they drove, and Veruca hadn’t expected him to. She was glad for the silence, glad for the time to herself, even if half herself just gently reminded her through stiff joints and a slightly slow brain that she hadn’t properly slept in a while. Being knocked out by the banshee’s scream hardly counted, as she wasn’t sure how having her soul struggle to reseat itself in its rightful place had affected her body’s ability to recharge.
She considered the conversation, the calm way Belial had approached the situation, and tried—as she’d been doing time and again, recently—to square it with what she’d learned about his past. Should she pass on his request to Darcy? Should she remain silent and see what other options presented themselves?
Were there any other options?
The road ahead was hazy, with only immediate plans in place and no real way to see farther forward. The banshee was intent on finding Veruca—and only Veruca, she’d noted, though she hadn’t argued when it had come up—a token needed to keep her safe from the soul-shaking scream. Darcy hadn’t fully explained why, or what would be gained from having Veruca as an ally who could not be taken down by her scream. Veruca appreciated the trust but couldn’t help feeling just a bit suspicious of it.
What came after? Where would they come across a siren whose body they could ethically take, and what could be done to keep the banshee safe after she was relocated? Veruca couldn’t protect her from all of Fairy, even if Belial agreed to back off himself. She had a friend here and there who might have offered advice, but even Ankyati had wanted the banshee out of her hair. Veruca’s power and reach nowhere near matched those of a powerful Fairy Lady.
Belial seemed the only solution and Veruca was reasonably sure Darcy wouldn’t want to hear it.
“Do you offer any services related to protecting a banshee from all of Fairy?” Veruca asked, exhaustion evident in her voice.
“Hmm, nothing comes to mind. If you need someone shot or a tree lady rescued, I’m your guy, though.”
“Tree lady?” Veruca asked, chuckling at the idea, looking Benedict over to see if he was being truthful.
He gave a quick shrug. “It’s a long story.”
“Another time, perhaps. Are we far?”
“Not too. Donald was a bit hesitant to tell me where they all ended up, but I managed to convince him we hadn’t become puppets of Hell, on our way to take them all out.”
“He’s a bit of a worrier when it comes to me.”
“Hmm,” was all Benedict said, diplomatically.
“Finn’s probably making him crazy as well,” Veruca said, smiling to herself at the th
ought of Finn following Donald around like a lost puppy and possibly ruining a pair of his shoes.
“We’re off to Fairy next?” Benedict asked after a bit.
“That’s the plan. I’ll have Donald and Finn take the witch home—he’s probably a mess again. His soul didn’t want to cooperate with what I did to it.”
“Interesting power you’ve got,” Benedict said, and Veruca wondered if he was honestly curious, nervous, or just being polite. He was near impossible to read and she couldn’t be sure Donald’s empathy would have helped her much. There was only one name etched into his soul, unusual for someone his age; even Donald, roughly a decade younger, had the signs of nicknames impressed into the golden threads by love.
One other name showed signs of being impermanently pressed there, like someone—Veruca couldn’t tell if that someone was him or a partner—wanted love to blossom, but it wouldn’t take. A man in his forties with no sign of love upon his soul likely didn’t have the capacity for such matters, which could have meant he didn’t feel much of anything. Veruca wanted to feel sad for him, but he didn’t seem to believe he was missing out and, perhaps, considering his job, it was for the best.
“It’s no more interesting than Finn’s necromancy or Donald’s empathy.”
“I beg to differ. It seems dangerous to be sitting next to a woman who can reach into one’s soul and manipulate it.”
“Not in the ways you’d have to worry about, though I suppose I could do some short-term damage. Your soul belongs to no one but you, however, so while I can read it quite clearly, I couldn’t do you much harm.”
“What sorts of things do you read?”
“The basics of who and what you are. In your case, I’d say you’re about the only other person who knows any of that.”
“I’ve worked very hard to keep it that way.”
“I don’t doubt it. Is it lonely?”
“Not to me,” Benedict said, his lip quirking a bit. “I find companionship where I need to.”
“Recently?”
“Not as recently as Finn would like, no.”
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