by Sarah Fine
“Where would the Shades have gone?” Trevor asked, sitting back and examining Moros’s wound, then reaching for a beige cuff that must have been some sort of bandage.
“I’ll have to check with the others,” said Moros. “They might know if the monsters have merely transported themselves to some other city to wreak havoc.”
“My Ferrys will know more quickly than that,” said Aislin. “They’ll sense souls in the Veil. I’d better get back to Psychopomps and coordinate communication.”
Declan gave her an anxious glance. “Um, I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”
“And why not? It’s my job, isn’t it?” Her fingers rose to touch her Charon’s Scope, and her eyes went wide as she realized she wasn’t wearing a Scope at all. “What—?” Then she remembered. “Rylan stole my Scope.”
“And gave it to Hugh Ferry,” Moros said quietly.
“He’s been named interim Charon,” said Declan, looking wary, as if he expected Aislin to explode.
It was tempting. She looked down at Moros, but his head was bowed as Trevor fastened the bandage tightly over his arm. She stared at the back of his neck, his smooth skin and thick ebony hair, his bare muscular shoulders. He was perfectly made—and deceptive. He still wasn’t telling her everything. “You knew, when you came to get me, that he had my Scope? That he was claiming to be Charon?”
“It seemed, quite frankly, the least urgent of the problems at hand.”
“So while I was gone, my board completed a coup.”
“I wouldn’t say it is complete, my dear.”
Aislin thought about that. Even before Rylan had kidnapped her, the board had turned against her. They thought she was weak, unable to get things under control. The attack of the Shade-Kere might have cemented that notion in their minds. They also thought she was blindly loyal to Jason Moros, of whom they were all endlessly suspicious. If she went back to them to reclaim her position, she needed to be able to offer something—a plan, a strategy for victory. She couldn’t beg for her job back. She had to make them beg her to take it.
She looked down at the bloody shirt at her feet. “The blade that Eris used to hurt you—you called it the Blade of Life.”
Moros got to his feet, and Aislin looked away from his bare torso, the trail of hair down his flat belly that, even now, her fingers itched to trace. It was a one-time tryst, something to clear your head—and then forget. She forced herself to look into his eyes, refusing to let him see the way he was affecting her. “Where did the Blade come from?”
“I told you—my mother used it to vanquish Chaos. She buried it near his tomb. But Eris found it.”
Aislin shook her head. “But why is it called the Blade of Life?”
“It has been dipped into the Spring.”
“In the Lucinae realm?” she asked, her eyes wide.
Moros nodded. “They allowed my mother to coat the metal with its water, the source of all new souls.”
“And it can hurt you,” Trevor said simply.
Moros rolled his shoulder, wincing at the movement of his arm. “Obviously. But it is also deadly to Chaos, which doesn’t help us at the moment, because my sister and brother are trying to raise him, not hurt him.”
“Would any sword do, as long as it was dipped into the Spring?” Aislin asked. “Could we make another one?”
His eyes met hers. “Theoretically, but the Lucinae despise me with the fire of a thousand suns, so somehow I doubt they would be eager to help.”
“Don’t they serve fate, like we do?” she asked.
“Not like we do at all. They can bring new life into the world whether or not those lives have a destiny. And remember—they might live for a very long time, but they are mortal creatures, through and through. They abhor and fear death in any shape or form, no matter how charming.” He gestured expansively at himself.
She fought the urge to smile. “They might despise you—but they don’t despise me.”
“Even though you usher those precious souls into the Afterlife?”
“Even though. And that might have something to do with the fact that a year after I took over Foreign Exchange, I reached out to them with an offer.” When she’d told her father, she’d delighted in the glow of pride on his face. “We provide them with a share of our commissions. We have for the past two decades.”
“We have?” said Declan.
Aislin nodded. “It’s part of your banking fee. Don’t you ever look at your account statements?”
Declan shrugged. “I look at the total. That’s about it.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Really, how have you survived?”
He chuckled. “Good thing you’re in charge, right?”
She stood up a little straighter. “Anyway. I created the ambassador position to furnish them with updates regarding any shifts in policy or outlook, and we manage their money.”
Moros looked puzzled. “Why would they need money?”
Aislin shrugged. “They might inhabit their own realm, but they spend time in this one, just as your Kere do. They do enjoy the finer things.” She’d always known instinctively that solid relations with the Lucinae might come in handy, though she’d always imagined it would be in the context of a conflict with the Kere, not an alliance with them.
“So what are you proposing?” Moros asked.
“I should go to them,” she said. “I’ll explain the threat and ask for the favor. My ambassador, Cavan, will help with any negotiations. I’ll create another blade, or perhaps several, and then we’ll have a fair fight.”
Moros stared at her, and in his gray eyes she saw something stir, wary but admiring. “You are quite something, aren’t you?”
She folded her arms over her chest, hoping none of them would notice how her body was responding. “Don’t say that quite yet. Before I go, I need to go to the office and get my Charon’s Scope back. I can’t travel to the Lucinae realm without it.”
“I’ll go with you to Psychopomps,” he said. “They can’t appoint a new Charon without me, no matter how badly they wish otherwise. And if they want any representative before the Keepers, it will be you.” His eyes caught and held hers, and she wished she could translate what lay in their depths.
Trevor cleared his throat. “Uh, can we go? Dec, you ready?”
Declan was looking back and forth between Moros and Aislin, a distinct glint of suspicion in his eyes. “Sure,” he said, drawing the word out. “I’ll just . . . go now.” He looked at Aislin. “If you’re okay with that.”
“All is well, Declan. Thank you for your concern.” She touched his arm. “Really,” she added quietly.
He smiled as Trevor’s hand settled on his shoulder and they both disappeared. Slowly, Aislin turned back to Moros, uncertain once again. Part of her wanted to go to him, to wrap her arms around his waist and lay her head on his warm shoulder, to feel his skin against hers one more time. But the rest of her remembered how hard and desperate their coupling had been, how even while he was inside her, it had been a battle of wills.
And now the softness in his eyes was disappearing behind a wall, the smirk returning to his face. “I assume you’d like to return to your apartment and clothe yourself for battle.” He looked her up and down. “Or would you prefer to appear before your board au naturel?”
The mocking condescension in his voice confirmed that the old Moros was back. “One guess,” she said.
“Your wish is my command.” He reached out and touched her cheek, just his fingertips making contact, but the moment he did, she was yanked into the Veil in a burst of hot and cold air. Her apartment materialized an instant later, and she grasped the back of her sofa to keep from staggering.
By the time she’d straightened up, trying to remain dignified in the face of what she was sure would be yet another flip comment . . . he was gone.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Moros stood next to his bed, looking down at the place Aislin had slept. Before he could stop himself, he lowered his
face to the sheets and inhaled her delicate violet scent. And then he shoved himself up and walked into his closet. He gritted his teeth as he dressed himself, furious at the feel of the bandage against his skin, the ache of his wound, the fact that he could be hurt at all.
Including by Aislin. He refused to allow it. She’d seemed herself just now, composed and coherent, so sharp and clever that he’d wanted to scoop her into his arms and laugh. She’d made creating a new Blade of Life sound so easy, so possible, so utterly and obviously logical that it was impossible to argue. He wasn’t used to depending on anyone but himself to take action, but if anyone could accomplish this task, Aislin could.
He pushed away the swell of admiration for her, because it came along with a dangerous side effect—adoration. Desire. Not just for her body, though his had hardened at the sight of her wearing his shirt and nothing else. Her sense of herself, her confidence, her power—they all turned him on, too. And now he needed to get a grip. She’d gotten what she needed from him, and everything was back to how it had been. He had to trust her in matters of business, but that didn’t mean he had to hand over anything else, including his heart.
He put on a gray suit with a pale-blue tie, musing at its color, the similarity it bore to the color of her eyes. Then he sighed, slipped on a pair of gloves, and traveled through the Veil and into the Psychopomps tower, arriving in the waiting area of Aislin’s office suite. Her door was open, but as he took a step toward it, her voice was not the one he heard. Hugh Ferry strode out, wearing the Scope of the Charon, furiously dressing down a cowering assistant, a fleshy young man with freckles and curly red hair. “When did she say she would get here?” he snapped.
“M-m-momentarily,” the assistant stammered, then pulled up short with round eyes as he spotted Moros.
“Moros,” Hugh said, surprise in his tone. “To what do we owe this honor?”
Moros adjusted his tie. “I was made aware that Aislin Ferry has called an emergency board meeting. And as this involves my interests, I decided it would be worth my while to attend.” He grinned at Hugh, showing his teeth. “I know I left our last encounter abruptly, but as you know, I had something important to attend to.”
Hugh swallowed and looked away, and Moros felt a shocking surge of anger on behalf of his sister. During their last meeting, Moros had made a clear lethal threat against “Nina,” as Nemesis had called herself. Hugh hadn’t heard from her since—Moros had made sure of that—and now the man was acting as if none of it had ever happened. Was he willing to forget his feelings so easily? Suddenly Moros couldn’t blame Nemesis for her cynicism about the world. Some people deserved to suffer.
“Well, I’m pleased you could make the time to attend,” said Hugh, sounding jittery. “Though Aislin doesn’t have the power to convene the board, they wanted to hear what she had to say before they finalize their decision.” He gave Moros a tentative smile and smoothed his hand over his widow’s peak. “It will be good if you’re there. Now that Aislin’s safe and sound, we can settle on her replacement. Then you and I can discuss how we’ll manage those Keepers, man to man, eh?”
Moros chuckled and slung his arm around Hugh’s shoulders, enjoying how the Ferry stiffened with fear. “Indeed, my friend. Shall we go?”
Laughing nervously, Hugh led the way to the elevator. Moros and the fleshy assistant followed. Every few steps, Hugh looked over his shoulder, as if he worried what Moros might be doing behind his back. Wise, Moros thought. They rode up together to the boardroom, and as they entered, Moros caught sight of Aislin standing by the long row of windows. She wore a pale-pink suit, and her platinum hair was drawn up in a neat twist. She looked breathtaking, though Moros would have expected no less. This was her armor, and no one wore it better. She was in conversation with Rosaleen—her aunt, if Moros remembered correctly—and the woman was listening intently as Aislin spoke.
Hugh strode to the head of the table, his hands fluttering at his sides until he clasped them together. “I think we’re all here, aren’t we?” he asked.
His son, Brian, gave Moros a suspicious look as he seated himself at the table. “Are these meetings open now?”
“Only if you plan to have a Charon at the end of it,” Moros said, settling himself into a chair and unbuttoning his suit coat. “But please. Proceed.”
Aislin stood at the opposite end of the table from Hugh as everyone else took a seat. Her icy gaze was riveted with a predator’s concentration on the ornate Scope of the Charon around Hugh’s neck. It only made Moros want her more.
Hugh gestured at Aislin. “We are grateful that you’ve returned,” he said to her. “When I received your letter of resignation, I was puzzled as to why you’d do something so impulsive.”
Aislin gave him a condescending smile. “I would have been puzzled, too, if I had been in your shoes. And I would have immediately assumed foul play.”
Hugh tugged at his collar. “Your letter of resignation was very clear.”
“But without a verifiable biostamp on the signature,” she said patiently. “I’m sure you checked.”
Hugh’s nostrils flared. “What did you come here to say, cousin?”
She gave him a look of mock surprise. “I’ve come to tell you where I was, of course, since you didn’t bother to search for me.”
“Are you saying you were kidnapped?”
“By Rylan,” she said. “He took my Scope. But I’m sure you had no idea he would ever do such a thing, did you?” She stared at him, calm and collected, and Moros smiled.
Hugh’s mouth dropped open as a few of the other board members looked at him with new suspicion. “You think I colluded with Rylan to steal your Scope? You must be joking.”
“Yes, given my habit of joking about completely serious things.” She looked at Rosaleen. “I was taken by Moros’s sisters, Eris and Nemesis, and his brother, Apate, the personifications of Strife, Vengeance, and Lies respectively. As you can imagine, they were happy to attempt to coerce me into using a very dangerous weapon against our colleague here.” She waved a hand at Moros but didn’t look at him.
“So you were to be the key to their nefarious plans?” Hugh bowed his head and chuckled, and it made Moros want to rip his throat out. “And where did they take you exactly?”
“I cannot tell you a precise location, as they are able to move through the Veil like Kere, but it appeared to be a large cavern.”
“But you can’t actually say where, and none of us has ever seen any of these immortals for ourselves,” Brian said. “That’s convenient.”
Hugh shushed his son. “Now Brian, Aislin has been through a trauma. It does funny things to a person.”
Aislin’s eyes blazed with cold fire. “Indeed it does, Hugh,” she said quietly. “I am fortunate to be alive and in my right mind.” Her gaze flitted to Moros for a moment, but then she went back to ignoring him.
“But how do we know you’re in your right mind now, Aislin?” asked Ciara Ferry, her red-and-silver hair messy. She looked like she’d been caught napping when she was summoned.
“If you wish to examine my mental status, you may, but I’d prefer to discuss our next steps, now that we know a bit more about how our enemies plan to strike.”
“Is there really a weapon that could kill the Lord of the Kere?” asked Ennis Ferry.
“Don’t look so eager, old friend,” Moros said with a tight smile. “It could kill you just as easily.”
Ennis slid back a few inches, glowering at Moros, with his hands laid protectively over his round belly.
“It’s a sword,” said Aislin, drawing everyone’s attention back to her, commanding the room. “Not only can it be used against Moros, but also Chaos, should he rise. And, I assume, it would also be lethal to Eris, Apate, and Nemesis?”
Moros nodded. “Though Nemesis is no longer a threat. I have eliminated her.” He turned to Hugh. “My condolences, dear Hugh. But I’m sure you’re happy to be back in your right mind now that I’ve reduced her to dust.”
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“What?” he sputtered. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Moros tilted his head. “Don’t you? Blonde curls, gray eyes, enviably lovely, with a fondness for synthetic leather . . . No? Nothing?”
Ennis’s bushy white eyebrows were nearly at his hairline. “Was that the woman I saw you with at Lombo’s the day before Patrick was killed?”
“Didn’t I see her in your office last week?” asked Ciara.
Aislin arched an eyebrow. “I’m afraid I also interrupted Hugh with her just yesterday. At a highly embarrassing moment.”
Brian set his elbows on the table and covered his face with his hands. “Not again, Father,” he said with a groan.
Hugh was shaking his head, but then he glanced at Moros and realization suddenly kicked in. “Nina?” he whispered.
“Oh, yes,” said Moros. “Your lady mistress was the personification of Vengeance. You were so fully primed, though, that you made her job easy, didn’t you?”
Every gaze in the room was on Hugh, whose face was getting paler by the minute. “But I . . .”
“Plotted against our Charon?” Rosaleen asked. “From where I sit, it’s sounding more likely by the second.”
“But I-I only—”
“Did you share our confidential dealings with that . . . creature?” Ennis barked. “Once again, boy, you let the smaller of your two heads lead the way.” He gestured contemptuously at Hugh’s pants. “Someone strip that Scope off his neck. He’s not fit to wear it. He’s not fit to be on the board, for that matter.”
Moros wanted to laugh. These Ferrys were quick to turn on each other, but in this case, it was completely justified.
“None of you should be so hasty to judge him,” Aislin said gently, interrupting the low, angry muttering of the board.
Moros swiveled in his chair to stare at her, stunned. She’d been so close to victory, and suddenly she was laying down her sword?