by Trisha Telep
Loved? Maybe not.
But he understood the concept, and knew it was what kept most mortals alive. The emotion of everything being right and in its place. Of belonging. Of intimacy and respect. The mortal soul actually required love to beam brightly.
To be honest, when standing so close to Nova he’d felt something akin to want. To needing to belong. To existing again.
Why should he be denied simple pleasure when he served his holy and unholy masters so well?
Glancing to the bed, he noticed that her body wore a nimbus of moonlight. He wanted to kiss her pale lips. Lips tainted by multitude sin. Lips formed from the sweetness of innocence he’d never known. And though she was innocent – or believed herself to be – the woman was steeped in evil for some sins cleaved to the sin-eater’s soul ever after.
And who would eat her sins? Not any sane sin-eater.
The woman needed rescuing. But he was no knight.
He shimmered away from her and got caught in the stream of soul cries that beckoned for his attention.
Four
Nova owned far too much stuff. She made connections with inanimate things more easily than with the living and breathing.
But he had breath. You felt it on your face.
She wanted to feel it again.
She splayed her fingers over the books on the shelf. Memories of heroes and heroines would always be hers; she didn’t need the physical pages. The furniture in the living room echoed her bohemian aesthetic, but who needed a couch when they were dead?
Kicking aside the packing boxes half-filled with books she had labelled for the library and kitchen utensils she’d donate to charity, she settled on the floor, sinking against the wall.
The family photos peered at her from the bedroom dresser. Packing those felt like sacrilege.
“I am the queen of sacrilege,” she muttered, “according to the Soul-bringer.”
Could he be right? Was she the real thief?
An insistent knock at the door prompted her to call out, “It’s open, Blackthorn.” She didn’t get company. Ever. So he was the only possibility.
The Soul-bringer stepped through the doorway and swept the room with his dark eyes. He wasn’t much of a smiler. Yet his snazzy vest chased away the dour. He had stepped out of a different time period. Perhaps he had lived them all. Had he made connections in all those periods of time? Or was she a unique intrusion into his life?
“You intending a move?” he put out.
Nova sighed.
The man accepted her silence, wandered around the boxes, and circled back to Nova. Squatting before her, he pressed the heel of his palm to the wall over her shoulder and replicated her world-is-ending sigh.
“You cannot go through with your task tomorrow, Desdenova.”
“Who are you to tell me what to do? And what makes you think you know what I’m going to do?”
“You are going through your things. It is as if you do not expect to be around after tomorrow.”
“So what if I’m not? We all gotta go some time.”
“I can agree that Scott Weston must leave this realm tomorrow at noon. But you have a choice.”
“Don’t you find it interesting a man can know his exact hour of death?” she pondered, avoiding his eyes. “And because of that knowledge, suddenly I’ve been given the hour of my death.”
“Nova . . .” He didn’t know what to say. Did he feel as uncomfortable as she, so close to one another? Did he want to taste her breath on his lips? “You don’t need to do this. You cannot.”
“I made a promise.”
“Is breaking a promise a sin?”
“It is if I believe it a sin.”
“You have to believe in a god to subscribe to sin.”
He had her there. She did believe in a higher power – in Heaven – and redemption.
“My word is good, Blackthorn. I would never say something and not carry through with it. And if I had no intention to do something, then I would never say it.”
“You’ve more integrity than ninety-nine per cent of the world’s population.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“I admire your honesty,” he offered.
No one had ever admired a thing about her. Why did something interesting have to happen to her now, when her end was so near?
“Then don’t ask me to break a promise. I’ll stop eating sins right after Mr Weston. You don’t think my soul will go to Heaven?”
“I cannot know. Your sins will be judged by your maker.”
“You got that right.” Bravery was getting heavier to bear.
Blackthorn dipped his head and looked aside. “What gives you the right to steal sin? You cannot be any man’s judge. Only your god is allowed such mastery over the human soul.”
She’d had this argument with herself before she’d begun sin-eating at thirteen. “People make mistakes, Blackthorn.”
“Murder, dozens of times over, is not a mistake.”
And was thirteen too young to know any better? It should be.
“Nova.” His sighs sparkled within her when they should have made her sad. “There is a sinister delicacy to the human soul. Once tainted by evil it is very difficult to clean, no matter the circumstances that brought about the taint.”
“Even if those circumstances involved taking other people’s sins,” she stated, not liking the reality of her profession. Thievery, indeed.
She took his hands in hers and smoothed her thumbs along them. They were strong and calloused. A man’s hands. What would they feel like wrapped around her?
Nova cleared her throat and her wandering thoughts.
“When I first started,” she said, “I ate the sin from a man who had dropped his crippled mother down the stairs. It was an accident. He had been carrying her from the bath to her bedroom. Her head hit the tile landing and she died instantly. He spoke to me a week before he died of cancer. He thought he was guilty, couldn’t get beyond it, even after the police had ruled it an accident.
“I am there to calm worries, Blackthorn. To take away guilt for things that should never cause guilt. In a sense, we are all sin-eaters. We sit beside our loved ones when they are dying, ease their discomfort, grant them absolution for simple things.”
“Yes, but you’ve the power to erase sin, Nova. It should not be wielded without great care. The only worry this serial killer has is that you won’t make it there in time. He bears no remorse for his crimes. His soul belongs Beneath. It is not for you to decide.”
“Nor is it your decision.”
She tugged her hands from his and drew her knees up to her chest. “I will quit after this last one. I promise.”
“The Receiver of Beneath will take your soul if he is not satisfied.”
Nova grimaced. “The devil wants to take my soul? Bring it on.”
“And then he’ll kill me. But only after I have watched him torture you.”
She flicked a look at him. “Why? Do you care about me so much it would cause you pain?”
He touched her cheek, stroking his thumb along it. The touch was so intimate it made her want to lunge forward for the kiss she so desperately needed.
“Desdenova, you and I, we don’t get to love.”
Swallowing, she looked aside. “I know that.”
“Love is a cruel emotion.”
“So says the guy who probably doesn’t even understand guilt and honour and . . . and emotion. You’ve no capacity to love, do you?”
“I see that love hurts those who cared about the deceased. They are torn apart. Why do you insist love is so good?”
“Blackthorn, love is the reason we are here on earth. To love, and be loved.”
“I am aware that love feeds the soul.” He explained, “I know how to love. I know how to want, to desire, to pine for something. I ignore that evil.”
“Don’t call something so perfect evil.”
“It is something you pine for.”
“I do.”
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“Is it more important to you than honour and truth?”
“I think so. I had it once, from my parents.”
He nodded, pleased. “That is not your ego talking, but your truth.”
“You’re missing a lot if you don’t feel it,” Nova said.
“You think so?” He sat beside her and took her hand between his. “If love can be a distraction, you are it.”
A blush warmed her cheeks.
The moment felt so freakin’ normal. It wasn’t as if some immortal man who had the ability to enter Above and Beneath sat beside her. He was just a guy. A handsome, warm, wonderful guy she wanted to kiss all day and night until she had to leave this world.
Leave her entire life behind. All because of a ten-year-old’s naive promise.
“I won’t allow this to happen,” he said. He kissed her knuckles and held them there at his lips.
“I won’t let you force me to break a promise.”
“Keep your promise. Go to that bastard tomorrow.”
She turned and clutched his vest, the fine silk too soft and rich. “Don’t screw things up for me. If I steal these sins from you—”
“I’ll be fine. But you . . . The devil will not have your soul,” he said with determination. “Nova, trust me.”
“I don’t even know you.”
“I like you.” He winced, as if the words had cut his tongue. Or maybe it was such an odd declaration, he didn’t know what to think of it.
“You like me? Like . . . romantically?”
Nova liked him, too. And she didn’t have a reasonable explanation either, other than that he appealed to her. He made her want to know more about him. To want to show him that love was not always cruel.
“You’re not frightened of me,” he said. “You were born into a family tradition, and yet you face it with remarkable courage. There’s not a sin-eater in this world who doesn’t revel in sin and indulge because he knows the taint in his soul will see him Beneath when death calls his number.”
“I may be tainted with the sins of others, but it’s not my sin. I believe the greater power – be it God, Allah, Buddha, whoever you want to name – sees only those sins that belong to the person, not others.”
“Interesting theory.”
“You know otherwise?” Please say no, please say no.
“No.”
She relaxed. She would have enjoyed getting to know this guy if she’d more time. But she couldn’t mourn the things she’d miss if she hadn’t yet had them. Things like love, desire and sex.
He clutched his heart. This time the wince creased his forehead. “Sorry. I’ve to go.”
“Souls?”
He nodded. “You will see me tomorrow.”
“I know. But it better not be until after I’ve done the deed.”
Blackthorn’s smile disappeared like the Cheshire cat’s as he shimmered away from her side, leaving Nova shivering for the lack of warmth, and the thrill of new desire.
Five
Nova walked up the pristine sidewalk to the penitentiary. Not a bird chirped, there was no breeze to cool her sweaty palms. The sun was so bright it bleached the sky white. The prison’s red brick walls made it look a schoolhouse, if not for the chain-link fence, razor wire, floodlights and towers with armed guards.
“Farewell,” she whispered, knowing it sounded dramatic, but feeling it in her marrow, “to all my earthly attachments and my family.”
And then there was Blackthorn Regis. Talk about wrong place and wrong time to find Mr Right.
Heck, she didn’t know enough about him to decide if he was right or wrong. Probably a smart woman would say wrong because the man could never be around all the time.
Yet he believed in her. He accepted Nova held her own beliefs, and didn’t try to make her something she was not. That was something no girl should let slip from her grasp.
She started to wonder how painful it would be, dying. It was never a picnic vomiting up sin. What followed after she’d performed the eating today was going to be that, multiplied by a hundred.
“Stop it,” she muttered. Her black sneakers tracked the sidewalk. “Focus on the now. You can’t change any of this.”
Yet Blackthorn believed she could.
Certainly, she could make a different choice. But any choice other than this one would see her promise broken.
She had to respect a promise, no matter that it had been made fifteen years ago. Then she’d honour the promise made to Blackthorn.
The door to the prison opened with an ominous creak and shut so quickly Nova wondered how many had skinned a heel if they hadn’t stepped in fast enough. A steely-eyed officer wearing full uniform and a gun at his hip waited for her to approach. This was no reception area playing muzak and offering magazines while you waited.
“I’m Desdenova Fleetwood. I have an appointment to see Scott Weston, er . . . after?”
“Right, the religious liaison,” he said, noting something on the schedule before him. “Here to view the body and bless it, eh? The killer’s dying wish. Sweet.”
She nodded, nerves keeping her silent, for to speak she would have to reveal the truth. It wasn’t her lie; it had come from Weston.
He pointed to the right. “You’ll need to go through security.”
“Thanks.”
Shouldn’t a dying man’s last wish be honoured?
You have too much integrity.
At what point did a man lose his rights if he had taken the lives of so many? Truly, did he deserve a dying wish?
Nova was not the person to make that call. She was simply here to do a duty.
You’ve no right to be their judge. You are a thief.
Blackthorn had a point.
Nova clutched her neck. Was this wrong? She needed someone to tell her what to do. She was one person. One soul who followed her beliefs. But who was to say those beliefs were the right ones?
She glanced over her shoulder. Where was her rescuing knight?
You’re letting him influence you, to sway you. Be strong. Don’t succumb to base attraction. The man could never be right for you. He isn’t even mortal.
Summoning courage, Nova walked onwards.
The security check was tedious. She was frisked from head to toe. It was embarrassing, even with a female officer doing the frisking. Nova thanked a God she wasn’t sure existed for the freedoms she had enjoyed all her life.
Must a Soul-bringer lead a tethered life? He was always at the beck and call of souls waiting to be collected. A man couldn’t possibly develop meaningful relationships that way.
They were two alike, in so many ways it heartened her. She wanted to know him. She wanted more time with him.
“Ma’am?”
Nova jumped and started towards the door to her right, but the female officer harrumphed loudly.
“Your bag.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
She set down her bag and the officer upended it. A glance at the clock showed two minutes to noon. Nova didn’t have to show up while Weston was still breathing. Her work started after his heart stopped.
And no Soul-bringer had better beat her to it, either.
Yes, please, beat me there. Stop this thief before she sins again.
Oh, hell, Nova, you are the one in the wrong. You take away the judgment owed all men. And you will be judged yourself.
The officer shoved her empty bag towards Nova. “Stay right here.”
Nova glanced at the wall. The clock’s long hand clicked across the twelve at the same time the short hand did. She eyed the fluorescent lights. Would there be a power surge?
No, silly, that was only in movies. Besides, they gave lethal injections nowadays.
“You can enter the waiting room, Miss Fleetwood. The decedent will be brought in shortly.”
Six
Dead bodies did not bother her. She ate the sins. Nothing bizarre happened. She didn’t feel the sin go into her with a thud or shock. It was a non-event. Until she puked
it up later. Nova ate the last bits of salted bread from the plate she had set upon the unmoving chest. The corpse was dressed in a white cotton jumpsuit and no shoes. Scott Weston didn’t look as she remembered him fifteen years ago. As always, the decedent merely looked asleep, caught in reverie.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. She’d never allowed emotion to contaminate an eating. Nor had she allowed conflicting thoughts to interfere.
This is your last meal, kept pinging the surface of her brain. And then – Blackthorn didn’t get here first.
She dropped her arms to her sides and glanced to the guard standing inside the small room. A nod from him and she collected her bag from the floor beside her feet, and walked out.
Simple as that. Salt the bread. Eat it. Think pure thoughts (or try to). Leave.
Her footsteps quickened as she anticipated the inevitable violent purge.
Once outside, she ran towards her car, bag clutched to her chest and tears spattering the air. Slamming her hands to the trunk of her yellow VW Bug, she huffed and panted. She’d learned Weston had murdered eighteen women after raping them. This was not going to be pretty.
How dare she steal those sins? Was a promise so much grander than theft? Than murder?
Closing her eyes, Nova bent her knees and sank against the wheel well, the tyre digging into her hip. She should have parked at the back of the lot, next to the line of weeds under the chain-link fence. Towers dotted the high brick walls, capped with curled razor wire. Guards would see no matter where she positioned herself.
Soon the heat would rise through her muscles and skin and bring up her bile.
“I’m not ready,” she said in sniffling sobs. “I can’t die here. Alone. I’ve made a mistake.”
The smell of hot tarmac should have dizzied her, yet the scent reminded her of summer. Gasoline fumes fixed her to real time, the now.
Thoughts were too clear. She did not feel out of sorts, as if her stomach billowed up to her throat. She did not feel . . . anything.
A pair of legs materialized beside her. Nova followed the elegant black trousers up to the snazzy vest.
She jumped up to face Blackthorn and clutched his jacket. “You stole from me!”