My Soul to Take

by Amy Sumida

  “You're right,” Kirill held out his hand to me. “I can see her. She calls to me.”

  “So does my wolf,” Trevor lifted his hand as well.

  I went to them and took their offered hands. Trevor made the first cut, slicing over the already healing wound that Odin had made on my left hand. He held my hand and guided it to his heart. My wolf raced up to the surface and flowed into him through my blood. She rushed forward with the spark of magic that would fuel the oath. Trevor cried out as his soul was briefly united, shivering through the rush it gave him. But this wolf was no longer entirely his, she was mine, altered by me into a female. So she didn't just unite with him, she latched on. My wolf bit deeply into his and marked him as Trevor was always marking me. But this mark wouldn't fade, it would scar and serve as my link to Trevor forever.

  I gave my consciousness to my wolf, merging with her until I saw Trevor through her eyes; the majesty that was VéulfR, Prince of the Froekn and First Born Son of the Great Wolf God. It was all window dressing though. We knew the real man, the man who gave up eternity for love of us, of me.

  My blood to your heart, I spoke into his mind and Trevor shivered through the settling oath.

  After a quick lick at the wound she'd made, my wolf raced home, taking me back into myself. I waited for her to settle into a contented sprawl before I opened my eyes and turned to Kirill.

  He smiled gently, patiently waiting for me to let him know that I was ready. When I nodded to him, he sliced into my right thumb and then lowered his hands to his sides, wanting me to take make the oath on my own. So different from Trevor and yet they were the closest of my husbands, almost like brothers. I placed my thumb to Kirill's chest and his eyes closed in pleasure.

  He inhaled deep, his palm going over my thumb, holding me to him now that I had made my choice. My lioness roared in happiness and lifted up inside me, rushing forward to leap into our lover through the seeping blood. I felt her leave me and I raced after her. As my consciousness tried to catch up with my lioness, I caught images like dust from her path. I saw Kirill's transition into an Intare.

  He had been hunted, taken down by the lioness and then offered a choice. He could live forever through her and she would sustain him. Or he could die and fill her belly, sustaining her. The magic required that he be willing but it didn't seem to mind if that willingness were coerced. So yes, Kirill had made an oath to the lioness magic and when I became his goddess, his oath was transferred to me. But this was the first time he was completely willing in their bond and the lioness magic sensed that. It sensed it and rejoiced in it. So when I caught up with this wild piece of myself, she was more than willing to join with me to make our black lion truly ours. We sank our teeth into his heart but this time, instead of taking his blood, we gave him ours.

  She had taken the oath to a deeper level, making the words as true as they could be, and we claimed Kirill's heart as if for the very first time, even though it had long been ours. I saw him clearly then; the layers of pain Nyavirezi had left upon him were washed away until he was bare before me; the true Kirill. As regal as a king, as humble as a saint. Kirill had the mind of a ruler, he knew how to mould and manipulate men. He was bold and strong, with the ability to simply take what he wanted. He had passion that could rage into all aspects of his world and inspire others to follow him. But he had the heart of healer. Not the talent but the heart. He wanted to help instead of hurt. He may feel things intensely but he would never act rashly upon his emotions. He cared too much to do so. It was this control and compassion that would have made him not only a good king but a great one.

  But the world was denied this Great Tzar. The Prince was stolen and abused. He was broken and left for dead. Layers of trauma coated him, insanity claimed him, but still, it had taken only a few days for Kirill to find his way back to the surface of himself. He swears that I saved him but that's only partially true. I couldn't have helped him if he'd been a lesser man. Or if he hadn't wanted to be saved. Kirill was too strong to ever truly be broken. And now he was mine.

  My blood to your heart, I gave him myself in return, bleeding into the bite of my lioness.

  Then my lioness pulled back, happy with what we'd accomplished, and she snuggled down inside me. I was content too, grateful and relieved that this had been so much better than I'd thought it would be. I was smiling as my wolf and my lioness sank into slumber, thinking that this had been just what I needed to control those volatile beasts. Maybe keeping the peace between them would be easier now.

  But I hadn't considered what the calm of two beasts would do to the remaining third. The beast who had been repressed inside me for centuries, who truly was me. My dragon part of my dragon-sidhe essence. She had finally been released from my mother's spell, only to find invaders in her home. My star had united them, forged an alliance, but when it broke, so did that alliance and now there was a sort of Mexican standoff within me. When the lion and wolf had united against my dragon to keep her from shifting to save my sons, that standoff had vanished. The dragon had been overtaken. But now her opponents were sleeping and sated, giving her the perfect opportunity for revenge.

  A violent roar echoed through me as my dragon rose up. I had one second to stare at Kirill in horror before my dragon's vengeance sent me screaming to my knees. She flung about inside me, physically sending me tumbling into Odin's legs, and then she set her claws to my lioness. I could hear the men shouting, feel their hands on my arms and waist, but I couldn't speak to reassure them. My focus was centered on my dragon and my ears were full of the pitiful screams of my lioness.

  If the dragon won and killed the lioness, my Intare magic would die. And then my lions would die. I knew it with utter certainty. This was her goal, the brilliant deviousness of my dragon. She had waited for the perfect time to strike, coldly planning to destroy her enemy when the chance arose. With the lioness dead, she'd easily kill the wolf and then I would be completely hers. The issue of a broken star wouldn't worry her anymore. Nor would the needs of my other beasts.

  The calculated reasoning of the reptilian mind was chilling. Even more so when I considered the fact that it was a layer of my own mind. Was I truly capable of this; this insidious scheming and heartless murder? Was this who I really was?

  Then I heard the bean-nighe again, remembered what she'd said about controlling my beasts. I had done this before and I could do it again. I was the ruler of the world within me and if my subjects were acting up, then it was time to regulate. So I roared inside myself, roared with my own voice, not that of any of my beasts, and the dragon went silent. She pulled away from the lioness and stared up at me surprise. We faced off within me and I bared my resolve to her as if baring my teeth in warning.

  We were one, one being of separate pieces, and this whole internal fighting thing was getting old. I expressed my love for her, the honor I felt to be a dragon-sidhe, and the hope I had for our future. We would darken the sky of Faerie with our wings, us and our children. But only if she could stop fighting against me and start supporting me. The lioness and the wolf gave us strength and they only attacked her in order to defend themselves. We needed to repair our star and then all of them could come forth again. The star would help our family, our sons and our husbands. We needed the star and we needed the other beasts.

  She considered this and then agreed.

  So simple really. I should have known that I could reason with her. I'd done it before. Her intellect surpassed that of any animal. And I should have remembered that I knew her better than anyone. She was me and I was her. All I had to do was remind her of it. My dragon sank back into the shadows to wait for the moment when I'd need her and my lioness grudgingly gave the dragon her victory. Then the cat went back to sleep.

  I sighed and sat up. “It's all good,” I waved back my worried men. “I handled it.”

  “Handled what?” Trevor growled. “What in all the hells was that?”

  “An avenging dragon,” I shook my head. “Remember I told yo
u guys I had some trouble with my beasts? Well, my lioness and wolf ganged up my dragon and it looks like the dragon has been plotting revenge all this time. She went after the lioness.”

  “I felt her pain,” Kirill rubbed at his chest absently. “But she's okay now.”

  “So you conquered your dragon?” Azrael asked.

  “I think we've come to an understanding,” I shrugged. “Dragons don't take well to being conquered.”

  “No, I suppose they wouldn't,” Odin chuckled and I heard a note of relief in it.

  “But are you okay now?” Kirill helped me to my feet.

  “I'm good,” I nodded.

  “Good enough to celebrate?” Trevor smirked.

  “What; with all of you?” I lifted my brows.

  “I even wore something special,” Trevor undid his jeans and pushed them down, revealing a pair of boxer shorts printed with the face of a wolf. The wolf's snout was extended with Trevor's... extension. We all gaped at him as he posed proudly.

  “Vhy didn't you get me a lion pair?” Kirill huffed and I started to giggle.

  “Are you gonna huff and puff with that thing?” I teased him.

  “You're damn straight I am,” he started to stalk me and the rest of them closed in with him.

  “Oh, what the hell,” I turned and let myself fall backwards, completely trusting them to catch me... and undress me. Though I wished I'd worn my Little Red Riding Hood panties.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I headed over to the Greek Underworld after I recovered from our celebration. I didn't want to put off telling Morpheus about his brother for any longer. He had a right to know. Azrael went with me. As the Angel of Death, one of his duties was to comfort the grieving so I figured it might be good to have a professional along.

  I used to only know of two tracing points in the Greek Underworld; one at Hades' palace and the other on the banks of the River Styx. Now, thankfully, I knew about the tracing point within the Cave of the Oneiroi (the Greek dream gods) and so I wouldn't have to make the long trek from the river to the Land of Dreams. I really hated that journey. The last time I'd gone, I'd run into harpies. No one liked harpies, not even other harpies.

  So Az and I traced directly into Morpheus' home, without even having to traverse the dangerous path through the Cave of Dreams, which should actually be called the Cave of Nightmares. We used the chant Morph had given us to get past his new wards and reformed right in the hallway of his private home. Private cave home. Still, it was pretty nice for a cave. Most of the walls were covered with paneling to mask the cave-ness. But the dragon in me liked the stone walls and felt that if you were going to live in a cave, you should just embrace it.

  “Morpheus!” I called out as we walked down the hallway. “Morph, it's Vervain and Azrael. If you have company of the naked variety please say something before we get any closer!”

  “Carus,” Azrael shook his head and chuckled.

  “Well, I don't want to walk in on him in flambe delicious,” I huffed.

  “You mean in flagrante delicto,” Az laughed.

  “My way sounds better,” I waggled my brows at him.

  “Vervain?” Morpheus was in his living room, which was an open space off the hallway. He stood up when he saw us. “What are you two doing here? Is it the Vodou souls? You could have just texted.”

  “No, it's not the souls,” I went forward, losing all my humor. Even I knew this wasn't a time to be joking around. “Um, do you mind if we sit down?”

  “No, of course not,” he waved to the collection of sofas. “Wherever you like. Would you like some refreshments? Wow, it's been awhile since I've had anyone else in here and the last time it was you but you weren't exactly a guest. This feels weird.”

  “How are you adjusting to living alone?” Azrael asked gently.

  “I'm good,” Morph nodded. “I like the quiet and now that I don't have to invade people's dreams anymore, I have lots of time to read,” he held up the book he'd been reading; Fairy-Struck by Amy Sumida. “Faeries are my favorite.”

  “I like them too,” I gave him a grin but it quickly disappeared. “Morpheus... I've had some bad news.”

  “Is everyone alright?” He leaned forward anxiously.

  “No, someone was killed,” I leaned forward and took Morpheus' hand. “It was Phantasus.”

  “Phantasus?”

  “He kidnapped Eztli and a god named Morvran rescued her,” I explained.

  “And this Morvran killed my brother?”

  “Yes,” I said softly. “He came up behind Phantasus and beheaded him. It sounds like your brother wouldn't have even known it was coming, much less have felt anything. It was fast, Morpheus. He didn't suffer.”

  “Phantasus,” Morpheus bent over and started to cry.

  “Oh, Morph,” I jumped up and went to kneel by his chair. “I'm so sorry.”

  “He could be cruel and selfish,” Morpheus confessed as he looked up at me. “But he was my brother and I loved him, even when I didn't like him.”

  “I know,” I nodded. “I know you love him. That love doesn't disappear with his death.”

  “And I'm sure he loved you too,” Azrael had come up behind Morpheus' chair and laid a hand on Morph's shoulder. I saw the briefest flash of pale blue light beneath Azrael's palm and then Morph's tense shoulders relaxed.

  “I think he did,” Morph whispered and then looked up at Azrael. “Thanks, Az. That helped.”

  “Just try and think about the good memories you have of him,” Azrael offered. “Don't focus on any of the bad. Now's the time to let past trauma fade away. That's one kindness which death offers.”

  “Focus on the good,” Morph gave a laughing huff. “That'll take some thought.”

  “How about we drink a toast to him?” I suggested.

  “Yes, I think he'd like that,” Morpheus smiled. “If nothing else, he'd appreciate the irony of the Godhunter saluting his life.”

  “I do as well, believe me,” I sighed as I stood. “Now where do you keep the good stuff?”

  Morpheus brought out a bottle of brandy, which Phantasus was fond of, and he gave us each a snifter with an inch of the golden liquid in it.

  “To my brother,” Morpheus lifted his glass. “The world is a safer place without him in it but I will miss him nonetheless.”

  “I can drink to that,” I clicked my glass to Morph's, as did Azrael, and we drank.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I spent all night comforting Morpheus, drinking brandy, and even singing at one point. I was exhausted when we got home and Azrael ended up half-carrying me to bed. I slept soundly and woke up between a lion and a hard... well anyway, I woke up happy.

  Then I went downstairs to find Yemanja waiting for me.

  “Vervain,” she put her coffee down and motioned me over to where she was sitting at the dining table. “There will be a wete mo na dlo today and I think we should attend.”

  “A whatee whatee?” I blinked at her and swayed under the scent of fresh coffee.

  “A wete mo na dlo,” she repeated. “It's a ritual to call a soul back from the waters of Ginen after they've been dead for a year and a day. It will bring the soul to earth to establish a connection with its govi pot. Remember; we talked about this before?”

  “Yes, I remember,” I sat beside her. “You said that a soul can do a lot of things that a living human can't. But what exactly can souls do here in the Human Realm?”

  “With the right offerings they can manipulate energy in such a way as to bring wealth or knowledge to their family,” Yemanja shrugged. “And they often offer protection in a watchful way, like a guard dog or alarm; they give warnings. If they're strong enough, they can even physically protect their family.”

  “And if a bokor is controlling them? Can they be used to physically hurt people?”

  “That could be possible through the manipulation of energy or elements,” Yemanja sighed. “But that's not what worries me.”

  “Then what? How
do you think these bokors will use the souls they've stolen?”

  “In Vodou, we lwas often visit our people through means of possession,” she began. “It's called being rode and the serviteur is our horse.”

  “Yes, I think you've mentioned that.”

  “Souls strengthened by magic could easily do the same thing.”

  “What; possess people?” I gaped at her.

  She nodded.

  “So you think they'll use these souls to possess living bodies?” I frowned and thought back to our original talk. “But this only brings me back to my original question. Why go through all this trouble to steal a pot de tet, murder the person, bring their soul back from Ginen, and then put it into a govi pot just to send the soul into another body, when you could skip all that and just use the pot de tet to control the living person?”

  “Because that limits you to a particular person,” Yemanja said grimly. “With a soul who can inhabit any body, your options are limitless. And if the body dies, the soul will just return to Ginen and await the bokor's next summoning.”

  “That's horrifyingly evil,” I gaped at her. “An army of body snatchers.”

  “Yes,” she sighed. “I should have explained this better in the beginning but like you said; it's horrifying. I wasn't thinking straight. I just wanted to keep my people safe.”

  “So why do you think we should go to this ritual?” I asked. “I'm assuming that this is a ritual that's being done properly and the priest was willingly given the pot de tet?”

  “Yes but this ritual is complicated and long... and performed outdoors. It would give a bokor ample opportunity to sneak into the empty oumphor and take the unguarded pots left on the altar.”

  “The oumphor?”

  “The church,” Yemanja reminded me.

  “Right,” I nodded. “Okay, so you don't really want me at the ceremony, you want me to guard the oumphor?”

  “Precisely,” she smiled. “I will watch over the ceremony but I'll have to leave my body here. Can you make sure it remains undisturbed?”