by Jenna Black
It was Jamaal’s turn to groan as he got it. “He knew you’d be looking for him, so he’s hiding out in the one place he’s sure you can’t find him.”
There are some death-god descendants who can open portals into the Underworld, but Jamaal wasn’t one of them. At least, not that I knew of.
I cocked my head at him. “Do you suppose there’s any chance you can open a portal to the Underworld? You are descended from a death goddess, after all.”
“I think that if I could, I would have figured it out by now,” he replied.
“Just like you figured out how to summon Sita all on your own?”
He scowled at me, but he knew I had a point. When I’d first asked him if he thought he could summon some kind of spirit animal, he’d categorically dismissed the suggestion. And I’d kept on him about it, because I knew of another death-god descendant who seemed to be able to vent some of the death magic through a spirit animal. Eventually, Jamaal had caved and tried, and that was how he found Sita.
“I suppose I can try,” he admitted. “I’m not sure what I’d have to do, but then I didn’t have much idea when I started looking for Sita, either. The only thing I know for sure is that we’d have to be in a cemetery.”
Anderson could create portals wherever he was—he’d once told me that he himself actually was a portal—but apparently Liberi needed to draw power from the dead to do it.
“I’m sure we’d have no trouble finding a cemetery in this area,” I said.
Jamaal gave a little start. “You want to try it tonight?”
I rubbed my eyes. I hadn’t been the least bit tired until that moment, but now the idea of slipping into bed seemed very appealing.
“Jasmine’s altar is already barren. I think that’s a crisis worth pulling an all-nighter for, don’t you?”
Jamaal suppressed a yawn. Amazing how tired you get when you realize you’re not going to be getting to sleep anytime soon. “When you put it that way . . .”
Jamaal and I found a small cemetery not far from our hotel. It was situated behind a picturesque Baptist church, and the area was so quiet and abandoned at one in the morning that I felt like we might be the only two people left alive. It was a disturbing mental image for a pair of immortals who were facing the possibility of mankind’s extinction. If we didn’t find a way to fix this unholy mess, we would not only have to watch the human race die out, we would also still be walking the Earth when it was all over. I had no clue what the total number of Liberi in the world was, but I knew it wasn’t very large, and even if we started breeding like bunnies—a difficult prospect when Liberi descended from different gods can’t have children together—we’d never come close to re-creating what we’d lost.
Based on the wear and tear of the headstones, the cemetery we’d chosen had been around for at least a century or two. It would probably have been lovely in the daytime, situated on a gentle hill and surrounded by ancient trees that would provide welcome shade. At night, however, it was a different story. The only illumination came from the ambient light of downtown Memphis, miles away, and from the tiny porch light over the church’s front entrance. In fact, it was so dark I had to use a flashlight app on my phone so we wouldn’t trip over any of the weathered headstones.
I could tell almost from the first moment we set foot in the cemetery that Jamaal was feeling the presence of the dead. The dead called to his death magic, bringing it closer to the surface—and loosening his hold on his temper. His shoulders were tense, and his fingers were constantly in motion with subtle fidgets. I’d hoped his practice with Sita would make him better able to deal with the atmosphere of the cemetery, but that seemed not to be the case.
“Are you going to be all right?” I asked.
He slanted a look at me. “I’m surrounded by the dead in the middle of the night hoping to pull a previously unknown power out of my ass. What could possibly go wrong?”
I smiled at him, feeling absurdly proud of that little flash of humor. Sure, it was dark, sarcastic humor, but when I’d first met him, Jamaal would have needed a dictionary to figure out what the word humor meant, so this was a big improvement.
“Don’t forget that the fate of the world is resting on your shoulders,” I told him cheerfully. “I know that always helps me relax and concentrate.”
He snorted, but didn’t otherwise respond. We made our way to the approximate center of the cemetery, and then Jamaal waved me away.
“I have no idea what I’m doing or what might happen,” he warned. “Best if you keep your distance and turn that flashlight off.”
I swallowed hard at the thought of being in the cemetery without the security blanket of my feeble light, but I saw the sense in Jamaal’s request. The last thing he needed was anything resembling a distraction.
I picked my way over to an inviting patch of grass and sat down, then reluctantly turned off the light on my phone. The air felt immediately colder, the darkness heavier. I zipped my jacket a little higher and stuffed my hands into my pockets. I had a feeling I was going to be freezing by the time this little adventure was over.
Whatever efforts Jamaal was making to open a portal, they were silent. All I could hear was the rustle of branches from the occasional breeze and the distant hum of traffic from the highway about half a mile away.
At first, I couldn’t see Jamaal at all, even though I was no more than fifteen or twenty yards from him. His dark jeans and coffee-brown leather jacket were invisible against the night. My eyes adjusted after the first few minutes, and though I couldn’t see very well, I could at least make out vague shapes here and there.
Jamaal was on his feet, visible as nothing more than a blot of greater darkness in the night. He didn’t appear to be doing anything other than standing there, but I knew he was trying to tap into his power, just as I’d seen him do when he’d been learning to summon Sita.
It was hard to measure the passage of time. The darkness and stillness made every minute feel like an hour, and the cold that was now seeping into my butt from the ground wasn’t helping matters. I considered checking the time on my phone, but didn’t want to risk the glow distracting Jamaal. It was dark enough that my phone would probably look bright as a beacon.
Too chilled to remain still, I pushed up to my feet and tried to move around a little to keep warm without making any distracting noises. Jamaal was still standing motionless, although every once in a while I thought I saw him sway a bit. Not a good sign. When he’d been trying to summon Sita in the beginning, the effort had practically made him pass out a few times. I chewed on my chapped lip and forced myself to stay put. This was an effort Jamaal had to undertake on his own.
The swaying became more pronounced, and despite my best intentions, I found myself inching slowly closer. Maybe it was time to interrupt him. If he were going to open a portal, he would have done so by now, right?
I kept my jaws clamped shut. The risk of Jamaal exhausting himself to the point of collapse was worth taking if the reward was getting into the Underworld and finding Anderson. I still didn’t know how it had happened, but somehow I seemed to have taken charge of his Liberi in his absence, and I wanted nothing more than to shove all that responsibility back on his shoulders where it belonged. It had taken a god to make this mess, and I was convinced it would take one to fix it.
I had covered maybe half the distance between myself and Jamaal when I suddenly noticed a patch of unnatural blackness forming at his feet. Hope leapt within me, and I covered my mouth to make sure I didn’t make any sound. The only other time I’d seen a portal to the Underworld, it had manifested very much like this one. Jamaal was on the right track.
Except apparently he wasn’t.
The pool of blackness resolved itself into the shape of a tiger.
Sita leapt out of the way as Jamaal pitched forward and landed on the frozen ground in a heap. I cried out in dismay and took a couple of running steps toward him before Sita inserted herself between us and snarled at me, warn
ing me off. I skidded to a stop and held up my hands.
“I just want to make sure he’s okay,” I told the tiger, not entirely sure our truce was still in effect.
Sita snorted at me, then dismissed me from her attention, turning to Jamaal and nuzzling his shoulder. He was out cold and didn’t move an inch.
I sidled closer, keeping a wary eye on Sita while making sure I made enough noise that she knew I was coming. I didn’t think startling her would be good for my health. She gave me the evil eye and a halfhearted snarl, then used her head to try to turn Jamaal over onto his back.
“I think that’ll be easier to do with hands,” I told her when her effort failed. “But he’s pretty heavy, so I could still use your help.”
Her narrowed eyes screamed distrust, but Sita allowed me to come close and crouch on the ground next to Jamaal’s prone body. I slipped my hands under his shoulder and upper chest, pushing with my legs to move his dead weight. As soon as I got him partway raised, Sita shoved the top of her head under him, and together we got him turned over onto his back.
He was breathing steadily, and when I touched my fingers to his throat, his pulse was speedy, but strong. I tried to arrange him as comfortably as possible, not sure how long he would be out. Sitting this close, I could see the sheen of sweat on his face and knew that even once he woke, he’d be weak and shaky.
I looked at Sita, who was watching my every move like a hawk while she lay down beside him across from me.
“You know he was trying to open a portal to the Underworld, right?” I asked. She just blinked at me. “I thought he was succeeding, but then you appeared. Was the darkness I saw a portal forming, or was it you all along?”
No, I wasn’t expecting her to answer me. I was talking more to myself than to her, but then I reminded myself that she seemed perfectly capable of understanding me.
“Do you know if he can create a portal?” I asked her. “Nod or shake your head.”
Sita growled at me, showing off her impressive teeth.
“Please,” I added hastily. Apparently, she didn’t like being given commands, especially not by me.
She gave me the evil-eye stare for another long moment, then lowered her chin in what I decided to interpret as a nod.
“Can he do it?”
Another pause, then she moved her head subtly from side to side. I decided she understood the gestures of nodding and shaking her head but wasn’t exactly used to communicating that way.
“Can you do it?” I asked in a sudden burst of inspiration.
Sita sighed loudly and made another awkward side-to-side head motion.
“Just to make sure I understand: are you saying there’s no way you or Jamaal can get us into the Underworld?”
Her chin-dip confirmed my understanding. If I wanted to get to the Underworld to search for Anderson, I was going to have to find another way.
TEN
Jamaal had really worn himself out. When he finally regained consciousness, he was so weak he couldn’t stand on his own and I had to help him to the car. I knew he was in bad shape when he accepted help from anyone, but especially me. He was a little better when we arrived at the hotel, and though his face was ashen¸ he made it to the elevators unassisted. However, that effort took the last of his strength, and he had to lean on me the rest of the way to our suite.
He uttered a mild protest when I led him straight through the sitting room and into his bedroom, but I ignored him. Maybe his pride would have felt better if I’d plopped him down on the sofa until he was ready to walk unaided again, but I’ve been known to have little patience with overblown male pride.
Jamaal groaned in relief when we made it to his bed, and he flopped bonelessly on top of the covers, still wearing his leather jacket and his black lace-up boots. As he lay on the bed and panted, I started unlacing one of those clunky boots.
“Stop that,” he protested, making a halfhearted effort to pull away.
I ignored him and kept working on the laces. Even in his weakened state, he was more than strong enough to pull away if he really wanted. I worked the boot off and dropped it to the floor beside the bed, then started on the other one.
“You don’t have to mother me,” he said.
I rolled my eyes at him. “Why don’t you give the alpha-male crap a rest and let me take care of you,” I said, pulling on his laces without pause. “Is it that big a deal to let me take your boots off?”
He grumbled something under his breath. Probably just as well I couldn’t make out the words. It had been a long, long time since Jamaal had experienced true care from a fellow human being, and he was obviously uncomfortable with it. Which was just tough. Being cared for was something he was going to have to get used to.
The second boot joined its mate on the floor.
“Let’s get you out of that jacket,” I suggested.
I hadn’t turned on the bedside lamp, but there was enough light leaking in through the open bedroom door to reveal the mulish look on his face.
“Just let me rest, would you?”
“You’ll rest easier if you aren’t wearing a heavy leather jacket indoors. Tell me you’re not roasting already.” I’m cold-natured, but the thermostat was set comfortably high, and I quickly shed my own coat to set a good example.
“You’re a real pain in my ass,” Jamaal said as he laboriously sat up and tried to get out of his jacket without help.
I crossed my arms over my chest and gave him my best look of long-suffering patience as he struggled to find the energy to get his shoulders out of the jacket. His face was sweaty again, whether from the effort or just because he was wearing a winter jacket indoors I didn’t know.
Jamaal is capable of amazing displays of stubbornness, but the jacket quickly got the best of him, and he let his arms fall back limply to his sides. He couldn’t quite bring himself to ask for help, but he gave me an imploring look that got the message across.
While I helped him wriggle out of the jacket, I couldn’t help but notice that his clothes beneath—a loose-fitting T-shirt over a long-sleeved thermal knit—were soaked with sweat.
“Let’s get you a dry shirt while we’re at it,” I suggested.
Jamaal tensed, and I knew he was fighting his inner demons. His back and chest were covered with scars from his days as a slave long ago, and he was enormously self-conscious about it. That I’d seen them before didn’t seem to make letting me see them again any easier for him, but he eventually let out a long, shaky breath and nodded.
That simple show of trust warmed me on the inside. I was careful not to touch any of the scars as I helped him peel the double layer of shirts off together.
“I’m going to hang these in the bathroom or they’ll never dry,” I told him. “Then I’ll bring you another shirt.” The scars bothered Jamaal enough that he always wore at least an undershirt to bed.
“Thanks,” he said almost reluctantly as he lay back down and closed his eyes.
When I came back from hanging his shirts in the bathroom, I thought he might have fallen asleep. I went for his suitcase anyway, and he said, “Don’t bother. Too tired.”
My heart warmed for a second time as I realized how far he had come in such a short time. I doubted he was exactly comfortable lying there without his shirt on with me in the room, but that he was even willing to do it was a tremendous improvement.
I should have left him to rest then, but instead I went to sit on the bed beside him. I wasn’t surprised to find him looking tense and wary. There was easily enough light for me to see the ridges and valleys that had been carved into his flesh, and though I didn’t want to look at them, I didn’t want to not look at them, either. I took his hand and squeezed it while a lump of mingled sympathy and fury rose in my throat. I wanted to go back in time and kill whoever had done this to him. I’m a self-proclaimed bleeding heart, and my mind simply wasn’t able to encompass how one human being could do something like that to another.
“It was a long time a
go, Nikki,” Jamaal said gently as if he could read my thoughts. “I’ve outlived every one of those fuckers, and I’ve even pissed on some of their graves. In the end, I won.”
I squeezed his hand again and forced a smile. That was an unusually positive way of thinking about it, especially for Jamaal, but the emotional scars ran so much deeper than the physical ones. He was letting me see the scars on his body, but he had yet to let me touch them, which spoke of much more baggage he still had to dump if he was ever going to find real happiness.
Jamaal swallowed hard, and his breathing quickened. Before I could figure out what to make of it, he jerked my hand up to his chest and practically slammed it down on his sternum. The scar tissue was an obscene texture under my palm and fingers, marks of unspeakable brutality. Jamaal held my hand in place. His eyes were closed, his skin was clammy, and his heart pounded like a drum beneath my palm.
I wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to do this, that it was okay if he didn’t want me touching him, that I was willing to wait until he was truly comfortable instead of forcing the issue. But I kept my mouth shut and swallowed the words. If Jamaal was going to break free of the memories that haunted him, he would do so at his own pace, and only he knew what that pace was.
He held my hand in place for a long time, his body rigid with tension as he fought his inner demons. He’d told me he once had an owner who’d been turned on by the scars. That was all he’d said about it, but it was clear she’d acted on her desires against his will. To tell you the truth, I didn’t want to know exactly what she had done to him. I didn’t want to share him with his past, didn’t want its shadow constantly clinging to us, didn’t want it weighing him down and interfering with his happiness.
Eventually, the pounding of his heart slowed and some of the tension eased from his muscles. He opened his eyes and met my gaze. I was terrified that I would say or do the wrong thing, and I hoped it didn’t show in my eyes. His hand slid away from mine, and he let his arm come to rest at his side.