Without moving his eyes from me he spoke to Liam. “She really is something.” The heat of his words quiet, lethal.
What exactly was that supposed to mean?
He shifted his body in his chair to face me better. He crossed his arms.
Even that slight movement pulled at me, distracted me for a moment—he had great shoulders, broad, and strong. The sleeves of his black thermal Henley were pushed up casually over his forearms, his very well toned, muscular forearms.
What is wrong with me?
He leaned ever so slightly forward, towards me, studying me, considering me from head to toe.
I could feel, actually feel, the restrained anger and heat in him.
I swallowed nervously. What else could he do to me? Who was he? Better yet, what was he? Could he make this worse? What if he could make this worse? Waves of heated irritation, that’s what it was, not even anger. He was irritated with me? Irritated with me!? Screw him! I dimly noticed Liam move away to take a seat off to my left.
“You can’t seriously be irritated with me?” I was suddenly drained, the warring emotions taking their toll, my inner fire sputtered to nothing, not even smoldering embers remained. I was nowhere near ready to sputter out. This couldn’t happen now. I was ready—way ready for a big knock-down-drag-out fight. But my brain and body seemed to be done and more than ready to betray me.
And I was cold. I was hungry. I was tired, bony deep weary and exhausted…purely exhausted.
I fell back into the softness of the couch—shaking, trembling—into its false comfort.
Gideon’s look of bridled wrath faded minutely into something of a warm half smile, crooked up a bit on one side, one eyebrow slightly lifted, almost amused. Amused?
I felt like screaming into the pillow that was clutched in my hands. But I didn’t even have the energy left for that. Not a scream, not even a scowl.
“Liam, why don’t you get our guest some coffee? Maybe a bite to eat.” It was posed as a request, but was not. That was put forward as an order.
I looked at Liam, a pleading look I’m sure. I didn’t want to be left alone with Gideon.
Alone with Gideon.
It was like a whisper in my ear. A tickling wonderful thought deep down in my psyche. Alone with Gideon. Not an altogether unpleasant thought. Yes! Yes it is!
“I don’t want coffee. I want my life back,” I spit out.
“Can’t do that,” Gideon responded.
His voice. His voice was just as compelling as his eyes…and his body.
It was distinct. It was deep. Slightly rumbly and bassy, but not entirely, and he had an accent as well, very similar to Liam’s, but with something else thrown in that I couldn’t identify. I couldn’t place its origin. It struck a chord in me, drew me further in. Made that humming under my skin pick up.
Liam left the room. He didn’t even glance my way as he exited. Obviously our kisses long forgotten and meaningless.
“Besides, you pissed me off enough with the raid you pulled on your old apartment,” he continued.
“I didn’t take anything that would be missed.” I mumbled into the pillow, barely lifting my head to speak. “I think I know my life well enough to know what would be missed. Knew my life well enough.”
“I do want to apologize for the manner in which you were collected,” he offered. “And for whatever else is going on.”
My heart stuck a beat. How did he know about the kisses with Liam? Had he told him? Was that a part of their private little dialogue moments ago?
“What?” I asked cautiously.
“The way you look.”
Oh. Okay…not about the kisses?
“What? What’s wrong with the way I look?” Now he was going to insult me?
“Absolutely nothing.” His eyes grazed my face, drinking me in again.
What was that flicker in his eyes?
“And everything. You should not look like you. You should look nothing like your previous self.”
“Well, I kind of don’t actually. And why wouldn’t I?”
“You also turned corporeal too soon. It should have taken hours, not minutes, for your spirit to develop a new body.”
“But why would I not look like myself? And if I look so similar, fix this, let me go back. Let me have my life back,” I demanded. I pleaded.
“No can do. And to keep things straight—you did die. Your body was found shortly after you left your apartment.” He stared intently at me, almost a glare. “Let me be clear, you pissed me off plenty with what you pulled by pillaging your apartment. You should not be asking me for anything right now.”
“I didn’t take anything obvious, and I only took what I needed.”
“You have no idea what you need now.” He paused, leaning back into his chair, and drank from his cup. He appeared to be having a latte, or maybe it was a cappuccino? “Nothing should have been taken,” he growled lowly.
Then he shrugged, his expression lightening some. A slight look of compassion passed over his face, through his eyes. “I’m not sure what has happened, or why, or why it was different with you in particular. It’s being looked into. But make no mistake, you were on the schedule to be culled. You were on the schedule to become Coimhdeacht, and Seattle was owed a Coimhdeacht, so your new home is now Seattle. There is nothing more to it than that. It was not a personal choice of anyone in the Rúnaigh. It just is. It is not your position to question what has been in place since the beginning.” A look that I didn’t quite know how to label crossed his face, gone as quickly as it had shown up. Was it confusion? As if a war between hardness and tenderness had just coursed through him.
I put my face in my hands, hiding from him, from looking at him. My emotions and sensibilities were too much all over the place, and looking at him was just far too perplexing, too beguiling…in addition to everything else that was going on.
Silence. Except for our breathing. I knew the fire was crackling as it licked at the wood, that I should be hearing the murmur of other patrons up the hall, through the open door. And the music, music had been playing. But now, all was still—except for our breathing.
I focused on it. Why?
Things were so overly surreal now. Our breathing seemed to be synced. And I could feel Gideon. Feel his anger, tempered, but still present…lying just under that something else. Some other emotion. What was it? Something strong. Strong enough to overpower the heated displeasure.
I reached out to him, my mind, no…some part of me that I didn’t recognize stretched out to him. I felt drowsy, yet completely in tune with what was happening. The humming tremor increased.
Warmth. Concern.
Really? Hard to believe coming from him, but waves of it were coming towards me so strong it was nearly tangible. How could I feel that?
No. I was delirious. All the shock and trauma was affecting my logic, to think I could read his feelings like that. But I had to force myself not to look up at him anyway, to see his face, what may have been visible there.
I could feel him staring. He was waiting. But what else was there to say? I think I’d been pretty clear and rather thorough in my tirade. What else could I say? His bafflement in regard to the way I looked didn’t sit well with me. Something seemed off, but he’d already told me he was working on that. And I was worn out, I was drained.
I felt like crying. I felt like whimpering to him; please make this all go away. I want my life back. I want my home back and my friends…I want never to have met you. But my brain tickled and that shiver ran through me when I thought that last part.
I didn’t raise my head until I heard Liam return. I tossed my hair back out of my face.
Gideon was eased back into his chair, his feet propped on the table in front of him. Relaxed, but still watchful, waiting, as he sipped his coffee. I purposefully looked at Liam and not to Gideon.
“So, did you do it? Was it your mistake? Are you the one that screwed this up?” I asked pointedly. Not really wanting to conv
erse with him, or look at him, when he’d been so clear about avoiding me, and acting so contrite towards me.
He shook his head and met my eyes. The look in them made my heart twist and I squeezed my eyes shut against it. Against him.
“Liam did his job correctly. We don’t know that anything has been screwed up. I’ve essentially never seen this, or heard of it before,” Gideon interceded. “This will be investigated and sorted. But have no misconceptions, your name was on that list. You were meant to die, you were meant to be our newest Coimhdeacht.”
I didn’t turn to Gideon as he spoke his harsh words. I kept my eyes closed. There was that word again, Coimhdeacht. Everyone knew what a Reaper was. Death. But a Coimhdeacht? What the heck was that anyway? I am supposed to play ‘death’ with them?
I felt hysterical laughter bubbling up inside of me. In all my gothic days I never would have dreamed of myself being within the court of Death. All the playing at vampire clubs, gothic nightclubs, and writing of supernatural romance novels had not prepared me for this.
After several heartbeats, that seemed to stretch out for many minutes, I found my voice, pushing the hysteria down deep.
“So what now? What am I supposed to do with this information? I’m dead. Chosen to be some sort of assistant to Death. I’ve got a new body, but I should not look like this. So what does this all mean? My head is going in circles and you’ve yet to give me any useful answers that I can actually grasp.”
Was I pushing too far? Did I care at this point?
Gideon didn’t speak.
I only opened my eyes when I was startled by the slap of something coming down hard on the coffee table. My eyes jumped to him. He was pushing a large manila envelope toward me across the polished wood.
“A new identity for starters.” He settled back into the chair in an austere manner.
I leaned forward, my heart tripping. I stared at the envelope waiting there for me.
A new identity? A vision of myself asleep on that couch flitted through my mind. By now I, that other body, was long gone. Discovered and taken away. Everyone would know by now; that Isabelle was dead. Gone forever. Dead. Tears filled my eyes. Hot and stinging. I would not let them spill. I would not let Gideon see them.
Eventually I looked up at him, trying to read his expression—or maybe his mind. And why was Liam so silent through all of this?
Gideon raised an eyebrow at me and gave me a half smile, gestured to the packet, as if to tell me to take it…it was mine.
I lifted it gingerly from the table, terrified of what fresh hell lay inside, my eyes still on him. Why did it have to be so hard not to look at him? I bit my lip and stared down at the envelope, weighing it in my hands, it was fairly heavy. Curiosity got the best of me. I opened the crisp package without a word to either of them and poured its contents onto the table. I touched the items, turning them over in my hands, studying the details of each.
There was a birth certificate, passport, driver’s license, social security card, bank book. But not a thing, said Isabelle Finne. Instead, they all had the name Iliana Evenwicht. Pretty name, but it wasn’t mine. And the driver’s license and passport had a picture of me on them. How had he managed that?
Staring down at the bits and pieces of my new self laying on the table, the actuality and magnitude of the situation struck me with finality, deeper than ever before, with its permanence and certainty.
I wouldn’t think it was possible to feel any more lost than I already was—but I’d be wrong in that opinion. Somehow I had managed to become even more adrift. “It’s really over…” I whispered.
Liam held out a steaming cup of coffee to me. French pressed. My favorite. I didn’t reach for it. He set it on the table in front of me.
“Drink up, Sweetness,” Gideon said, his tone soft, warm. It stole pleasingly into my ears and wrapped, without invitation, around my heart.
He took it all away. I reminded myself. He wasn’t the one who had drugged me, but he was a part of it. He’d sent Liam for me.
Coffee. Maybe it would be good for me, clear things up a bit in my brain some. It was normal anyway, real, and I was so tired.
I wrapped my fingers around the large bowl-like mug, breathed in the comforting aromatic steam before blowing on it, sampling it. It was good, slightly smoky, smooth and robust. The best I’d had in a very long time, maybe ever. Of course it would be, I thought dryly. Why wouldn’t the coffee served at Death’s establishment be the best? I took another sip, soaking up the warmth into my chilled hands from the heated ceramic.
“Mysterious ways Iliana,” Gideon offered just as I was preparing to pose to him the question as to how these documents had come into being and how could they possibly have new pictures of me on them.
That unnerved me. Had I muttered it without knowing? Or was it like earlier, when I’d been with Liam and he’d ‘heard’ a thought from me?
“So, what do I do?” I looked directly at Gideon. “And why did this happen? Why am I supposed to be this…Coimhdeacht?” My voice was diminished and empty of any traces of emotion at this point, drained away by the trauma and exhaustion.
I was tired of it. And tired of feeling whiny. Was I being whiny? I think I probably deserved to be so under the circumstances. But by nature I was not a whiny person. I normally faced problems head on and figured them out, resolved them. But this was not within my power to figure out.
I was at this man’s mercy in finding out any information in which to utilize to better this situation.
A look passed between Liam and Gideon, as if they were having a silent conversation. Weirder things had been happening the past twenty-four hours.
“First, forget everything you’ve ever been taught.” He drank from his cup, put his feet back up. So relaxed, so calm.
I wondered how many times he’d done this. How many years. Had he gone through the same ordeal? How old had he been when it had happened to him? What had his life been like?
I looked at Liam. Had he also been through this? Had he been as upset, traumatized? How many years ago? He’d told me a lot about his life on the trip from California, but never anything about what he did now. Or how long ago all of that had been. My heart softened towards him—just a little.
“The skeletal figure in a black cloak with a scythe, all media hype, movie BS. Death looks like anyone. And it’s not just one entity performing the task. It’s a multitude making it happen, an entire array of positions existing to make one common goal come about.”
He stopped speaking, rubbed his hand across his mouth, contemplating something heavily before proceeding.
“Bollocks, what the hell.” He grabbed a napkin, and retrieving a pen and book from the side table he began to sketch a diagram, talking as he did it. “So at the very top you’ve the Na Ceann Comhairle.” I watched his hand scribbling across the white paper, he had nice penmanship—of course he did.
Liam interceded. “Are you sure, Gideon?” He waved at the napkin. “I thought we were waiting to hear—”
“Just the very basics.”
Liam shrugged and relaxed back into his chair. “Your call.”
“The what?”
The room felt skewed and I was having a hell of a time grasping his words.
He looked up from under his brow, his head still tilted to his jotting. “Na Ceann Comhairle.” He kept writing, as if that tidbit of information was self explanatory. Then you have the Roghnú Deireadh,” he paused and glanced at me again, “they deliver the death notice, write it up. They are the bringers of fate, to a certain degree.”
Was I really hearing all of this?
“Then you have the Caomhnoir. The Caomhnoir watches over all the Na Teagmhasach Bháis, an overseer or supervisor, a guardian. He keeps everyone in line and doing their jobs. They’ve kindly dubbed me their Cerberus, not to be confused with the three headed dog of Greek mythology, I’m sure they’ll fill you in on that.
“Knows all, sees all, keeps them in line?”
> “Exactly. Next you’ve got the Lanmhuchadh, what’s more commonly referred to as the Reaper. They orchestrate the death of the individual, bring about the demise…”
“So is that what, who, did this to me…or was it Liam…or was it you?” My voice was back to a seething moodiness, after an instance of heated memory of Liam and now dealing with his detached state, stoked also by Gideon’s indifference of all of it, all of this information.
“It was your Lanmhuchadh, not either of us. Liam was simply your Coimhdeacht.”
“And you?”
“I’m your Caomhnoir.”
“Not mine.” Mine. That whispery voice in my head again, echoing one word—mine. “Maybe his, but never mine.”
My heads was spinning. Was he serious? Was this really happening? Was this guy sincerely spouting all of this off to me? I was seeing it on a diagram he’d illustrated on the coffee house napkin, but…was this the for real?
“So last we have the Coimhdeacht…the Usher.” He gestured to Liam. He drank more of his coffee. Calm, as if, this was nothing. How many times had he done this? “They also serve as escorts, as in your case.”
“My case.”
“Yes, retrieving you from California.” This was insane. None of this was happening. The words on the napkin made no sense to me. I looked at them, written in his elegant penmanship. What language was it? None of this was true. They were crazy. Or not real. Shaking my head, to myself. Because they couldn’t possibly be real. I stood up, even though the room churned and the floor dipped, and I could barely breathe. I walked away, but a hand—Gideon’s hand—grabbed my wrist. Momentarily stopping me in my tracks. I froze.
His touch. I looked down at his hand, his fingers wrapped around my forearm. His touch. Warm, tingling, firm—but not hurtful—an anchor to my drowning all the same. What was this? They were crazy? Or was I? I yanked my arm from his grasp, backing away to the doorway. They did not move. Where would I go? Was I awake? Dreams were never like this. Dreams darted about, they were not sequential. I had to be awake. That left me with crazy.
No Time to Cry (Nine While Nine Legacy Book 1) Page 5