Tithes (Ava Delaney

by Claire Farrell

  His jaw clenched. “I’m not sorry he’s dead.”

  “No matter the cost?”

  He gave me a pitying look. “You know the world is better off without the likes of that man. And I know I’ll sleep better tonight.” He left the room.

  I closed the door behind him and moved to Phoenix’s side.

  I knelt in front of him when he didn’t look at me. “Phoenix,” I said softly, meeting his pained gaze.

  “He wanted to die,” he said. “Did you see that? He wanted us to kill him, and when we didn’t, he did it himself. Why? What gift does death hold for him?”

  “I’ve no idea,” I said. “Let’s hope nothing.” But it niggled at me. We had come across wendigos, humans who ate the organs of their own families in exchange for the power from a demon. I had an awful feeling that Egan hadn’t planned on his life ending with a permanent death.

  “I failed,” Phoenix said, his voice cracking with remorse. “I got nothing out of him, and now he’s gone. The world will believe… what it wants to believe, and now all of this has been for nothing.”

  “The baby’s here,” I said. “We found her. And other slaves, too. They’re ready to talk, to let the world know what’s happened to them. And we’re going to make the world listen. It hasn’t been for nothing. We’ve changed these people’s lives.”

  “And if he didn’t work alone?” he said. “If there’s more like him out there?”

  “Every inch of his life will be looked into. Every contact, every deal, every favour, every debt. It might take months, but if he had a boss or a business partner, we’ll find them.”

  “He killed himself,” he said. “He took his own life to avoid justice. How can this be an ending?” He glanced at the body and shuddered. “Oh, what have I done?”

  “You did the best you could in the moment,” I said. “Phoenix, look at me. You aren’t to blame for the things that man did. Neither am I, and neither are his victims. He chose his path, and he followed it through.”

  “I tortured him,” he said. “I caused him pain to get what I want, and I didn’t feel an ounce of regret.” He stared at his hands. “Muscle memory, Ava. These hands were well-used to harming others. What did I do in the past I forgot?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “You can’t be punished for the things you might have done.”

  “And that man?” He held his head up high and met my gaze. “If you came here tonight, and he couldn’t recall any of these deeds, would you proclaim him as innocent?”

  “That’s different.”

  “How is it different?” He gripped my arm. “How could it be different?”

  I inched closer to him. “Because I know you. I know that the good outweighs the bad. You can’t let the past punish you. You told me that. Whatever happened to you in the time you lost is over. It’s done. Stop letting it control you now. You need to move on.”

  He dropped his hand. “You don’t understand. You didn’t see… a little town in Italy tell their children that a demon will come for them if they’re bad. They’re talking about me, Ava. They call me a devil and other things, and most barely remember the truth, but I was there, and they saw my true face. I destroyed in my anger. I am capable of terrible things.”

  “Everyone is, remember? We all have the capacity inside us. We talked about this. I don’t care what some kids in Italy think of you. I know you. You’re the only person with power in the country right now who actually cares about people, even though it doesn’t benefit you. There is so much more good in you than anything else. You let this problem touch you because you care. I’ve seen evil. It’s not you.”

  He reached out and touched my cheek. “You’re a good friend to me, Ava. I lost control, and you made me remember what was at stake.” He glanced at the bed again. “But it was never going to be enough.”

  A polite knock at the door drew our attention. Lavinia peeked her head in. “Tomas made tea,” she said. “That’s what people do.” She nodded at Phoenix. “The witch woman wants to speak to you. She makes the air shimmer in the worst way.”

  I helped Phoenix to his feet. “Go on. Talk to the witch. And tell her to quit using magic on me. It really pisses me off.”

  He managed a small smile. I hesitated at the bed while he left the room. Lavinia came to my side and gazed at Egan emotionlessly.

  “Death makes him look like nothing. As though there was never anything there.” Her fingers danced across the bedspread, inches away from where the blood had soaked through. “Should I apologise for using magic?”

  “Only if you’re sorry and you aren’t planning on doing it again.” I moved her hands away from the bed. “Why did you help me?” I asked. “Surely you hated him.”

  “I don’t care about him,” she said. “And the boy with the hurt heart was a slave once. He showed me his brand downstairs. Not like ours, but it means the same thing, I think. When he told me to trust you, I believed him. Sometimes, I can see a lie. He has no lies; he’s just waiting for the right questions.”

  My head hurt. “I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job with the baby.”

  “Maybe this is how it was supposed to end.”

  I stared at Egan’s body, seeking out signs of life. “He is really dead, right? It’s not some magic trick.”

  She nodded. “The soul is already gone, and the body remains useless. But he was never at peace in life. I doubt death will fit him any better.”

  “Should I be worried?”

  “I believe it takes a terminally long time to become a demon.”

  “That’s what he wanted?” I turned to gape at her. “He wanted… to go to Hell?”

  “He liked stories,” she said. “Always stories about becoming a hero. But he preferred the darker creatures. He envied us, my mother said.”

  “Is she here?”

  She shook her head. “She died. She used to tell me our blood was cursed. That we were fated to always be slaves. I saw the brand on the baby. It didn’t look like it belonged, and I thought that maybe it wouldn’t be true for her. But then she came back to me.”

  “What’s the baby’s name?”

  “Robin,” she said. “After my mother.” She sighed as she looked down at the body. “When I was a child, I thought he was my father. I thought all children lived in rooms under the ground. I thought all children had magic. He used to read me stories, try to teach me magic. Mother made me careful. In secret, I called him father until I began to bleed, and Mother couldn’t hide it anymore. She liked to pretend, but sometimes, it wasn’t enough.”

  I had an eerie feeling that if Lucia talked, she would sound exactly like Lavinia. They were distant cousins, after all.

  “I stopped calling him Father when he started to come into my room at night. Mother gave me special tea to drink every morning, but she died last year, and I forgot.”

  “Is Robin his child?” I asked, trying not to outwardly react too strongly even though I felt horrified.

  “No. He brought a man with great magic to me. He wanted Robin to be powerful. Every generation, we grow stronger, Mother said. And the man who came, his brands were all over his body because he had tried to escape so many times. He said that people don’t have to be slaves, that we just had to become strong enough to fight back. His words and hands were nice and quiet, and he promised to send someone to help when he finally escaped for good. But I don’t want to be powerful. I just want to be free.”

  “You’re free now,” I said firmly.

  “But where do I go? How do I live? Some of the others are scared.”

  “Have you seen many slaves then?”

  “They come and go. Tomas and I are the only ones who stay.” She smiled brightly, but it never reached her eyes. “Would you care for some tea?”

  * * *

  Downstairs, Clementine and Peter were sitting around a small wooden table with a short, curly-haired man who wore oversized glasses that made him look like a child in a man’s suit.

  “This
is Tomas,” Lavinia said. “He knows everything.”

  Peter raised his eyebrows. “Everything?”

  “I keep the deals organised.” Tomas blinked. “I’m trusted.”

  “So you know where Egan kept his records,” Peter said. “We could probably use those.”

  “Of course.” Tomas pointed at his forehead. “In here.”

  I stifled a groan then caught sight of Phoenix in the corner, staring at a bassinet. I moved to his side and peered at the baby I thought I’d lost. An ache in my chest eased; the worry about her finally ended. I touched her hand, sighing as her little fingers curled around mine. It wasn’t quite like the peace I felt when I’d helped a lost soul, but it was something just as good.

  “Nice to see you again, Noodle,” I whispered.

  “If I had put her first, perhaps things would have ended differently,” Phoenix said under his breath.

  I cupped his cheek. “And maybe it wouldn’t. She’s safe, and Egan is done. We’ve gotten what we wanted from this.”

  His lips seemed to twist. “I have a couple of photos, but I don’t remember holding my newborn children. I wonder if they looked like her.” He heaved a sigh. “And now they’re gone again.”

  “But this time, nobody can take your memories of them,” I said. “And they will come back.”

  “I apologise,” he said. “But I think I want to be alone.”

  I kissed his cheek then returned to the table, where Peter was staring at me with expressionless eyes.

  I cleared my throat. “How many other people are in the building?”

  “About two dozen,” he said. “And few of them speak English, so I think we should let someone more experienced deal with them in case they get spooked.”

  “Fair enough.” His gaze made me feel guilty, and I chewed the inside of my mouth. “Where’s Noah?”

  “Outside, watching for help to arrive.” He stretched out, looking far more relaxed than I felt. “Might be a while. We shouldn’t touch the body—you know, anymore—until then.”

  Clementine shot up from her seat and left the room as though stung. I glanced at Lavinia, but she was busying herself making more tea. I followed Clementine outside and found her in the hallway.

  “Happy?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “You don’t know me. You’ve no idea the things people have to do to survive. You’re one of the protected bloody chosen ones.”

  “Chosen ones?” I scoffed. “Overstating matters just a tad, witch.”

  “So you weren’t protected at birth and through childhood?” she snapped. “You don’t currently live in a safe home protected by magic I can’t even begin to figure out?”

  “Maybe you’re just not that good a witch.” I bristled at the accusatory tone, though. Just because I had been protected from some things didn’t mean my entire life had been unicorns and rainbows.

  “I’m a good witch,” she said. “And you have no right to judge anyone when you don’t have to demean yourself just to survive.”

  “What the hell does that even mean?”

  “Look.” She gritted her teeth. “I’m not happy about people dying, but I’m happy I was able to keep my end of a deal. I’m happy I’m alive. And I don’t care what a little upstart like you thinks about that.” She nodded at the kitchen door. “I think we both know you’ve muddied the waters to get ahead yourself.” She stormed off.

  Peter came out of the kitchen and caught sight of me standing in the hallway, my cheeks still hot.

  “Everything all right?” he asked. “I heard raised voices.”

  “Don’t you start.” I folded my arms across my chest. “You could have backed me up, Peter.”

  “Why?” He slouched against the opposite wall, holding my gaze. “Egan didn’t deserve to live.”

  “But we have to stop being the people who decide who gets to live!” I pointed a finger at him. “Especially if Phoenix is the one who gets blamed for the whole mess.”

  “You think I care what happens to him? I’m just waiting for the day you finally see right through him.”

  “Peter,” I said in a softer tone, “you might not like him very much, but we both know you’re not that kind of person. You didn’t act like that upstairs because you hoped it would get Phoenix in trouble.”

  He grinned, but his eyes were creased with worry. “Would have been a bonus, though.” He shrugged. “I don’t care, Ava. All I know is that I can go home and tell my son that the bad man is dead and won’t be coming for him. He had photos of all of us, records of our comings and goings, and we would have all been in danger as long as he was drawing breath.”

  “He was just a human,” I whispered. “We could have fixed this in another way.”

  “No,” he said. “We couldn’t. Because it doesn’t matter how we’re born if we use curses and magical tricks and guns to get ahead. Tomas wasn’t kidding about keeping everything in his head. He knows some shady shit about Egan. I don’t know what the end game was for him, but it couldn’t have been pretty.”

  I so very badly wanted to go home and curl up in bed.

  “Ava,” he said. “I know you want the world to be normal, and for everyone to treat each other equally, but it’s just not bound to happen in our lifetime.”

  “So we should just give up?”

  He held up his hands. “I’m not saying that. But you must see it for yourself. We’ve started things, but it’ll be our great-grandchildren or something who even consider being able to finish it. The world isn’t ready to fit your version of perfect yet. Stop… stressing yourself about it.”

  He went back into the kitchen.

  I waited a while longer, trying to figure out why Peter’s words made so much sense to me, and yet I still didn’t regret my part in the scene upstairs. His version of events felt like giving up too much, as though we should just accept the way things were instead of trying to change them. Maybe it would take time, but so what?

  I needed air. I found Noah right outside the front door, sitting on the doorstep and rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey.”

  He pulled up his collar. “If you’re looking for the witch, she’s in the car, talking to herself.”

  “I’m beginning to think all witches are as mad as a bag of cats.” I sat next to him. “You doing okay?”

  “About Egan? It’s a bit screwed up, but I’ve seen worse.”

  “You look upset. Did something else happen? Lavinia freak you out?”

  He smiled. “Just a little. I saw the slaves downstairs, and it just… it reminds me of the way things were for us. Sometimes I forget what it was really like.”

  “And you can’t talk about it,” I said softly.

  “I’m not sure that’s a bad thing.” He scratched the stubble on his chin. “The ones here didn’t have it as bad as we did, I don’t think.”

  “Everyone has their own version of bad.”

  He looked at me. “Do you think Phoenix will get in trouble?”

  “Depends on what we say, I suppose.” I nudged him. “So why did you help me upstairs? You hated the slave market as much as anyone else. Why did you get Lavinia to help me stop Phoenix?”

  He frowned. “I trust you,” he said. “And Phoenix doesn’t deserve to be punished. I’m not going to tell anyone what he did, only that Egan killed himself when we got here. What’s the point in anything else?”

  The lie didn’t sit right with me, but we had more than my conscience to worry about. No matter what happened, a prominent human had died under suspicious circumstances. If we didn’t come up with enough evidence, most people would happily believe he hadn’t done anything wrong.

  “He was a terrible person, wasn’t he?” Noah said. “As bad as Phoenix’s mother.”

  “In his own way. But it’s over. We should get the witch and go back inside to figure out what we’re going to tell people about tonight.”

  He agreed, and we gathered everyone together to discuss the situation. Phoenix didn’t speak much, but
by the time Shay arrived to take over, we had all agreed on our story. And Clementine had earned her seat on the Senate.

  24

  Phoenix arrived at my doorstep with a shoebox. “To replace the ones you lost at the charity event,” he explained.

  I opened the box. It was the exact same pair. “Thank you.” I couldn’t stop my smile. “How did you know my size?” I asked, taking the box into the living room.

  “Carl,” he said.

  “Am I the only one who thinks it’s weird that he knows my measurements?” I joked.

  “Not at all.”

  We both sat down and looked at each other. The silence quickly grew awkward. It was the first time I’d seen Phoenix in person since the night Egan died. At the press conferences on television, he’d sat in silence, a dead look in his eyes, while the rest of the Senate tried to fix the onslaught of bad press the incident had incurred. Despite knowing the truth, despite everything that had been revealed, many people refused to believe our version of the story.

  There had even been a memorial service for Egan in the city centre, which was so well attended that it stopped traffic for an entire day. The Senate were scrambling to recover, but the damage had been done. Trust had been broken too many times. Even the people who believed that Egan was a criminal couldn’t trust those in positions of power because so many people had been bribed or blackmailed into helping him.

  The slaves, even some who were surprisingly reluctant to be freed, were all being taken care of, and a massive investigation was going on into Egan’s businesses and contacts. As it turned out, Tomas was something of a savant. He could talk for hours about every deal, every slave, and every meeting Egan had ever had anything to do with. There was a good chance his memories could help track down Robin’s father, and because the information went back to Fionnuala’s time, I wondered if the Senate would eventually pair up more of the children with their real families.

  Tomas and Lavinia had evidently been precious to Egan—always kept hidden and close to him. None of the other slaves were Irish, but Tomas was very capable of directing the Senate to their suppliers. Egan had owned a couple of slaves for a long time, but most were new additions trafficked from warring countries. He had links to major scumbags across Europe, and he had been working on setting up the slave industry in Ireland. We had stopped him before his expansion grew. I was satisfied by the conclusion, but so many threads were still hanging loose.