I'd been thinking a lot about dogs and wolves ever since Adelaide died. I thought about her animal brother, Teddy, and his monosyllables. I thought about what she'd said when she tried to entreat me. That we weren't all that different--she wasn't a monster.
What really separated her from me wasn't the class divide or the upbringing. It wasn't our genders or our attitudes toward violence.
Maybe the only real difference between us was the implication that she had to kill to survive.
I could dress my actions up, say I was just doing it to protect Midori, my friends, my honor, but you know, I could've brought her in. I could've let Monty go. And there are more--more men and women with similar bones that died for one reason or another from a bullet I put in their heads--in my closet, under my bed, in my nightmares.
The things that really ate me alive at night were thoughts of sheep.
Wolves have to kill to live.
Guard dogs are fed.
If Adelaide was just surviving, what was my excuse?
15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡURf2h0MdFt
~~~
15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡItJESFZwD5
“He goes where I go, it's non-negotiable,” I said flatly.
My stepmother was nearing catastrophic levels of bottled rage, but I wasn't budging.
Jocelyn took a shallow breath and said, “You're going to make a scene. He stays with the other enforcers or not at all.” Her hand hovered in the air like she wanted to strike or grab me, but there were too many witnesses even in the foyer. Besides, I could feel Ke'lev looming behind me and I could tell in the way Joss kept looking at him that he wasn't being subtle about whatever silent message he was sending her.
“He's not an enforcer. He stays,” I said.
“Kouji, I know you think your guardian is exceptional, but you are not about to shirk centuries of tradition by letting an outsider into the fold.” Before I could argue, she stepped closer and a wall of invisible carnations slapped me in the nose. “A handful of people know the significance of his presence, but most don't. Haven't you been listening to the rumors? Do not give them ammunition. This isn't just about the reputation of Midori. You'll have a hard enough time in there getting even the gold diggers to eat out of your hand as a twice-over widower. Don't put closeted on the list too.”
At this rate, the rumor mongers are gonna make me fuck Ke'lev out of rebellious spite. At least then I'd be getting laid without strings attached.
“Jocelyn,” I began carefully. “This can go one of two ways. Either you get me and Ke'lev, or I call my father about a jinn-sighting at your party, and you get neither of us.” There was startled wariness around her eyes that enunciated the lines her Botox had failed to smooth out. I smiled pleasantly as I added in an undertone, “Don't you ever fucking pretend you know anything about being a Steward. Thanks to my existence, you'll never be forced to have children for the common good.”
I stepped back and her daytime mask of the beatific socialite schooled her features. She said primly, “Ke'lev can stand by the seconds. Your brood-brother will take any and all responsibility.”
Remus is here? Why is he here? But as chaperones went, he was who I would've asked for if I'd know he would be present. I kept my surprise to myself and smiled back just as coldly. “This is the last compromise I ever make on the subject.”
She turned away from us in a flutter of black taffeta and crystals, her heels clicking angrily on the marble to contrast her relaxed expression.
Despite knowing I had an extra ally, I still felt a little sick to my stomach. I asked quietly, “Can you get to Chancery on your own?” I waited a beat for Ke'lev's answer, but he was already making his way down a hall to a ready room, the broad span of his back exuding business even before he disappeared through a door. Whatever the tide was wasn't going to stop him from doing his job evidently.
I smiled to myself before beginning my own rounds. Baktu, Baktu. Wherefore art thou, Mimi Baktu?
15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1HZ9jwcV3B
~~~
15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ03pcIQwtIR
I didn't expect the separation anxiety to hit me as soon as it did, but half-way through Romulus Chancery's shtick, I started looking for the seconds.
They were usually positioned around the room like any other party goers, but they would be allowed weapons. Most Stewards didn't need weapons, having command over elemental forces or inhuman transformations. The seconds were there to defend everyone against any conventional attack so that the super-powered folk didn't inadvertently expose themselves.
I saw Solberg's stylish red mop from across the room. He was chatting it up with a collective of old birds, his aura of ease and approachability cranked up to eleven.
Stern-faced Ekert, Mimi Baktu's man, was standing by the punch bowl, ladling out helpings to anyone that got up the nerve to ask.
Constantine, Alegra's second, was busy brooding in a corner, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared daggers at Morgana's latest fiancé, Brian Something.
There were others among the fold, but none that I knew by name.
No Chancery. No Ke'lev.
But no Coleslaw either.
“... do you think? Interested?”
“Mm?”
The wrong Chancery asked, “Are you interested in Caesar Coin? I mean it's still the ground floor, but if more were…” His face pinked with embarrassment as he readjusted his glasses. “Oh, sorry, was it the tangent about centurion history where I lost you? I'm always doing that. Forgive me, Presi—I m-mean, Mister Devereaux.”
The slip wasn't an intentional slight. If anything, there was fear welling in his eyes as he waited for my response. Unlike Remus, the eldest Chancery was a narcissist that lacked the self-awareness that would make him dangerous—at least ever since I'd put my blackmailing boot on his neck five years ago. Since then, he'd been fangless--and now, practically toothless, since I'd ‘86'd his role model, Monty.
I meant to say something polite about sending his portfolio to my office, but what came out was an antagonistic, “Have you seen your brother?”
He nodded hurriedly, relieved that my irritation wasn't directed at him. “He w-was with your father's witch the last I saw… along with a Greek statue of a specimen.” He fanned himself.
Let that go, I told myself. “I need to pay my respects to Madame.”
He put a hand to his chest in affront. “Well, I'm not my brother's keeper, but I saw them in the west wing parlor about half-an-hour ago.”
“Thanks.”
Solberg intercepted me before I could make it out of the ballroom and I thought he was doing it on behalf of my stepmother, but as he shook my hand and brought me in for a hug, he asked against my neck, “Need me to cover for you?”
“Antwan, you're going to Heaven, you know that right?” I said as I pounded his back.
“Mada-mada,” he insisted before asking, “How long ya need, Boss?”
“Just until the first speech. Can you give me until then?”
He drew back to frown at me. “Joss moved up the timetable. You've got maybe ten minutes.”
“Fu…!” -cking, Jocelyn!
He grinned. “I'll let ‘em know you're in the can. What's a little fashionable tardiness from Midori's most eligible? Ne?”
I patted his cheek and swept by him without another word.
I was fucking waylaid again in the west wing corridor before I could get to the parlor. Welcome to the real world, where nothing goes to plan.
“Mister Devereaux,” a woman called out. “The opening ceremony is about to start.” I couldn't exactly place her accent. European, sure. Norwegian? Swedish? Kazumi would have guessed right on the first try.
The Viking was taller than me (which wasn't that impressive), and twice as wide on top of that. A gnarly scar like a tree root marred the left side of her face, pulling her lips into a forever sneer. But her brown eyes were mirthful, warm even, contrasting nicely with the blue undertones of her washed-out skin. Her blonde hair was cropped short, like a mercenary's.
“Is it? I was just making one last pit stop, Miss…?” Don't say Coleslaw. That would be just my luck.
“The Khoslas named me Louise. I'm Mercy's second.”
Mercy is the Khosla heiress I'm supposed to woo tonight. She was also the one in danger of being a jinn casualty. I briefly used my sight on Louise and was surprised to see the twin auras of wolf spirits guarding her feet. She wasn't a werewolf in the pop-culture sense. She was a lycanthrope by choice, a true druid.
I let the sight go just as my guts started signaling duress and I asked, “Where's your ward now?”
“We are playing hide-and-seek,” she said gruffly. I wasn't sure if she was telling the truth or just didn't want to explain why she wasn't with her girl.
I stepped closer and she eyed me cautiously as I said, “Evil spirits might target her tonight. I'd keep a closer eye on her or, better yet, get her out of here.” When she gave me a tired look, I waved a hand. “You’re a second, but I’m a first. Trust me as far as you can throw me.”
She sized me up. Apparently, she'd decided she could pitch me pretty far. “I will call for a stop,” she said aloud, pulling out a phone from a secret pocket in the folds of her black dress. She nodded to me then and I recognized the gesture as the politest, You may fuck off now, I'd ever received.
I nodded in return—Fucking off now—and speedwalked to the parlor. I got to it just as Chancery opened the door to leave. “Dev, perfect timing,” my second greeted charitably as he made room for Madame Lavelle and Ke'lev to join us in the hall. “Come to get us for the speech?” He knew I hadn't, and probably Lavelle knew too, but he still played the game.
“Yeah. Was just making sure everything was okay,” I said. In the last hour, Ke'lev had gone from looking like a bedraggled mess to shit warmed over. He didn't even smile when he saw me, just looked away, embarrassed.
Lavelle was looking as imperious as ever, her maroon task-mistress outfit virtually unchanged for the party save for a turquoise neck kerchief. She said, “Didn't I warn you not to come today?” She made a nevermind gesture. “We have your guardian well in hand, Mister Devereaux. Your concern is unwarranted. You have other things to worry over.”
“Not comforting,” I muttered before turning back to go to the ballroom.
Chancery kept pace with me. “Who's Joss trying to sell you to this time? Not Alegra. She just got engaged, didn't she?”
“Mercy Khosla,” I said.
He raised a brow. “One of the Scandinavians? I guess that makes sense. I saw Louise earlier, but I didn't make the connection. Smart match.”
Of course, he already knew everything. I could keep things from my second all I wanted, but one way or another, Chancery was still Chancery: a brilliant, steadfast, professional pain in my neck.
“Does it make sense?” I asked dryly.
He shrugged. “Yeah. They're descended from the Aesir, or so the legend goes. If anyone can contend with your curse, they'd have to be a demigoddess, right?” He narrowed his eyes. “You did read the dossiers that Joss sent to us, didn't you?”
I might have glossed over ‘em. “I didn't see the point.”
He gave me an exasperated look. “Oh, Dev.”
“You know how this always ends.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “And yet you're here.”
“To make sure someone sees them before they strike.”
“Why do you think Lavelle's here?” Chancery asked.
“If she was gonna be here, then why'd she warn me?”
I wanted to smack the smug look off his face. He said, “I told her you wouldn't listen to her, so she's here to keep the paranormals in check so you can flirt in peace.”
I said over my shoulder, “How very selfless of you, Madame.”
“I live to serve the Devereaux family's interests,” Lavelle said diplomatically, but I didn't buy the easy response for a second.
Chancery squeezed my shoulder as we cleared the threshold, then grabbed us glasses of champagne off roaming trays. He handed me a flute as he said, “Relax. Let us do our job. You're not alone. You know that.”
I took the glass before mumbling to him alone, “Don't you ever get tired of having to remind me?”
He huffed, “All the damn time, Boss.”
The opening ceremony began with a silencing of the quartet at the front of the room. Jocelyn said some pretty words about reunions and connectedness. Then she passed the microphone to Mimi Baktu who spoke about being blessed in the modern era—about how we didn't need to live in hiding so much anymore all thanks to the fiscal efforts of organizations like the Midori Group and her own organization, the Uhuru Collective.
When another couple business-types said their piece, I caught my stepmother's gaze, and she made it clear with a couple flicks of her eyes that I was supposed to anticipate the arrival of our guests of honor.
She was off script because our guests were late. That was interesting because I'd already met Mercy's second ahead of them which meant Mercy had arrived some time before her family.
To avoid them, or avoid me?
“Joining the fold today, for the first time since the New York Summit of ‘98, please welcome the Khosla family!” Joss announced. Everyone politely clapped as a group of four, followed by an entourage of courtiers, entered the ballroom. I played my part by greeting the head of the gaggle with an outstretched hand. “Kouji Devereaux. Youkoso mina-tachi. Welcome to New Orleans.”
The patron of the Khoslas smiled naturally and put his other hand over mine. I put him at fifty, around Chichi's age. He had blond hair and dark eyes, just like the stately woman that accompanied him. “Mitcham,” he offered before adding, “This is my wife, Helena, and my, er…” He paused as he looked back at the two teenage girls—smaller scaled carbon copies of Helena—behind him. “... daughters, Hope and Prudence.”
I smiled, realizing his sudden awkwardness stemmed from the fact he was missing his eldest. “Well, I hope you're hungry. Jocelyn's prepared quite the spread. I wouldn’t call it prudent.” I motioned for the quartet to restart, and another round of applause went around the room while Joss used the microphone to give quick directions to the ushers and servers.
Thanks in part to my crap jokes, Mitcham's embarrassment was short-lived, especially after I started peppering him with questions about their trip over. Apparently, they’d come by way of the gulf and had used the trip as an excuse to visit a laundry list of coastal resorts from the middle of Mexico to Louisiana.
By the time we were seated at a central table and the first courses came and went, the tension was all but gone. Mitcham and seventeen-year-old Prudence did most of the talking. Hope, nineteen, was shier than her sister. Helena, despite her easy smiles, was even more reserved, opting to listen to me set the score, but not dance.
It wasn't until Chancery came by under the guise of topping off drinks that I discovered why. He bent down to say in my ear, “Helena's the Stewardess. Descended from Frige. She's also President of the Auburn Group in Copenhagen. She’s scouting us.”
And there's Chichi's angle in all this, I thought with satisfaction. I looked toward Helana after he left me and asked point-blank, “What kind of business does Auburn get up to these days?”
Helena wasn't surprised by my question, just the timing of it. “I was told to keep business brief, as that isn't our purpose here tonight.” She held a hand over her wine glass as Chancery came by and answered naturally, “We primarily deal in fine art and textiles, but lately have expanded into digital spaces. NFTs are on the rise, and we want to break into the market.”
Chancery made a disapproving face that only Prudence and I saw from our positions and the two of us shared an amused look but didn't say anything about it. I asked, “Do you have any experience in crypto?”
Helena gave me a small smile. “I've already heard Romulus Chancery's pitch if that's where you're going with this line of questioning.”
I chuckled. “You were overwhelmed, I take it?”
“Whelmed,” she corrected politely.
I grinned. “His venture is untested, but he's right about needing donors to really make it take off.”
“We've spent the last two centuries upholding the honor providence provides the art world, Mister Devereaux. Dumping money into something unprecedented isn't something Auburn is known for.”
And yet. “What appeal do non-fungibles have over fiat currency then? Besides taking the form of art? The market is still volatile, and public perception is negative. Breaking into the token space has a lot of the same pitfalls… unless you already have some sort of contingency planned?”
Before Helena could answer, her husband laughed at her narrow-eyed expression. He said something in Swedish that I didn't catch, something about Mercy since he'd used her name. But his words smoothed the calculating look on her face. He said to me, “Apologies, I'm not trying to keep you out of the conversation. It's just, our eldest shares your concerns. I thought this was funny. You haven't already been in contact with Mercy, have you?”
“I haven't had the pleasure,” I said. Hopefully her second had taken my advice at face and gotten her home early from the ball. I’d happily deal with any falling out between entities if that were the case.
Mitcham was all sunshine as he waxed lovingly, “Mercy is an anthropology major. She seems to think this gives her the authority to speak on human nature from an economic standpoint. But even you must admit that the majority's opinion, whatever its whim of the week, often doesn't have the money to follow through in any meaningful way. Capital is a much better argument in any debate.”
“Numbers don't lie like people,” his wife said. “A single token has better prospects than an untested coin. And if you can flood a portfolio with many tokens, then you increase your margins, yes?”
“It's still all a gamble, isn't it?”
“What business venture isn't, Mister Devereaux?” Helena asked serenely.
“I concede. Still, why not stick to physical media?”
“Variety is the spice of life,” Mitcham said.
“I don't like putting all my eggs in one basket,” Helena said with a weighty look.
Well, besides the obvious tech-bro sympathizing, they're not total idiots, I thought to myself. They at least know how to bullshit.
Then Mitcham asked, “So, Mister Devereaux, what is it you do in your free time? Jocelyn said you are fond of reading for pleasure. What sort of things do you read?” and we were back on sanitized common ground again.
I honestly preferred the debate, even if it was fruitless. It would've made time fly faster at least. Having to talk around the fact that I preferred trashy urban fantasy rags over autobiographies and journalistic exposés was a personal kind of agony.
An hour after sitting down, my eyes started wandering again. Mostly, I kept a close watch on Ke'lev, miserably staring at plate after plate of tasteless food, as Lavelle carried on a conversation with Mimi Baktu two tables over. Then my mind went back to the mysterious Mercy who still hadn't appeared.
I caught Chancery's eye from where he was sitting next to Constantine. He gave me a pointed look and Con looked over his shoulder to see who suddenly had his attention. One of Chancery's eyebrows went up in a question. I minutely shook my head. He nodded just as subtly and said something to Constantine to draw his expression back.
What are you doing cozying up to the Californians? I wondered. It has to do with curse-breaking, I decided. Otherwise, I couldn't think of another reason my second was catching up with one of their top dogs. The Pettirossi weren't as clean as Midori. They had Mob ties. But that meant they still had boots across thresholds we could no longer tread over ourselves--illegal artifact dealing to name one. My second was probably pulling on that thread.
Tread lightly, Remus. I'm not the only one watching.
Making sure my stepmother was otherwise distracted, I made an excuse to leave the table and went to go outside for a smoke. As I did, Prudence said in Swedish, “I like him. We shouldn't do this.”
“Shush,” Mitcham chastised.
“Why can't we tell Mercy t—?”
“I said, shush!”
I went out on the half-enclosed veranda, lit with string lights and decorated with turquoise tulle that wrapped around the colonial-style columns. Outside, the rain had let up, but the air was still frigid and unwelcoming. I was glad for the overhead ambient heaters, even if their output barely kept the elements at bay.
I was going to the rail when I finally noticed I wasn't alone. I'd only missed her because she was wearing all black, from beret to gloves to knee-high boots. She had long hair that hit her belt line, looking like a straight sheet of liquid chocolate.
“Just come from a poetry slam?” I guessed as I lit a menthol and joined her against the railing.
She glanced over at me, a cigarette wedged between her lips. It was difficult to tell what color her eyes were when she was facing the dark, but they weren't brown. “An art exhibition actually,” she deadpanned lazily.
“That was my second guess,” I said on an exhale. “Considering your family's business, anyway.”
“I didn't know you smoked,” she said. Her canned British accent came packed with smoky vowels and clipped consonants. “I thought you Midori types would prove old fashioned.”
“What could be more old fashion than a chain-smokin’ gangster?” I snorted. “Maybe an old fashioned, artsy dilettante?”
She shook her head. “When Louise told me you were worried over me, I thought she meant you were worried from a security standpoint. You go through all the right motions. You say all the right things. Just enough to be charming. Just enough to show you're human. But you're just as over this pageantry as I am, aren't you?”
She doesn't get to put fucking words in my mouth. That's what I have a second for. “You got all that from keeping your distance, Mercy? That's a daring amount of assumptions.”
She flicked her dead cigarette into the dark and finally turned to face me. Her irises were lightning blue, haloed by navy rings. Middle school me, obsessed with edgy goth types, would have been all over her for her eyes alone. But it was the confident, lazy way she carried herself that really sold her apathetic appearance. It all gave her a look-but-don't-touch vibe that should've been hitting all the right notes with me.
I'd had my shit rocked by lines like hers before. So was she a fisher of men? Or was she just the squirming bait on the hook?
She asked me seriously, “Were you expecting a traditional meet-cute between us, Kouji?”
I expected a fight, not a meet-cute. “Where’s Louise? I thought my warning was clear. It's not safe. Or does my father need to warn your family off too?”
“You really think our parents care about our curses?” Our curses, she'd said. She echoed my unimpressed snort. “The Stewards are God's gift to humanity, aren't they? They'll force anyone together if there's a chance a union—even a doomed one—will result in more super-powered freakshows. Your family wouldn't be having this reunion party if everything always went perfectly. This shallow match-making is a hair passed fucked when you take the time to analyze it for a moment.”
It didn't take an anthropology major to know what the Stewards did to maintain order was dehumanizing. I kept my face neutral as I asked, “How many times have you practiced that in the mirror?”
“How many spouses have you already been through? I've been through enough. And yet, my parents keep trying. Fuck how we feel about family or our own identity. We're assets. We're bloody legacies.” She shook her head. “You don't want this to succeed any more than I do… or do you?”
“How old are you, Mercy?”
“You didn't read my profile?”
“You sound like a fucking child.”
That cracked her cool facade. She growled, “I'm twenty-five, thank you.”
“You're fully developed and yet you've got such a sheltered view? Opinions like that are a privilege in this part of the world.”
Her pretty blue eyes widened. She took her time lighting another cigarette to give herself the space to think. What she decided on saying still wasn't very tactful. In fact, it was kind of cute. “Excuse me, but sod off.”
“You're excused,” I snapped back. “I'm gonna finish my smoke. You're gonna go back inside. I'm gonna tell your mother it didn't work out.”
“You really think our opinion matters to them? They're going to force this one way or the other.”
“I was honestly planning on flirting a little, maybe get your number, go on a couple dates--Relax, you know? But you pissed me off with that little tantrum. You think we're the same just because we both think this shit is tired? That's step one. Step two is learning to live with it. Come at me with solutions or, better yet, a proposal next time.”
She pushed herself away from the railing and flicked her cigarette at me. I gave her a quirked eyebrow. Her jaw worked something over. Mm. Zen-zen kawaii, na.She must think her glare is the most ferocious thing in her neck of the woods. Well, welcome to Da Bayou, where nobody gives a shit. “Ii kao,” I commended with a tiny golf clap. “Very scary.”
“Both of us have limited prospects. We won't be able to avoid each other.”
“We'll see about that,” I said.
When she got to the door, she said over her shoulder, “You know what I think, Mister Devereaux?”
“I don't care what you think.”
“I think you're just shutting me down because of the jinn.”
“No shit, Princess. Y'got a useless psych degree to go with the anthro? Or was that an informed guess?”
“What if our curses weren't a factor? Would you pursue me then? Would you open yourself up to anyone for that matter?”
Why the fuck is she still talking? I turned and crossed my arms over my chest. “They are a factor. Get it through your head. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for my curse. And I'm guessing neither would you if it weren't for yours. Lemme guess. Turtleneck, gloves, long boots, big hat--You can't touch anything, can you? What was it? Someone fuck a demon a few generations ago? Get targeted by an angry gang of gnomes? Don't tell me it was a sorcerer--”
“I don't know!” she growled, but then her anger bled out of her. She said quietly, “I… didn't think you'd even want to talk to me, honestly. You have a cutthroat's reputation in Midori and your social media is completely scrubbed. I knew all that… And you're right. Maybe I have naive opinions. I just wanted to meet someone else who was cursed. I wanted to know how you cope.”
I didn't react to that. Frankly, I didn't like that she was trying to make me feel like an asshole.
Mercy was saying, “I didn't agree to come here just to appease the Diet Illuminati. I came here because I figured you of all people would know what it's like to be alone.”
“You're projecting.” Diet Illuminati. Fuck, that's good. I'm gonna hafta remember that one.
She pursed her lips. “And you're being a prick.” When I didn't argue that, she added, “Maybe I am projecting.”
I sighed. “Look… I'm not here to preach. What I want right now is for you to go back inside and try to convince your parents it won't work from your side, while I convince mine from my corner. But… I'm curious. Do you really think you have any control over your own life?”
“You don't think you do?”
“I know I don't. I've made peace with that.”
“If that were true, you'd be going along with your family to make this work.”
Damn. She kinda had me there. I waved a dismissive hand. “I don't cope with my curse. I avoid it. Happy? Now go in peace.”
“You don't want to break it?”
“No one said that.”
“If you break it, will you get married again? Have children? When you become a patron in the Stewards, do you plan to play matchmaker for them too?”
“That's none of your concern.”
“You really have no desire to know me? To connect? Even as friends?”
“No,” I said honestly. “You don't have anything I want.”
She smiled then and it sent a shiver of anticipation through me. “Huh. I thought for sure I would say all the right things when I saw you.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. My instincts are never wrong. I'd sensed a trap before, but now I could sense it beginning to spring shut.
She huffed another humorless laugh. “I thought for sure you were the sensitive type. You've lost so much and you're surrounded by all this death and destruction. I could have sworn that playing a kindred spirit would endear you to me, even if it turned out you were ace.”
Kindred spirit? Baby, I don't even trust my own self, let alone someone just as fucked in the head as me.
She waited for me to say something, but I was waiting for her to show me more of her hand. But then she clicked her tongue and smiled again. “You're a tough nut to crack, Kouji. I'll have to try a different angle next time.”
“There's not going to be a next time, Mercy.”
She held out a glove. “Give me your mobile.”
“Just give me your number.”
She reached into her gold cigarette case before handing me a business card. “We'll meet again. I'll try a different approach. Maybe a manic, pixie, dream girl? Or maybe you're into baller types? Perhaps someone more elegant and demure? I'll try being anything at least once.”
Ah. She is a sociopath. Great. No shortage of those in my life. “Maybe then you'll tell me your real angle.”
“I told you my angle. I don't want to be alone.” She gave me a little wave before she turned and left.
Left on the veranda with my thoughts, I opened my phone after lighting another cigarette.
I was wondering again about Lavelle's presence and the Lwa's warning about the jinn. Even if the madam hadn't said anything yet, Chancery would’ve told me if they encountered something inside.
Messaging him just to confirm, he told me it had been surprisingly quiet all night. That didn't sit right with me. The jinn had been on the move, so why hadn't we seen even a sign? Could Lavelle have been lying?
Or maybe Mercy's role-playing was the sign? I didn't know what to make of her. She was a manipulator, I knew that much, but to what degree? She also didn't look or sound anything like her family members. With how strong those genes appeared, she was either a certifiable black sheep, or there was some drama there I had yet to uncover.
And she was cursed. I wondered if that fact was in her dossier or if her family had covered it up.
I needed to get my father to cut the Khoslas off Jocelyn's list. Even if I wanted to pursue something with anyone, Mercy was too unstable a choice.
My phone vibrated. It was Chancery again, but this time with a question. Where are you?
I texted, Jinn?
Down boy. No. They're wrapping up. Joss wants you. Ever find Mercy?
I replied, She's tailored. A little too snug. Look into the fit for me?
You know I'd loved to. Get her number at least to calm Joss?
It was pointless, but yes.
He sent me a series of celebratory emojis. I had my thumb on the off button, but then I saw dots appear and disappear a couple times before he committed. Chancery said, If you need to talk, I'm here.
I closed my phone and pocketed it.
My stomach made a disagreeable twist, and I crossed my arms over my midsection as I rested my forehead on the railing, taking in deep, measured breaths to quell the nausea.
Out of all the food they'd set down in front of us, I'd only managed to put down a few bites. The nerves over keeping a straight face in front of guests had kept it down, but now that I was without an audience, the substance rebelled.
Fuck. I counted to ten and decided that, for once, going back into the party would probably be the only way to keep my insides inside.
If you need to talk…
I needed to stop distracting Chancery. He had his marching orders. I couldn't pull him from that. I opened my phone to text him back, On second thought, forget Khosla. I'll have Owen look into her.
You sure? I've got time.
I'm sure. No you don't.
I can multitask.
I lost my shit and sent him a wall of text. I don't want you to fucking multitask. I need you to focus. I saw you with Constantine tonight. He's back-biter material, no matter what he promises you. You shouldn't have met him in the open like that. I hope whatever thread you pulled didn't leave anyone naked. Then, because I felt like that was probably too harsh, I added, Be fucking careful.
He sent me a heart emoji.
“Remus,” I hissed aloud.
As if watching, he had the gall to ask, You hangry right now? Need me to order you something? Send me an address this time.
I closed my phone for the last time and cursed under my breath. “The death of me.”
After recentering myself, I headed back inside to check-out with my stepmother and collect my guardian.
I deserved a fucking break.
15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGxTEpRvBNI
---
15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwZoAHIn8lF
Gavriel and Sabriel went to Kerioth to visit Alithia and her daughter-in-law, Sodi the Gentile. Sodi was with child and would not see them, but Iudas’ mother let them in after Sabriel beseeched her as a messenger of the Messiah, for Alithia feared his father's wrath if she refused twice.
So Sodi was begged and cajoled into telling him her story; one of unnatural gestation and loathing. She had been carrying Iudas’ third child for nearing twelve years and did not wish such a fate on any woman, bound or unbound. Alithia, in an aside, said that anyone else would surely have gone mad with grief by now.
Sodi herself did not weep at the news of her husband's fate. If anything, she cursed him. She said, “Be it by spirit or corrupted blessing, no one should suffer as I have for such a disciple of this, so called, Master. Both now lay dead and for what? Words and power.” Then she leveled her furious countenance on the angel and said, “Kill me or take my child. But do not leave me in this state with the truth alone. It shall not bring me comfort. Tell me why this has befallen me, but then cure me of this affliction, or so help me, I will cast myself and the unborn into the sea and face the darkness myself, unmade.”
Alithia was terrified by her words, and spoke up to try to pacify the angel, but Sabriel was not vexed by her candid resolve. He simply held out his hands and smiled. “This humble servant came here to bestow a gift upon the wife of a most beloved soul, but now that I know her wish, I can bestow two boons upon her house. Take my hands, Widow.”
“My husband's mother is a jew, but I am not,” Sodi said, hesitating.
“And just as she still beckoned you into her home and sheltered you all this time, I too will aid you.”
After Sodi's hands were wrapped in his, he invoked one of the secret names of the Highest and said to her in her mother tongue so that Alithia would not be moved, “Your son is given one of my eyes. He shall perceive all the invisible and know their natures by the form they take… He shall be born when the Master rises again in two days. He will carry with him the cursed mantle of his father's house. But though he will know suffering for his father's perceived sin, your son shall always be accompanied by another who will comfort him. I say this in the name of the invoked.”
Sodi's eyes widened and tears spilled down her cheeks. It mattered little if he spoke true or false. The twin swells of hope and anguish broke through her dam of bitterness. She said nothing more even as he let her go. She put her face in her hands and finally, after so many years of pride-fueled indifference, wailed into her palms.
“What did he say?” Alithia demanded in concern as he stood to leave. “Sodi? Sodi, child, speak! What has the messenger professed? What gifts has he bestowed?”
At the threshold, Sabriel met Gavriel and chanced one last look behind him before going with his brother. He was gladdened by his hesitation in the end.
Sodi was smiling even as she wept.
ns 15.158.61.11da2
