Читать книгу Pandora's Ring - Kaitlin R. Branch - Страница 6
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“What do you mean ‘go get her’?”
“Exactly what I said, Eli. Her soul is on the docket.”
Eli huffed as he glanced over the ethereal clipboard in his hands. “Says here Diego made the deal. Why isn’t he collecting?”
“Snuffed.”
“Well, shit. How did that happen?” It wasn’t so much that a Damned had been snuffed which surprised him, but it was Diego. The guy was a juggernaut.
The Doll, one of the Lucifer’s construct mouthpieces, eyed him through winged glasses and far too much eye makeup. “How in all hells do you think? This kind of shit happens. Go get her.”
“I hate firstborn deals,” Eli grumbled, rubbing at the close-curled scruff on his chin. “Give me a quick-death or save-the-family deal any day. There’s always so much yelling and screaming from the parents and the kid, it gives me a headache.”
“You’re a demon, Eli. You don’t get headaches.”
“Don’t bring logic into this, Doll,” Eli said and handed the clip-board back. “Fine. Does it go on my count?”
“Yes. It’ll bring you to seven thousand two hundred and forty-two.”
“Hooray.” Eli drawled. “I’ll make ten thousand yet.”
The Doll smirked. “The Scavenger of the Damned with ten thousand souls? We’ll have to have a party.”
“Sure. I’ll bring the drinks.” Eli said, and waved, trudging off. The address was in the United States and he was in the Gold Coast. Devil’s horn, he hated ocean crossings, but Africa had been good to him. Maybe he should leave it alone.
* * * *
“Lord in heaven, grant me the patience to deal with these idiots.” Samantha took a deep breath as she read her glowing computer screen again but email in front of her unfortunately, still detailed changes to her website design which had been done according to the exact specifications of the customer, who now wanted to ‘tweak the idea a little.’
She considered writing a scathing reply. No, adding a chat box would not improve site approachability, and she would much prefer eating her computer science diploma with a nice Chianti than changing the font to comic sans. “Deep breaths,” she mumbled and grabbed her coffee.
It was too late for coffee, but she was about to have to bend over for this damn site anyway. She should probably be awake for it. She took a sip.
Just as she did so, there was a knock on the door.
Samantha rose, coffee in hand. She checked the peephole, frowned, rubbed her eye and checked again. What the hell was Adonis doing standing outside her door? Rich dark skin, lithe form but still built as hell, nicely groomed wire-tight hair - he looked like he was out of a magazine. And her without a stitch of makeup in her ratty clothes.
“Hold up, Samantha,” she murmured, lifting her hands from the door. Was she crazy, up and opening doors to strange men?. “You’re a reasonably good looking chick in an unlocked apartment complex, with a large amount of expensive electronics. Sure you’ve got a fake wedding ring, but is answering the door a good plan?”
She peeked through the keyhole again. Thankfully he hadn’t heard her talking, or if he had, wasn’t reacting. The man put his hands in his pockets, looking around the bland hallway. With the chain on the door he couldn’t force his way in. And he didn’t have a gun…probably. Besides, he looked like a bit of a hipster, and how many of those guys carried guns? He must have been lost.
She slid the chain in place and opened the door, being certain to keep behind it. Besides maybe protecting her from a knife, it meant he didn’t have to see her pj’s. “Hi, do you need some help?”
The man’s face split into a smile. Beautiful straight teeth, but she noticed the smile did not reach his eyes. “Hello ma’am. I’m sorry about the hour. Would you happen to be Marie Parker?”
Samantha frowned. She considered slamming the door. But the man was smiling so broadly, he must have had no idea that Marie Parker was dead. She’d been raised to be careful, not rude. He had one more chance. “No. Why?”
“I’m here on behalf of an old friend of hers named Diego. Ring any bells?”
Samantha’s mood darkened even more. Good looking as he was, this guy was full of shit. How had she not noticed his skin was actually kind of oily? His eyes had a very strange sheen–too dark for him not to be terribly ill.
The man blinked at her in confusion, and then stepped back, raising his hands. “I don’t mean any harm, ma’am. If I’m making you uncomfortable, maybe we can meet later?”
Funny, since he’d stepped back, he was less creepy again. Samantha tilted her head. “How do you know I even know who this Marie Parker is? She’s never lived here.”
“If you know that, you must know who she is.”
Oops. “Look, what do you…or, who was it? Diego? Want with her?”
“Ah, of course. Look, if you’ll just let me in, I can explain everything.” He held up his hands again. “I promise, no funny stuff.”
“Fuck, man, who do you think I am?” Samantha snorted. “You’ve got Schrodinger’s rapist written all over you and I’ve got work to do. Marie Parker has been dead for almost twenty-five years, so I don’t see what Diego could possibly want with her.”
The man stared at her. “What did you say?” he asked. “Seriously? Marie Hayfield Parker has been dead for twenty-five years?”
She ground her teeth. “Yes. She has.”
“Wait, how? It’s not in any of our records and that’s way late–”
“Fuck you.” her patience snapped. “I don’t know who you are, but my mother is none of your business. Get out of here or I’m calling the cops!”
The man gasped. “Your mother?” He leaned forward, studied her face, then stood up straight again. “Shit.” He put a hand to his jaw, frowning. “This puts a wrench in things.”
Samantha slammed the door and stalked back to the computer, grabbing her cell on the way. If he knocked again, she was calling the cops. If he wasn’t gone in ten minutes, she was calling the cops. Should she call the cops now?
No. She had work to do.
* * * *
Eli stormed into the office, tossing the file onto the Doll’s desk and leaned over it. “Want to explain this to me again? With all the information this time? For instance, the part where the firstborn of Marie Parker is in her twenties, and her mother dead?”
The Doll gave him a look. “If you’d read the whole file, it’s all in there. Marie swore her firstborn to Diego in exchange for lifelong happiness. Diego was snuffed before he could pick up the payment.
“How the hell did this get buried for so long? She’s twenty-five for fuck’s sake!”
The construct rolled her eyes. “It was Diego’s case. We just got around to sorting out his outstanding files is all.”
“Talk about your lag time. What are you people doing down here?”
“Look, are you going to finish it or not? It’s easy enough, just read her the same speech you’d read the mother and do it. Done.”
“You’re supposed to give that speech to the mother, who, in case you missed it, is also dead!”
“Technically, she isn’t dead, since her soul hasn’t passed through. So she’s either bound to someone else or still kicking.” The Doll shuffled through her papers again. “Whatever, Eli. Do it however you want. Just do it.”
“So I’ve got clearance to do the regular snag and bag?”
“As long as her soul is in the coffers, we don’t care. Diego’s oversight was just stupid, and it’s seriously throwing the balance.”
“Throwing the balance?” Eli frowned. “How?”
The Doll huffed. “We don’t know how. When we tracked the paperwork, we found a long-standing list originating from his death.”
“Anything super serious?”
“Not yet.” She adjusted her glasses. “Honestly, we probably would have tossed the papers altogether if the balance hadn’t come into the equation. That’s what usually happens.”
“I guess it isn’t protocol?”
“Technically the office has the right to pursue the souls regardless. It’s our power which primed them in the first place, and we have first dibs. A lot of time no one wants to pick up the goods. Too much trouble, too much paperwork, too much work when you could just go to the bar and grab one on the fly.”
“Yeah, I see what you mean.” Eli huffed, brushing off his shoulders. For a second there, he’d been sure Samantha had seen through his glamour, glimpsed his true form. That was just creepy. “Seriously, this chick is quarter of a century old and no idiot. She wouldn’t even open the door, much less invite me in.”
“I hate those damn firstborn deals,” the construct mumbled. “Granted, it’s practically a two for one, plus the bonus for innocence and virginity, but when there’s complications it’s never anything a good murder can fix.”
“Aren’t you a ray of sunshine.” Eli waved. “All right. I guess I’ll try again tomorrow.”
“You want my input, Eli?”
“Sure.”
“You did damage when you assumed she was your average target. Figure out how to reverse it. Pull out your blue suede shoes.”
Eli snorted. “Come on, doll. I’m a Damned. I’ve got a blue suede suit.”
* * * *
He followed Samantha to the coffee shop the next morning. Changing his looks to be inconspicuous was easy enough, but if she was a sensitive individual than it could cause problems. At first he just stood in line some three people away. He needn’t have worried though. Judging by the bags under her eyes and the dulled luster of her hair, she’d been up all night. Maybe trying this now wasn’t a good idea. People were touchy when they were tired, and she’d already told him off once.
No, he should at least get a foot in the door. He considered being cavalier and buying her drink but decided against it as she ordered a triple shot vanilla latte. Damn. Even as a demon, he didn’t need that much caffeine. What the hell did she do for a living?
She sat in one of the arm chairs and pulled out a laptop, pulling her hair up in a bun as she pushed a pair of glasses up her nose. Had she been wearing those last night? No–either contacts or she’d been blind. That would explain why she’d ignored his dashing good looks.
Or she was just sensitive and smart.
He was fucked if it was the latter.
Stop thinking negative, Eli. There was nothing like a sugar-packed pastry to lift a lady’s spirits. Clearly he would need to lay on the charm.
“Large coffee, a cookie, one of those blueberry bagels, and a pumpkin muffin.” He paused. “And oatmeal.”
Might as well cover all the bases, just in case she was a health nut.
* * * *
The website was still up and running. No bugs, no glitches so far. Thank God. The stuff she’d done last night had been quick and dirty, and she’d half expected the server to crash during the night. Hopefully the latte would let her get some better quality coding going.
She’d just finished identifying her plan of attack when someone settled into the chair next to her. Not looking up, she moved her latte from the middle of the table so they could set their tray down.
“Thank you.”
“No prob.” She didn’t take her eyes off the screen, but glanced up to make sure her latte wasn’t about to fall off the table. It was the same man from last night. She jumped. “What the hell?”
Samantha leaned over and dug in her pocket for her phone. “Okay, look, mister. I don’t care how well you knew my mom. If you don’t get the fuck out, I’m calling the cops on your ass.”
The man held up his hands. “Hey,” he said. “Look, just give me a second, okay? I know I fucked up last night. You’re right. If someone pulled that shit on me, I’d have a shotgun in their face in a nanosecond, and you were well within your rights to tell me to fuck off.”
Samantha frowned, cell phone still out and ready to dial. The guy freaked the shit out of her. At least he’d admitted he was being stupid about it. “So how did you know where to find me? Stalking me to a coffee shop isn’t much better.”
“I’m staying at the Westin next door.” He pulled out a key card “See? Room seven-oh-four. I swear this is just coincidence.”
Samantha’s eyes stayed trained on him. “Damn high level of coincidence.” She considered his card. It looked real enough but that didn’t really confirm his story. Was he being truthful? Was this all coincidence combined with shitty people skills?
The man didn’t push, barely moving except to sip on his drink. He looked tense, Samantha noted, but more as if he were holding his breath for her answer than waiting for her to see through a ruse. In the end, his respect of her thought process prompted her to give him a chance.
“I’ll make you a deal. I’m not forgetting last night, but I will let you try again, right here, right now. If you manage not to piss me off in explaining why you’re looking for my mom, we’ll talk.”
* * * *
Eli nodded, quietly marveling. Damn, this woman was smart. Normally he would have already written her off as an iron clad no-go. “Fair enough. First of all, have some breakfast. I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so take whatever you like and leave the rest.”
She eyed him. Then took the cookie and dipped it in her drink. “Thanks.”
“No problem. What say we pretend I emailed you and asked to meet here?”
“What was the topic of the meeting supposed to be?” She asked, but seemed to relax.
“Your mother.” He held out his hand. “And I would have introduced myself as Eli Tawson.”
“Samantha Parker.” She shook, grip firm, dry and certain. “So, what about my mother?” She frowned. “To be honest, I would have ignored an email like that. Still has shifty written on it.”
“Even if I told you she probably wasn’t dead?”
Samantha drew in a slow breath, as if counting to ten. “What the hell are you talking about?” She hissed. “Dad helped dress and bury the corpse. She’s definitely dead.”
Eli nearly groaned aloud. Damn it, the file didn’t say anything about a corpse. “I see. Have you heard of her deal?”
“What kind of deal?” Samantha snapped. “There was nothing in her will.”
Eli frowned. “A will? When was it written?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but three months before I was born.”
A will made so close to deal consummation meant Marie knew something was going to go down. Either she’d been planning a run or planning a fight. Apparently, she’d succeeded in both.
“Something wrong?” Samantha asked. “Dad said it wasn’t an easy pregnancy, so she was worried.”
“Hmm.” Eli mused, watching her sip her drink. He frowned. “You married?” he asked.
Samantha glanced at her hand, appeared to think for a moment, and then shook her head. “No. It’s my mom’s wedding ring. I just wear it on the ring finger to keep the creeps at bay.”
“Sorry. Apparently it sucked at it.” Eli muttered idly.
She laughed. Maybe he wasn’t doing so bad. “I only told you the truth because whatever scheme you’re trying to sell me doesn’t have anything to do with whether I’m married or not.”
“Wow.” Eli chuckled. “Pretty harsh.”
Samantha shrugged. “How the world works sometimes. Being single and a woman, I have to evaluate threats like this daily. Is his attempt to buy me a drink or a drug? Is he trying to get me alone to rape me or to ask me out?”
“Ah, so this is normal paranoia. How am I doing so far?”
“Pretty shitty.” She replied promptly. “Look, just drop the act. You still haven’t told me what you want. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want something. So what is it? Not sex or death, you would have done way better to attack me in the apartment. Money? Legally, I don’t owe you shit, and I bet my mom didn’t either. You said she made a deal with a Diego. So where’s he, where’re the papers?” She paused, frowning. “And while we’re at it, what’s with the contacts? Your eyes are all screwed up.”
Eli stared at her in shock. “My eyes?”
“Yeah. All black with swirly pupils. Kinda cool, actually. Freaky, but cool.”
Dark, swirling eyes? His glamour showed nice chocolate brown, so what was she talking about? Without the glamour his eyes were–Eli surged up in panic. She’d seen his eyes! How the hell? He needed to get out of here, fast. “Keep the stuff,” he stammered, and walked out.
* * * *
Samantha stared after the man, twirling the ring around her finger. She shrugged. “Weird thing to get all tied up in knots over.” she said. She looked back at the table, then her computer, and smiled. She had snacks for the next few hours. That was a plus.
Still, this was getting stranger by the minute. Once she was finished tweaking and checking the site, she needed to pay a visit to her mother’s papers and try and dig up something about this Diego guy, maybe phone her father. That was sure to be pleasant.
* * * *
“Eli, talk sense. What the hell do you mean, ‘she saw my eyes’?”
The other man’s large, tanned arms were crossed around the beer he was nursing as Eli drummed his fingers on the table. “Exactly what I said, Francis. She said it, clear as day ‘what’s up with your eyes? They’re all black and swirly.’” He groaned, rubbing his face. “Asked me if I was wearing contacts.”
Francis shook his head. “You sure you weren’t distracted? From what you said, this is a weird case as it is.”
“I’m sure. My cover wasn’t blown or anything–besides, I’d think she would have commented on the paper-white skin and the black claws.”
“I guess. Still, man, might only be a matter of time. Though, I hear if a Damned falls in love with a mortal, the mortal can see their true form.”
“Uh, yeah, except for the whole thing where I actually don’t like the chick much. I mean, sure I’ve got to hand it to her–she’s tough and knows what the fuck she’s doing, but she’s also paranoid and shut up tighter than a nun’s legs.”
“Gross, man. Point taken, though.” Francis frowned, rubbing his chin. “The only other alternative is her sensitivity. She’s either descended from a Damned, been touched by one, or has some sort of other latent power.”
“Checked her history. Diego didn’t ever get a hand on her as a baby. Her family’s clean.”
“So, latent power. Any artifacts, trinkets?”
“Nothing obvious. Mother’s wedding ring. The ring might be a shield, I guess, depending on the mother, but it was bought at a high-end jeweler only twenty-five years ago.”
Francis nodded. Eli watched him muse, hoping against hope his curious friend would take up his case. He couldn’t go to the Doll or the Secretary with this one–he’d get a misconduct and a deduction before he could blink. His friend and fellow Damned was an excellent information digger, though, and well-versed in lore.
“Hm. Well, I see why you came running to me, Eli. Right troublesome.” He took a draw off his beer. “I’ve got nothing special to do right now, though–so you keep wooing the chick. I’ll do some digging.”
Eli let out his breath in relief. “What do you want for it?” he asked.
“Easy.” Francis grinned. “You finish this one off, you owe me and my hell hound an excuse to get to Southeast Asia.”
Eli paused, glancing at the Damned dog by Francis’s feet, who yawned, revealing the inferno within. No one at the bar noticed it. Then again, familiars of the Damned were hardly ever corporeal. He snorted. “Done. No trouble at all.”
“Ah…the Maldives…Thailand…Vietnam…lovely all around.”
Eli didn’t hear him, frowning over his mental image of Samantha watching him in severe paranoia, telling him she knew he was bad news.
* * * *
Samantha realized she did not want to call her father about the time she realized she was cleaning the bathroom for the second time, her laundry was all finished and the living room–including couch and chairs–was vacuumed. The dishes had been done the previous night and she actually regretted it. Finally, she picked up the phone.
“Daddy?”
“Samantha bear! How did that project you were talking about turn out? I was going to call you but got tied up in Milan.”
Samantha smiled. Her father the world traveler. He’d taken her with him, when she was young, but these days she could only ever free up time around her birthday. “It’s okay, Daddy. Hey, do you have a minute?”
“Anything for you, sweetie. What’s on your mind?”
Samantha frowned. Did she need to bring her father into this yet? The guy wasn’t asking for money, hadn’t even bothered her for three days. She grimaced. Better to ask now, right? “Do you know anyone named Diego?”
“Diego?” Her father barked a laugh. “Sounds like a loan shark or a used car salesman. No. Why?”
“Some guy emailed me saying you knew him.” She tried to sound relieved, but in reality it only worried her more. “Sure glad I ignored it.”
“He asking for money?”
“No, Daddy. Just wanted to meet.”
Her father’s voice grew severe. “Should I make a call to the police chief? Can’t say he owes me a get-out-of-jail-free card, but I could wheedle him into checking in on you.”
“No, Daddy, no problem. It was just one email. Maybe it was the wrong address.” She fiddled with her ring, drawing the pad of her thumb along the studded edge. “Anyway, you having fun in…are you still in Milan?”
“Nope! Greece, now, It’s an amazing place, sweetheart. Maybe I’ll take you boating here for your birthday.” He laughed.
“Daddy…” Samantha chuckled. She hated boats. Seasickness never failed to strike.
They talked for another hour. By the end, with the help of her father’s cheerful tone, Samantha had convinced herself there was no need to mention her mother had come up. It wasn’t that important, and besides, he’d sounded cheerful. She didn’t want to mess it up by mentioning her mother. He always said she was the love of his life.
“Time for a walk,” she decided, and let herself out into the afternoon sunlight. It was a warm day, and she rambled under the fragrant trees to the park. Three days, and Eli hadn’t showed up again. What the hell did the guy want anyway? Had he just been a profiteer who decided she was too much trouble, too smart?
No, he didn’t feel that way. She couldn’t shake the feeling he was something more, something bigger. Damn, he had a pretty face too. She could use his body for a few dirty sessions with herself. It was a pity he was probably long gone.
She bought an ice cream and sat on a bench to eat it, next to a blond bombshell in a short skirt. Whew. I could be jealous of those legs, she thought as she idly took a lick, noting the perfectly coiffed 20s hairstyle with admiration. The woman looked like a magazine cover.
As Samantha tried to study the woman on the other side of her seat without blatantly staring, a crow lazily flapped in to settle on the back of the bench between them. Samantha nearly choked in the surprise. “Damn,” she said, watching the crow. She broke off a piece of her ice cream cone, holding it up to the bird. “Didn’t know the crows around here were so tame.”
The bird eyed her. The woman slowly turned her head to stare at Samantha with dark, swirling eyes.
Suddenly, it occurred to her that something was very wrong. The park had gone quiet, like a wall had been thrown up between the bench and the rest of the world. There was a smell on the air like rotting meat. “S-Sorry…” she stammered. “Is it actually your pet?”
The silence became oppressive. The woman’s eyes sparked red and Samantha’s breath caught. It was a trick of the light. It had to be. The woman smiled slowly. As she did, her skin seemed to pale, until it was sheet white. “You could say that.” The woman raised a hand, batting aside Samantha’s still outstretched arm with inch long claws which looked to be dipped in blood.
A ringing panic rose in Samantha’s ears as the crow ruffled its feathers, bending in at the same time as the woman. “I’ve got to go…”
“Do you?” The woman asked. “Oh, no. Tell me how you saw my pet, first.”
Samantha shook her head. The crow was sitting at the most two feet from her face. If it spread its wings, her nose would get tickled. She’d have to be completely blind not to see it. “I’m sorry…I don’t know. Really.” The woman’s gaze was hypnotic. Why was she pleading? Why wasn’t she up and running? Samantha leaned in close enough for the woman to caress her chin with scarlet nails. Samantha trembled, clenching her hands.
“Is that so?” the blonde purred, “How interesting. Do you know what I am?”
“N-No…”
The woman’s lip quirked. “So you see, but you do not understand.” Her tongue poked out of between her lips, licked them quickly and disappeared. Samantha’s heart pounded, heat on her face and roaring in her ears, like a distant crowd. The woman leaned in, bringing the full power of her gaze to bear on her, and Samantha could barely breathe, her entire body frozen, joint for joint. “What’s your name?”
Samantha didn’t even pause to consider the repercussions. She had to speak. She was compelled. “Samantha Parker.”
“Samantha Parker…” the woman repeated in a purr. Samantha shuddered as the claws pricked at her neck, raising a drop of blood. The woman brought the drop to her lips. She placed the claw in her mouth, keeping Samantha’s gaze. “Daughter of Marie and Donald Parker. Twenty-five years old. Not a virgin, but also not overly experienced with men.” She smirked. “Mainly heterosexual but with bisexual tendencies. Were you eyeing me up?”
Samantha took a gulping breath, trying to stay steady. “No.”
The woman merely raised an eyebrow.
The truth burned at her lips. “Yes.”
“And able to somewhat resist a glamour, as well as see companions.” She chuckled, leg swinging out and beckoning. “Yes. You’re coming home with me, sweetling.”
Samantha rose, but didn’t step forward, clenching her hands again. She didn’t know what was happening, but whatever this woman had planned, she suspected it would be worse than anything Eli might have done. “No, I don’t think so.”
Again, the raised eyebrow. Samantha growled, forcing her hands to move of her will, her might, her thought. With her thumb, she twisted her ring around until it bit into the flesh of her palm.
Awareness flooded her mind, and Samantha whipped her head around to break the hypnotic stare of the pale woman, looking at the crow. It huffed, feathers ruffling out, and then screeched. Down its throat, Samantha saw roiling, impossibly bright fire, as if the bird had swallowed hell itself.
“What are you doing, girl?” the woman demanded as Samantha staggered back, ice cream in a long forgotten puddle underfoot.
“No,” Samantha whispered. “No. Stay away!” She threw her arm over her eyes, willing herself to run away, and the bubble of silence around them shattered. Samantha ran.
“Girl! Girl, where are you going? Be careful,” the woman called after her. Samantha kept running, long past the park, long past her house–what if the woman followed her? The crow could fly–she should keep running, run until she was in the next borough, past the Great Lakes, on the other side of the country even!
But only five blocks from the park her progress was blocked. “Samantha!” The voice was male. It couldn’t be the woman. She didn’t stop, arm still shielding her eyes, hand still clamped so tightly her ring was drawing blood.
“Samantha Parker! Hey.”
She careened into someone’s chest. Strong hands gripped her shoulders. She didn’t stop to think who it could be as she started to strike, still breathless with fear and exertion. The hands shifted, grabbed her wrists, and she struggled even harder. The silence came again. Terrifying, pervading silence. She was alone with whatever caught her, and she screamed.
“No! No, you can’t have me. I won’t go with you.”
“Samantha…” whoever she’d run into breathed, taken aback, surprised, and actually worried.
She blinked, heaving for breath and looking at her captor for the first time.
“Samantha. It’s me. Eli. I’m not going to hurt you, Samantha.”
She recognized him. He looked the same. But now she saw him. His eyes were swirls of black and white, mixing to gray in some places. His skin was stark white. He faintly smelled of death at first, but it faded quickly except to memory. She shook her head as her mind went numb. This must be what it felt like to go mad, she thought. “Stop it,” she whispered. “Stop it.” She tried to pull away, but Eli stayed strong, frowning.
“Samantha, tell me what you see.” His voice kept a calm, assured tone, so different from the woman. “When you look at me, what do you see?”
“White,” she whispered, shaking. “White, and red, and black. Your skin is white. I see you, I see you! What are you?” She half screamed, half sobbed. “I’m going crazy.. What’s happening to me? First the lady, then the crow, then you. You’re like her... I-I can feel it!”
“Like who, Samantha?” he asked.
“The woman in the park. The woman with the crow.” She took deep breaths, trying not to let the color of his skin get to her, the crimson claws which didn’t touch her skin but hovered near, keeping her close to him. “You’ve got everything hushed, too. It’s too quiet, we’re in the middle of the street–what’s happening, Eli? What’s happening?”
Eli watched her, holding her in place for so long sweat dripped into her eyes. He grimaced. “You’re going to have to trust me, Samantha. It’s time to go.”
Her gaze whipped up to meet his, mouth half open. “No. No, she can’t know where I live.”
“She’s gone, Samantha.” Eli murmured, and bundled her close. Quiet settled around them again, this time secretive and almost soothing as he walked them down the street. “But if you ran, more will come.”
* * * *
By the time they reached the apartment she was half asleep and he was practically carrying her.
“Samantha. Keys.”
“Huh?”
“Your keys.”
“I…” She pawed at her jacket pocket, fumbled out a key ring with three USB drives and more keys than he could count. Somehow, though, she brought out the correct one, fit it in, and turned the lock.
He spread out his hands. “I can open the door, but you’re going to have to walk in yourself and invite me in.”
She blinked. “Wha? What are you, a vampire?”
“Not exactly.” He averted his gaze.
She worried at her lip. “Can I trust you? You still haven’t told me I’m crazy. Anyone else would have taken me to the hospital.”
“You’re not crazy.” Eli said. “Anything but. Right now, you’re one of the sanest members of the human race in existence. I’m just trying to keep you that way.”
“And you’re not going to rape me? Or kill me? Or hold me hostage for money?”
“Right now, it’s more important to get you inside your home, where you hold the advantage. That’s why we’re not at a hospital. If you want, I’ll just push you in the door.”
She frowned at him. “If I let you in, will you tell me what’s going on?”
Eli thought about that. Should he? He was meant to be gaining her trust so that he could harvest her, and he looked to be about half way there. But she’d run from a Damned, and judging by her terror, a Damned more powerful than him. Who was hanging around New York like that? He had to know. “Yes. Or rather, I’ll tell you everything I know.”
* * * *
She watched him again. He was so deeply sketchy, everything about him was. She knew it logically but right now she was just so relieved to have someone telling her she wasn’t insane. Just this morning he’d been stalker number one, now he was helping her run away from the monster on the street. She couldn’t trust him, could she?
Well, she’d trusted him so far, and it had worked out. She was alive and unmolested. It was a leap of faith, but she judged that the ground wasn’t too far down, so she reached out to grasp the door and stepped into her apartment.
As frazzled as she was, she immediately felt better, more calm, safer. She leaned on the shoe-stool, just drawing several breathes. Her senses reeled.
She could feel Eli at the door jamb. Not just sense him at the corner of her eye, but feel him–a dark point of fire which sat, close and watchful. She swallowed, chanced a glance. He looked the same as always–starkly handsome with such lovely, brown, smooth skin laid over that broad shouldered frame. Frustratingly beautiful, given she knew he was bad news. At least, that’s what it seemed like. She knew he was bad news, but all of his actions were contradicting that. “Before I invite you in, explain why you can’t come in yourself. What happens if I tell you to come in? Are you in for good?”
“No. Not really anyway.” He answered quickly, without hesitation. “You have the power to cast me out–all mortals do. Most of them don’t know how to use it though.”
She pulled her hair back with shaking hands. “What are you?”
Eli crouched at the door. “It’s a long story.” He grimaced as if trying to decide something. Finally, he sighed. “Look. This is something most people don’t know. You can let me in with concessions. Like, I can’t come past the entryway, or, I must stand on one foot at all times.”
Her eyebrow rose. “More than one?”
“Never tested it.”
She stared. “You may enter on the condition you hoot quietly like a monkey, stick out your tongue, do the Charleston, scratch your bum while inside, and leave after exactly one minute.”
Eli stared at her, dumbstruck. Samantha giggled, only a touch of hysteria in her voice. “The look on your face! Can’t you refuse?”
“Well, yes, but if you’re serious, I’ve no recourse.”
“I’m serious.” She smiled just a little. After everything she’d seen today, she didn’t exactly think he was lying, but knowing how far her threshold would get her might be useful in the future. “I want to see if it works.”
* * * *
Eli cringed inwardly. Did she have to include the butt scratch? “I’ll have you know this is the most inane thing I have ever done.” He stepped inside. The burning started in his legs, and to stop it he started to move his feet, trying to recall what the Charleston even looked like. He’d never been a dancer. His tongue burned. He stuck it out. His throat tingled. With a grimace, he made his monkey noises as quietly as possible, muttering through them. “Damn it! Did you have–ooh, ooh, ah, ah!– to require–aie, aie!–the butt scratch?”
Samantha was staring at him with comically wide eyes, but muttered, “Duh. Go on.”
“I could still–ooh, ooh!–hurt you doing this.”
“That’s part of the test,” she said, crossing her arms.
His hand felt as if it were in a white-hot fire, and finally he hissed and gave in, madly scratching the crack of his ass as he jumped around with his tongue out. By the time he finally felt the urge to jump out of the room, Samantha was bent over laughing. He adjusted his shirt and grunted. “Glad you’re feeling better.”
“That was the best thing ever.” She cackled, slapping her knee. “Okay, okay.” It occurred to him she wasn’t going to make this easy. “While your intentions are pure, you are welcome in my home.” She nodded. “Should do it.”
Eli frowned. Could he enter on those grounds? Honestly, he wasn’t sure what his intentions regarding her were any more. If he entered, and the protections tossed him out, would he ever be able to recover the trust he’d gained? He grimaced. “I’m not certain that’s going to work.”
“So you are out to get me?” She asked softly.
He sighed. “It’s part of the long story. Technically, I’m ordered to have very bad intentions toward you.”
“Your orders and your intentions are separate. What do you want?”
What in the world did he want? Going back to his quiet time of offering something less hellish than life didn’t seem to be an option any more. “I want to tell you what’s going on so I can figure out what’s going on.”
She shrugged. “Try. Your intentions sound pure, but it’ll be good to know how far those words get me, anyway.”
He took a breath, frowning. She had already folded this into her worldview. With a small grimace, he stepped forward, nearly winced in expectation. But the burning pain never came, and he sighed.
Samantha rose, nodding. “So either you’re okay, or the words don’t get me very far at all.”
The pulse of her concessions wrapped around him like invisible strings. He took a breath. No one had ever tied him so completely with words. “No,” he murmured. “I think it’s probably the most iron-clad requirement I’ve ever heard.”
She tilted her head. “What’s it feel like?”
“Fishing line. Around my wrists, ankles, neck, and each, single claw.” He tried on a smile which came out more like a grimace. “It’s a little terrifying.”
“Do you often feel fear?” she asked.
“No,” he answered honestly. “Do you?”
“No.” She turned. “Not fear. Bathroom’s that way. Wash your hands–I’m going to change.
He nodded, complying with the strings of words trailing behind him.
