Marked (11 page)

He sighed as he kicked off his boots. “G? You here?”

A startled squeal came from Galena’s bedroom, and the door flew open. “Eli! I didn’t know when you’d be home.” Her eyes widened. “Are you okay?”

He nodded. “I don’t know if I should have gone to that funeral.”

Galena bit her lip. “I’m sorry I didn’t get back from the lab in time to go with you. I’m getting really close to a breakthrough, though. I can feel it. I got caught up with Danny and—”

“It’s all right.” Eli smiled at her. He really hadn’t minded. He knew how Galena got when she was on to something.

She shook her head. “Not really, because I have to ask you a big favor.”

“Oh, you think I’m keeping score or something?” He walked into the kitchen, searching for something to eat.

“No,” she said, turning to watch him paw through the cabinets. “Never. But . . . wait here.” She went back to her room.

Eli found a nutrition bar in the last cabinet he opened and was taking his first bite when Galena emerged again, carrying a garment bag. “So,” she said, “I got invited to give a speech at this big university fund-raiser.”

Eli nodded as he chewed. The university should want to show off its most promising new faculty member. Lots of places had wanted her. Her research was so hot that offers had started coming in before
she’d
even finished her doctorate. But Harvard was the best funded and had offered her a state-of-the-art lab. It had been an easy choice.

“And,” she continued, glancing up at him nervously, “I want you to be my date.”

She unzipped the garment bag, revealing a tuxedo. He inhaled a few crumbs of the nutrition bar and began to cough.

Galena’s brow furrowed. She looked down at the tuxedo and back up at him. “Please?”

Eli waved his arms, trying to let her know he wasn’t turning her down.
He’d
just been struck by how badly he wished
he’d
known about that garment bag before
he’d
left for the funeral. “No problem,” he said hoarsely, reaching for a bottle of water. He opened it and took a sip. “I’ll go.”

Galena’s face lit up. Her blonde ponytail swirled around her head as she jumped up and down, clutching the garment bag to her chest. “Oh, thank you! I don’t think I could do this alone. The administrator who called me said there would be several hundred people there, and you know I get nervous in crowds.”

Eli stepped forward and hugged his sister. “I’m so proud of you. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

“You should see the dress I got! They gave me such a generous allowance. They even sent the tux over for you! I didn’t even have to ask! They knew it was a rush thing—it’s tomorrow night.”

“I guess Harvard really has it together,” Eli said, taking the garment bag from her hands. “Are you in for the night? Want to play darts or something?”

Galena frowned. “Shouldn’t you have plans, little brother? Your first night off in a new city?” Her eyes narrowed when she saw his expression. “You can’t hide anything from me, Eli. Spit it out.”

“I got invited to a thing. But I’m not going to go.” He stalked back to his room to hang the bag in his closet.

Galena followed him. “Why not?”

“Because Cacy will be there.”

“So? Didn’t you just say you were
invited
?”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “Sure, it was the Chief who invited me. But that was before . . . God, I don’t even know what happened really. Cacy hugged me, I guess. But it felt . . .” Eli sighed, unable to describe what Cacy’s embrace had done to him. “It happened in front of her entire family. There I was, this poor hick in jeans, and she . . .” He shook his head.

Galena leaned against the wall and folded her arms over her chest. “Oh, you’re going.”

“That would be a very bad idea. You should have seen the way they looked at me.”

“Eli Benjamin Margolis, when have you ever let anyone intimidate you?”

She sounded so much like their mother that Eli laughed, even though it made his chest hurt a little. “Never. It’s just—”

“You want to see her again.” Galena stepped forward and laid her palm against his chest.

He wanted to say no, but Galena smiled, no doubt feeling his heart pounding at the thought of seeing Cacy tonight.

“You want to see her again,” Galena repeated, looking utterly satisfied with herself. “If you don’t go, I’m going to call her and tell her secrets about you. Like your incomprehensible fear of needles.”

“If you feel that strongly about it, maybe you should come with me.” He put his hand over hers, holding it to his chest as he watched her face fall. “Come on, G. You need to interact with some actual humans, not just computers and single-celled organisms.” Galena hadn’t been able to stomach going out since the attack, and Eli hadn’t pushed her. But she was going to have to face it at some point. It couldn’t be good for her to be alone all the time.

Galena’s gaze was glued to his chest, on his broad hand covering hers. “I’m so busy, Eli,” she said quietly. “Maybe another time.” Then she arched an eyebrow mischievously. “But
you
better get going. You can’t let her down.”

His hand fell away, and so did hers. “Let her down? What makes you think
she’d
notice?”

She smiled sweetly. “Trust me, Eli. I saw the way Cacy looked at you when you were passed out on the couch.”

His heart kicked into a hard rhythm again, and he was glad Galena couldn’t feel it pounding as he asked, “How did she look at me?”

Galena shook her head. “You can go see for yourself. I can’t wait to hear how it goes. I’m headed back to the lab. But when I call you in an hour, you’d better answer, and there had better be someone there who can vouch for your whereabouts. Get cracking, bro, you’ve got some friends to make. Have fun,” she sang as she walked through the living room and headed out the door.

Eli stood in the hallway, furious but strangely grateful to his pain-in-the-ass sister.
She’d
given him the excuse he needed to go get himself in serious trouble.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

C
acy sat back from her tablet phone and sighed.
She’d
spent the afternoon since the funeral mass dealing with dozens of cousins who’d felt they were slighted in her father’s will. Then
she’d
spent an hour wading through her father’s files using the passwords Mr. Knickles had given her. Rylan had offered to do it with her, but as grateful as
she’d
been,
she’d
known he had other things he had to do. Plus, Cacy had wanted to be alone with all of it for a little while. She wanted to know why her father had chosen her. His words from the night of his death echoed in her mind.
Protecting the future is more important than righting the wrongs of the past.
Words
he’d
said to her while standing outside Eli’s apartment in Cambridge, of all places. What had he been trying to tell her?

She’d
searched his incredibly long list of property holdings for an address in Cambridge, thinking maybe
he’d
bought another condo complex or business. Nothing. She pulled up the copy of the data
she’d
snagged from her father’s phone and scrolled through his calls. Both Rylan and Dec had called him in the half hour before the attack, and the calls were only minutes apart. She took a look at his private calendar next, searching for discrepancies between it and the public calendar maintained by his secretary. On the day before he died, the press conference and family lunch were clearly marked.
He’d
also had dinner with Rylan at Lombo’s. Those were the only things listed, so Cacy clicked to the next day, since
he’d
been killed around one in the morning. There, slated for 12:01 a.m., was a notation:
M. Final Decision.

Cacy stared at the words until her vision blurred, her heart bumping frantically against her ribs. Had that meeting been in Cambridge? And who was
M
? Had that person been responsible for her father’s death? Her eyes narrowed as she closed the calendar. She already had an appointment with her number one suspect.

She checked the time and her heart skipped a beat. Time to go. The paramedics had wanted to have their own informal send-off of Patrick Ferry, so she and Dec had to show. Not that she would have missed it. She loved most of her colleagues and appreciated their loyalty to her father, no matter how much shit
they’d
given her the first few years
she’d
been a paramedic. She was so determined to be there on time that
she’d
asked Moros to meet her at the bar so she could ask him some questions before he left town again. Normally, the youngest daughter of the Charon would have been beneath the notice of the Lord of the Kere, but getting named the executor of her father’s estate had made all the difference. Not that her father would approve of how she was going to use her new authority.

The sun was still smoldering, hovering at the rim of the skyscrapers, when Cacy made it to Bart’s. The humid air was filled with the briny swamp scent of the canals—part rot, part chemical burn. She wrinkled her nose as she walked beside the canal wall, watching the sampans and motorboats and amphibious vehicles weaving and bumping in Friday afternoon rush-hour traffic.

Cacy swung open the door to the bar and took a deep breath as the smell of beer and whiskey rushed over her. She smiled and nodded to the hostess as she headed for the back room where her father had often met with local patrons.
He’d
bought the bar expressly for this purpose.

A few guys were already gathered at the long mahogany bar, including Len, who had changed from that awful too-tight suit
he’d
been wearing earlier, thank God. Her skin had crawled as
he’d
embraced her in the receiving line. It wouldn’t have been considered dignified to knee a mourner in the balls, though, so
she’d
let him hug her and counted the seconds until it was over.

Len pushed away from the bar when he saw her, the eager, horny look on his wide face making her stomach hurt. She looked past him, searching for the one face she actually wanted to see. Eli wasn’t here. She wondered if he would come at all—and wouldn’t blame him if he no-showed. But this morning, when
she’d
seen him standing in the pew, looking so out of place and yet so perfect, it was like warm honey had been poured over her soul.
He’d
come to a funeral, dressed in what Cacy was sure were the nicest clothes he owned. On his day off, too. Maybe
he’d
come to honor her father’s memory, or out of misplaced guilt for not being able to save a patient. But when her eyes had locked with Eli’s, Cacy had been sure
he’d
come to the funeral for her and her alone.

After dealing with all the wrenching pain of the day, and Len, and Moros . . .
she’d
practically wrapped herself around Eli and begged him to carry her away. She hadn’t been able to hold back any longer. She hadn’t been able to think about the risks. She had completely given in to the need that had been building in her for the last few days. The need to hold on to him, to feel the solid beat of his heart against her chest, like it was strong enough to keep hers going. She hadn’t cared that everyone was staring. In that moment, Eli had been the only other person in the cathedral.

Oh God. Len was approaching her, arms open. Cacy stepped back and folded her arms across her chest. “Hey. You’re early,” she said, trying to sound friendly . . . but not too friendly.

His arms dropped to his sides. “So are you. Can I buy you a drink?”

“No. I’m meeting someone in the back. I’ll be out in a little while.”

Len frowned. “In the back?” It was obvious where his thoughts were going. He looked her up and down like
she’d
walked in here naked instead of in a skirt and a tank top.

Cacy flipped him off. “A business associate of my father’s, Len. What’s wrong with you?”

Len’s frown deepened to a scowl. “I thought maybe—”

“Yeah? Well, as usual, you thought wrong.” She gave him a thoroughly disgusted look before turning toward the hallway. “Not that it’s any of your business, but don’t worry about it. I’ll be right out.”

The corridor leading to the back room smelled of booze and cigarettes. She ran her fingers along the dark wood paneling as she walked, wondering how many times her father had walked this path, if his hands had skimmed over the same places.

Moros was waiting for her in the last room on the left. The small room contained a liquor cabinet and a desk surrounded by antique wooden chairs. The Lord of the Kere lounged in one of them, a low tumbler of amber liquid in his gloved hand, his feet propped up on the desk.

Cacy walked in, knocked Moros’s legs to the floor, and seated herself behind the desk. He was thousands of years old, so she figured he should know better than to put his feet on the furniture.

“Have some respect,” she said calmly, and turned to pour herself a few fingers of Scotch from a heavy cut-crystal decanter.

When she looked back at Moros, he was giving her a lazy smile, but Cacy read the sharp admiration in his eyes. “No
disrespect
intended, Cacia.”

Cacy took a sip of the deep, smoky liquid and closed her eyes as it burned all the way to her belly. She sat back down. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

Moros shrugged.
He’d
changed from his designer suit and was now wearing black slacks and a tailored gray silk shirt that matched the steely color of his eyes. The diamond in his ear had been replaced by a small silver hoop, and his hair was stylishly disheveled. He was pretty sexy for an ancient guy. Of course, he looked no older than Rylan, but even so, he wasn’t really her type. He returned her appraising look with one of his own. “How could I say no? Anything to honor the memory of my good friend.” His eyes slid down her body. “And such charming company. Your request intrigued me.”

Cacy lowered her gaze to her glass, watching the liquid sparkle in the warm light of the Tiffany lamp on the desk. “I want to know why he was killed.”

Moros sighed. “My dear, you should know better than to ask me that. Your father would never have asked me such a question.”

Her head snapped up, and she met his metal-gray eyes. “He hadn’t been retired for twelve hours before he was Marked by one of your Kere. Father trusted you to be just.”

“Our ways are not your ways, Cacia. But believe me when I say there is justice in what we do.” He shifted in his chair. “And in what I
intend
to do,” he muttered, then took a sip of Scotch. “We
were
friends, you know. Not merely business associates. I’d known him for over a century. After Rylan and Aislin’s mother died, I was the one who introduced him to Mara. She was my chief archivist’s daughter. Did you know that?” He leaned back in his chair again and hooked an ankle over his knee.

“No,” Cacy said quietly, gazing into her glass.

“You look just like her,” Moros said, his voice betraying his sadness. “I think your father never recovered from her loss. He was lucky to have you, though. It kept him going when he needed it most.”

Cacy stared at the desk and blinked. “Were you that close?” Had their midnight meeting been a social call? Somehow, Cacy doubted it.
Final Decision
didn’t sound very social.

“What do you know of our ancient history, my dear? What did he tell you of your heritage?”

It was obvious he wanted to take the long way around answering her questions, but since
she’d
called this meeting, she would indulge him for the moment. She downed her Scotch, feeling it burn all the way down her throat, then said, “I know that, centuries ago, there was no buffer between death and the Afterlife. The Kere delivered the souls to Heaven or Hell themselves.”

“
Thousands
of years ago. Almost two thousand years ago now.” He frowned, like he remembered it well, like it still hurt him. “We were slaves then, my Kere and I. Like dogs. Roaming the Earth like beggars.” He was gripping his glass so tightly that Cacy was surprised it didn’t shatter.

“You rebelled.”

Moros nodded and took a slow sip of his drink. “What do you think happens when death does not come for those who should die? And I know you are familiar with the Shades, so you know what happens when those who have died are not delivered into the warm embrace of their final fate.” He closed his eyes as if savoring, but Cacy wasn’t sure of the source of his pleasure—thoughts of zombies wreaking havoc, or the fine alcohol. “It was chaos on Earth
and
in the Veil. No balance anywhere. Those fated to live were dying too soon, and those fated to die lived on as undead monsters. The Keepers of Heaven and Hell tried to compel us, of course—to rule us with threats and torture as they had for so long. But we’d had enough. They showed a remarkable lack of foresight when they refused to treat us as their equals.”

“They agreed to a treaty. To pay for your services, to reward you for delivering the souls to them. But they insisted on an intermediary.”

“Those were but a few of the terms, and the only ones that need concern you.” He stood and leaned over the desk, helping himself to another few fingers before waving the bottle in her direction. She held up her glass, and he poured as he spoke. “They did not trust us to show restraint if there was money to be made from human death. They never believed we had any good in us, you see. They thought we were a
necessary evil
.” His voice had taken on a dangerous edge, but then he chuckled again. “So the Charon was created as an intermediary, as a watcher, and, I suspect, so that the Keepers did not ever have to behold my face again. Thus your proud race began, my dear. I have worked with twenty Charons since that time, some peacefully, and some . . . not so much. But I have dealt with all of them justly.”

Cacy swirled the Scotch in her glass as Moros sat down again. Had Moros veered from his sense of justice to have her father killed before his time? The list of those fated to die was generated by Moros’s ancient sisters, the Fates themselves, who were said to live in complete seclusion and isolation within the Veil. Cacy’s father had told her no one but Moros knew where they were. There were even stories that they didn’t exist, that Moros himself made the list and used the Fates as a cover for his own actions. That he alone decided which humans to doom and which to spare.

That had been why the Mark of the Ferry had been created, so Ferrys could operate without fear of reprisal from Moros and the Kere. It was forbidden for a Ker to kill a Ferry who was still in service—only the Charon himself could sentence a Ferry to death, and it hadn’t happened in over a century. Moros had been religious in upholding that part of the treaty, probably because the Keeper of Hell himself would hunt him down if he didn’t. No Ferry had ever been killed in the line of duty, though some had been roughed up by the Kere or permanently maimed by Shades. When Ferrys retired from duty and gave up the raven mark and their Scope, though, they became regular mortals again, as vulnerable to death—and the Kere—as the next person. But with as much of a chance at life, too. Or, at least, that was the way it was supposed to be.

“I guess I’m wondering if everyone’s still honoring the treaty. No one came to collect the commission on my father.”

Moros’s eyes glinted.

Cacy smiled innocently and dropped her bomb. “You were planning to meet with my father the night he died. You were negotiating about something.”

He gave her a small, cold smile. “What a clever little thing you are,” he said. “He never made it to our meeting. I never saw him that night. And if you’re wondering, no, I did not Mark him myself.”

Cacy’s eyes narrowed. “But you know who did?”

Moros stared back at her, then stood abruptly. “It has been lovely spending time with you, Cacia. Thank you for the drink.” He set his glass down on the desk.

Cacy stood as well. She wasn’t done yet. “What’s in Cambridge?”