Marked (27 page)

His heart hammering, his mind raging, Eli stepped forward, unable to stop his body from carrying him toward his new master.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

C
acy was awakened by the raw protests of her lungs and limbs, which hurt almost as much when they were healing as they had when they were first torn open. She was back in Eli’s bed, and the spent saline and plasma vials next to her pillow filled her with hope. Eli had been here. Had he stopped Rylan and Mandy?

Voices in the hallway drew her unsteadily to her feet. She winced at the strain on her barely closed wounds. She wrapped the sheet around her body and walked to the doorway in time to hear Mandy accuse Eli of attacking Rylan. Cacy had to get out there. Mandy’s accusation would mean one thing: Moros would have to execute Eli. Attacking any Ferry was a punishable offense. Attacking the Charon was an automatic death sentence.

“Mandy is the rogue,” Cacy said as she emerged from the bedroom, leaning heavily against the wall. Galena was crumpled in a nearby corner, and Aislin was next to her looking even paler than usual. Mandy was locked in Moros’s embrace at the end of the hallway. And Eli was a few feet away from Rylan but shuffling hesitantly toward the Lord of the Kere, as if he wanted to run in the other direction but couldn’t.

Mandy jerked in Moros’s arms like she was trying to escape into the Veil. “Be still,” Moros ordered, and she obeyed.

Cacy shifted her gaze back to Rylan. She had always looked up to her eldest brother, had always believed he was a good man, like their father had been. But the truth was that
he’d
hurt so many people.
He’d
killed
so many people. People she loved. And so, as much as she hated the words, as much as they hurt to say, she said, “And Rylan is a traitor.”

“She’s lying,” said Rylan. “She’s only interested in protecting her lover.”

“No, she’s right,” Aislin said, slowly walking over to her sister. She laid a cool hand on Cacy’s bare shoulder, then gave Moros her ice-princess stare. “Besides, Rylan is no longer the Charon.
I
am.”

She touched the ornate Scope at her throat. Cacy’s mouth dropped open.

Moros also seemed caught by surprise. “You—”

Rylan pointed at Aislin. “You can’t become the Charon by stealing what’s mine.”

Aislin’s eyes narrowed. “While you have been conspiring with this Ker,” she said as she gestured at Mandy, “I have secured the confidence of our board. Declan is also supporting me. Cacia?”

Cacy looked up at her remote, beautiful sister. She was just as ruthless as Cacy had always believed, but apparently in the service of what was right. What was
meant to be
. She nodded. “I’ll support you.”

Aislin inclined her head toward Cacy and glared at Rylan. “All that is left is Moros’s consent to officially recognize me as the Charon.”

She turned to the Lord of the Kere. “Rylan abused his power and neglected his responsibility. He and Mandy conspired to murder our father. They murdered our employees, Debra Galloway and Peter Lambeau, as well as our family friend and lawyer, Albert Knickles. They also murdered Eli, using one of our young cousins, Shauna Ferry, as their pawn. And after forcing her to commit this abominable act, Rylan executed her.” Aislin’s voice shook as she spoke of Shauna. Then it became flinty again. “Rylan is clearly unfit to be the Charon. Do you accept me as his replacement, Jason?”

Moros’s eyes flashed. “Well played, my dear. I have no objection.” He turned to Rylan. “By the way, I have been called to appear before the Keepers of the Afterlife to answer the charges you have brought against me. I’m looking forward to seeing you there.”

Rylan went pale. “We can work something out. I can rescind the charges.”

Moros laughed. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t miss this summit for anything in the world. I’m sure the Charon will
allow
you to attend.” He looked down at Mandy, and his face shifted into real sadness. “You’ve been bad, darling, but so clever. I never thought it possible that you would betray me.”

“I was misled,” whispered Mandy, shaking now. “He manipulated me.”

Moros
tsk
ed and clutched her tighter. “Ah, but there are limits to your cleverness. I am sorry it ever had to come to this.”

Before Mandy had a chance to struggle or scream, Moros laid his bare hand on her cheek. Mandy’s eyes went wide, and so did her mouth, opening and closing like that of a hooked fish. Her smooth skin cratered and turned ashen, aging decades in seconds. Her emaciated hands, lacquered red nails long and sharp, scrabbled at Moros’s arm, trying to get him to release his grip, but he held her tight, gazing at her with his burning red eyes.

A moment later, he let her go, and she crumpled. Blonde hair scattered across the floor as her skull hit the tile and shattered, the ashes of her incinerated brain swirling on the air. Rylan stared at her remains with a stone face. He showed no emotion at all.

Moros brushed his hands together, clapping the dust of Mandy off. “Eli, come here.”

Cacy threw herself between Eli and Moros, shoving Eli back as hard as she could. “Don’t touch him,” she shouted, digging in her heels and wrapping her arms around his waist as Eli pushed against her. “Aislin,
please
. Say something.”

It was the first time in years
she’d
asked her sister for anything, but she was desperate. Eli looked down at her as he took another step toward Moros. “I’m sorry, Cacy. I have to obey him.”

“Jason,” said Aislin quietly. “The Ferrys have no quarrel with Eli.”

Moros turned to look at Aislin over his shoulder. “Are you certain? By rights he should be punished for his assault on your esteemed brother.”

Aislin stepped carefully over Mandy’s ashes and bones. She pointed at Rylan. “I no longer consider him my brother,” she said in a sorrowful voice. “Not after he murdered our father.”

Rylan pulled his stolen Scope wide again. “I won’t stand here and listen to—”

Dec snatched the Scope from his older brother’s hand, then slammed his fist into Rylan’s face. “That’s for shooting me,” he muttered as Rylan sank to the floor.

Pale and drawn, Dec swayed in place. It looked like the events of the last hour had sucked the life out of him. His gaze traveled right past Cacy and landed on Galena, whose slender arms were wrapped around her knees.

Moros chuckled. “Ferrys, your family politics are astounding. Very well. Eli, come with me.”

Cacy’s grip on Eli tightened, but she couldn’t stop him from taking another step. “But—”

“I’ll be all right.” Eli’s arms went around Cacy. He drew his fingers along the slope of her collarbone, over a streak of dried blood.

Cacy glared at Moros. “I want him back.”

Moros smirked. “Such a fierce little thing. Your father would be proud.”

Right before Moros disappeared from sight, that smirk softened, and Cacy realized he had sincerely meant every word.

Eli kissed her forehead. “Get some rest, and . . .” He threw a glance at Galena.

“I’ll take care of her,” Cacy promised.

Eli squeezed her hand. “I love you, Cacia Ferry.”

He disappeared.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

E
li materialized in the hallway of his apartment, exhausted but relieved. After a brief meeting, Moros had released him. He must have known that Eli was desperate to get back to the two women he loved.

“She’s sleeping,” said a male voice from the living room. Dec was sitting on the couch, his tablet phone in his hand.

Eli moved quietly into the room to stand in front of the Chief. “Moros has assigned two of his personal guards to watch over her,” Eli told him. Protecting Galena now would be a few of the most intimidating-looking Kere that Eli had ever seen.

Eli was glad, because Galena wasn’t out of danger yet. She might never be. Not as long as she threatened the income of the Kere and the Ferrys. But Moros seemed determined to use his own guards to keep her safe, and Eli was now a part of that elite group. Eli had been told he would have more power to choose his own assignments as long as he consented to take care of personal business for Moros as well. It sounded like a fair trade.

Eli looked Dec over. The man had recovered from his wounds and changed his clothes, but he still looked thrashed. “You don’t have to be here, Chief.”

“Call me Dec,” the Chief said wearily, setting his tablet on the couch and rubbing a hand over his face. “I had a friend of mine—Dr. Romero—make a house call to evaluate Galena. Rylan didn’t hurt her.” He winced. “Not physically, at least.”

Eli’s chest ached as he glanced over his shoulder at Galena’s closed door. “Today probably brought everything from her past to the surface again.”

Eli turned back to find Dec’s ice-blue eyes steady on him. “She was barely responsive,” Dec said quietly. “Dr. Romero gave her a light sedative, just so she could sleep.” He sighed. “I don’t know much about what happened to you guys, but she was so scared. I-I didn’t feel good, leaving her alone. Though I’m not sure she even knew I was here.”

Eli wondered if he was imagining the sadness in Dec’s eyes. “She’ll need time,” Eli blurted out, not completely sure why
he’d
said it.

The Chief didn’t look away. “Would you like to know the last thing my father ever said to me?” When Eli didn’t respond, Dec continued. “He said, ‘Protect her, and you protect the future.’ ”

“And you think he was talking about Galena?”

Dec picked up his tablet and got to his feet. “I had no idea what he was talking about until I heard Galena speak at the fund-raiser. But after that, I had no doubt.”

Eli stared at the Chief. He didn’t trust easily, but Dec had saved Galena earlier, nearly dying in the process. “She’s guarded by Kere,” Eli said, “but . . . I don’t want her to be alone if she wakes up.”

The corner of Dec’s mouth twitched. “And you want to go to Cacy.”

Eli bowed his head. Now that he knew his sister was safe, he didn’t just
want
to go to Cacy, he needed it.

“I could stay for a while,” offered Dec. “You guys are scheduled to work tonight. If you want to see my sister before your shift, you’d better get going.”

Their eyes met, and Eli had the sense there was a lot more to be said between them but that now wasn’t the time. “Thanks. I’ll see you later. If she wakes up—”

“I’ll call you immediately.”

“I’m grateful.” Eli closed his eyes and thought of Cacy. He appeared in her bedroom and inhaled deeply, drawing in her spicy scent.

The sound of the shower drew his attention. A strip of warm yellow light glowed from beneath the closed door of Cacy’s bathroom. Eli’s groin stiffened as he imagined her in the spray of the hot water, covered in soapy lather, her hands sliding—

Cacy shrieked, her feet slipping out from under her as Eli appeared behind her. He caught her around the waist, spluttering as the hot spray hit his face. “Eli?” She was already laughing.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry about that.” He looked down at his soaked clothes. “I’ve got to learn to control myself.”

Her hands were tugging off his shirt, and he raised his arms to accommodate her. It landed with a wet slap on the floor of the stall.

“I take it you don’t mind?” he asked.

She kissed his chest and nipped the tight nub of his nipple, drawing a deep groan from him. “Are you kidding?” She raised her head and pulled his mouth to hers, kissing him fiercely, letting him know
she’d
been worried sick but was trying to cover it. She stood on her tiptoes to press her forehead to his. “You’re
here
,” she whispered, the smile on her face piercingly beautiful.

He wrapped his arms around her slick body and relished the feel of her breasts pressed against him. That increasingly familiar feeling—the one
he’d
only known since meeting Cacy—rose within him.
Happiness
. It rolled through his chest where his soulless heart beat, washed over the past
he’d
tried to keep hidden, and filled his mind with hopes of a future spent protecting and loving her.

“Oh, yes,” he said as he leaned in to kiss her again. “I’m here.”

EPILOGUE

J
ason Moros allowed himself one last look at the city. The view from this penthouse had long been one of his favorites. Boston spread out before him in all its messy, unseemly glory—and the Psychopomps skyscraper was only a block away, its sleek facade kissed by the mist that rose off the canals. He stared at it, wishing that the simple act of staring could give him the answers he so desperately needed now. But nothing could, it seemed. In fact, with every day that passed, he appeared to be losing his grasp, even on things
he’d
thought he understood.

His fingers slid over the engraved metal case in his pocket. The surface was warm to the touch, heated by the human soul trapped inside. A small, bitter smile crept onto his face. His newest Ker was complicated to say the least. Inextricably tied by the heart to a Ferry, of all creatures. The choice to change Eli had been an impulsive one, but for now, their interests were aligned.

Moros closed his eyes. A visit to his sisters was long overdue, and perhaps they could help him puzzle out how one of his Kere had operated without his direction and knowledge. He shed the warmth of the physical world and entered the Veil. This world between worlds was his true home, his birthplace. He bowed his head and allowed the faint rustling whispers to tug him along.

“We were wondering when you’d show up.”

Moros opened his eyes. He was in a vast space made of polished travertine. Atropos stood in front of him, a sickle in her hand, the curved blade ending in a razor-sharp point. Her heels were almost as sharp, and her simple black dress fit her like a second skin. Like his other sisters, she looked no older than
midtwenties
, but she was as ancient as Moros. Her thick black hair was held away from her face by golden bands, and her brown eyes were brimming with accusation.

“I’ve been a bit busy,” he said, offering her an embrace.

She sniffed and turned her back. “As if we’re not busy all the time.”

“And have you been busier than usual, darling sister?”

She looked over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed. “What are you implying?”

“Nothing at all.” He looked up at the massive gossamer tapestry a few feet above their heads, lit by the stars above. Though it looked like a jumbled, holey, chaotic mess, each stitch had been planned. Some bits of it sparkled or glowed while others had become dead and gray. Atropos reached up and sliced away one such thread, and Moros felt it in his gut, the prick of another soul to reap. Usually the feeling was fainter than a prickle of static, a sensation
he’d
long since learned to ignore, but whenever he was near Atropos, it stabbed him a little deeper. A face and a name flashed in his head, and he pushed that knowledge outward, into the Veil.

Somewhere, a Ker was feeling the call of death.

“I came for help, not to argue,” he said, weariness seeping into his voice. “I’ve been called before the Keepers, and though I did not sanction a single unauthorized Marking, they’ll still want an explanation from me. It could affect us all.”

“But mostly you,” Atropos said, whirling the dull gray thread between her fingers. “Come. Clotho and Lachesis have missed you far more than I.”

They walked beneath the shimmering fabric, which flexed and rippled like a living thing. Beyond the bounds of the tapestry were the lush apartments where each of the siblings, including Moros, kept their private sanctuaries, but straight ahead was the massive loom, the divine machine that churned out the endless fabric of life.

On the other side of the almost-transparent cloth, a shadow bobbed along. Moros and Atropos made their way around the loom to greet its owner. Lachesis paced toward them, her steps precise, her back rod-straight, her blonde hair cut so close to her head that from a distance she looked bald. She had on a skirt-suit that reminded Moros of something Aislin Ferry might wear, so prim and proper, and it made him smile in spite of himself. Lachesis clutched a measuring stick tightly in her grip, as always, and her brows were drawn together. But when she saw her brother, her face split into a grin that made her blue eyes sparkle. She closed the distance between them quickly and dove into his arms. “I’ve been thinking about you,” she said, pressing her cheek to his.

He released her reluctantly. She and Clotho were the only two beings in the universe who would touch him willingly. The weight of it, the warmth . . . Moros looked away as loneliness sank its teeth deep. He forced a smile onto his face. “I’ve been thinking about you, too.”

He’d
opened his mouth to say more when Clotho stepped out the front door of her apartment, her loose, flowing gown fluttering around her ankles. She was still twisting her brown hair into a knot at the back of her head, preparing to sit at her wheel and spin out the thread of each soul’s life.

“Brother!” she called out happily. “I thought you might have abandoned us.”

“It’s not affection that drives him to visit,” muttered Atropos.

Lachesis tapped her sister on the arm with her measuring stick. “Don’t be rude. We’re all trying to figure out what made it possible for the Ker to go rogue. Our brother’s got to face it out
there
, so why wouldn’t he be concerned?”

Atropos brandished her sickle. “Then help him figure it out,” she snapped. “I have work to do.” She gave Moros one last searing look and stalked away, her heels clicking on the stone tiles.

Clotho
tsk
ed and enveloped Moros in a hug. He stroked her face, treasuring the comfort of her soft skin against the backs of his fingers.

“Remember the knot of uncertainty we discussed?” he asked. “I know the thread you weave sometimes contains them, but this one . . .”

Clotho bit her lip. “The soldier? The one in Pittsburgh?” She smiled when he nodded. “You let him live.”

Lachesis nodded knowingly. “Much to Atropos’s disgust.
She’d
sliced away his thread, and I had to weave it back onto its new path.”

Moros removed the case from his pocket. “He’s mine now.”

Lachesis pulled a shimmering thread from the pocket of her suit. “This is his. Atropos claimed it had turned gray. She sliced it from the fabric.”

Moros watched the gossamer thread sway as it dangled from Lachesis’s grip. That was Eli’s life. It had been entwined with so many others, but now it had been pulled from the tapestry, along with Moros’s knowledge of what was meant to be. “He wasn’t supposed to die, and you know it.
She
knew it, too.”

Clotho frowned. “Atropos only makes the cut. She doesn’t decide who lives or who dies.” Her eyes strayed along the path where their sister had stormed away. “It’s part of what makes her so angry.”

“And might she have taken matters into her own hands a time or two?” Moros whispered. “Something is happening. I don’t know what, but—”

“That something is
you
, unable to control your own monsters!” Atropos peeked around the edge of the loom, her face a mask of fury. “You’re just here to find someone to blame. Create order in your own house before you lay this at my doorstep.” She waved her sickle at them and disappeared.

A second later, Moros felt another stab, this one like a knife twisting behind his rib cage. Another face, another name, another Ker sent into action.

Lachesis stroked his arm. “We don’t know any more than you do,” she said quietly. “The strands keep falling away, slipping loose of the tapestry all around the thread that belongs to Galena Margolis.” She gestured at a silvery strand that wound its way along, entwining with a few Moros knew quite well. But along its path in the near future, in the fabric that had emerged from the loom and hung heavy over the floor, jagged holes had begun to grow where the tapestry had once been tightly woven. The shimmering thread looked so vulnerable, so easy to slice away.

Lachesis’s eyes shone with tears. “I’m doing my best, Jason. I monitor every knot, every joining, every stitch I make, but I can’t stop it. Someone is acting outside our authority.”

Clotho put her arm around her sister, but her dark gaze was on Moros. “Right now it’s just a few threads, but if it gets worse . . .”

The entire tapestry might unravel. Especially considering how many threads of life Galena’s was destined to intersect. Not just some of them. Virtually
all
of them. As brilliant as she was, the woman had no idea of the power of her discoveries—not just what
she’d
already done, but what she was meant to do in the future. And as tempting as it had been to wipe her from the Earth, as much as an enemy of death as she was, Moros had realized
he’d
be signing his own execution order if he hurt her.
He’d
made his vow to the Keepers as part of the treaty—he would not divert from the path of fate, nor would his Kere. And although he knew that a few unsanctioned Markings here or there could go unnoticed, the same was not true if Galena were Marked. If her thread was cut away, it was possible the fabric of life would fall apart completely. No more order, no more fate. Instead, randomness.

Atropos had been right; the Keepers would come after him first. Their hatred of him was miles deep and millennia old. That didn’t mean his sisters weren’t in danger, though.

He shook himself out of his reverie. “Who could be doing this?” he asked. “Have you seen any of the others?”

Lachesis and Clotho shook their heads. Most of their siblings had long since faded from memory to myth, allowing themselves to bleed into abstraction. Humans were so good at causing strife they no longer needed Eris to do it for them. They were too riddled with envy to require anything more from Nemesis, and so full of lies they did not require Apate’s lessons of deceit. But could these siblings still be skulking in the Veil? They would be unaffected if the fabric of fate and destiny disintegrated. In fact, they might enjoy it. Could one of them be the cause of these problems?

Because Moros didn’t believe for a minute that it started and ended with Rylan and Mandy.

“Where would we have seen them? You know we never leave our domain—and we rarely have visitors,” Clotho said, tucking a stray brown lock behind her ear. “Have you checked your trunk? Are all the souls of your Kere present and accounted for?”

Lachesis tapped the case in his hand. “Aren’t they the ones causing the problems? Money is nothing to us, nothing to our siblings, but for your death-bringers, it matters quite a lot.”

His sisters’ voices had been gentle, but their doubt made his teeth clench. Everyone believed he and his Kere were evil. The Keepers had always looked on them with contempt. Hearing that his sisters believed the same was too much. He took a step away from them, certain his anger was making his eyes glow with ruby fire. His hands fisted over his clawed fingertips. The frustration made him want to tear the cloth from the loom and toss it onto a fire, heedless to the consequences.

“I’ll be in my apartment,” he said quickly, then strode toward the building that rose up from the vast island of travertine tile. He strode into his sanctuary, the home that held his favorite possessions, mostly gifts and mementos from true friends and comrades long since dead. A soft sofa sat in the corner, a book lying pages-down on one of the cushions. And along the back wall, the trunk that contained every single soul
he’d
ever taken.

Minus the ones
he’d
destroyed, of course.

Still holding the case containing Eli’s soul, Moros pulled his key from his pocket and slid it into the heavy lock. He opened the trunk and peered inside. The souls oozed along like translucent multicolored serpents, each one unique. Trevor’s was a pale green shot through with shimmering threads of blue. Luke’s was a deep, bloody crimson spotted with black.

Mandy’s lay still at the bottom of the trunk. It was yellow, glinting with pinprick dots of indigo. Moros had always found it far more exquisite than the woman herself, and perhaps he had been deceived by that beauty. Somehow, Mandy had Marked soul after soul without his knowledge. He hadn’t felt it at all. Could she have done that of her own free will? He hadn’t thought it possible.

But if it were, it meant the Kere could rebel. It meant he wasn’t in control. And if that were true, and if the Keepers of the Afterlife realized it, Moros knew that the deepest pit of Hell awaited him. He reached into the trunk, and the souls wriggled away from the intrusion. He grabbed the limp soul of Mandy, and it turned to dust in his grasp, just as her body had.

Then he opened the case. Eli’s soul nestled inside, sapphire blue. No spots. No streaks. Just vibrant, solid color. He gently lifted the soul from the case and placed it inside the trunk, where it slithered along like the rest, testing the boundaries of its new forever home. He stared down at the animated pieces of all the Kere at his command. He had chosen each and every one of them, and it didn’t matter that there were several thousand in the trunk—Moros knew they were all accounted for.

So either the rogue element was within his very ranks, or one of his siblings was acting outside the bounds of fate, which Moros and his three sisters served as a matter of survival. The rage roiled inside him, millennia of slavery winding their way through his unforgiving memory. He had come so far. Enough to taste a certain kind of freedom. Not pure, but delicious nonetheless. And now everything
he’d
fought for was threatened.

He leaned over the trunk. “Behave,” he growled. As if they sensed his presence, his voice, the writhing souls went still, some of them trembling slightly. He smiled, running his tongue along his fangs.

The Lord of the Kere closed the trunk and willed himself out of the Veil.