Seduced by Shadows (38 page)

“Let’s get you something warm to drink.”

She waited while he made tea, then turned to go out to the greenhouse. “You coming?”

Their night in the garden flashed before his eyes. He’d brought them here because this place had always been his refuge. Jonah might’ve been right about the losing-his-mind part.

As for Ecco’s theory . . . The talya’s crude comparison of offing demons to sleeping with Sera struck him as wrong. Not just borderline sacrilegious, but missing some vital aspect. Rather than trying to think it through, he followed her.

She took one of the wandering paths. He waited until the tension across her shoulders eased before he spoke. “I’d shackle you again to protect you.”

“I know you’re old-fashioned—really old—but that’s not your call.”

He tightened his hands around the teacup. “What was I supposed to do? Until I destroy Corvus—”

“You can talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

He noticed distracting her wasn’t on the list. Too bad. “Even Bookie thought the baited-trap idea was bad.”

She frowned. “Did you see him today? He didn’t answer my e-mail. But Liam seemed to think my idea had merit.”

Archer didn’t want to discuss how the meeting had gone down. He certainly wasn’t going to correct her mistaken notion that everyone else was against her self-destruction
too. “I just need a little more time before you sacrifice yourself.”

She trailed her fingers across the leaves. The hazy light leached the color from her eyes so they gleamed as silver as when they’d made love under the showering water. “And I just want what’s happened to me to
matter
, to know it isn’t all pointless.”

“Oh, it matters,” he murmured.

“Before, you didn’t think anything mattered.”

He turned his face to the sky—so he didn’t have to meet that probing stare. “Maybe you’ve changed things for me.”

Like the fact he would never be allowed to return to the league.

Attacking another talya, it happened. Angry, hurting men with superhuman powers sometimes got cranky. As long as no one died, no harm, no foul. And they were hard to kill.

But to betray the purpose of the league, the mission of the teshuva to seek redemption . . . A demon not repenting was a djinni, its possessed just another djinn-man to be hunted into a better-late-than-never grave.

And all because he couldn’t forget the feel of her beneath him, beside him; couldn’t forget, again, how to feel.

He slugged back the rest of his tea. “Warm?”

She nodded, a faint frown creasing her brow.

“Good.” He didn’t want to guess whether the heat in his own skin was the memory of hers or the unholy promise of hellfire to come.

“You have changed,” she said. “The demon rides you hard. Ever since Zane’s death.”

He stiffened. “Of course, I’m keeping the teshuva on simmer. In case you forgot, we’re under siege.”

“You’ve always been under attack. Something else is wrong.”

A hint of violet played at the corners of her eyes. He
knew she was calling on other-realm senses to monitor his response. The demon might not confer mind-reading powers, but the constriction of pupils, the dilation of blood vessels, the tinge of nervous sweat, could be every bit as damning.

She studied him. “You told me once you had no brothers. But all the talyan are your brothers now.” She took a breath. “Zane’s body might be dust already, but you don’t have to forget him. You’re still allowed to mourn.”

“I don’t have time to mourn.” Honest enough, although maybe he should convince her he needed time alone—with her—to work through Zane’s death. Maybe a couple weeks immersed in her welcoming body, how had she put it?—affirming life.

But she shook her head. “It’s not about time. You said you wanted me to help you feel.”

So much for distracting her with his needs. “I know what loss feels like,” he snapped. “I learned a long time ago.”

“The war . . .”

He glowered. He was supposed to be playing the wing-wounded bird, leading the hunter astray. So why did the ache seem real? “War is all about loss. What happened to Zane was a terrible reminder, but it’s nothing I’ve ever forgotten.”

“What have you tried to forget?” Her words, soft but relentless, stalked him. “What did you lose—or whom—that made you afraid to ever lose again? The farm? Your father?”

“Frederick.” The answer burst out against his will, startled like the bird into flight, never mind what was revealed to the hunter.

Sera was silent.

“A friend. A boyhood friend.” He raised his head to glare at her. “A house slave boy my age. For a few summers, we had a secret fort in the lowlands. Sometimes he
did my lessons on the sly while I ran wild. All I had to do in return was chop wood for him.”

The swirl of green, brown, and violet in her gaze reminded him not so much of bright honeysuckle now as an orchid deep in the labyrinthine swamps he and Frederick had explored, rot turned to exotic flowers in the gloom.

“My father found out Frederick’s mother had taught him to read. He sold them in town, since what point having field hands who could read, and sent me away to school up North, since what good was an heir who chopped wood.” He clamped his teeth closed on the urge to tell her how, even then, his father had rubbed at the pains in his chest when working the cotton, and how rumors of war bubbled like foul swamp gases from the white fields. “When I returned, the bayou had been drained to make way for more crops. And I found out Frederick had tried to run. He was caught about twenty miles from my school and taken back. Somewhere along the way, they beat him to death.”

He fell silent, and the violet in her eyes faded. “That’s why you hold yourself apart from the other talyan? As penance? But you weren’t responsible for Frederick’s running, or his death.”

He raked her with a scathing glance. “I know that.”

“If you won’t risk the pain of losing, you’ll never know the joy of holding, either.”

“I know that too. But it’s not just me at risk.”

They faced each other, the whisper of leaves overhead like a watchful crowd taking bets.

Whose wound bled more freely? Was this the twisted trail that had led them to each other across two realms, human and demon? But what hope had they of healing each other, the woman who’d been abandoned and the man with a penchant for losing everything?

She dropped her gaze first, and he knew he should
feel like crowing with victory. Instead, he felt as if he’d lost—again.

Her voice was softer yet in defeat. “So how long are we hiding out?”

Corvus was going on two thousand years old. How much longer could he last? “Just a few days.”

By then, she’d be suspicious. And he’d need to find a safer place for her while he hunted Corvus. He’d never mentioned the greenhouse to the others, but he hadn’t hid the place either. Bookie could uncover his financial tracks easily enough. Good thing Bookie was on his side, at least as far as the Sera-baited trap went.

“A few days.” She walked on, leaving him a few steps behind. “Do you serve umbrella drinks out of that kitchen? I always wanted to take a tropical paradise vacation.” The meandering path brought them to the center of the garden. She lifted her head to stare at the daybed. “What will we do to fill the time?” She glanced over her shoulder at him.

He felt the dull heat in his face and tried to keep his voice level. “I have to run out.” Run away. “You’ll be hungry later, and green tea won’t hold us forever.”

“Forever?”

“A few days,” he amended. “I won’t be gone long. Will you stay here and wait for me?”

She looked at him.

This time he let the strain come through in his voice. “Please?”

Finally, she nodded. “I’ll stay.”

The crow shrilled, a high, thin shriek, and threw itself against the bars of the cage.

“Be still,” Corvus growled, and reached for it again.

Just one stinking feather was all he needed. If he could look at the subtle shades up close, he might finally capture the spirit of the creature. This would be his last chance.

The phone rang. The crow flapped into the peaked point of the cage. With a vicious curse, Corvus slammed the cage away, rocking it on its stand.

He grabbed the phone. “What?”

“I set it up.”

The Worm. Corvus closed his eyes, calming his breath. “When? Where?”

“Actually, she contacted me. She had some questions about her demon. I told her to meet me tomorrow night at the lab.” There was a hesitation on the other end of the line. “She hasn’t responded yet.”

“She’ll come.” Corvus paced the edges of the room. “You’re the league’s Bookkeeper. Of course, you’ll have her answers for her.”

Frustration leaked out in his voice, but he didn’t bother to hide it. The Bookworm would suffer any indignity gladly in pursuit of his very own demon.

“I’ve found something else you should know.” The Bookworm’s voice shifted, a note of sly satisfaction hardening his tone.

“Oh?” A warning rang in Corvus’s head. With a city between them, had his Worm grown a spine?

“The wound in the Veil where Sera’s demon crossed is still raw.” The Worm paused. “Because of an unusual side effect when she is the presence of her talya lover.”

Corvus stilled. “Her lover.”

“Ferris Archer. The djinn may not think much of the teshuva, but this one talya alone has destroyed a legion of your lesser brethren. Through Sera’s link, the two of them have forced tenebrae back across the Veil.”

The stillness in Corvus turned to ice. “How can that be?”

“Demons come out. Why shouldn’t the reverse be true?”

“Because . . .” Words failed Corvus.

The Worm huffed out an impatient breath. “I’ve explained before. The Veil is nothing more than an energy
barrier. A meta-seraphic barrier fueled by the suffering of bound souls, true, but still merely energy itself in the end. To be harnessed by those with the knowledge and the proper tools.” Even distance couldn’t conceal his sneer. “That power isn’t constrained by the convoluted mythology that binds you.”

Corvus tightened his grip on the phone. “You said the solvo blanks would draw a djinn. But the demon was teshuva. You said the female talya would be unbalanced. Instead, this talyan pair could be a hindrance.” Could they even be a threat? Impossible. Nothing had ever stood against his demon. “You swore through your studies you had found a way to finally part the Veil.”

“And I have,” the Worm snapped. “With the solvo blanks, I set up a potent, dark resonance. Those soul-emptied husks of undead damned should have attracted an answering darkness that would leave a breach we could exploit. Sera’s analogous penance trigger made her the demon’s target, but her lifelong refusal to yield to death and damnation twisted the resonance back on itself. The mirror of the other-realms coughed up exactly what we sought: a way through the Veil. I just didn’t realize the reflection would be so . . . bright.”

“And what other reflections have you missed, Bookkeeper?”

The Worm was silent a moment. “It won’t matter. Archer and Sera don’t grasp what they have between them. Most of the time, they’re fighting against it and each other. Besides, they are only two people. Just keep them apart. Once we tap the Veil and cull the energy we need, two talyan—hell, all the leagues in the world—won’t matter in the end.”

Corvus pictured the peacock-bright hues of the bruised Veil torn asunder—not at all the businesslike venture the Worm envisioned, he knew. He closed his eyes against the rising acid sting. “True. Hell won’t matter
in the end.” Birnenston leaked under his lashes, burning on his cheeks.

“I’ve done my part. You can’t cut me out now.” The Bookworm’s voice rose eagerly. “How do I prepare for the demon?”

Corvus realized he’d left the door on the cage open. He turned. The crow was still inside, too frightened to fly out.

Weren’t they all?

When he spoke, his tone was soft at last. “Stop here on your way to the meeting with Sera Littlejohn. I will make you ready for your reward.”

Archer’s agitation grew with every minute gone. Would she wait?

He couldn’t go back to his loft. Niall had staked out the place. Archer had almost stumbled on Valjean before he sensed the other talya. If Valjean was tracking him instead of Corvus, Niall must have decided his best bet to find the djinn-man was using Sera.

With an urgency thrumming in his blood, the chill of coming night energized him. He shook his head. Feeling lighthearted just because he was on the lam? How sad was that? Although he supposed ditching garbageman duty was a plus to becoming an unrepentant demon.

At the greenhouse door, Sera met him with the point of a five-foot bamboo stake.

He reared back, hefting one of the plastic bags. “I brought Thai food. I see you have the skewers.”

“I wasn’t sure it was you.” She eased her grip. “In the past few seconds, I managed to invent a lot of monsters fumbling around out there.”

“My hands were full.” He edged past her. “Re-arm the door. Code’s SOLO-2-10.”

In the garden’s heart, he laid out a little feast. Sera filled two plates, wafting the aroma of peanut sauce and limes. “Starving,” she mumbled around her first mouthful.

“I didn’t mean to take so long.” He started to explain, then stopped himself, cursing the sense of partnership that almost made him slip. She didn’t need to know they were being hunted by both sides now. “Lots to do.”

“I’ve been thinking, since
I’ve
had nothing else to do.” She gave him a flat look, then continued. “I want to try a few experiments with the pendant stone, the
desolator
—”

“
Numinis
. ‘That which makes the gods lonely.’ ” He pushed his plate away, his stomach tightening. Great, the one time she was willing to stay home and indulge her academic side. No Bunsen burners for her, no nitro or C-4. Oh no, she wanted to play with hellfire.