Sin Eater (21 page)

He had to calm his breathing before he started freaking everyone out around him. He wiped his forehead, but he actually wasn’t sweating. It was just his heart was racing. He tried to tell it to mellow out.

“Here you go, honey,” a plate of food appeared before him. The sight of the sandwich with gravy on a plate with fries made his stomach roll.

Keep it together, Charlie
. That was his own voice. He had his own voice … in his head for the first time in … who knew? He couldn’t remember the last time he heard his own voice.

He smiled up at the waitress. “Thank you,” he said, maybe sounding a trifle strained. The waitress just smiled back. He must have pulled off the “normal” act after all. She walked away, and he looked back down at his dinner.

It smells good. Just eat it. Enjoy. Who knows how long this will last?

His own voice. As he picked up his knife and fork he almost wept.

Claudia escorted the coroner’s van to the hospital, then watched as the body was checked
into the morgue. She kept an eye on the process of paperwork being signed over, and she was diligent about following procedure with this case. The chain of custody for any evidence,
especially
a body, had to be set in stone with no margin for error.

But maybe she wasn’t the best choice to do it. Her head wasn’t in it, she couldn’t concentrate. She just wanted to go home. Of all the nights to have a fling, last night – and that morning, come to think of it - was one example of where she should have gotten a good twelve hours’ sleep.

God, it seemed like ages ago already that Damien had left her doorway. But in reality, only about … seven? Eight hours had passed?

She rubbed her eyes and took a seat on a hallway bench. She was going to leave in a moment … she seriously was. But first … she had to sit. The hospital was so quiet right then. Soft beeping could be heard down the hallways. Everyone’s shoes were quiet. People whispered here at night.

Yep, maybe she should just stretch out and take a nap. It would almost be a public service if she was a bit better-rested before heading back out.

“Claudia, right?”

She sat up straight and wanted to groan at the intrusion into her privacy, then realized it was Iola’s doctor sinking down to sit next to her. He offered her a piece of gum wordlessly.

“No thanks,” she said, trying to be nice.

“So you brought in the body, hey?”

She frowned. “You’ve already heard about that?”

He nodded as he started off on a new piece of Dentyne. It was the tooth-whitening kind. “Word gets around. Were you the one that found her?”

Claudia just nodded, not trusting her voice.

“Oh man. I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what you must see in your line of work.”

That struck her a bit funny, coming from a doctor. Because she sure wouldn’t want to see the fat guy that sprung a hernia or deliver babies or do anything that reminded her how
gross
the human body was. She just dealt with how gross the human
mind
could be.

“You clean up a lot of what we see,” she reminded him, and he smiled.

“Yeah, I guess we do.”

Claudia watched him flip through a chart on the clipboard he held, his eyes shrewd as he read all the doctor-speak that was undoubtedly scrawled on it. She could tell he was smart. Iola was right. Sometimes you can tell just by looking.

“So … you like my neighbour then?” She said casually, getting his attention again.

He smiled at her, like a damn cherub. “I do, very much. She’s something special.”

Claudia nodded to show her approval. “Yeah, she is. I’ve known her a long time. She’s one of the kindest people I’ve met.”

“I can sense that from her.”

“It’s real. And I can also tell you like her plenty. And … I can tell that it’s genuine. I know it’s only a couple of dates, but … well, if you hurt her … I’ll make your life a living hell.”

He didn’t laugh. She wondered if she might have spooked him, then he said in all seriousness, “Hurting Iola is the last thing I would ever want to do.”

Claudia nodded and offered her hand. “That’s the right answer.”

Voro got to Claudia’s apartment door and rapped on it lightly. There were no sounds coming from inside, so he had to assume she wasn’t home from work yet.

He felt like such an ass, showing up here to beg a nights’ accommodation. But he didn’t want to be alone, as ridiculous as it sounded. He leaned against the wall of the hallway, and wondered, possibly for the first time in a century, what the hell his purpose really was.

H
e recalled back in the day when people had actually
believed
in sin eating. When they would pay a homeless beggar to eat a piece of bread off a dead man’s chest and carry his sins off with him to the next town.

Voro had seen it done many times. Hell, he’d even done it himself as an easier way to get a little money. But he’d only taken the money of the wealthy, and odds were always good that at the wealthiest of funerals he’d run
into a few people that were just as authentically cursed as he was.

He remembered one particular time when he’d ridden
into town on a huge, black beast of a horse, taken the best room at the inn, and set up shop on the porch of the inn with a sign that read, “Sins Eaten for Tuppence.”

He laughed at the memory of his own damn arrogance. But they had come. He’d taken them all to the privacy of his room, removed their
sins
and within three hours he’d paid for his one-week stay at the inn. He’d actually even managed to consume some real sins in that town, too. Mothers had brought their sons that they caught touching themselves … or other boys. Fathers brought daughters that had found themselves in the family way without being married. Adulterers, barroom brawlers, they’d all been desperate to be saved.

And some of the women had just been desperate to be alone with him. He’d had to accommodate, of course.

One man had also come along, achingly poor; if he’d been penniless it would have been an improvement. And he was terrified. Voro could see the madness in his eyes, he was scared of things that he knew couldn’t be real, and yet they
were
real to him. He told Voro pitifully that he’d been sin eating for years … taking the money and the free meal offered and standing in as the vessel to carry off the sins of the dearly departed. But now that he’d done it for years … he was scared he was actually becoming one of the sinners.

Voro had frowned at the phrasing. At that time, everyone believed that they were unclean by their very existence. But the way the man talked of
the sinners
… he saw them as Voro did, but Voro could tell this man was not one of the same ilk as he was. The longer they talked the more Voro realized the man was more than human.

Sure, he was crazy. His mental illness made it hard for Voro to get a lock on whether or not the accounts he remembered had happened to him, someone else, or even if they’d happened at all. But when Voro touched him … it was like getting a bolt of evil lightning, shot right
into his heart. No one specific act or memory, just darkness and evil and malice.

The man was sopping up evil like he was cheesecloth. He was finding real sinners and taking their sins, and who knew how he was doing it but he was. He likely wasn’t even aware of it; after all, how many times did beggars pull on your arm or take your hand to get your attention?

Essum’s little care-and-share earlier that day came back to him. That old man could have easily been a
frustro
at one time, who killed a Sin Eater’s
decipio
and was cursed to carry out the task for the Sin Eater as long as the Sin Eater was mortal.

I give easement and rest
to thee, dear man. Come not down the lanes or in our meadows. And for thy peace I pawn my own soul. Amen.

He smiled as he recalled the old incantation that the f
alse sin eaters had used. Good
Lord, the thing sounded like someone had just made it up from a desperate need to eat. But people were so dreadfully superstitious when it came to death, even after the church started throwing people in jail for posing as sin eaters. Not because it was sacrilegious, but because it took away the power of salvation from the church itself. Only the church decided who could get into heaven and who couldn’t. Like a building of brick and mortar and men dressed in cloaks could sway the powers that controlled good and evil.

Voro sighed and rubbed his temples. He’d been doing this for a very long time. He was starting to feel like maybe some human filth was sticking to his insides after all.

The door across the hall opened, and he straightened up, knowing he probably looked guilty as hell, creeping around outside the apartment of a single woman. But the second those green eyes fell on him, he was spellbound.

“Damien?” Iola asked, yawning. “I thought maybe Claudia was coming home. What … what are you doing out here?”

He looked down at his hands, not trusting himself to look her in the eye again. “I am quite embarrassed, actually. I feel terrible about this. And I hate to ask Claudia for this, but … I need a place to stay tonight. I had nowhere else to go.” When he looked back at her, her eyes were harsh as she assessed whether or not he was telling the truth. At least, that’s what he had
assumed
she was thinking. Not knowing for sure was really throwing him for a loop.

“She should be back within the hour. I guess … I guess you could wait with me if you want. I never go to sleep until she’s home anyway.”

“I would hate to intrude.”

“Please,” she said, pushing her door open further and motioning him in with the other hand. “Share a cup of tea with me.”

His heart sped up three-fold, but he smiled in what he hoped was a friendly, non-threatening manner. “I would love a cup of tea.”

Iola’s heart jumped up to her throat. The way his accent made the word
love
sound was ridiculously sexy. His voice caressed that word. Made it shine like silver. Would it be weird if she asked him to just say it a few more times?

She turne
d from the door and held it for him. He allowed it to shut on its own accord behind him. Voro followed her into her small kitchen at a proper distance, and she felt naked as he examined her things. When Vinnie had done that the night of their first date she’d been proud to have him look at her furnishings. With Damien … she didn’t know what he was thinking of her. Her
stuff,
that is. Not knowing was sort of … exciting.

She poured water
into her kettle then put it on an element, flicking it on. Damien stood in the centre of the kitchen, a vantage point where one could see all corners of her private little world. Other than the bedroom, of course.

“Your home is lovely,” he said easily, his unusual eyes returning to hers eventually.

“Thank you,” she responded properly, wondering why he spoke so formally.

“How long have you lived here?”

“Two years, a bit longer.”

“And Claudia lived here already at that time?”

“Yeah, I think she’d been here about four months when I moved in.”

“She has such great affection for you.”

Iola frowned. “Well, I count her as a true friend. Probably the only real friend I have.” She stepped forward, turning on a light switch that made the table lamp next to the sofa come to life. “Please, have a seat. I was just reading, not really doing anything important.” She covered up a paperback with a newspaper, tossing them both on to the coffee table. God, she hoped he hadn’t seen the cover of the book, with the six-pack underwear model carrying a woman in a long blue gown up a ridiculous staircase.

“So you always wait up for Claudia when she works nights?”

“Usually. I just … I feel safer knowing she’s across the hall. She’s tough as nails, and she’s armed usually, too. So … yeah, I can’t really get to sleep unless I know she’s over there.”

“I think she’s happy to have such an alert neighbour as well,” he said thoughtfully, his eyes skipping over her bookcase where her stereo sat. “Claudia mentioned you work at a radio station?”

“Yeah, I work a late night shift at KLCD, it’s Late Night with Iola Day. Kind of a play on words, what with my last name and all.”
God, Iola … shut
up
.

He nodded, a small smile on those tasty lips. They were unusually full for a man. She can’t say she’d ever noticed before if a man had really substantial, sensual lips. When she realized she was staring she looked elsewhere, feeling her cheeks colour.

The pause was remarkably uncomfortable, so she continued to stammer on. “I’d usually be at work right now, actually. Mondays and Tuesdays are my nights off. I work weekends. Claudia’s schedule is more scattered than mine. And tonight … well, she might be a bit later than usual.” Damien raised his jet-black eyebrows in curiosity. “She called me earlier, she’s having a bad night. They uh, found a woman murdered in her home. Well, Claudia found her herself. So … she was really upset when she called.”

Damien’s face lost its smile. “That’s terrible news. How unfortunate.”

“Kind of gets to me to hear about a woman living alone, being killed in her own house. I mean, that’s how I live, right? Claudia, too. Could have been either one of us.”

Damien’s face had completely changed in countenance. He looked uncomfortable, even worried. She was about to ask what was wrong when the kettle started whistling.

She sprang to her feet to take the kettle off the burner and popped a couple tea bags in a pot before filling it with steaming water. When she turned to the cupboard she gave a small yelp because Damien was already standing there. He’d followed her silently and she hadn’t even noticed him move.

“I’m sorry, Iola,” he said, handing her two cups from the cupboard he had open. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She took the cups with hands that shook like she was palsied. And it wasn’t because he had surprised her. It was because he was close to her, a massive male shape, looming. He should be scary; he should look really out of place in her cheerful little kitchen. But he didn’t. He looked at home here, he looked comfortable. Mostly, he just looked really
really
good. And he smelled even better. What the hell was it that he wore?

“Thanks,” she said, delayed and distracted. She put the cups on the counter and then leaned back, arms crossed over her chest. “So … are you dating Claudia, then?”

Yeah, that helped calm down her hormones; the thought of her
good friend
that was inexplicably having feelings for this hunk of man meat in her kitchen. Okay, maybe that thought wasn’t exactly inexplicable. Maybe it was … surprising. That’s the word.

Damien was studying her face, and Iola wondered how much of her thought process she was giving away with her expression. “Claudia is … a wonderful woman. I think she’s confused by her own feelings. But I won’t define what we are. I will rather leave that for her to do. I don’t think she’d appreciate being herded
into one category of relationship.”

Iola was shocked by the honest answer. And yet … it showed that maybe he understood Claudia quite well. And it was an understanding he’d achieved in an incredibly short period of time, no less.

“Fair enough,” she said, nodding. “I think you’re … dead-on about Claudia. So don’t hurt her, okay? Don’t lie, don’t be false with anything you tell her. She’s tough but … she’s not made of stone.”

Damien nodded. “I care for your friend, Iola. I mean her no harm.”

“Good.”

They stood eyeing each other up for another moment. Suddenly Iola didn’t want him in her kitchen, didn’t want him this close to her. She didn’t want to see him, didn’t want his incredible smell in her nose anymore.  Didn’t want to feel how warm his gaze made her feel. She wanted her pulse to return to normal, and she wanted the temperature of the room to go back to what she had the thermostat set at.

He took a deep breath, took another step towards her. She didn’t back away, she didn’t shrink from him at all. She stopped breathing, that was it.

He put a hand out, capturing some of her hair in between his fingers.

Okaaay … this is weird. This is very
not
okay. This is …

He bent his head down to smell the lock of hair he was running over his hand, and when he did all she could see was this thick, strong neck, the way it was connected to his wide shoulders and his thick chest … and that damn smell again.

Her eyes closed as she listened to him breathe in. She was completely terrified, not because she didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust herself.

A squeaking floorboard in the hallway made her expel her breath, and her eyes flicked up to his as she blurted out, “That’s Claudia. Claudia’s home.” She ducked away from him, nearly running for her door and pulling it open just as Claudia was fitting her key
into her deadbolt.

“You’re home,” Iola said happily.

Claudia smiled at Iola, then her eyes shifted to the side and her smile faltered just slightly as she set her eyes on Damien, standing behind Iola.