Marked by Passion (21 page)

The scroll.

Instead of walking directly into the store, I went around the block. When I got back, Rhys was gone. My heart lurched with disappointment.

"Stupid," I muttered, entering the store.

The lighters were next to the register at the front counter. I picked the first one I saw and paid for it. I usually had matches at home, but I couldn't remember if I'd used them up the last time I lit candles. I didn't want to take a chance. Armed with the Bic, I strode into my hovel and headed straight to the refrigerator.

Relief flooded me when I saw the scroll. I withdrew it from the fridge. For a second,
tu ch’i
surged through me in excited joy. I wanted to unroll it and read some more.

Frowning, I tamped down that desire, hurried to the bathroom, and locked the door. Not that it would stop Wu's ghost from entering, but it made me feel better.

I held the scroll over the toilet. Ignoring my birthmark's stinging, I pulled out the lighter and flicked it. A long, fat flame burst into life.

My hands shook as I brought the scroll and flame closer together.

Was this really the right thing to do? I paused, overwhelmed with the need to protect it. Sweat broke out on my forehead. I could just hide it. Or maybe I could take it and run away .. .

I shook my head to clear my thoughts. No, the scroll was dangerous, and getting rid of it meant freedom for me. No one would miss it, and this way everyone stayed safe. Because I was a walking time bomb.

"I'm a menace to society," I reminded myself, my hand inching toward the paper. And then there were the future generations of Chins I was saving from this fucked-up fate.

An image of a little girl with my mom's blue eyes, Rhys's brown hair, and a broadsword-shaped birthmark popped into my mind, and I gasped. I would
not
pass this curse on to my own daughter.

Burning it was the only answer.

Tu ch’i
welled up in me, and I almost dropped the scroll.

"Mom died because of it." I clutched it tighter. "I'm saving someone's life by doing this."

Holding that thought in my mind, I ignored the sharp jolt of energy that shot through my body as I set the flame to the parchment.

I
t didn't burn.

Frowning, I let go of the tab attached to the flint, waited a couple seconds, and flicked the lighter again. This time, I shifted the scroll to give the flame more surface area to catch.

The parchment didn't even singe.

"Damn." Maybe it was rolled too densely?

"Gabrielle? Are you in the bathroom?"

Wu. I froze. "Yes. And don't you dare come in. I need privacy."

There was a pause. Not even a rustle, which made sense considering he was a ghost.

Keeping an eye on the door, I untied the leather string binding the scroll and unrolled it, revealing the familiar fluid strokes of calligraphy. I steeled myself, waiting for
tu ch’i
to erupt.

It didn't. Instead, it calmed to a gentle burbling. I sighed in relief and unfurled it all the way. I vacillated between wanting to read it and just getting rid of it.

For all I knew, if I destroyed it, a storm of locusts would rain down on the planet. The next time I had to take on something so critical to the world's safety, I'd make sure I knew a little more about it.

"Gabrielle, are you done? It's imperative that we discuss our plan of action."

I had to get moving on this before he noticed something was up. No telling what he could do, and I didn't want to be stopped. So I reignited the lighter, held it to the bottom of the scroll, and waited for it to go up in a whoosh of flames.

"I made a schedule for training. Some physical, because you're in terrible shape, but mostly mental training to increase your control over the
chi."

Nothing.

"We'll need to discuss your work schedule so you can arrange it around the eight hours of training you need to do every day."

It wouldn't catch.

"Gabrielle?" There was an element of concern in his voice this time.

"Damn." I shook the lighter for good measure, lit it, and tried again. I stared unbelievably when the parchment remained singe-free.

"Gabrielle, I'm coming in."

"Damn."
I tossed the lighter in the trash but wasn't able to roll the scroll up before his head appeared through the wall.

His eyes bulged when he saw the parchment in my hand. "What's going on here? Why do you have the scroll out?"

Feigning calm, I rolled up the one in my hand. "Just checking it out."

"In the bathroom?"

I shrugged. "It's the only place I have privacy these days." I placed it back in the box and opened the door through his body. "That's just creepy."

He ignored me and focused on the scroll—of course. "You're up to something. Your eyes always shift to the right when you're up to no good."

It was infuriating that he knew me so well in some ways but not at all in the ones that were important. But I didn't want to think about this right now. I had to think of another way to get rid of the scroll since my brilliant plan didn't work.

Since he didn't seem inclined to get out of my way, I walked through him. I shuddered violently as I passed through the thick, frigid air.

"Remind me never to do that again," I mumbled as I strode to the refrigerator and tossed the package back in there. Maybe it'd get moldy. Can bacteria eat up paper?

"Gabrielle!"

I winced at the roar. He probably found the—

"What is this lighter doing here?"

Before I could answer, there was a rush of frigid air and he hovered over me. He glowed brighter, which I figured meant he was pissed. A safe bet, really.

"You tried to burn it, didn't you?" he asked after a long moment.

If I told him the truth, then he'd be extra vigilant the next time I tried to destroy the scroll. But if I lied, I'd be playing into the same patterns of deception I'd followed in my youth, and I didn't think I could respect myself if I did that. I was an adult. I'd claimed my life. I wasn't going to compromise myself for him. Not ever again.

So I leaned my hip on the counter and crossed my arms. "Yes, in fact. I did."

"Gabrielle."
His voice reverberated in my body.
"You cannot burn the scroll."

"No kidding. I found that out the hard way." My eye caught the faucet, and I stood up straight. If fire couldn't get rid of it, maybe water would. It had to have some sort of weakness, right? Since it was the Book of Earth and water dissolved dirt. ..

I eyed Wu. Would I be able to submerge it before he caught on?

"I don't understand you. What are you trying to prove?" He began to pace like he used to in real life, only it was more like he floated from point to point. "What were the ancestors thinking, marking you?"

Hurt mingled with my anger. But if anything, his slam made up my mind for me. I moved to the sink, plugged it, and turned the faucet on. Warm water, because it'd probably dissolve the parchment faster.

"Instead of discussing the situation with me, you gad about, doing whatever nonsense you do on a normal basis. This is serious. You're a disaster waiting to happen. You've been given a great power but have no control over it. I can feel it ready to unleash. You know what the consequences of that happening are."

All the more reason to get rid of it once and for all. I strode to the refrigerator and pulled the box out again.

Wu was so agitated he didn't notice. He continued the float-pacing. "You don't understand the ramifications. If you did, you'd obviously take this more seriously. The bartending job is a good cover. It offers a paycheck and flexibility. Besides, who would suspect a mere bartender of being a Guardian?"

Ignoring his degrading speech, I surveyed the water in the sink. Not deep enough, but there was enough to get started. I submerged the entire package—carefully so his attention wouldn't be drawn by what I was doing.

"But the rest of it," he went on, "has to stop. Painting has always taken precious time needed for your training."

"Not even in your dreams," I mumbled, watching the package dissolve.
Yes.
Finally things were looking up again.

"That's where I went wrong before. I allowed your mother to sway me and I let you paint. But no more. From now on I will not allow you to dally with your so-called art."

I snorted. Like he was going to stop me. I figured since he was tied to the scroll that as soon as it was destroyed he'd move along, too. I could not wait. I'd lived rather happily without him for long enough to know I didn't need him. At all. I turned off the faucet and poked the package with a knife that had been sitting for God knows how long in my dish drainer.

"It's time—"

It was his gasp that made me turn to glance at him over my shoulder. He looked part outraged and part supremely horrified, kind of like a startled guppy. I poked at the scroll harder.
Come on.
I pictured the faces melting in
Raiders of the Lost Ark
and tried to will
tu ch’i
on the parchment. Unfortunately, it lay dormant. Maybe destroying the scroll was already taking effect.

"Stop!
You
must
stop this."

I stabbed harder.

The scroll lifted straight out of the sink and levitated through the door and into the living room.

"Damn it, I wasn't done." I followed Wu, who was wavering like a mother hen over the dripping paper. Rushing past him, I grabbed it before he could stop me.

The scroll didn't feel mushy like it should have. Frowning, I unrolled it, expecting the ink to be running and smeared.

It was as pristine as before.

I watched a drop of water roll down the parchment and fall on my boot. Was it treated with some kind ot oil that would repel water? But then, shouldn't it have gone up in flames instantly?

"You cannot destroy the scroll,"' Wu said softly. "It's infused and protected by
tu ch’i,
much like you are. You have to accept your fate."

"The hell I do." I clenched it in my fist and returned it to the refrigerator.

"What are you doing?" Wu asked over my shoulder.

"Going to bed." I went back into the front room, kicked off my boots, and fell onto the futon in my clothes. I wasn't giving up on getting rid of the scroll—I just had to find a better way. Which I would after a good night's sleep.

T
he only thing the killer did wrong was getting caught," Jerry said with great authority.

Milo rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So you're saying murder is okay if you don't get caught?"

"If he didn't get caught, did he really do the crime?"

I glanced up from the limes I was wedging. I was used to their philosophical debates, if you could call them that, except usually their discussions didn't extend to murder.

But their banter was a welcome distraction from my thoughts. I'd been racking my brain for the past four days, trying to come up with a safe method of disposal for the scroll. Nothing.

Which made me feel panicked. I was running out of time. I couldn't paint—at all. At this rate, I wouldn't make my deadline even if it was extended twenty years. It didn't help that Chloe, Gallery 415's director, had left a message to check on the status of the contract and paintings.

I hadn't called her back yet.

And moving to Madame's had been a mistake. I was putting her in danger. Every time I was near her it was like I was waving a loaded gun in her face—with only a matter of time before it went off.

I would
not
let anything happen to her.

Worse than the logistical issues, I was starting to see enemies in every shadow. I felt like a conspiracy theorist with baddies lurking behind every corner. That morning while I was in the shower I thought I saw a shadow in the bathroom doorway. I'd gotten out to check and found no one. Why would I? No one except Jesse knew where I lived. But no matter how much I tried to dismiss the incident as my own paranoid delusion, my gut told me I needed to be careful—even at home.

Hell, if I didn't get rid of the scroll, I'd have to be careful the rest of my life.

For a brief moment, I considered asking Jesse for help. Given how he moonlighted, I figured he'd be good at getting rid of things without a trace. But it didn't seem right to contact him only when I wanted something from him.

Rhys would help me. I just wasn't sure what he'd help me with—getting everything under control or relieving me of the scroll.

Milo's voice cut into my thoughts. "That's a little bit like the tree falling in the forest. Did we ever come to a conclusion about that?"

Jerry shot me a sidelong look. "I may need another round to jog my memory."

Nodding, I wiped my hands on my apron. "Can I ask you guys a question?"

"Of course, sweetie." Jerry winked at me. "But I can't guarantee we'll answer."

"What brought on this topic?"

Milo downed the last of his beer and pushed the glass toward me. "You didn't hear about that guy that was killed in the Financial District?"

"What guy?" I asked as I pulled out fresh glasses.

"Some suit." Jerry shrugged. "They found him in an alley off Sansome."

For some reason, both Rhys and Paul came to mind, and the idea of either them being hurt caused fear to spike my system. "He got a name?"

"Here's the paper. It has more details if you're interested."

I set the glasses down and grabbed the paper. When I saw the victim's name, I closed my eyes and exhaled in relief. Not Paul. Or Rhys. Pulling myself together, I drew a pint and set it in front of Milo.

Jerry snatched it and replaced it with his old glass.

"Hey." Milo glared at him. "She gave that to me."

"Possession is seven-eighths of the law." He took a greedy sip.

"Nine-tenths of the law," Milo corrected.

"That's what I said." Jerry drank another mouthful. "Anyway, we were talking about the murder because the weapon was in a Dumpster like ten feet away from the body. Stupid."

"How do you mean?" I asked, pushing Milo's fresh beer across the counter.