Octavian's Undoing (Sons of Judgment) (57 page)

“I will fix this,” he told her.

She growled deep in her throat. Maybe it was because she didn’t understand him or because she didn’t care, but her soul was gone, taking with it the pieces of her that made her human. It would remain that way until her creator was located and his blood was injected into her body, completing the transformation from monster to strigoi. But it had been two weeks and they were no closer to locating him.

Octavian sunk lower in his seat, slumping forward to rest his elbows on his knees and drop his face into his hands. Beside him, Riley whined. The bed springs jingled as she thrashed against her binds.

He raised his head and met her inhuman eyes. “I’m not giving up,” he told her. “I will find a way to bring you back.

There was nothing more tedious or useless as poring over Demon Applications. In his opinion, no Demon should ever be allowed entry into the mortal world. It didn’t matter how little their crimes were, or how they swore to bind their powers or restrain themselves. Demons fed off humans. The whole situation was ludicrous. But the treaty between Heaven and Hell stated that they would consider all applications before allowing any creature entry into the place they swore to protect. Octavian couldn’t understand why. Most abided by the laws, returning after their fortnight on earth was over, but a majority of them thought they could just run and hide somewhere and never be found. He hated those the most, because then he had to go hunt them down and bring them back. There were more of those than there was of the ones that actually came back when they were supposed to.

Rubbing the back of his neck where an ache had begun, Octavian straightened. He stretched his arms over his head and strained his back, hoping to ease the tension. This was so not how he had wanted to spend his night. He would have rather been below with Riley, but his mother had been hunched over those papers for nearly two days and she needed a break. But more than that, Octavian had to admit, he couldn’t be in the same room as Riley as much as he wanted to. Seeing her made him want to break his fist into something. It made him want to rip heaven and earth apart until he found the son of a bitch that did this to her. Staying alive was the only thing keeping him from plunging into the night to take on a beast he knew he could never bring down by himself. Dying would not bring Riley back. It would not save her. Patience, as much as it killed him, was the only way he would get his hands on the bastard.

The kitchen door opened and his mother walked through. She offered him a comforting smile as she crossed over and took the seat across from him.

“How is she?” he asked.

She reached across the table and took his hand. “Resting.”

Octavian sighed, sifting his free hand through his hair. “Has she fed?”

His mother nodded. “Last one for the night, but I’ll have to get Reggie to stock up on a few more blood bags. We’re nearly out.”

“I can—”

She squeezed his hand. “I need you here.”

He knew what she… what everyone in his family was doing. They were trying to keep him away from temptation. They knew the moment he stepped outside, there was a very high possibility that he would take off to go hunting for the monster that hurt Riley. Hell, even he knew it. It was more than just a possibility. It was a fact. There was no coming back if he stepped through that door, not until he had what he needed to make Riley better. But a single Caster wasn’t strong enough to take on a strigoi and the Angels had given them nothing to fight the Demons they were in charge of annihilating. It always struck Octavian as a very sick joke.

Here’s your job, kill monsters that are faster and stronger than you. But you won’t be given matching strength or speed. Instead, here’s a fancy angelic blade. Have fun.

The angelic blade didn’t even kill the monsters, but merely slowed them down so they could be defeated. First, you had to get the creature to stand still so you could stick them with it. Octavian had yet to meet a cooperative strigoi or inanimis. They always tended not to want to die. Selfish bastards. Even then, the only way to really kill one of the Forsaken or a Demon was to set the thing on fire. Otherwise, it was coming back to life and kicking your ass.

“How are you making out?” She drew the stack of papers by his elbow over to examine. “Is this the acceptance pile?”

Octavian shook his head. “Denied.”

His mother blinked. She glanced at the table between them. “But this is the only pile…”

With an exhausted sigh, he dropped the second half of the applications down on the ones she held. “Because I don’t think any of them should cross the veil.”

“Octavian.” She straightened the papers. “You know—”

“I know, I know, but I’m just not in a demon-loving mood. The whole lot of them could go leap off the deepest pit in Hell.”

She slipped the papers into the folder and looked at him with level, almost amused eyes. “Why don’t I finish these while you get some rest?”

He didn’t want rest. That’s all he’d been doing for the last two weeks. But there was nothing else.

“When will you reopen the bar?” he asked.

His mother shrugged. “We’re having a family emergency. Everyone else can just wait until we’re ready.”

Octavian couldn’t remember the last time they’d shut Final Judgment down. He was almost certain it had never happened.

“Mom?”

“Hmm?” She never glanced away from the file she was systematically flipping through.

“Thank you.”

Her head came up now, her blue eyes wide with surprise. “For what?”

For accepting Riley, for being there for her, for treating her like you would us, for always being there.
There were so many things and not enough words.

“For everything,” he managed at last.

She gave him a small smile. “I would do anything for you, all of you.”

He knew she meant it. His mother had been a pillar of strength since as far back as he could remember. Aside from Riley, she was the only other woman Octavian would give his life for.

He opened his mouth, hoping to at least convey a partial of how he felt only to be silenced when the door opened and his father marched through followed by Magnus and Gideon.

His mother was on her feet in an instant. “Reggie?”

The door opened and Reggie trudged in, shaking snow from his curly brown hair. Behind him, another form stepped in, huddled beneath an enormous winter parka. Their entire face was concealed by a wool cap and scarf. He looked about ready to backpack through Alaska.

His mother, having spotted her son, exhaled, pressing a hand to her heart. Her eyes snapped to her husband. “Liam?”

Octavian had no recollection of rising to his feet, but he stood, every muscle rigid next to his chair.

Shrugging out of his coat, his father draped it over the back of a nearby chair and crossed to stand at their table. “Nothing, but,” he added quickly when Octavian’s shoulders drooped. “We may have found someone that can help us.” He stepped aside, motioning for the stranger in their midst to step forward. “This is Jackamo Bray.”

The water ran thick with soapsuds. It swirled clear down the drain and still Octavian scrubbed at his hands, using soap and brush again to scrub at the blood that was no longer there. It hadn’t been there for days, but he felt it, felt Riley’s life, hot and thick, trickling from his fingers. It was such a strong sensation that there were times he smelled the coppery tang on his skin.

“
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas in incarnadine, making the green one red,"
he muttered out loud to the emptiness of the bathroom. Macbeth had the right idea. No amount of cleansing and scrubbing removed the weight of his guilt. His failure was his shackles to damnation.

Resigned, he snapped off the faucet and reached for the towel off the rack. He dried his hands, not daring to look, knowing what he would see. Stains. Crimson stains smearing across the white like blood on snow. It wasn’t really there, but it was. In his mind it was.

Carelessly, he tossed the towel down on the sink lip and stalked from the washroom. He pounded his way to meet the others in the parlor where Jackamo Bray would meet them with information in exchange for a room for the night. Octavian didn’t trust the faceless man but he trusted his father. The man reminded him of a turtle, all hunched over with the ginormous backpack pressing down on his back and his face mummified. But if his information panned out and it helped Riley, he would hear what the man had to say.

He was the last to arrive. The others had already found their places throughout the parlor. Their guest sat in the armchair facing the roaring hearth, a cup of tea in his long, spidery fingers. Octavian could just make out his side profile, his long, angular features and the ratty state of his clothes.

In the sofas on either side of the glass coffee table, sat his family; his parents and Reggie on the left, Gideon and Magnus on the right with just enough room for Octavian.

Octavian perched on the armrest, too antsy to fully sit. “Sorry I’m late.”

Jackamo Bray took a leisurely sip of his tea, set it down in its saucer and observed him with tawny, cat eyes. Long, thin whiskers protruded from his upper lip where most men would have had a mustache. When he offered Octavian a leer, he noticed the man’s teeth were pointy like a rodents.

“You must be the reason I am here,” the man drawled in a tongue just shy of breathy.

“This is our eldest, Octavian,” his father introduced.

Jackamo inclined his long, thin head. “I can’t say I have ever had the pleasure of meeting a family of Casters before in my travels.” He turned luminous eyes to Octavian’s father. “I was surprised when you sought me out.”

“Your name was offered to us by a very reliable source as a person of interest.”

“Interest?” Both eyebrows rose this time. “What sort of interest?”

His father splayed his fingers. “Only that you have knowledge of Otherworldly business. Things most would not be privy.”

Teeth that reminded Octavian of a cat flashed in an arrogant smile. “Yes, I suppose this would be true. I have acquired many secrets in my travels.”

“Our source merely suggested that you might have an idea of what happened.”

Jackamo purred deep in his throat. “Oh but I do.”

“Do you know the strigoi that attacked us or not?” Octavian demanded, tiring of the niceties.

Jackamo’s bushy eyebrows lifted in mild amusement that irked him. “Personally? No. But I have heard of him. Even before this…” He leered at Octavian. “Unfortunate event.”

“Who is he?” Gideon said, looking about as impressed as Octavian felt, which is to say, not at all.

“In this century, he goes by Duncan. In the past, his name varied by whichever country he was terrorizing. He is infamous for his cruelty.”

“Have you ever met him?” Magnus asked.

Jackamo cut him a slow, twisted leer. “Would I be here had I?” He casually leaned forward and set his teacup down on the coffee table. He sat back, folding his fingers neatly in his lap. “No, I have never had the pleasure.”

“Then how do you know this is the guy we’re looking for?” Octavian wondered.