Soul Weaver (16 page)
“Pity.” Saul stood and tensed his shoulders, fanning warm air when his wings outstretched. Curiosity sated, at least for now, he withdrew his dagger and fingered the blade.
A stark cry pierced Nathaniel’s mind. His head snapped up. “Chloe.”
“What is it?” Saul’s wings snapped shut, and his stance widened. His eyes darted left to right in search of danger. Finding none, he homed in on Nathaniel, who jumped to his feet. “The woman?” The dangerous edge of interest crept back into his tone. “How do you know?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Nathaniel strode toward the building’s side entrance.
“The hell it doesn’t.” Saul grabbed his shoulder.
“She needs me.” Nathaniel jerked from beneath his hand.
“Fine. I’ll go with you.”
“No.” He snapped his teeth shut over the word. The last thing he wanted near Chloe was a creature capable of collecting on her mark.
For a long moment, Saul met his gaze with eyes that saw too much. “All right, then. Go. I’ll catch you later.”
Nathaniel tried not to read too much portent in the words.
The shears gleamed on the nightstand at Saul’s hip. He traced their handle with his finger. They were cold and smooth, but no power zinged through them. They were lifeless, useless, until his brother gave the verbal command to transfer their power. Walking away took supreme effort.
He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times they’d been left unguarded.
This time made two.
After making a slow circuit of Nathaniel’s bedroom, Saul strolled into the living room. If he got caught, he had several excuses handy. Few would question him. He gave them no reason to.
A series of high-pitched beeps split the silence. Saul froze, listening.
Heavy footsteps swung his head toward the kitchen. An alarm? No. A microwave timer.
He readied his story and prayed it wasn’t his brother, come home for an afternoon snack.
“What are you doing here?” Reuel strode toward him with a takeout box in hand.
“I could ask you the same thing.” Saul sat on the arm of the couch.
Reuel made a scissoring motion with the chopsticks in his hands. “I came for the food.”
“I came to pick up something for Bran.” The lie came easy to Saul.
“I heard about that.” He glanced up, chewed, then swallowed. “I heard the seraphs messed the kid up pretty badly. Not that I’m surprised. They’re nasty bastards. Arestes and Trates are the worst of the lot.” He took another bite as if waiting for Saul to chime in. “Heard you saved him.”
“Bran?” Saul’s voice cracked. Memories of Bran’s battered face made Saul’s gut clench. “I took him to the Order’s compound and left him with his own kind.”
“Who better to understand a half-breed than another half-breed, huh?” Reuel turned the box upside down at his mouth and drummed his fingers on the bottom. “Did you even stay long enough to hear whether he was going to survive?”
Glancing away, Saul’s gaze lit on a bookshelf. “Look, I’d love to stay and chat, really, but I have somewhere to be.” He walked to the shelf and skimmed the titles. “Ah. There we are. I’ll just swing by and drop this off—”
“Cut the bullshit, Saul.” Reuel pointed a chopstick at him. “We both know you don’t give a damn about Bran.”
Saul narrowed his eyes. Not much he could say to that, and Reuel knew it. So what was his angle?
“If you’d said Nathaniel sent you for something, then maybe I’d have bought that.” Reuel shrugged. “The thing is. He knows you. Knows you’d screw around because whatever favor he asked involved Bran. That tells me Nathaniel would cut out the middle man and handle it alone.”
“What are you trying to get at?” Reuel wasn’t usually so astute.
“Why are you really here?” Reuel frowned. “Does your brother even know you’re here?”
Reaching into his pants pocket, Saul lifted a ring. “I have a key.”
“Cute.” Reuel chuckled. “When was the last time you used a key? Do you remember how?”
Saul thumped the book in his hand. “I have what I came for.”
“Hold up.” Reuel’s grin turned sharp. “You might have said your piece, but I haven’t said mine.”
Impatience simmered along Saul’s nerves. “I don’t have time—”
“Delphi sent me.” Reuel set his trash on the coffee table. “He wants the missing soul.”
Though Saul was tempted to snap
I don’t have it
, he said, “I’ll handle it.”
If Saul turned in Bran, Nathaniel would cover for him. If he turned in Nathaniel, no one would believe him over his gilded brother. It was easier to say Saul had made a drunken mistake than to consider Nathaniel had made a conscious one. How had he lost the soul? Was such a thing even possible? Saul didn’t know. He would have thought the mark would tether Nathaniel to the thing.
“See that you do.” Reuel gave him a measuring look. “I did you a favor by having this chat topside. Delphi’s spoken to you once, personally. That’s once more than most folks get. Word to the wise, I’ve been authorized to use whatever means necessary to get that soul into Hell where it belongs. That means Trates and Arestes, topside. I don’t think either of us wants that to happen.”
“No.” Seraphs were like bloodhounds in that sense. It was part of the reason Azrael retained his pair to guard their creations. If one were to escape, it wouldn’t make it far. If either of those seraphs were set onto his trail, Saul wouldn’t make it far either. “Let’s not be hasty. I need time.”
“You’ve had days to set this straight.” He glanced aside. “I can give you a week.”
“Thanks.” Good to know how much time he had left.
Reuel scooped up his trash, crumpled it. “When that time runs out, I’m coming for you.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Saul murmured.
“It’s either you or me, and it’s not going to be me.” Reuel glanced at the kitchen. “Bran’s a better man than I am. This job is a pain in the ass.
Delphi
is a pain in the ass.” He made a shooing gesture. “Go on now. Visit your son. Get him well, out of that bed and back on the job.”
Turning and heading toward the fridge, Reuel rolled his shoulders as he went.
Responsibility made Reuel twitch. It always had. Saul guessed that was why Nathaniel made fast friends with the other archangel. Reuel was content to follow like a good little soldier. Nathaniel was content to lead, as always. Their friendship had fallen into a familiar pattern.
Now that pattern had expanded to include Saul.
His head throbbed. What had Nathaniel done with the missing soul? Could Saul afford for it to come out that Nathaniel and Bran had organized that second collection? No. He couldn’t risk Delphi learning that unless there was no other way. If Nathaniel were found guilty, then he would be stripped of his rank and of his shears. Then what would Saul do? After all this time, those shears were still the only way he knew of getting into Heaven.
Well, there was Bran.
But those fiery wings of Bran’s might only have strength enough to carry one. Besides, his son hated him. No, there was no help there. Without leverage, Bran would never aid him. Not surprising since Bran was content to worship the mother he had barely known at her graveside.
“Time’s wasting,” Reuel called.
That much was true. If Saul wanted answers for Delphi, he’d better start asking questions.
Surveillance of Nathaniel hadn’t turned up anything new, much to Azrael’s displeasure. For all the time Saul had sunk into trailing his brother, all he had to show for his efforts was the grim satisfaction that Nathaniel would experience the same loss he had. Saul wouldn’t even bother to break up the happy couple. Let them spend time together, age together; then death would shatter them.
Knife in hand, Saul sliced a rift. Something about Nathaniel and his mortal bothered him.
How had Nathaniel sensed the woman’s distress and known that she needed him? If such a connection were possible between a harvester and a mortal, Saul would have had such a bond with Mairi. He’d loved and cherished her for years, but the only bond they’d shared was in their hearts. If Saul had only known that Mairi needed him…
His jaw clenched. He shut down that line of thought. Time was wasting. He could wallow in guilt and misery later. Now he had to save his own neck by finding the lost soul, and that meant he had to pay his brother another little visit. But first he needed to return to the old church’s bell tower and watch the show. If Saul gave Nathaniel enough rope, perhaps he would hang himself.
And when he did, Saul would be there holding the knife to cut him down. For a price…
Nathaniel burst into the bookstore. Skating over the polished floor, he stumbled to a stop at the base of a wide staircase. Chest heaving, eyes wild, he searched for signs of Chloe. He was up the stairs and in her apartment before he heard Neve’s crooned reassurances.
He charged through the somewhat familiar layout, running until he found the kitchen window where he’d last glimpsed Chloe and where the source of Neve’s voice originated.
“What happened?” He pushed Neve aside and knelt.
Chloe lay on the floor curled on her side, shivering violently and unconscious.
“I don’t know. We were getting ready to eat. She went to the window. A minute later, she collapsed on the floor.” Neve’s voice broke. “I’m calling nine-one-one.”
“Not yet.” Chloe’s pulse raced and her eyelids fluttered. He needed to open their bond.
“Are you sure? With the medication she’s on…” Her lips pinched together.
His chest tightened until he couldn’t breathe. “What medication?”
Neve shook her head.
“This is not the time to worry about her privacy.” His teeth bared in a snarl. “What did she take and why?”
“Anti-anxiety medication.” Her chin lifted. “The reason is none of your business. If you want to know, you can take it up with her.”
His focus sharpened on Chloe. He should have known living with the burden of knowledge she carried would drive her to seek help. “That explains a lot.” Her shyness and the state of her soul could be direct results from it as well. Even her hesitant touches should have hinted at inexperience rather than indecision on her part.
He ground his teeth at his own foolishness as he set to work unfastening the restrictive collar of Chloe’s shirt. Then he spread the halves so she could breathe easier.
“I don’t think it’s her medication.” He feared it was something much worse, an ability she could have only through contact with him. “It’s probably this heat.”
He lifted her and shivered with relief from the simple contact. The quickest way to find out would be to ask Chloe, but first he had to get rid of Neve. She paced the kitchen floor, too wound up to stand still. She needed something to keep her busy and he needed her gone.
Standing took effort. Heat mixed with fear kept him off balance. Once on his feet, with Chloe secure in his arms, he turned to Neve. “Can you bring her a cup of ice chips and a cool washcloth?”
Neve wasted precious minutes frozen in place. “I don’t think her freezer makes chips.”
“Go down to my truck. There’s a hammer on the tailgate. Put some ice in a plastic bag and smash the hell out of it.”
After a jerky nod, she broke away and ran from the room. He followed as far as the living room, where he nudged pillows aside and tossed the blanket to the floor to make room for Chloe. Dropping to his knees, he settled her in and propped her head up on the remaining pillow.
He fumbled her limp hand in his, wanting a physical connection to tether him. Relief made him press his lips to her knuckles as he tapped into their bond with surprising ease.
“Chloe?”
She whimpered in response.
“Shhh. I’m here now. You’re safe.”
“Never safe.”
A choked sob.
“He always comes. I knew he’d be back.”
“No,
meira
, he didn’t come for you.”
Though Saul would if he learned what she was.
She squeezed his fingers past the point of pain.
“I don’t want to die.”
His eyes crushed tight against her plea even as her words stabbed through his heart.
“I saw him…”
“I know you did.”
He stroked her cheek with his fingertips.
“He’s gone now.”
“He had wings. Like a bat. They were black glitter and bone.”
Her thoughts turned frantic.
“He came for me. I know he did. He always does…”
“Enough. Try not to think about it.”
Never one to follow his own advice, his mind churned over the fact that her terror was meant for him, although owning up to it now would be disastrous.
“He’s gone now and I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“Nathaniel?”
If he answered her again, he risked revealing himself. Part of him wanted her to know, to have his crimes spread out between them and let her judge him as he had judged so many others.
Their bond was growing roots, deepening their connection. If she could see Saul now, when souls were invisible to mortals, then what other talents might she develop in time? She used the harvester bond between them unconsciously, but with ease. Could she channel other harvesters as well? He doubted she would live long enough for them to find out.
Warmth spread through his hand from the small one curled in his grasp. The notion of losing her made his every fiber rebel against the inevitability.
He couldn’t save her. Delphi’s scales demanded balance, and her soul was the weight they required.
From downstairs, he heard a series of dull thumps as Neve used his hammer to make a bag of crushed ice. Hurried footfalls brought his head up in time to see her crest the stairs. Forget smashing ice; he should have sent Neve to a gas station to buy some, anything to steal a few more minutes alone with Chloe.
“Will this do?” Neve hefted a bag as she approached.
“It’s fine.” His focus had already returned to Chloe.
Neve knelt beside him and pressed the back of her hand against Chloe’s forehead. “She’s not feverish. Give me a second and I’ll grab a towel to wrap this in.” Clutching the bag of slush, she vanished into the kitchen where he heard drawers slide open and closed. She reemerged with towel in hand. Its center darkened as the melting ice spread through the cloth. The damp strands of Chloe’s dark hair were pushed aside to make room for the cool compress.