Cheat the Grave (27 page)

Was that why he'd told me about Solange and Hunter? So I'd act on the truth, and make a choice reflecting what
I
wanted? I'd never know. The short speech had cost him too much. “The chips, Tripp…”

He didn't even hear me.

“I ain't a good man, Archer. Don' mistake me for that. But I'll tell you this much,” Tripp slurred, eyes closing a final time. “Someone's tryin' to keep you from your reasons? You'd damned well better question
theirs
.”

I knew the Tulpa had survived Skamar yet again when Helen returned to the compound, acting as if she'd never been gone.

I knew Mackie had also escaped when Carlos didn't.

Of course, with a force equivalent to a small tornado having swept through the mansion, neither Helen nor I could pretend nothing had happened. So I tucked Tripp's words about still being a high roller aside and used my cell to call the police while moving the quirleys and weapons and binder back out to the guesthouse. Then I returned to wait in the secret room for Helen to find me. I hated leaving Tripp's body where it was, but Helen would never let it be discovered by mortals. Sure enough, as she and the first officers on the scene led me blinking like a newborn back into the destroyed office, both Tripp and Alex's severed arm were gone. Not even blood marked the floor.

“I think they were after my father's financial information,” I told the investigating detective, aware Helen was listening intently from over my shoulder. “They tore the room apart, and the only thing they stole was a binder he'd given me upon his death. It contained everything he
wanted me to know about his affairs, the company, and its financials. That means the money,” I explained earnestly.

There. That would get back to the Tulpa, first thing, and I'd be off the hook for the missing binder. As for the rest …

“I hope you have a copy somewhere,” Officer Greenlaw replied, jotting in his notepad.

“And how did you get away?” Helen butted in, earning dual glances of irritation from both Greenlaw and me.

“I hid in the room where my father apparently liked to pray,” I said, shifting to train my gaze on hers. “I stayed there even after the noise outside had stopped, just in case the scary man was still there.”

“And you said he was wearing a bowler hat?” asked the cop, again taking notes.

“That's right, a dusty one. In fact, everything about him was strangely musty.” I shuddered in the girliest move I could think of. The officer gave me a sympathetic nod. Helen didn't look as convinced. So as the interview continued, I shivered and sighed, explaining I'd gone to the office because I was missing my father, that I'd been alone the entire time—in keeping with the Tulpa's hypnotic suggestion, which Helen would also relay—and remembered very little after hitting my head. Then I started crying, switching subjects to mourn Suzanne's ruined rehearsal dinner, nerves making it easy to produce the tears that had the detective planning his own getaway.

Yet enduring an interrogation wasn't all bad. For one, it got me out of the sleepover. The other guests were methodically interviewed and dismissed, including Cher, who had left her dinner at some point to come looking for me. The police interviewed her separately, but came to the conclusion she'd gone upstairs to my bedroom and seen even less of the destruction left in the tulpas' wake than the guests mingling off the foyer.

Suzanne, meanwhile, was beside herself. She left in tears, bottom lip quivering, apologizing to me as if it were her fault, and wondering aloud if the dinner's interruption
was bad luck in either American or Indian culture. In contrast, Arun simply looked unaccustomed at having anything upset the natural order of his world. Yet he did his best to soothe his distraught bride, one arm draped protectively over her shoulders, whispering soothing platitudes in her ear as he guided her to the door.

“Let's hope the wedding goes more smoothly tomorrow,” she sniffled before kissing my cheek, tears staining her worried and disappointed eyes.

“I'm so sorry,” I said, squeezing her hand, and I truly was. No bride should have to remember chaos when marking her wedding anniversary. I caught Cher's glance over her shoulder, and she nodded, signaling she'd accompany her stepmother home and remain with her through the night.

As for Arun, there was no opportunity to corner him, and no reason we should be seen conferring alone. So I followed the trio out onto the steps of the marble entryway and waited until Cher and Suzanne had their backs turned, arms tucked consolingly around each other's waists. Leaning against a white pillar, I whispered, the words immediately lost to the night-soaked air. Arun still turned at his name.

“I'll kill you if something happens to her.”

Arun merely tilted his head and smiled up at me. Then he replaced Cher's supporting arm with his own, and allowed Suzanne to lean into him. I made sure their car had been whisked away before I allowed my sigh of despair to perfume the air. I had to stop that wedding.

After the guests left, and the household crew was busy whispering among themselves, Helen excused herself, muttering something about a migraine. I knew she'd be desperate to discover the status of her leader—that nasty unrequited love again rearing its head—and seek instructions on what to do next.

So I disappeared as well. Throughout Cher and Suzanne's whimpering concerns, the police's questioning,
and Helen's looming suspicion, Tripp's final words kept rattling through my mind.
You're a high roller, girl. Still sittin' at that table. Still in the gam… 
.

Because of the other men's chips.

Also because I was headstrong, stubborn, and I was
right.
So his final sentiment took hold, grew roots, and sprang up fully formed in my mind.

If someone's keeping you from your reasons, you'd do damned well to question theirs.

And more than Mackie, more than the Tulpa, more than Solange and everyone else who would have me caving to their whim, one man had kept me from being anything more than
useful
in this world. Warren, the leader of the Light, the man who saved, introduced, and initiated me into the world of the Zodiac, had also consistently manipulated me into doing his will. Instead of telling me the truth, instead of trusting I'd want to do all I could to advance his goals and the goodwill of the troop, he kept me in the dark. In
shadow
. And he'd done it all while holding his own reasons tightly to his chest.

He'd
known
of Solange's deeds, that she had stolen a changeling's aura all those years ago to safely cross into Midheaven, thus he also knew it was possible to use another person's soul for that purpose. Yet he kept me in ignorance, allowing and even
encouraging
me to give up mine in thirds!

Worse, knowing Hunter had been pursuing Solange, he shared nothing of Midheaven with him. He could have prevented Hunter's defection and disappearance step by aching step, but had driven him to that ultimate decision instead, then banned him from the troop.

“And locked away the man I love.”

The one, I'd just learned, who still loved me.

So I changed into head-to-toe black, crossed to the guesthouse by the light of an uncertain moon, and encased my body with weapons. I removed safeties, cocked back hammers, and sharpened blades. I took Xavier's fastest
Ferrari to the warehouse Tripp had convinced me to leave unlocked and unguarded, picked up one more vitally important weapon, then raced directly to the tunnel where Skamar had sucked the sentience from Luna's pulpy body.

Then I called that bitch out.

The way you call a tulpa to you, the way you direct them like a satellite tracking enemy warheads, is to think upon them and their looks, their actions, and especially their name. The Tulpa gained power from his followers in this way. He demanded an around-the-clock rotation of meditative prayer and ritual, all focused on providing him with greater life force. Hence, Xavier's hidden room.

But Skamar had a
given
name, and a person's mind could latch more easily onto a being with a name than without. It was hard to pinpoint something's relevance in the world without knowing what to call it. That was the Tulpa's main problem…and it was the reason I screamed Skamar's name at the top of my lungs now.

With a bunch of curse words interspersed in between.

I heard her first, though the blast of energy accompanying her flight thrust me back against the curved, mildewed wall. When I opened my eyes, she was caught in the flashlights I'd brought in from the outside—in case cursing her wasn't enough to lead her to me—and glaring like I'd interrupted her midnight nap. Like I was a minor nuisance, I thought, even more pissed. Without warning, I lifted the saber, and used its small, antiquated side firearm to take out a chunk of concrete beside her.

“What the—”

“The last time we spoke, you told me I smelled of despair.” I reloaded, tilted my head, and caught her in my sights again. “What do I smell like now, Skamar?”

The skin over my face no longer thinned to allow my skull to rise eerily to the surface, my eyes no longer burned tar-black like my birth father's, but the bile in my belly surely still stained the air, and my heart pumped wildly, overriding my fear.

“Put it down before you hurt yourself,” she said, meaning before she burst forward and yanked it from my grasp.

I redirected the barrel on the center of her chest. “You chose to chase the Tulpa over helping me. After you told me you'd watch over me.”

“I said I'd help when I could.”

“You could have helped me tonight! And your choice cost a man his life!” The image of Tripp's bubbling chest and melted palms angered me all over again. “An independent agent who was finally about to claim his life on his own terms. He had a right to that, Skamar. Instead he gave it to protect me because you—someone who is practically immortal—would not.”

“Hey, you came to me for help!” Unused to being challenged or questioned, she was angry now too. “If you've a bone to pick, first remember I'm not obligated to assist mortals at all.”

“A ‘bone' to pick?” I said disbelievingly. “Obligations? Skamar, I'm talking about weighing your options and then doing the
right
thing. Even if it means you don't get what you want.”

She laughed harshly, though the sound was hollow, and not entirely because of the tunnel. “You want me to grow a conscience?”

“Since my mother clearly didn't imbue you with one, yes. It's a basic personality trait in a friend and ally.”

She sneered, perfect teeth almost radiant in the spotlights. “Well, I'm not burdened with such bad habits.”

I lowered my chin and voice. “You mean you're not
blessed
with them, you bitch.”

A quiver went through her body, like the words actually stung. And that was where
I
was the more powerful. Maybe I'd just given her another name. I grinned as evilly as she had a moment before…and found I couldn't stop. “You think you have consciousness? Why, because you can breathe and move around freely in this world?”

I didn't have to smell her anger to know it stained the
air. Her eyes bulged, wide and wild, like her gaze wanted free of her body. Her body stiffened like a petite petrified board, fingers making fists without her willing it. “I can control people! I can break things on whim.”

“So can a toddler,” I retorted, and had the satisfaction of seeing her face fall slack.

She tilted her head gently, dangerously. “My every action reflects the noble purpose
your
mother created me for.”

“Exactly my point.”

“Which is?”

“You mistake animation for a life.” My saber was heavier, so I readjusted, refocused on her. “You might as well be Mickey-fucking-Mouse because right now you're just a clump of walking tissue, and always will be unless you let
something
touch you.”

“Like
what
?” she demanded, fisting her hands on her hips. “A knife with someone's soul inscribed in the blade? Because this is what happened two days ago when I kept Mackie from following your mortal ass!” And she lifted her shirt to reveal a screaming red scratch on the soft white flare of her hip.

I regarded the injury coolly, though dialed it back a bit since she had, at some point, tried to assist me. So Mackie's blade could even injure a tulpa. It made him the most dangerous being I knew, at least on this side of Midheaven. And that was saying something.

“I'm not talking about that.”

“Then
what
?” she screamed, causing me to jump, and the tunnel to shake. “The Tulpa? The Shadows? Who do you think I should allow to touch me?”

“How about letting a poem touch you, Skamar. How about a song to lift you up and reassure you that you're alive. How about love?”

“Weakness!”

“Life!” I screamed, because those were the things she, and everyone who wanted to point me in a given direction like some wind-up toy, were trying to take from me.
“You're not really alive, Skamar. You know things because my mother knew them. You think you know me because you've mined her thoughts and come up with your own emotionless conclusions about what makes me tick. You think because you have stolen memories, because you
ruminate,
that you're entitled to walk around this world as you fucking please.”

Her vocal cords stretched in her throat as she leaned toward me. “I'm entitled to that and more! I was birthed to reign over the underworld. I'm a tulpa!”

“You're a leech.”

A scurrying behind her drowned out her gasp—a sound that could have been anger, injury, or insult—before another figure, followed by more still, slipped up behind her. Warren stepped into the circles of light.

“Oh, good. I'm glad you're here.” I turned my weapon on him and recocked the hammer. “If you haven't already heard, I'm in the mood to pick some bones.”

 

“Where did you get that?” Warren, thinking me harmless, jerked his head at the aging conduit in my hand.

“Some new friends gave it to me. You like?” My voice was cold, hard, and unwavering. “Admittedly not as shiny as the ones Hunter used to make, but since he's locked up tight in another world, you won't be getting any more of those either. Too bad, huh?”