Forged of Shadows: A Novel of the Marked Souls (19 page)

He turned off the centrifuge. As the test tube came to a halt, the faint fireflies sank into the glass. They’d wandered this far; at least he could give them some small peace in the little pieces that remained.

Weariness settled in his chest, heavy as the soulflies were light. He left the warehouse and walked the corridors. To his extended demon senses, the night was quiet. He’d sent out half the crew to check the other known haint gatherings to see if they could find the salambes. He didn’t want an unidentified offshoot of the horde-tenebrae stalking the city on his watch.

Most of the other men had gone off to their own hunts. No doubt they’d seek deserving malice or ferales, matching the fury and anguish of their immortal lives against an evil that would never die.

His muscles tightened with the ravager’s desire to head out into the darkness, to find his own relief in sanctified violence. His vision flickered into the black-light glow of a hunting teshuva.

A flare of purely human panic seared across his open senses. He spun around to see the woman frozen in her open doorway.

“Dory.” His voice crackled with harmonic lows. He cleared his throat. “Dory, it’s okay. You’re safe.”

Her expression, though still blurred with the drugs, screamed “Liar.” He couldn’t blame her.

“Jilly is just down the hall,” he continued. “She’s sleeping. You wouldn’t want to sneak out before you see her.” Although judging from the higher flare of panic visible in her expanding pupils at her sister’s name, that was exactly what Dory wanted.

“I thought I dreamed her.” Dory’s words barely carried over the scant two feet separating them.

He took a step forward, backing her into the room. She lowered her head and gave way before him, as meek as her sister was belligerent.

He stopped, feeling like a bully. But he noticed the pill bottles Sera had left beside the table were gone.

Dory followed his glance. “I didn’t consent to be placed in some program.” When she set her jaw, chin askew, he finally recognized a faint commonality with a certain other Chan.

He shrugged. “No, you didn’t.”

“Is this a locked ward?”

“No more so than the one you made for yourself.”

She scowled at him. “You’re as bad as Jilly.”

He shrugged again.

Dory slumped through the room to sit on the bed. “How’d she find me?” Squirming, she freed the lump from her pocket and tossed the pill bottles on the rumpled bedspread. “Why’d she even look?”

“You were hanging out with some very bad people. Jilly didn’t want you to be hurt.”

Dory gave a coarse bark of laughter, more a cough. “She’s the one got hurt last time.”

“You knew about that?” Liam’s hackles prickled, same as when he faced a malice, bloated on its night’s antics.

“Who you think called the paramedics?”

“But you didn’t stay with her.” He kept the outrage out of his voice, but still she flinched.

“I couldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t.”

“Asshole.” She glared at him.

“I can tell you and she are related.”

Dory’s taut jaw slackened, not quite a smile. “Barely. All we have in common is our mother.” Her hand crept across the bed to the pill bottle. “Jilly should’ve saved herself.”

“Too late for that.” He watched her turn the bottle in her hands. “You already take one?” When she nodded, he said, “Don’t take any more until tomorrow, when we all have a chance to talk.”

She looked up warily, as if he’d snatch the bottle from her hands. Then she nodded again and held out the bottle to him. “Until tomorrow.”

He pocketed it and left.

He walked down the hall and flattened his palm against each doorway where they’d stashed the junkies they’d scavenged from the haint HQ. No one else was stirring. Maybe Dory wasn’t as far gone as he’d feared.

But he wasn’t sure if the dim sound of weeping from her room was a good thing or not.

 

The talyan trickled in with the first morning light. They reported . . . nothing.

“Nothing,” Ecco growled as he stalked past Liam. “Quiet as a grave. And I know damn well they ain’t dead. Just damned. Damn sneaky bastards.”

“Keep your demon primed for anything odd.”

Ecco cocked his head. “Like?”

Liam pictured the drifting specks of soul matter. “Witches. Goblins. Ghosts. Whatever.”

When Ecco swiped his hand across his forehead, chunks of demon ichor spattered from his gauntlets. “Yeah, of course. Ghosts. Got it.”

Faint psychic screams of drained malice trailed in the teshuva’s wakes as the men cleared the halls. Jilly stood at the far end, looking young and flustered, the laces of her boots untied.

Liam walked toward her. The remnants of tenebrae cries shivered over his face like cobwebs.

“How could you?”

Just out of arm’s reach, he stopped. “I knew she needed to sleep, so I let her take one—”

Jilly choked on a short breath. “How could you send them out again after that fight with the haints?”

“You know why. You’re not mad about that.”

She glared at him. “Oh, I’m not?”

Considering her vigorous defense of anything in danger with any sort of tenuous hold on a soul, he guessed she probably was. But that wasn’t the point. “You’re mad because you know you’re going to have to risk losing Dory again.”

She stiffened. “You can’t just throw her out there—”

“I meant by talking to her,” he said gently. “You could scare her away, making her face what she’s done.”

“You just want to know what happened to her because that’ll give you more ammunition against the tenebrae.”

She must know that Dory had abandoned her, bleeding on that street corner. Yet she stuck up for those she loved without hesitation or restraint. Envy for those lucky souls nipped at him, even though the leader of immortal, demon-slaying warriors shouldn’t need a defender.

He threw her accusation back at her. “You realize Dory put you in as much danger as I put the league. Don’t you want all the ammunition you can get, on both counts?”

She subsided. “You’re awfully in touch with your Oprah side for a demon-slaying monster man.”

“Night job. Lots of daytime television.”

She didn’t crack a smile. “What do I tell her?” She tugged at the neck of her T-shirt, pulling it above the black curlings of the
reven
.

“Nothing. Demons are a metaphor as far as she’s concerned. Just find out who got her high. How’d she make her way to the haints? Anything we can use.”

“People have been using her all her life.”

“Save the pity party. Dory wouldn’t appreciate it any more than your halfway house hooligans did.” Since she seemed unusually amenable to his character evaluation, he added, “You don’t like it either.”

For a second, he thought she would object just on principle. Then she nodded.

“How about you go down to the kitchen,” he said. “I’ll bring Dory.”

She gave him a shrewd glance. “You don’t think she’ll want to talk to me.”

“Just give her a second.”

“Fine. I’ll start breakfast.”

He waited until she stomped away, bootlaces flapping.

He took a moment to clear his head of her irate vibes. When he unlocked the door, Dory was waiting. “I heard part of that. She sounded mad.”

“At me. And herself.”

Dory scratched at her arm. “She’ll be mad at me too.”

“Maybe she should be.” He started down the hall, leaving her to tag behind. The glare aimed at the back of his head didn’t faze him. “You’ve made some terrible mistakes.”

“I’ve had a hard life.”

“We all have our demons.”

“You’re supposed to say tomorrow is a new day.”

“Only if you survive this one.”

When her footsteps stopped, he turned to face her.

She studied him, hands on her hips. “Tough love?”

“Is there any other kind?”

He kept walking. But halfway into the utilitarian kitchenette that had come with the warehouse, he rocked to a halt, stopped by the almost visible wave of sautéing onion. Something inside him twisted: not his demon, his empty stomach.

“We used to have a very nice kitchen,” he blurted, apropos of nothing. “It had copper pots. No one used them.”

Jilly slapped a pan on the runty efficiency stove. “I guessed by the ingredients I found.”

Talyan tended to be indifferent eaters, which had always saddened Liam. Immortality without cuisine seemed the ultimate ironic end to his journey. Without the end part, of course.

“Jilly was always an amazing cook,” Dory volunteered from behind him. “She fed us when Mom forgot.”

Jilly’s shoulders hunched. “Just wanted to make sure the Family Services ladies saw fresh veggies in the house.”

“No fresh veggies here.” Liam sighed.

“You’d be surprised what you can do with oyster crackers, eggs, and canned chili.”

And he was surprised when she slipped three plates of neatly folded omelets across the table a few minutes later. “Where are the oyster crackers?”

“I didn’t say
you
had oyster crackers. Your pantry isn’t just neglected. It’s an embarrassment.”

“I’m calling DCFS right now,” Dory chimed.

The sisters shared identical smiles at his expense.

He dug into breakfast. He didn’t mind their snickers if it got the ball—and Dory’s story—rolling. Plus, the omelet was really good, even if he wasn’t here for the food. “So, Dory, I’m guessing you haven’t had a good breakfast in a while either. Who was luring you in with the drugs instead?”

Dory glanced up, a bite of omelet halfway to her mouth. “Lured?”

“It didn’t seem like that to you?”

Her gaze slid away. “I was high. Nothing seemed like anything.” She lowered her hand and pushed her plate away. “Anyway. What would they want with me?”

Jilly pushed the plate back. “We were hoping you could tell us.” She tapped the fork against the ceramic and waited until Dory took another bite.

Dory ate, if reluctantly. Liam wondered if she was succumbing to Jilly’s big-sister bullying . . . or delaying answering the question. But whom would she be covering for except herself?

Jilly laced her fingers on the tabletop. “We think they wanted to get you hooked on solvo.”

Dory shook her head. “I told him I don’t do that shit. Makes you stupid.”

Jilly slanted a look at Liam, telegraphing her relief that she’d been right to tell him her sister could be saved.

He avoided meeting her gaze and just leaned back in his chair. “ ‘Him’ who?”

Dory didn’t seem to hear, muttering, “Can you call it luring if you go willingly?”

Jilly’s knuckles whitened on her fork; then she tried to copy his relaxed posture. “Who did you want to go with?”

Dory bit at her lip, eyes unfocused. “After you got rid of Rico, I had to look around, you know? I couldn’t just take my chances out on the street. I needed a place.”

Liam stiffened, as if sitting a little straighter could lift him above the rising bad feeling in his gut. Jilly would never forgive herself for tossing her sister out of the frying pan and into the fire if Dory had ditched her pimp for a soul-stealing pusher of the chemical
desolator numinis
.

Dory finally glanced up to scowl at them, as if she knew what they were thinking. “When I told him I don’t do solvo, he said it was fine. He said freedom means everything, you know? That’s why he calls himself that.”

“Calls himself what?” Jilly’s voice took on an edge, but Liam already knew what Dory was going to say.

“He calls himself Blackbird,” Dory said.

“Corvus,” Liam said flatly. “Corvus Valerius.”

Jilly had no idea why Liam stiffened up like the week-old bread she’d found in the half-empty kitchen cabinets.

“Blackbird found me,” Dory was saying. “Stayed with me sometimes. He didn’t have a crib of his own. Likes to be free. So I seen him around here, there, everywhere.” She scratched at the inner crook of her arm, although Jilly doubted much remained of those veins. “He never made me do nothing I didn’t want to do.”

Jilly kept one eye on Liam’s distant expression. A weather report including the chance of rain would’ve incited more reaction, and she’d already noticed the more he took himself in hand, the more the rest of the world should be freaking out.

In a tone so bland her heart rate trebled to make up for his nonchalance, he asked, “What
did
you do for Blackbird, Dory?”

With an insolent shrug, she shook back her bleached hair, but her face was pale when she glanced at Jilly. “I went on his rounds with him.”

Jilly had thought nothing could hurt worse than a knife sliding between her ribs. She was wrong. “You were dealing solvo?”

“We didn’t sell it.” Dory looked at them as if it was a point of pride. “He gave it away for free. He said he’s all about freedom, and that’s no lie.”

“Funny how the devil doesn’t have to lie,” Liam murmured.

Jilly rubbed her forehead, not from any pain of her own but in sympathetic ache at the flare of Liam’s
reven
. She didn’t think Dory saw it. Which said more about her sister’s lack of attention than any effort on Liam’s part at camouflage. His recklessness made her gut clench with fear, a sick counterpoint to her horror at what Dory had done. How many haints had been created at her sister’s hand?

“Oh, Dory,” she whispered. She reached across the table to cup her fingers under her sister’s clenched fist. Beneath her thumb, the tiny prick-mark scabs on the back of her sister’s hand read like a Braille of lost chances. “Dory, do you know what you’ve done?”

Dory tugged her hand away. “We set them free, let their souls fly. Blackbird told me I mighta been a junkie whore—that’s what you yelled at Rico, Jilly; do you remember, that he made me a junkie whore?—but at least I’d never sold my soul.”