Soul Stealer (29 page)

“Just any acacia trees?”

Jehoel looked horrified. “These are from the acacia trees of Eden, Voro.”

It was hard to explain. The world got very still as Voro held a hand out, and Jehoel handed over the weapon. It was lighter than he expected. There was a quiver attached to the bottom, sideways. That was what gave him this sudden sense of reverence.

Trees from Eden. This must be what it was like for little kids to see Santa at the mall.
Oh my God. It’s real.

The wood was completely regular-looking. It didn’t glow. It didn’t sing like a choir. And yet … He ran one finger down an exposed shaft. It hummed, though. He felt it like a jolt.

“Holy shit,” he muttered. “That’s amazing.”

“Don’t leave any lying around down there, by the way.”

He pulled it closer to his face. “Is acacia wood really this dark?”

“It’s cured in blood.”

Voro actually recoiled from the things. “What?”

“They’re cured in our blood. You have to get it in the heart,” Jehoel instructed, all no big deal, slinging a quiver over his shoulder, diagonally across his torso. “Nothing else will kill it. But a nice shot in a meaty part can really hurt him. Slow him down, maybe so one of us can finish him off.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the key to stopping this thing.”

Jehoel took him by the arm, led him into the hallway and lowered his voice. “You did a lot, Voro. But we can’t wait any longer. We have to get to it before it’s done. We may as well go at it in full force now. But yes, we want you there. We don’t think it can render you mortal, like he did with Raphael.”

“I’m the last resort?”

“You could be our saving grace, Voro.”

He caught Jehoel by the elbow as he was turning away. “When we kill this thing, does that mean Raphael gets his halo back?”

Jehoel’s empty look confirmed what Voro had really feared. “I don’t know, Voro.”

Anael slid her sword in to its sheath, trying her best not to watch Gazardiel as she fastened her belt and fitted her wrist guards in to place.

She could smell Voro on the woman. All over her, actua
lly. And Gazardiel was looking flushed. Beaming.

She saw red at the thought of it, but that was ridiculous. She could only feel love for one of her own, and she certainly wasn’t the angel of ridiculous jealousy, for Pete’s sake.

But she still felt she should warn Gazardiel about the dangers of such activities. But that would take admitting her own moment of weakness.

“Anael, what’s wrong?” Gazardiel was concerned. That made her feel worse.

“Where were you? When the alarm was raised just now?” It wasn’t her imagination. Gazardiel’s face deepened in color quite noticeably, making her look so young and dewy and even prettier.

“What are you asking me for?” Gazardiel asked, turning away.

Anael looked at her friend’s back. She was jealous and hurt. Clearly Gazardiel had been with Voro. And that
really
hurt.

Jehoel was suddenly at her side, touching her elbow. “Anael? Are you feeling well?”

She jumped, giving a nervous smile. “Sorry, I was distracted.”

He looked to Gazardiel, then back to her. “You’re set then?”

“Armed to the teeth and twice as dangerous,” Anael answered dryly, making him smile.

“Why? You planning on killing someone with your spite and withering sarcasm?” This from Voro, giving her that antagonistic grin.

“I plan on killing someone with this,” she snapped, drawing the sword, pointy end towards Voro.

He kept smiling, not blinking or flinching. “You’re a tough little thing, I’ll give you that,” he said low and smooth, raising the hair on the back of her neck. He stepped closer, the point of her sword hitting him in the centre of his flack vest, and he moved closer still, forcing her arm backwards. “But don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on that ass for you.”

So crass and uncouth. She felt her anger peak, finding it odd that it was a sensation so close to the thrill of just being around him. “You best watch your own back, Sin Eater.”

“I trust you Anael,” he said, still terribly amused by her. “I trust you implicitly.”

She grit her teeth. “No goofing around down there, Voro. It’s all about Raphael and protecting all those people down there.”

He pushed the sword out of the way, the
humor gone from his face. “By the way, Anael. I’m scared shitless right now, and it doesn’t make me feel very capable. So when I’m scared, I make jokes. I’m just as worried about Raphael.”

They were staring each other down, and when Jehoel said her name cautiously she backed off, feeling herself blush. She’d made a scene: everyone was staring now. When she caught Gazardiel’s gaze she had to look away immediately, which likely made her appear even guiltier, she supposed.

Voro really put her on edge. She had to learn to stop letting him get to her like this.

“You know how to use a crossbow?” She asked, much nicer.

He shrugged, looking down at the contraption in his hand. “I think so. The mechanics are fairly simple.”

Anael sighed. “Give it to me.”

He did without question. She showed him how to load the arrows, feeling the thrumming power in the wooden shaft. This one was treated with Douma’s blood; she sensed and recognized it immediately.

She gave him pointers on how to aim as he stood behind her, checking the sights as she was demonstrating how to line up a shot. He was leaning over her shoulder, quiet and attentive. He didn’t once interrupt her or make a terrible joke. He could be serious when the situation called for it.

When she handed the crossbow back to him she also re-strung the strap for the quiver, angling it around his torso so it would be easier for him to grab the arrows if he had to.

When her lesson was done Anael was quite proud of herself. No snapping, no losing her senses. She could do this.

She caught Jehoel’s eye, and he smiled at her. It gave her strength. Now she could focus on getting Raphael back.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Claudia stood in front of Saleem’s bathroom mirror, staring at herself. She pulled the shirt she’d worn on their date off over her head, letting it hit the floor. As soon as she saw her own skin she remembered Damien’s hands all over her and she had to turn away from the image,
tsking
at her stupidity.

She leaned over to start the water running, pulling off the rest of her stale clothes and making a pile of wilted shame on the tile floor. When she stepped into the shower the water was a bit cool, but she didn’t want to risk really hot water, not with the lingering sick feeling. But good God it felt fantastic …

She turned to the bottles on the wire rack hanging under the showerhead. She needed to be entirely clean, that meant her hair was getting washed.

He’d said to make herself at home.

Claudia grabbed the shampoo bottle, turning to let the water hit the crown of her head. She opened the cap, taking a sniff before being able to stop herself. That was it; that was the smell that had been on the pillow she’d napped on all day. Soapy forest.

It was evening. Claudia had climbed back in to bed when Saleem left and hadn’t woken up again until he was home from work. She felt bad for sleeping a whole day away, but he told her to go take a shower anyway. He wanted to make supper for them.

Claudia’s hair was sodden, so she squeezed out some shampoo and worked it into her locks while thinking it might be good to chop a lot of it off. It was so long it was starting to feel too heavy again …

She was crying.
Fuck. What the hell? About
hair
?

She squeezed her eyelids shut, forcing her breathing to level out.
Don’t break down again, this is ridiculous. Just pull it together …

When the time comes where a person realizes just how little control she has over her life, losing control of emotions and her mind at the same time is not beneficial. She’d kicked the alcohol before, and she’d do it again. And as far as relationships went, Saleem was right. She had no business being involved with anyone.  Not until her house was in order.

One day at a time and all that shit.

She rinsed out the shampoo, used more of it as a body wash just because she liked the smell of it, then
toweled herself dry. Saleem had left her a black T-shirt and flannel pants that were way too big, but they had a drawstring so she’d be clothed at least. Claudia tried to ignore how amazingly at home and warm she felt in his clothes.

When she opened the bathroom door a fantastic smell hit her, and to her surprise her stomach grumbled in appreciation. She hid her clothes from the night before under Saleem’s bed, then padded in bare feet down the wooden floor of the hallway and into the bright and incredibly sleek, modern kitchen.

Only the light above the stove was on, along with the lights that ran along the ceiling between the kitchen and living room. It was already dark outside.

“I hope you like it,” he was saying, stirring something on the stove top built into the island. “I’ve been craving this all day.” He turned, smiling, and Claudia had to repress a sigh.

If he really thought they were better off friends for now, he needed to put a whole shirt on. The wife beater was not helping anything, nor was the beltless pair of jeans slung too low, showing that bizarre abdominal muscle some men could show off just by letting their pants hang low; the one that led down the bottom of the stomach down to … Well.

This was his house so she had to deal. She pulled her eyes from well-defined muscle tone, hopefully quick enough that he didn’t catch her staring. Again.

No, he was staring at
her
now, and Claudia knew very well how she looked. Big boobs unrestrained, oversized clothes, wet hair soaking the T-shirt, some guys’ porn version of a chocolate cake. But he wasn’t leering, he was still just smiling.

“It smells wonderful,” she said, remembering what he’d been talking about.

“We had a Punjabi housekeeper when I was growing up,” he said, turning back to the stove. “She taught me how to cook a few of my favorites that she used to make.”

Claudia circled the island, climbing on to a stool on the opposite side, leaning on the counter with both elbows. “I’m sorry, I haven’t eaten a lot of Indian food. What is it?”

“Just tandoori chicken. Don’t worry, I’m not making it really spicy. West-hot,” he said, adding the last quickly with a chuckle.

“West-hot? What does that mean?”

“Our housekeeper used to laugh at our friends who came over and couldn’t handle the spices, even though she’d made it as mild as she possibly could and still call it Indian food. It became a new request, ‘Can you make it West-Hot?’”

Claudia smiled. “I like spicy food but … maybe West-hot is a good place to start.”

“I was worried about your stomach, so I made some basmati for you, just in case.”

She was bad with people treating her really well. Her first reaction was typically to say, “Why? You didn’t have to do that.” Instead, she just said, “Thank you.”

His smile broadened. “How was your shower?”

“It felt better than it probably should have. That just tells me how bad I likely smelled. Thank you again, Saleem. And I’m so sorry for putting all this on your plate -”

He cut her off gently. “I don’t know why, but I just think I’m supposed to help you, Claudia. And as a friend, there’s no need to apologize for bad days. Something tells me if I needed your help, you’d be there for me.”

A day ago she would have thought he was nuts. Today, she completely agreed with him.

Jesus, she really needed a friend right now, didn’t she?

Not paying heed to how her eyes were tingling, she got back down off the stool, circled the island, and took the spatula from him before wrapping her arms around his stomach, under his arms. After a surprised minute, he hugged her back, resting his chin on top of her head.

“I wish I wasn’t such a mess,” she said, hating the self-pity in her voice.

He rubbed her back. “You’re not a mess. You lost someone you cared about. I’ve been there.”

“You have?”

She heard him swallow hard in the brief pause that followed and she wondered if she was pushing the issue, but then he spoke. “My little brother died. A year and a half ago. I went through anger, denial, depression, the whole thing. And I still miss him. So if you need to cry, you cry. If I need to cry, I’ll cry. Doesn’t make us a mess, Claudia. Makes us tougher.”

His chest was so warm under her cheek, and that voice rumbled out from deep in him so it sounded better than stereo from where she was right then. She didn’t want to move. She needed to stay right there for just another moment …

“You are a fantastic hugger.” It was out of her mouth before she could grade its level of stupidity.

Next came his laugh, and even though they were establishing the friend zone that chuckle was better than an entire Victoria’s Secret catalogue.
Sexy
, she realized. Incredibly sexy because he didn’t even realize he was. Yes, sexy was a term that applied to this man. As much as handsome did.

“I should get back to supper.”

She stepped away, nodding. He caught her by both elbows, making her look up at him. “We’re tougher than all this, right?”

She nodded, lost in his eyes like a child.

“No more self-pity. No more drinking. No more seeing yourself as anything less than you are. And you are … from what I can see, wonderful.”

She blinked faster. “Jesus, Saleem. You’re going to give me a complex.”

He kissed her cheek, and her breath caught for that shortest of moments while his breath and lips were on her skin. He pulled back and she managed her most friend-neutral smile, but she couldn’t lie. They couldn’t be just friends. It was all a matter of when they would become more.

Iola kissed Vinnie goodbye in the lobby before he went to the emergency room. She continued through the administration area to the care home.

She owed Ethel Strauss a visit, and Vinnie said the woman had been asking after her. Iola liked visiting the long-term care patients, it actually calmed her. And ever since the events of the previous spring, she really cherished these visits on a whole new level.

She just had no idea why exactly.

Ethel Strauss had been a teacher for 39 years, then in retirement had been a substitute for another five. She’d never married and never had children of her own.

Every visit Iola had was highlighted by the stories and antics of a different student. Iola believed the stories were true and that the woman wasn’t just making things up.

This late afternoon Iola noticed that Ethel’s skin had none of its usual rosiness. She’d been fighting off pneumonia, she said. She was so very tired all the time.

Iola gave her a hug anyway, smiling at her. “Ethel, you’re looking great,” she assured her, taking the seat next to the bed.

Ethel didn’t raise her head. She wasn’t looking at Iola with much purpose, either.

The air felt strange. Iola recognized the feeling at once; the like the very molecules were too big to process. Her heart sunk.

Iola took Mrs. Strauss’s hand, smiling maybe a bit too bright. “Tell me about a student, Ethel. One of your hellions.”

That brought a faint smile to the woman’s lips as she stared at the ceiling. “Tommy O’Day,” she muttered softly.

“What about Tommy?”

“Used to take my chalk. Draw on the sidewalks with it. He had such imagination.” The memories seemed to animate her; they always did. “A talented artist.”

“What did he draw?”

That brought a wider smile. “Dragons. And knights. And damsels in distress. So talented for someone so young.”

“What did Tommy grow up to be?” This part was her favourite; rattling off the achievements of her past students was her biggest point of pride. These students had all been her children.

Ethel shook her head. “He didn’t grow up.”

Iola frowned. She’d never heard a sad story from Ethel from before.

“He went to college. Did very well, he was always so smart. His father was a buffoon, I think Tommy intimidated him.” Ethel coughed and the wet rattle in her chest made Iola flinch.

“Ethel, would you rather remember a happier memory?”

She shook her head. “No. This was when I learned something important.”

Iola nodded. “Okay.”

“Tommy had shown up to school with bruises, cuts. A broken arm once. Of course I knew it was his drunk of a father. I was brand new. My first teaching position. I didn’t say anything. I should have.”

Iola patted her hand.

A tear rolled down the woman’s cheek. “Tommy was gay. No one knew. But he met a boy in college he was fond of, and when his father found out, well …” Ethel choked on a sob. “He beat him, and Tommy was old enough to defend himself. But he didn’t, not against his father. His father disowned him, said terrible things about his own son. And Tommy killed himself.”

Iola squeezed the frail hand on the bed. “Tell me what Tommy taught you.”

“To protect the weak. To defend children. Good people outnumber the bad, Iola. We have nothing to fear.”

The rest of the visit was silent. Then, about seventeen minutes later, Ethel Strauss slipped away holding Iola’s hand, whispering an apology to Tommy O’Day while a nurse held her by the wrist, monitoring her pulse.

There was a do not resuscitate order. Iola and the nurse were the only witnesses to Ethel’s last moments.

Six months ago Iola would have left the hospital a weeping mess. Now she felt peace. Closure. A certainty that death wasn’t actually the end of anything.

She left the hospital in a strange fog, an atmosphere of reflection in her own head that made everything smell and taste surreal. The outside world didn’t know about Ethel Strauss and her penchant for lemon drops, tea and un
wavering love for her students.

It made Iola feel special. She pitied the other people she passed as she returned to her own place.

Iola unlocked her apartment, then paused, looking back at Claudia’s apartment door. She’d left things very badly. She felt shame, and regretted her own inability to deal.

No regrets. Life is too short.

She crossed the hallway, knocked softly, and waited. Iola honestly hoped that Claudia was home. She owed her a huge apology.

After a five minute wait she resigned herse
lf to the fact that her neighbor was not home, perhaps she was at work. She regretted not knowing if that was in fact her best friend’s schedule. She should know these things.

She returned to her own place, flicking her lights on, smiling as her living room came into sight in the dimming twilight. A lot had happened to her here, and she still couldn’t look at her couch without remembering the first time Vinnie had taken her to bed.

Iola felt ready to move on. It was the next natural step, and it could only lead to more happiness.

Iola picked up her cordless phone and called Claudia’s cell. It went right to voice mail, and she almost froze before speaking.