The Soother (23 page)

The music of the violin stopped only to be replaced by the sound of clattering dishes. Thank goodness for that. He didn’t know how much more of that heart-wrenching music he could take before he ended up on his knees bawling his eyes out. Not a manly sight, but there it was anyway.

Scout snagged a chair and pulled it from under the table before plopping down. He flicked a stained napkin open and threw it across one leg. “Sit down. You may not need to eat, but I do. Try being considerate for once.”

Krystoff barely managed to keep his jaw hinged. “You’re kidding, right? Considerate? This from the ape whose only form of communication in two days has been grunts.” Krystoff kicked the leg of Scout’s chair before sliding into his own seat. He rested his staff against the table. Their juvenile tactics had been the only mainstay since Scout’s betrayal. Krystoff had the fading bruises to prove it. “You are the epitome of an eye roll inducer. I honestly don’t know why I agreed to come with you.”

Before Scout could answer, a waitress entered the room. She paused when she saw Scout, visibly stiffening, then plastered an ear-splitting smile on her face and carried on in a singsong voice. “Good morning! Welcome to Hannah’s Place.” She handed each of them an aged and torn menu, the edges curling under. “I’m Jessie and I’ll be serving you today. We’re in between breakfast and lunch right now, so you can have your pick.”

“Thank you,” Krystoff said. He wasn’t surprised Scout had unnerved the waitress. Scout’s appearance always drew a double take at minimum. He studied Jessie; her sandy hair pulled into a high ponytail, her crisp white shirt with a hint of lace peeking out, her too big jeans. With a tilt of his head, he asked, “Was that you playing earlier?” Somehow, she didn’t come across as the concert violinist type, but Krystoff knew looks often deceived. He’d learned not to take anything at face value. Ever.

“Playing what?” Jessie asked, still smiling though the corners of her lips had turned slightly.

Scout lifted a brow at his question.

“The violin,” Krystoff insisted. “Someone was playing.” So if it wasn’t her, then who?
Stab, stab, stab
went the needles. Krystoff rubbed the back of his neck with both hands, digging his fingers in until the tension eased.

Jessie fidgeted. Scout leaned in, his body so taut he looked like a snake ready to strike.
What the hell?

“I’m sorry, sir,” Jessie said, her voice wavering like the vibrato of an opera singer. “I’m the only one here and I don’t play the violin.”

Palms up, Krystoff shook his head. “Tell me you heard the music?” he asked Scout.

“I didn’t hear anything, man. I think you’re losing it.” He leaned back in his chair and resumed his relaxed stance. “Told you it was just a matter of time.” Scout gave his attention to Jessie. “I’ll take three eggs over easy and two sides of bacon.”

“Umm, okay. Do you want toast?” Jessie asked, eyeing Krystoff suspiciously, though her question was directed at Scout.

The damn needles stabbed at Krystoff’s neck again, a constant reminder of the tension in the room. Scout was the one who looked like a freak and yet Jessie was staring at Krystoff like he had twelve eyes. Something was very off about Hannah’s Place. Or maybe it was the company he was keeping that made everyone seem like they were from Wacksville.

“No,” Scout replied, drawing Jessie’s attention back to him. “And just get him some tomato juice,” he said absently, with a wave of his hand.

Krystoff ignored both of them, too wrapped up in the mystery of the violin. He wasn’t crazy. Not yet. And something in Scout’s pale eyes indicated he didn’t think so either. Maybe Scout hadn’t heard the music, but he knew something and Krystoff was willing to bet they just hadn’t stumbled upon this place.

“That’s okay,” Krystoff told Jessie. “I don’t want any juice. I’ll just take his toast and a glass of water.” After sampling the flavor of Calliope, everything else tasted bland anyway.

Jessie nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll be back in a jif.”

Her curious gaze ping-ponged between Scout and Krystoff. She finally backed up as if she were afraid to have them behind her. But she couldn’t get far like that. With a sigh, she spun and hastened across the room. Krystoff waited until she was about halfway through the door.

“Oh, Jessie,” he called. “Who’s Hannah?”

Jessie’s pen fell to the floor. Scout winced but said nothing. Jessie slowly turned, a forced smile displayed on her face. “Hannah is the owner.”

Now he was getting somewhere. “Will she be in today? I’d like to talk to her about purchasing some of these stars.” His intentions were two-fold: a peace offering for Calliope, and a chance to figure out a piece of Scout’s puzzle.

“I can help you with that, if you’d like,” Jessie said. “Hannah won’t be in today.”

Krystoff shrugged casually. “That’s okay. Scout and I can come back tomorrow. Will she be in then?” Either way, he wouldn’t be back. Krystoff had just made the decision to get back to Calliope. Whether the sense of looming disaster chewing his gut into a slaughtered mess had to do with her or not, he didn’t know. But he couldn’t risk staying away any longer. Time to wrap up this fiasco with Scout. Time to wad it into a little ball and burn it to ash. He might throw Scout into the flames as well. That all depended on the next few minutes.

Jessie chewed on her lip. “Um, I’m not sure. Let me get your breakfast for you. Then I’ll see if I can find out when she’ll be back.” She hurried away like flames were licking at her heels.

Scout cleared his throat and Jessie ran faster.

Now it was Krystoff’s turn to lean on the table. “Who is Hannah, Scout?”

Scout settled into his chair. “How should I know?”

Krystoff steepled his fingers and smiled. “Oh, you know, all right. It’s written all over your face.”

“Hardly,” Scout said, crossing his arms over his chest. “There’s nothing written on this face and we both know it.”

“You may be emotionally broken, but I’m not blind. Who the hell is Hannah?”

A silent battle waged across the table. Krystoff wasn’t about to back down. Scout had led him here purposely and his gut told him it had everything to do with the proprietor of this establishment.

Eyes narrowed to slits, Scout finally confessed. “Hannah is my sister.”

Krystoff hadn’t expected that answer and was equally surprised Scout had said anything at all. “Your sister,” he repeated.

Scout nodded once, jaw so tight his veins looked ready to snap.

“Where is she?” Krystoff questioned, wondering why Scout had suddenly decided to confide in him. Or was he? What better way to get Krystoff to continue on this warped journey than to dangle the damsel in distress carrot in front of his face?

“Stuck.”

Two could play the one word game. “Where?”

“Between realms,” Scout growled. “Now drop it.”

Not likely, Krystoff thought to himself. Just as he was about to speak, Jessie walked into the room carrying a tray with two plates and a sloshing glass of water. She quickly served their food, and then wiped her shaking hands on her apron. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No,” Krystoff and Scout growled in unison.

“Okay. Just holler if you change your mind.” And then she was gone in a blur of motion. She ran behind the counter and stood there … watching. So much for her cheery and gracious disposition. Fear had completely stripped the smile from her face and turned her into a jittery mess. Krystoff couldn’t blame her. He’d come on too strong and sucked her into his issues with Scout.

He’d apologize to Jessie later. Right now, he had to get back to the conversation before Scout clammed up. “And what does this have to do with my soul?” Krystoff asked because he knew it had
everything
to do with his soul.

With a shrug, Scout said, “I have it. She needs it. That’s all you need to know.”

No. That wasn’t all he needed to know. Wasn’t even the tip of the massive iceberg barreling toward him faster than a cheetah on steroids. He should have never trusted the nomas. Ever. It had been Scout’s advice for Krystoff to release his soul. Scout had insisted it would keep Riona from taking it, assured him he would give it back once they were out of Mistropa. Had Krystoff been deceived from the get-go? Riona hadn’t wanted his soul. Scout had. Krystoff slammed his fist into the table, sending his utensils to the floor with a clang. “What does Hannah need
my
soul for?”

Scout looked at the floor then slid his flat gaze back to Krystoff. “I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t? In my experience there are miles between the two.”

“Can’t.” Scout answered, lifting his fork full of eggs to his mouth. His lips parted but then he dropped the fork, letting it clamor against his plate.

Jessie looked up from behind the counter in the corner, and slid something into the pocket of her apron. Krystoff shook his head to keep her from coming over. If she was hiding a weapon to defend herself, he couldn’t blame her. He’d have done the same thing.

“You’re lying,” Krystoff accused, in no way falling for Scout’s mild show of emotion. Assuredly it was all for effect. Again … not an idiot, and he’d certainly never been called gullible.

“Am I?” Scout answered with a slight tilt of his head.

For magick’s sake, how was he to know? Krystoff couldn’t read Scout. Their friendship had always tilted toward the side of difficult. Now it was nearly impossible to sort through the layers of stoicism to get to where he could decipher truth from lie. That he had to question it was more work than he cared to put forth. Except — this was important.

“I honestly don’t know.” Krystoff rubbed his temples. The slow circles did nothing to ease the ache. He pushed harder. “If you’re telling the truth, answer this for me. What happened to your sister’s soul?”

A muscle twitched in Scout’s jaw. “You really want to know?”

Krystoff jerked a nod as the tendrils of suspicion wound around his neck cutting off his air.

“Your mother stole it.”

Calliope sat perfectly still, arms wrapped tightly around her legs, chin resting heavily on her knees, watching the interaction between Riona, a.k.a. the bitch, and Eron, a.k.a. the oversized asshole. She’d be hard placed to find two more over-the-top beings. One was smitten with a capital S, the other barely tolerant of the ill-placed and ill-timed affections. Riona batted her dark eyelashes at Eron, dragged her fingers down his arm like she was stroking a docile feline. He stood his ground, enduring the touch of his queen phlegmatically. His eyes, on the other hand, told a tale of repulsion. Calliope wondered how long it would be before Eron turned on his queen. He was definitely a ticking time-bomb. Just one caress — maybe two — away from ripping Riona’s head off.

Calliope’s stomach grumbled. Neither seemed to notice, or more likely, didn’t care. She hadn’t eaten since long before they’d captured her, and along with the grumbling came cramping and lightheadedness. Other than that, she was surprised and thrilled at the lack of physical torture. Couldn’t say the same about the mind torture.

Riona hadn’t been lying when she’d said she had a dungeon. A modern day, dark fairy tale version of a dungeon at that. The rank, blood-tinged aroma, the damp floor, the cast iron bars, and the dirty mattress thrown into a shadowed corner were Calliope’s version of hell wrapped in a thick wall of ice. Even with Krystoff’s blood altering her system, the constant sorrow and cold radiating from the cell was beginning to wear her down. How many souls had been trapped here before succumbing to death? Calliope shivered against a tomb-like chill. People died here. Magick died here.

“Yeah, excuse me,” Calliope said, her voice sounding braver than she felt. “I don’t mean to break up this romantic moment, but can we just get on with this?” Even being in the shadowy forest of Mistropa was better than being locked down here in the pits of Riona’s vast castle. Calliope’s legs had turned to jelly when they’d descended at least a thousand stairs to get down to the dungeon. Antagonizing Riona would likely bring Calliope closer to her last breath. She couldn’t manage to care. Her afterlife would be a lot brighter than this hole of a realm.

Riona sighed dramatically, then laced her fingers through Eron’s before turning toward Calliope. She wore an elaborate spider broach at her throat, each leg alternating between red and black gemstones. Her hair, while still pulled back in a severe twist, now had red streaks running down the middle. “Ready to die, are we, witch?”

Eron smiled. The promise of death erased all repulsion from his eyes. Pure, perverted excitement sparkled in the bottomless pools. “I’m ready to kill her, if that counts for anything.”

Riona giggled wickedly, stood on tiptoe, and placed a long kiss to his stiff lips. It was everything Calliope could do not to turn away. But watching and learning might be the only way to survive. Surely, Riona could tell that her kiss wasn’t returned, that it was actually repelled. Did the emotion and desire Eron obviously lacked in regards to her not bother Riona?

“Indeed it does count,” Riona said and licked her ruby lips, her own eyes shining like heated fireflies. “But patience will serve you well, Eron. We must not deter from the plan. See the bigger picture, for you will play a role in it. A very important role.”

“Is that so?” he asked, leaning against the wall. He crossed his arms over his chest and eyed her like he was actually interested in what Riona was saying. Calliope suspected Riona’s plan greatly differed from what Eron had in mind.

“Yes. When this little matter is taken care of, I plan to offer you something you’ve longed for. Something you’ve dreamt about.” She leaned against him. “Something I have deemed you worthy of.” Riona slid her palm down his chest, over his stomach, down farther.

Calliope was about to slam her eyes shut when Eron grabbed Riona’s hand and lifted it to his lips.
Nice way to avoid being fondled by the bitch,
Calliope thought.

“You are too kind, my queen.” Bowing slightly, he let Riona’s hand drop.

Riona laughed, the hysterical sound piercing the air like screaming ravens. “In all my days, I have never been called ‘kind’. Though I do like the sound of it.”