Witches' Bane (The Soul Eater Book 2) (13 page)

“How well do you know your wife?” And there it was, the complete opposite of my plan, right out there and sounding a lot like I’d spoken it. I eyed the bourbon, laying the blame in its depths.

“Continents have shifted in the time Isis and I have been together. How well do you know how to breathe?”

“Breathing is pretty automatic. Is that what your relationship is? I mean, after a few thousand years, it’s gotta be difficult to keep things interesting in the bedroom, am I right?”

Disdain flashed in his eyes. I really needed to stop talking.

“You continue to believe she was behind your mother’s death?”

“Doesn’t matter what I believe.”

“If those accusations came from anyone else, Soul Eater, I’d have their tongue.”

Oh, I didn’t doubt that, but I did wonder what had earned me special treatment.

“Admit it. You like having me around. Like a dumb-as-shit dog that keeps coming back after a beating, hoping its master might pat it on the head instead of kick it in the gut?”

His fine eyebrows pinched together. “I can’t decide whether you’re more disturbing like this or mildly entertaining.”

“Both?”

“You could be many things. A great many of them dangerous.” He paused, probably waiting for me to process that information. “Why are you here?”

“I need a favor.”

That earned me a surprised expression. In five hundred years, I don’t think I’d ever asked him for anything. Oh, I’d begged, pleaded, dropped to my knees, and worse, but asked? That was new.

“Would it help if I said please?”

He looked down his nose at me, dark eyes puzzling out my angle. There wasn’t one, but gods can’t help feeling around for loopholes and misdirection. Suddenly, feeling like the walls were closing in, I got to my feet and walked an almost straight line to the nearest display case. The artifact inside was a simple clay cup. The tickle and hum of magic authenticated it, but it didn’t look like much. Maybe the cup was just a cup, or maybe it would kill whoever drank from it, or maybe it would imbue its owner with riches. All of these cabinets held similar curiosities left over from a civilization that had once ruled the worlds.

“What’s the favor?”

“I’ve been…”
Bad, sir. Please don’t punish me.
I smiled and tried again, this time meeting his gaze. “The last few months, I’ve been devouring.”

“The witches.”

“Yes. Any I could find, and they went down better than this.” I waggled the glass. Kenny’s girl’s screams echoed through parts of my mind I couldn’t shut off.

“And?” He sighed. I was boring him. What did he care about dead witches, or me for that matter?

“I came here to ask you to bring them back.”

Nothing. No surprise on his face. No sign he’d even heard me.

“You are the God of Resurrection and Rebirth and all things living. You can do this.”

He carefully set his drink down on the desk and loosely clasped his hands in front of him as though he were about to address a class of imbeciles. Attendees: one.

“You’re a Soul Eater. Anything you devour is destroyed. You are the very opposite of life and everything I represent. In Duat, you’re feared because you are the end, blackness in a world of color. A god I may be, but not even Ra himself could resurrect the souls you’ve consumed.”

Monster
, Isis’s voice whispered through my mind. “Yes, thank you for reminding me of my great and abhorrent power, but what about the sword?”

He looked at Alysdair resting where I’d left it against the couch and hesitated. “Why?”

“The sword is different. It absorbs souls. I don’t know if it destroys them or—”

“Why bother bringing them back? You must know the price will be great.”

For centuries, I’d been Osiris’s pet soul eater. There wasn’t anything he hadn’t already inflicted on me. Torture, mental and physical—I’d endured it all. But I knew one thing: he didn’t want me dead. So, the cost would be high, but I’d pay it and live, like always. Human lives were worth more than my suffering.

“Because it feels like something I should do, like I made a promise to someone …but I don’t remember when or where. Someone wants me to be good, and I can do this. I can ask you and maybe scrape some of the blackness off my soul in the process…”

“You killed them. Move on.”

So easy for him to dismiss the lives of men and women he didn’t know. How many had he seen die over the millennia? How many had he killed?

“I can’t move on. I… I’m trying to be different.”
More than darkness.
I closed my eyes and listened, waiting to hear more of Bast’s whispers…but it didn’t come.

I know, Bast. I’m trying.

After this was done, I’d find her. Whatever it took, I’d go to her, straighten out the lies, and face my fears.

When I opened my eyes, Osiris had moved to admire Alysdair.

“Ammit’s, before you?” he asked.

“I assume so. I don’t remember a time without it. She always spoke of the sword as though it was a great burden, but also an honor. I suspect it’s older than I am.”

Osiris reached down and wrapped his hand around the grip, and then lifted the sword, holding the blade vertically before him. The warm library light spilled down the blood groove—a valley in its length designed to lighten the blade. It still weighed more than most men could lift with one hand. Osiris twisted it horizontally, testing its weight, and then cradled the tip in his other hand. He’d feel its pull and hear its song.

“It is a hungry, vengeful weapon, much like its owner.” He set the sword down and stepped back. “It will not give up the witches’ souls easily.”

“But you can resurrect them, make them live again, as they were?”

“The witches you killed and had this sword devour? Yes, I can bring them back—if that is what you truly want.”

I did. I wanted them back. I wanted Thoth’s curse and its manipulation forgotten, taking my hatred and renewed urge to devour with it. The weight of the dead, of the people I’d killed, I couldn’t bear it and still be Ace Dante. I didn’t want to be the Godkiller. Doing this, getting them back, was a good deed. This was right. This was more than darkness.

I downed the last dregs of my drink. “Do it.”

“The price?”

“Anything.”

I
don’t recall
much of the following days. There was blood, and rain like razorblades, and Shu chanting the old words while I dreamed of swimming in the river of souls. Osiris hadn’t killed me, but he’d come close. He had the balance of life and death down to an art.

Shu didn’t ask. She didn’t need to. She’d scooped me up in pieces and put me back together too many times before, even when I’d told her not to. The curse between us made sure she always would.

We didn’t speak of my wounds or much of anything. But I did recall asking her about the paintings leaning against her apartment wall. She’d painted them. I wasn’t sure why that unsettled me, but it did. After a few days of her background healing spells that helped my body stitch itself back together, I returned to the office.

Cat was sitting behind my desk, wearing cropped jeans and a cream jacket, with my phone cradled between her shoulder and ear. She appeared to be filling in my planner. I scooted around the desk and peered over her shoulder. Jobs. Lots of them.

She hung up the call, scribbled something on the coming Thursday, and then raised an eyebrow at me.

“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable sitting in a box?” I asked.

“You have a four o’clock meeting with an apartment owner on East Seventy Fourth.” She ignored my comment like a pro. “The building is infested with cobras. They’re in the walls. Cujo was informed, and that was him informing us, or me, to be precise. I know you decided to ignore Cujo, but he isn’t ignoring you.”

“What are you…my new assistant?”

She didn’t hiss, but she came close. “I was helping you while you and Shukra took some time off together.”

Oh, there were implications all over that sentence. “Shu and me, we’re not—”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“We aren’t.”

Having Cat believe Shu and me were an item was better than her knowing the truth, so I dropped it, despite the slippery, little smile pulling at the corners of her lips.

“Besides, you need help around here. Word’s gotten out that the Nameless One killed a god and Osiris hasn’t struck you dead. You’re invincible.”

I reached across her and flicked the pages of the planner. The weeks were full, day after day. Shukra would be happy; we’d get to keep the business, at least for another month.

“Why
aren’t
you dead?” Her words tickled my cheek.

I turned my head and found Cat’s face inches from mine. Her short black hair was a ruffled mess, probably styled that way—or not. What did I know about trends? But her bright green eyes echoed the wildness of her hair, and those eyes were zeroed in on me. “He tried.”

She swallowed. Her pupils widened, soaking up the green. I caught myself falling in and pulled back. Leaning against the desk, I crossed my arms. Pain sparked in all the places I hadn’t yet healed. It would pass, until all I had left were the memories. Those were what the vodka was for.

“This all looks great, but it’ll calm down when these folk meet me and realize I’m a grade-A asshole, or when they figure out I’m in Ozzy’s pocket. Then we’ll be back to waiting on the phone to ring.”

She was listening, but I could tell by her tiny smile that she wasn’t
really
listening.

“I can’t pay you,” I said. “At least not in cash. Will catnip do?”

“There’s been no news of Bastet at home, so I’m staying here until I can pick up her trail.”

“I could get you a cat tree. Maybe some of those little balls with the bells in them.”

“Think of me as your consultant.” Cat picked up a pen and twirled it in her fingers, then popped the end in her mouth and pinched it between her teeth. Dangerous Cat had left the building. This was a new, intriguing, playful Cat, one that had me fighting my own unexpected smile.

“I need a consultant like I need another name.”

She leaned back in
my chair
behind
my desk,
and her smile grew into a thin grin that had a lot in common with the blade of a knife.
“You don’t have a choice.”

“I’ll get a big-ass dog.”

She might have been about to laugh, but the phone ringing cut her off. She snatched up the handset before I could reach around her and grab it. “Hello, Dante Investigations.” I rolled my eyes. “How may I help you?”

Maybe it would be nice to have someone around who could rip hearts out of chests with her bare hands, besides Shu. Shu and I could do with some distance. I could split the jobs and give Cat some if she proved her worth. And maybe I’d help her find Bast—if the goddess truly was missing.

“He’s here…” Cat held out the handset and finally vacated my chair. “The witch,” she muttered and then slipped out the door, letting it click quietly closed behind her.

I settled into the warm chair with my hand over the phone’s mouthpiece. There was only one witch who would call me, the same witch who’d tried to get me to take the job of saving his girlfriend when no one else would listen.

I lifted the handset to my ear. “Hey, Kenny.”

“She’s back. I don’t know—” His voice cracked. I could hear the TV in the background and wondered if they had Netflix streaming whatever it was they’d been planning to watch the night I cut her open and stole her soul. “She walked right in like nothing happened.”

“That’s good.” I’d meant to sound more enthused, but it was tough smiling when all I could recall were the lashes and burns of a flail digging into welted, bloody flesh. It was worth it, though, now that I could hear the relief in Kenny’s voice as he struggled to stop himself from breaking down. “Does she remember anything?”

“N-nothing. Nothing at all. I just… I can’t believe…she’s right here watching TV. Can you believe it? It’s a goddamn miracle.”

“I’m happy for you, Kenny.” I didn’t sound like it.

Kenny paused, and in the background, I heard a woman’s simple laughter. Was there anything better than a woman’s laugh? Julie sounded alive and free, just like Osiris had agreed. A miracle to some, but miracles come with price tags. I was still paying this one off.

“All the missing witches came back. You did this, didn’t you?”

“No,” I lied.

“But at the museum, what we did to you…you were right. We were afraid. We shouldn’t have trapped you. And what happened with the witches before…did they trap you then too? That wasn’t your fault. You are what you are. You warned us. You told me to run.”

I braced my elbows on the desk and pinched the bridge of my nose. My empty insides churned and uneasy emotions prickled my skin.

“I asked you to find her, and you did. So, thanks, man.” The thanks he whispered, words failing him.

A knot that felt a lot like guilt tightened in my chest. Kenny had his girl back, but that didn’t change what I’d done. Or what I was. Or how I’d enjoyed devouring the light in her. “I don’t deserve your thanks.”

“Maybe you do, more than you know.” He hung up, leaving me listening to the buzz of a dead line.

More than darkness.

I’d undone the sins of the past few months. That was all. It didn’t change who or what I was, but there was a curious warmth inside me that hadn’t been there before. A feeling of goodness that meant, perhaps, my guilt-laden soul was a fraction lighter.

I picked up the phone and dialed Shu’s office.

She answered on the first ring. “I’m filing my nails into points so I can score number marks into bone to mark all the times I’ve wanted to kill you.”

“The bone is significant?” I asked, not entirely sure whether she was joking.

“Very.”

“How many marks do you have?”

“Ten.”

“That’s not so bad.”

“I started this morning.”

I laughed a rich, deep chuckle, and that felt good too, like maybe, just maybe, things were looking up. “You, me, and my new assistant, Cat. Antonio’s tonight. Drinks are on me.”

Shu paused. Something clattered that made me think she really was carving bone. “Who are you and where’s the real Acehole?”

“Still me, but a little improved.”
More than darkness.
I could do this. I had to do this. I’d seen the alternative. The future would be different. I’d be different. There was hope for the damned yet.

* * *

C
ontinues in
See No Evil
. Read on for an exclusive excerpt.