Hell Bent

Chapter 16

“Wake up, Shame,” Terric said. “Time for food.”

What the hell was Terric doing in my room? I opened my eyes.

Correction: what the hell was I doing in Terric’s house?

“French toast, sausage,” he continued. “Think you can eat?”

I lifted a hand, rubbed my face. My arm was sore; the side of my neck felt swollen, bruised. And when I breathed in too deep, something in my chest scraped my bones.

So, not the worst I’d ever woken up feeling.

“Food,” I repeated. “My mouth tastes like ass.”

“Spare toothbrush in the bathroom. Be careful on your feet.”

That brought it all back to me. Or at least the clear images. Half of what I remembered was pain, blurry flashes, and a muddle of sensations and sounds.

“So he drugged me,” I said.

Terric had showered. His hair was still a little damp, combed back, and dripping just a bit on the shoulders of his white T-shirt. He also wore jeans and boots, one ankle propped on his other knee. He was drinking tea from what I knew was very expensive china.

He lifted his cup toward the tray of food on the coffee table. French toast, coffee, sausage, and apple butter.

“Not going to feed you. Unless you want me to.”

“No,” I said. “I don’t.”

I bent, groaned as I pulled the tray over to me, setting it across my legs. Didn’t spill a drop.

If Terric was talking, only the walls were listening. I didn’t hear a thing while I consumed every bite, lick, and morsel of breakfast.

I felt like I hadn’t eaten for months. And after I’d plowed through the food, I felt a lot better.

“Did you spike it with . . .” I wiggled my fingers over my empty plate.

“No. You walked for miles last night, Shame. Anyone would be hungry. Also, I am a hell of a cook.”

“Yeah, you are.”

I scraped the last bit of tart and sweet apple butter off the plate with my fork, licked the tines clean, then set the tray back on the table. Noticed the coffee carafe, cream and sugar there.

Refilled my cup. Sat back and took a drink.

“Did you find Dessa?” I asked.

“Not yet. The Hounds are looking.”

“Try the inn.”

“Why?”

“She’s renting a room. Did you tell Clyde about this?”

“Just that Collins contacted you last night and said we have a day or less before more people die.”

I thought that through. “So you didn’t tell him he wanted us to find his Soul Complement? It’s not like you to lie, Terric. That’s my shtick.”

Terric drank his tea with that quiet grace that reminded me of elegant people in old movies. “He could have gone to anyone,” he said. “Why did Eli go to you, Shame?”

“Fuck all if I know.”

“Maybe he still thinks we’re the head of the Authority?” Terric said.

“Everyone knows you were the head of the Authority. But no. He made it clear he doesn’t think the Authority has any power.”

“If I tell Clyde Eli wanted us to find his Soul Complement, Clyde’s going to want that handled through proper channels. What do you suppose that is?”

I rubbed my fingers across my scalp. God, I was filthy. “I don’t know. Call the cops? Start an investigation?”

“We’re already investigating Eli. The police already know he’s a suspect in Joshua’s death. They’re already looking for him. The Authority knows he’s behind Joshua’s death. We’re looking for him.”

“So . . . what? The police would question me, I guess.”

“Detective Stotts would lock you up,” Terric said. “For your own safety. Maybe as bait for Eli, but mostly to keep you safe. Plus, you wouldn’t be out barefoot on the streets destroying swaths of innocent horticulture from one end of Portland to the other.”

I cringed. “I killed plants?”

“Trees, bushes, grass, greenhouses. Took out a neighborhood garden off of Lombard.”

I waited. Waited for him to tell me how many people I’d killed.

“None,” he said over the rim of his cup, guessing correctly what I was thinking.

“There was blood on my mouth. In my mouth.”

“I think a few raccoons and possums met their maker.”

“Are you sure? There were people, a lot of people.” The memory was chaotic, but I knew it wasn’t a dream. “A bar?”

“No missing persons reports, no unusual injury reports at the hospitals. No unknown causes of death. Not bad for being half out of your mind.”

I closed my eyes. Realized my heart had been beating. Hard. With fear. Worry. Terric wouldn’t lie to me. Not about this. Not about the monster inside me.

I sat there for a bit, until my heartbeat quieted.

“So if we’re not telling Clyde that Eli tried to kill me so I would agree to help him, what’s next?” I asked.

“You,” he said, “are going to take a shower because you reek. I have some clothes I think will fit.”

“Jeremy’s clothes?” I asked, my eyes still closed.

“No.” Tight. Didn’t want to talk about it.

So, of course, I did. “Other than thinking I’m a waste of skin, is there some specific reason he hates me? We haven’t met before last night, have we?”

“You haven’t met,” Terric said quietly.

“He seems to know a lot about me.”

A pause. Then, “He thinks he does. I’ve . . . said a few things.”

“Bad things?”

“You make it hard to say good things, Shame.”

“True.”

Silence again.

“You know his family is involved in Blood magic,” I said.

“Used to be involved,” he said. “Blood magic isn’t what it used to be.”

“It’s not nothing,” I said. “With the right spell carved in blood, added to the right drug, you can still get results. People pay big money for those customized highs.”

“You’re telling me he’s a drug dealer.”

“I’m telling you he’s a part of the drug syndicate, Terric. The Black Crane. And the only thing he wants from you is your magic.”

Terric didn’t say anything for a minute.

“Where are you getting your information?” he asked far too calmly.

“I know people.”

“You don’t know him, Shame. He’s not like that.”

“He jumped pretty quickly to accuse me of using you.”

“And that makes him a part of a drug cartel?” he snapped. Then, with a lowered voice, “Shame. I don’t need two jealous men on my hands.”

So much for him listening to me. That was fine. I hadn’t expected him to. He cared about Jeremy, I knew that. I could take care of Jeremy on my own. And really, maybe it was better Terric didn’t know about it.

I smiled. My eyes were still closed.

“What?” he said.

“Jealousy is for people who know they can’t hold on to what they want.”

“My statement stands,” he said.

I opened my eyes, rolled my head so I could see him. “No. I can’t lose you, Terric. Not if I tried. Which is pretty much my default mode, come to think of it.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why is that, Shame? Why do you insist, still, after all these years, to close me out?”

I sat up, put a little weight on my feet. Nothing popped, split, or bled. So I stood. Managed it well enough. Took a step toward the bathroom. And another.

Ouch.

“You’re not even going to talk about it?” he asked.

I paused, put one hand out on the wall to keep my balance. “Talking doesn’t seem to be our thing.”

“It needs to become our thing. We’re a part of each other’s lives. Whether you want to acknowledge that or not.”

I turned so I could see him.

“Lives?” I shook my head. “Deaths. That’s what we’re a part of, Terric. Each other’s deaths. When we’re together, one of us always gets hurt. The more we are together, the more we hurt each other.”

He watched me for a moment. “Tell that to your healing feet.”

“Jesus.” I pushed away from the wall and made my way to the bathroom. “You’re impossible,” I said too quietly for him to hear.

He answered me anyway. “No. I’m right.”

Found the bathroom. It was depressingly clean and color-coordinated. Started the shower, stripped, and stepped in the water. Saw something bright out of the corner of my eye. Eleanor, sitting on the sink.

“Hey,” I said. “Thanks for waking me.”

She floated up so she could peek over the top of the shower door and down at me. I didn’t care that she would see me naked. We’d been together for so long, she’d seen me do many worse things than bathe.

She pointed at her neck about the same spot where Eli stabbed me with the needle.

“It hurts,” I said. “Feels like someone sewed a golf ball under my skin.”

She pointed at her chest.

“That hurts too.”

Shook her head, disappeared, then faded through the shower door so she was standing in the shower with me. The water rushed through her, but didn’t stir her hair, or dampen her glowing skin. She pointed at my heart, and pressed just the tip of her finger there.

“My heart?”

She drew the letter T, her cold touch leaving goose pimples across my wet skin.

“Don’t,” I said, pushing her hand away, even though my hand just passed right through her. “He’s the last thing I want to talk about.”

She stepped back and eased through the door. I scrubbed my head, face, and body. Tipped my feet so I could see how bad off the soles were. Bruised black and purple-red, lots of long cuts from heel to toe that were scabbed and not weeping, thanks to Terric. What had I done? Walked across glass?

I washed the cuts as gently as I could, then rinsed and got out.

Pulled a towel that was folded on the edge of the sink and rubbed my head.

Good. God. It was the softest towel I’d ever touched. I shut out everything but that sensation—soft cotton drifting across my skin—whisking the water away.

If it was wrong to have carnal feelings for a towel, I didn’t want to be right.

Terric had an eye for luxury. Lived his life like it was worth doing right.

Maybe he had something there. We were all going to die. Might as well savor whatever time we had.

Maybe it was the towel, maybe it was thoughts about mortality, but I found myself thinking about Dessa and smiling. Terric said she’d dropped me off. So she’d been following me.

Who knew I’d have the hots for a ferret-smuggling stalker girl with an overactive desire for revenge?

If she’d dropped me off, then that meant she’d approached me when I was out of my mind and devouring all the life around me.

Correction: stalker girl with an overactive desire for revenge and a hell of a lot of guts.

She’d been with me when I was dangerously uncontrolled. I could have killed her. And yet I hadn’t. Or at least I thought she was okay.

She also hadn’t come inside with me so we could ask her what Eli said she knew: namely where the hell he, or his Soul Complement, was being held prisoner.

If Dessa was making it a point to keep an eye on me, she should be nearby. It seemed strange that Terric hadn’t found her yet. Maybe she had a lead on Eli and was following it.

Great. She might be walking right into a situation that would get her killed.

I looked around for the clothes he said might fit me. Spotted a folded gray T-shirt, a heavy brown sweater, and faded blue jeans. A belt was set out next to the jeans. Not exactly my colors, which were, by the way, black, but better than being naked.

I shook out the pants, put them on. A little long, but not by much, too loose at the waist. Belt took care of that. I shouldered into the T-shirt, fit me fine, then the sweater.

Everything smelled like Terric. The colors looked like Terric.

I toweled off the mirror. Got a good look at myself while brushing back my hair.

Dark green eyes a little bloodshot. Needed a shave. The bones of my cheeks and jaw were squared and prominent. However, even in the bulky chocolate brown sweater, I looked like I could kick ass and take names.

Not my colors. But not bad.

I looked around for socks. Nothing. Then I pissed and left the bathroom.

Terric was on the phone. Pacing. Couldn’t tell who he was talking to.

I started looking for my shoes. Remembered I’d come over barefoot. Crap.

Terric stopped pacing. Glanced over at me. One look at me and he paused a second in his good-bye, which made me grin.

Damn straight I was worth looking at.

He pocketed his phone. “I know it’s only brown, but damn, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you in a color, Shame. You should wear colors more often.”

“I do wear colors: black, coal, ebony.”

He smiled. “Sit. I want to look at your feet.”

“This foot obsession you’ve got going?” I said. “Unhealthy.”

I sat in the nearest chair and propped both my feet up on the coffee table. Realized something that had been nagging me. “Your place smells like cigarette smoke.”

“Does it?”

I took a deep breath. “A bit.”

“Hm.”

“Why? Did you take up smoking?”

“No. Jeremy smokes.” He sat on the couch, bent a bit so he could see the bottom of my feet. It really was sort of weird having someone stare with such interest at my heels and arches. “I’ve told him not to, but.” He shrugged, then put his hand on my ankle, firmly.

“That’s—” I started.

“Don’t,” he said.

So I didn’t. But if I had finished the thought it would have run along the line that Terric hated when his things smelled like smoke. And after that it would have gone down the path that his house didn’t look like he lived here anymore.

The things that always made it feel distinctly his, things like his photography, his collection of hardbound books, and the wall that used to display the pictures of all of his many—and I do mean many—brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and nieces and nephews and cousins, were gone. Wiped away. Replaced with the abstract art. Changed.

Jeremy had made Terric change for him. Or maybe Terric had done it willingly.

I was no expert on relationships. Still, this total takeover didn’t seem . . . healthy.

I had plenty of energy to pull my feet away from Terric’s grasp this time. But I didn’t. The magic that Terric called upon was like sliding my feet into warm, soothing oil. And since I was in possession of most of my gray matter this morning, I paid very close attention to what he was doing and how he was doing it.

Mankind had wanted to use magic for healing for years on end. And while magic can help speed up the healing process, or support the body while it naturally heals, or ease the pain brought on by magical damage, I’d never seen anyone straight-out heal with magic.

Doctors used magic, yes. To assist and support surgeries and other medical procedures.

But that’s not what Terric was doing.

Terric had his eyes closed and was whispering slightly. Not a spell, more like a mantra. Sounded like Latin and maybe a little French. I didn’t know either well enough to take a guess at what he was using to keep his concentration sharp, but I knew that’s what he was doing.

Also? My feet were glowing. Not the bright green-edged white that Terric usually called upon. This was the soft yellow of candlelight.

“No word on Dessa?” I said.

Terric didn’t answer. Kept his concentration on the healing.

“That’s strange, right? She’s following me. Which means she should be close by.”

Terric just kept whispering those words, guiding magic to knit my cuts and ease my bruises.

I was starting to feel good. Much better than I should feel after a night like last night.

Was this hurting Terric? One way to find out.

“Ter,” I said, “open your eyes.”

He did. Still whispering. That was a blank, empty look. Not feverish, not like he was thinking over some kind of complex calculations. Just inhuman, alien. Life magic was staring back at me, hungry and hollow.

There wasn’t a scrap of Terric in those eyes.

I pulled both feet out of his grasp, stood, walked halfway across the room. “Stop it,” I said.

He didn’t seem to hear me, just frowned and stood, then came marching toward me. That glow in his eyes turned into a hard, hungry glint.

I knew the face of the monster in his bones. It was the twin to mine.

His fingers curled into claws as he spread one hand toward the floor, and the other toward my heart.

The bushes outside the house suddenly leaped against the windows, lashing and twisting and growing so fast they completely blocked the morning light.

Heat shot up my legs from my feet. My skin pricked like electricity was riding my nerves. And I felt my body change. Change into something the magic in Terric wanted it to be.

Oh, hell no.

“Terric, if you don’t snap out of this I will shove Death magic down your throat.”

I figured he could hear me, but I didn’t know how much power Life magic had over him.

“No? Fine.” I pulled on Death magic and let it whip toward the Life magic he was bleeding out.

The connection was electric. Literally. Dark and light magic clashed and exploded, the force of impact canceling both magics. The backwash rushed over me in a wave that should be agony, but was pure pleasure.

Soul Complements and magic. Heady stuff. If we continued using magic together like this, soon we’d be taking up residence in each other’s brains. Then it was a real possibility we’d slide on over to insanity together—use magic to shape the world, shape the people around us, in any way we desired.

I’d fought Soul Complements who had used magic in that way—monsters who had brought the apocalypse to my city and nearly destroyed it. I’d kill us both before letting us become that.

I slipped off two of my Void stone rings and stepped up to him. I grabbed his hand—which finally got his full attention—and dropped the rings into his palm, closing his fingers over the rings.

“You got this,” I said. “You can control it. Just take it down a tick, mate.”

I stepped back, not wanting to risk our connection becoming any stronger for fear I’d be lost in it. He locked his hand around mine and didn’t let go. “Just. Stay,” he panted. “Give me a minute.”

I stayed and gave him a minute.

He whispered something over and over. Maybe a spell, maybe a litany to focus his will.

At about the thirty-second mark, the rings in his palm that were scraping against the rings on my knuckles went hot. Then very cold.

The vegetation outside stopped writhing.

He dropped my hand. Ran fingers over his face, then hair. Finally held out the rings to me.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

He nodded, still not looking at me. “I’ll get my necklace.” His voice was a little rough.

Terric left the room. I slid my rings back into place like a man counting prayer beads.

“And some shoes for me!” I called out after him. “Or at least socks.”

It took a few minutes, but I figured he needed them.

So did I. I hadn’t gotten out of that unscathed. He had done something—no, the clash of our magics had done something—so that I could feel him. Usually I sensed his heartbeat. Now I could feel how he was breathing, and weirdly, I got an echo of what he was feeling—anger, sorrow, hunger.

Soul Complements.

I didn’t like it.

When he came back, he was wearing the Void stone necklace over his T-shirt, his expression calm, his eyes just his eyes again. He was also holding up a pair of socks and the ugliest footwear I’d ever seen.

“What the hell is that?” I asked.

“UGGs.”

“No.”

“They’re comfortable.”

“No.”

“They’re all I have in the house that will fit you.” He jiggled them a little, like I was some sort of cat who could be tempted by string.

“No.”

“Shame, you can’t walk around barefoot all day.”

“If my only alternative are those boots, I can. Why do you even have those ugly things? Aren’t your people supposed to be fashion forward?”

“My people?” he asked with a dangerous arc of his eyebrow.

“Graphic designers,” I said.

“You wear the boots, or you walk to the car barefoot.”

“Do you have real shoes in the car?”

“No. But if you stow the attitude and the mouth, I’ll take you to a store and you can buy a pair.”

“Take me to my place and I won’t have to buy anything.”

“That was Victor on the phone. He wants to talk to us. Immediately.”

“Did he say what it was about?”

“No.” He jiggled the boots again.

I strode over to him and grabbed them out of his hands. “If you give me one single word of shit about this . . .”

“Silent as a saint,” he said.

I shoved my feet into the boots, which were, damn it all, comfortable.

“Not. One. Word.” I stomped off to the door, ignoring Terric’s grin.