Sins of the Flesh

But somehow, she couldn’t make herself hang any confidence on that thought. Her gut was telling her that no matter what she’d just seen, the soul reaper wasn’t gone for good. He might be in a world of hurt, but if it was that easy to kill a soul reaper, every member of the Asetian Guard and most Underworld armies would walk around with a gas can and a lighter in hand. Or better yet, a flamethrower.

No. Malthus Krayl wasn’t dead. And she didn’t doubt for a second that he’d be coming after her just as soon as he could.

Good luck with that. The destination she had in mind was reaper-proof.

And dangerous, because she’d be held accountable for tonight’s choices and because the cartouche the reaper had shown her made everything suspect. A chill crawled up her spine.

The only good thing was that he hadn’t appeared to recognize her as the woman who’d left him in the club’s basement with his arms bound by his shirt and what likely had ended as an unpleasant case of blue balls.

Be thankful for small favors.

She geared down, easing up to a red light. Every instinct was screaming for her to take off with the Porsche in redline. Instead, she took pains to signal and drive according to the rules as the light changed to green. The last thing she wanted was for mortal police to get involved.

Keeping a close eye on the road behind her, she headed toward the lake. There didn’t appear to be anyone following, but that didn’t necessarily mean someone wasn’t. The skin on the back of her neck prickled. She hadn’t seen the last of Xaphan’s fire genies. She doubted they’d forfeit the prize without a fight.

She glanced at Kuznetsov, still unconscious on the seat beside her.

“Aren’t you a popular guy?”

The question was, why? She knew what she wanted from him—information about three dead girls with traces of a bloodline linked to Aset—and she could explain the reaper’s interest because Kuznetsov was a Setnakht priest, and Setnakhts were the mortal worshippers of Sutekh. Also, Roxy Tam had discovered a link between the Setnakhts and the dead soul reaper. It made sense that Malthus Krayl would want information about his brother’s death. But there were a number of unaccounted-for players in the mix. Xaphan and his fire genies. Asmodeus via the Topworld grunts Big Ralph had sent. So many puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit.

At the moment, the answers didn’t matter. The priority was getting Kuznetsov to her superiors in the Guard. She would take him to the Matriarchs and let them discover his secrets. It was the wisest course, despite the fact that on a personal level, it was her worst choice.

She’d broken rules tonight, and she was going to pay a heavy price for that. Best to have her core mission deemed a success so at the very least she had the satisfaction of a job well done.

Or, if not well done, at least done.

If she drove straight through, she could reach her destination in a day and a half, maybe two if she got stuck behind a slow-moving convoy of trucks on the single-lane section of Highway #1.

The soul reaper’s Porsche was too conspicuous. She needed something nondescript. Lucky for her, she was ever prepared.

Rounding the corner, she took a sharp left down an alley so narrow there were mere inches on each side of the car.

Kuznetsov groaned. His eyelids fluttered. Not good. She was running out of time. He’d regain consciousness very soon, and she’d have to be ready to deal with him.

Choices. She had them, but they were damned few, and none was completely satisfactory. She was still way too close for comfort to where she’d left Xaphan’s concubines and Malthus Krayl, but she’d have to take the risk. She had a loaded vehicle parked nearby, one she kept for just such emergencies. All she needed to do was get there, transfer Kuznetsov and disappear before the fire genies managed to follow.

She turned onto a one-way street and headed down the ramp to the underground garage. It wasn’t the best of its kind; it was poorly maintained and the security cameras were there just for show. They didn’t actually record a thing. That was the reason she’d chosen this place. It was perfect for her purposes. Pay the owner cash each month, and he never asked questions.

Pulling the Porsche into an empty spot in a shadowed corner beside a silver SUV, she killed the engine and got out. She bolted around the car and hauled open the passenger door. Kuznetsov was deadweight as she dragged him out, his feet hitting the concrete with a thud. But not enough of a thud.

Something was wrong.

She lurched back as he slammed both his fists back toward her kneecaps.

He was fast. She was much faster.

He missed her entirely, the momentum of his failed blows sending him off balance. He went down hard and skidded on the concrete. Then, lips peeled back in a feral snarl, he pushed to his feet and lumbered away.

“Not so fast,” Calliope said as she tore after him, grabbed him by the hair and yanked back, hard.