Sins of the Flesh

“Is he aware that he knows it?”


Beset laughed, a rusty sound, as though it was little used. “No. His memories were locked away, even from him. He knew he witnessed the killing. He knew he was there. He even knew the identity of other mortals who were involved, and he gladly named them for us. But he could not identify the supernaturals who bloodied their hands with the soul reaper’s death.”

The answers were exactly what she had expected. Which made them suspect. Was Beset telling her the truth, or telling her what she expected to hear?

“Did we kill the soul reaper?” she asked. “Did Kuznetsov ally with the Guard against Sutekh?”

Again Beset laughed, but now the sound had a hard edge. A warning.

“These questions you should ask only if you are certain you are willing to pay the price for the answers, Calliope. You may yet leave this place to serve the Guard in the world of mortals. That is what you wish, is it not?”

The implication was clear. Answers might cost her her freedom. Or her life. Was that an answer in itself? Did it mean that Aset, and perhaps even Osiris, had moved against Sutekh with the murder of his son? And if so, why now? The cease-fire had been in place for nearly 6,000 years.

She couldn’t say why the answers mattered. She’d spent most of her life in the Guard, following orders, doing what needed to be done, never questioning the directives that were handed to her. Because losing herself in the hierarchy, giving herself over to something larger than her own hurts, allowed her to rise above those hurts. To be serene. Never again to feel that devastating terror and loss that had once consumed her.

She opened her mouth to question further, intending to make full use of this rare and unique opportunity. It was unheard of to have a private audience with a Matriarch.

Then she gasped. Beset was no longer halfway across the room. She was directly in front of Calliope with only the shatterproof glass between them.

The cowl obscured the Matriarch’s face, and the folds of the robe hid her form. This close, Calliope could see the red velvet was shot with black and edged with black embroidery, the gold chain and cartouche bright against the cloth. Any hope she’d harbored that the cartouche the soul reaper had held had been other than Aset’s disappeared. There could be no doubt.

“Let me see your thoughts,” Beset said. Only the words did not come from beyond the glass, but rather from inside Calliope’s skull, the sound both a booming echo and the softest whisper.

Pain shot through her, from her head down her neck, through her spine. It exploded down her legs through the soles of her feet, anchoring her to the stone. Hot. Cold. The heart of a furnace. The water of a lake beneath a crust of ice. It was the most horrific sensation she had ever known. Like acid eating her from inside.

“I have no wish to cause you discomfort, merely to see what I must. You resist.”

A strangled laugh escaped her. “Not on purpose.”

“Truly?” Beset paused. “You are strong. I had not expected it. Come. Let me in.”

Again, the pain, as though the cap of her skull was popped open and boiling oil poured through her insides. She sought her center, sought her placid lake, away from the pain, the heat, the burn.

There. Water like glass. Air pure and clean. The pain gone. She stood by a pond in a perfect field. And she was alone.

“The blood of Aset runs true in your veins,” Beset said. Then, “We will use a different course.”

Though she couldn’t see Beset’s features or expression, she had the feeling that the Matriarch was looking at her speculatively.

“You do not trust me. Not only do you not invite me in, you bar the door of your thoughts against me. Why is that, Calliope Kane?”

“I don’t know,” Calliope said in all truthfulness. She knew she feared the power of this nameless, formless woman. She feared her vengeance and her fury. But more than that, she feared what the Matriarch might choose to reveal to her about herself. “I do not consciously make the choice to keep you out.” In for a penny, in for a pound. “But I freely admit that the thought of anyone else going through my mind like a filing cabinet is unappealing.”

She preferred to maintain her calm and placid mien, to bury all darkness beneath the smooth surface of her own secret lake. Easier that way than to face the horrors of her memories and her terrors. Her hate and pain. Bury something deep enough and even if you couldn’t forget it, at least you didn’t have to look at it.

Beset nodded, her cowl completely obscuring her features. “You are the first in many centuries to bar my entry. It will be blood, then.”

She gestured toward Calliope’s feet, the sleeve of her robe long and wide, hiding her hand.