Sins of the Flesh

Roxy said nothing, not trusting a word of it.

“Your mother was beloved, though she had not completed her transition. She was marked but not blooded. She had not yet chosen to take first blood.”

“I remember she had a mark on her forearm, an ankh. It’s how I knew where to put mine.” Roxy dragged up her sleeve and bared her own dark mark, etched in her skin, an ankh with wings and horns. “Who are you?”

“I am Amunet. I am your progenitor. Your sister among Aset’s Daughters. I am the keeper of the archives that document our line. And I join you in mourning the loss of Kelley Tam.”

“Do you? Then why didn’t you save her?” Why didn’t you come for me? Find me? Save me? She didn’t ask those questions out loud, but she got an answer nonetheless.

“The Matriarchs regret the years you were alone and unaware of your gifts. Though powerful, we are not omniscient. We did not come because we did not know we were needed.”

“The Matriarchs.” Roxy’s breath caught. This woman with her velvet gown and speed and power. She was one of the Matriarchs. And she’d left the compound. Why?

“I have come for you now, Roxy Tam.”





CALLIOPE STEPPED OUT of the shower, feeling off. Having taken Mal’s blood to heal the wound in her side, she’d again forfeited her ability to sense events before they happened. She felt naked without it. Uncomfortable. As if she was missing a limb.

She combed her wet hair and drew it back in a covered elastic then pulled on clothes. Pure instinct told her something wasn’t quite right. She closed her eyes for a second and listened.

Silently, she made her way to the spare bedroom at the front of the house. She didn’t shift the blind. Instead, she positioned herself so she could peer through the half-inch crack between the roller shade and the window frame. At the same time she reached for any hint of a supernatural energy signature.

Nothing out there.

But the fine hairs on her forearms prickled and rose, and she wondered if feeding from Mal had dulled her other senses rather than heightened them. His prana was like high-voltage electricity cranking her system, but there was a price for everything, and her prescience was definitely part of that payment. What else had she lost in the process?

The other option was no better: that whatever was out there was powerful enough to mask any hint of its presence.

She crept to the next bedroom and repeated her movements then went to the back of the house and did the same.

No car was visible, other than her own. There were no shadows that moved when they shouldn’t.

She stole silently down the stairs, not bothering with a light, careful to avoid the creaking fifth step.

When she reached the bottom of the staircase, she froze, trying to catch some hint of what was out there.

Or in here.

On a sharp inhalation, she leaped back, brought her knee to the groin at the same time as she jabbed for the larynx.

Her knee missed. Her jab connected, but barely, not nearly hard enough to do real damage.

There was a strangled grunt.

Then, “You think we’ll ever get to a point where you stop attacking me?”

The breath left her in a rush as she fell back. Stood down.

Mal stood there, one hand rubbing his throat, and she realized that feeding from him had enhanced her night vision. That’s why she’d been able to see outside so clearly on a nearly moonless night. She’d been so focused on finding the intruder, she hadn’t even thought about that until now.

“Must you sneak up on me?” she asked, liquid cool.

“I was trying to be considerate,” he said, sounding wounded and a little hoarse. “In case you were asleep.”

She cut him a look through her lashes, suspecting he lied. “Were you? Or were you testing me? Trying to make certain I didn’t just lie there asleep while someone broke in?”

He made a noncommittal sound.

Stepping toward him, she laid her hand on his cheek and he turned his head and pressed his lips to her palm. But his eyes tracked hers, glittering mercury-gray and bright, and in his gaze she saw turmoil. Something was wrong.

“What is it?” she asked softly.

“I have something for you,” he said. Without waiting for a reply, he handed her her sword, hilt first, the one she’d lost to him that night at Kuznetsov’s condo.

She took it, the heft familiar in her hand, the weight of it like an extension of her arm. He had to have brought it to her for a reason.

Lifting her head, she studied his expression, and the glint of gold caught her eye. Aset’s cartouche. He was wearing it around his neck now. He hadn’t been when he left. That, combined with her sword, made her uneasy.

“What is it?” she asked again.

“Someone came for Roxy while Dae and I were gone. And someone got Naphré, too.”