Sins of the Soul

He wished with all he was that he had been the one to exact revenge and twist Gahiji’s head clean off. But he’d have done that only after he extracted information about his dead brother.

They needed to find Lokan’s remains. They needed to find his Ka: his soul. And they needed to unite the two and reanimate him before he partook of the food of the dead and was lost to them forever, trapped in whatever limbo he’d been sent to.

Lokan’s Ka was gone, not to any part of the Underworld they knew of, but somewhere else. Bloody hell, none of them even knew where to look. They’d waited for some sort of contact. The brothers had always had the ability to sense each other’s pain, to know when one of them was in need. But no contact had come. Wherever Lokan was, he was lost to them, beyond their reach.

“Wish I could claim the kill,” Dagan replied, his expression flat, his gray eyes cold as asphalt in winter.

Alastor didn’t doubt it.

“Mal?”

His brother spread his hands and offered a casual shrug and a shake of his head.

Process of elimination had Alastor looking to the far side of the long, narrow room, to the fourth in their little private party: Sutekh, the most powerful of the Underworld deities. He went by many names: Seth, Set, Seteh, Lord of the Desert, Mighty One of Two-fold Strength. Lord of Chaos. Lord of Evil.

The Krayl boys called him Dad. At least, Alastor did. His brothers preferred to shun any verbal claim of kinship, as though by avoiding the moniker they could avoid the relationship.

Their family dynamic was what pop psychology called dysfunctional.

Expression impassive, Sutekh regarded them with an unwavering gaze. He could choose any appearance that caught his fancy, and today it was the human face and form of Egyptian royalty. His skin was olive toned, his eyes large and dark, outlined in kohl. A narrow beard extended from his chin. The pleated folds of his head-dress framed his face, and the cloth of his royal apron was wrapped counterclockwise around his body. All of which meant they weren’t here for shits and giggles. Sutekh meant business.

“Interesting locale,” Mal murmured with a lazy glance at their surroundings. “Is there a reason we couldn’t meet in your greeting room?”

“Gahiji was a traitor,” Sutekh replied.

He was.

The bastard had been there when Lokan was tattooed with an inverted version of the mark of Aset, Sutekh’s enemy. He’d watched while Lokan was skinned, butchered, his body hacked to bits, the parts scattered. Maybe Gahiji had even wielded a knife, a participant rather than an observer. Maybe he was the one who’d stretched Lokan’s skin and set it in a black plastic frame, then sent it to Sutekh as proof of the deed.

Rage congealed in Alastor’s gut. “If Gahiji could turn traitor, there are undoubtedly others among your minions.”

“Yes.”

Alastor glanced at the walls of solid sandstone block; the floor was more of the same. There was a single low, narrow doorway, closed off by a thick wooden door. No windows. No place for anyone to hide and listen.

“So this is your equivalent of the cone of silence,” Mal said, drawing out the word cone.

Sutekh completely missed the tongue-in-cheek humor.

“Nowhere is safe,” he said, his voice flat, his gaze sliding to each of his three living sons in turn, perhaps lingering on Dagan a millisecond longer than the others. “No one is trustworthy.”

“Something you want to say?” Dagan asked softly.

Alastor stepped between his father and his older brother, heading off that discussion before it could begin. No sense hashing out the fact that Sutekh did not exactly approve of Dagan’s mate, Roxy Tam. Alastor did. And though he wouldn’t admit it aloud, a part of him even envied Dagan that he had found love. Romantic love. Chivalrous love—like Dagan could ever, by any stretch, be labeled chivalrous. In contrast, Alastor had been spoon-fed the art of chivalry since birth. But that had been when he’d lived in the world of man as a human, before he’d learned what he truly was. A soul reaper. Son of Sutekh.

He’d stopped thinking about courtliness and gallantry and love long ago.

Still, he was glad for his brother that he’d found it.

“Gahiji was your man for nearly two thousand years, and he betrayed us all,” Alastor pointed out. If blame was to be cast, might as well set it squarely where it belonged.

Sutekh’s face remained expressionless, but the damp chill that suddenly seeped through the walls and floor reflected his mood.

“We are your sons.” Alastor continued, letting the last word carry the weight of his message. The beings in this chamber were not the enemy. He cast a speaking glance toward Dagan. “All of us are your sons, loyal to you, whether you agree with our choices or not.”

Yes, they were loyal. But everyone else in Sutekh’s ranks or any other territory was suspect.

“So what now?” Mal asked with a nod toward Gahiji’s severed head.