Sins of the Soul

Lip curling in disdain, Pyotr watched as she lifted the tumbler to her lips. She drank, not in sips but in gulps.

The tableau—Djeserit here at the Temple instead of home in her bed, dressed entirely in black, drinking whiskey like water—was telling. Something had disturbed her greatly, and Pyotr knew exactly what that something was. Her plan had failed. Had she bothered to discuss it with him beforehand, he would have told her the outcome. But she had not, so he had not known about it until it was too late to stop her, and now who knew what unexpected complications she had created with her precipitous actions.

The worst part of it was, he had not seen it coming because Djeserit was never precipitous. Only through the man he had sent to infiltrate her elite team of bodyguards, a team she had chosen to dismiss for the night, had he even known that there was something special about tonight. It was one of the reasons he himself did not employ even a single guard. Trusting no one meant there could be no betrayals.

“Djeserit,” he said as he disengaged from the shadows, enjoying her start of surprise and the way the liquor splashed over the rim and down her fingers to drip to the Persian carpet beneath their feet. He enjoyed unsettling her. It was a rare and unusual treat.

She spun to face him. She was a tall, imposing woman with piercing black eyes and a prominent nose. Like centuries of traditional Egyptian priests before her, she was completely hairless. Her scalp was bald. No eyebrows, no eyelashes.

“Pyotr.” She spat his name like a curse. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?” She had spy cameras set in the walls and double locks with security measures in place to protect her domain.

“You left the door unlocked,” he said with a mocking smile, knowing she wouldn’t believe him and not caring in the slightest.

She stared at him, unblinking. Then she said, “You took my fish.”

It was his turn to stare at her.

“I want it back.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said.

“You broke into my office tonight. You’ve done it before. I noticed yesterday that my fish, a priceless artifact, was missing.” Her voice rose. “You took it.”

“Djeserit, you sound unsettled. How unlike you.” He offered a casual shrug as he fully disengaged from the shadow of the massive bookcase on the far wall. “Your artifact is not in my possession.”

But its loss made him wonder if he was the only one who had discovered a way to pass through Djeserit’s locks. The possibility of an outside intruder could not be discounted. But he had more immediate concerns.

Crossing to the glass and metal monstrosity that was her desk, he spread his fingers and dragged them across the top, leaving four neatly aligned smears in his wake.

“What were you thinking?” he whispered, stopping three feet away.

“What was I thinking?” She gulped the last of her drink, then turned and slammed the glass down on the countertop, before whirling to face him once more. Her expression was wily. “What exactly are you asking about?”

He despised her. But he was forced to ally with her until death freed him. Her death. Soon, but not yet.

“I know you went hunting tonight,” he said, his tone flat and even. “You did not send a minion. You went yourself. I know you failed to obtain what you sought. And I know you may well have seriously harmed our cause. So I ask again, what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that the girl you plan to use as a blood sacrifice has poor lineage. That at the rate we’re going, we’ll both be dead and buried before we can even begin to set the next step of the plan into motion.”

He sucked in a breath, stunned by her words. If she knew about the blood, then she knew about the prophesy.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I know you lied to me, spun tales about luring a soul reaper by killing innocents. It was the blood all along, Pyotr. But you choose poorly. They all have weak lineage. Too weak for the purpose you intend. Especially the latest lamb you intend to slaughter.”

The lamb was Marie Matheson. She was a Daughter of Aset, but for centuries no one in her line had been part of the Asetian Guard. Her line was so weak, in fact, that she had no idea what she was. Her heritage was completely and utterly lost to her.

“The girl does have weak lineage,” he agreed, refusing to confirm or deny whatever she thought she knew about the blood or the prophesy. He had plotted his course too carefully, and he had no desire to have her along for the ride.