Sins of the Soul

The other night, when he had wrapped his hands around her throat and held on until her tongue protruded like a swollen purple snake, he had ached to finish the deed. She had given as good as she got; he had bruises on his arms where she had pummeled him and a lump on the back of his head where she’d cracked him with a crystal vase.

But her struggles were not the reason he had refrained from killing her. He could not take her life without risking his own, along with any potential immortality. If he sent her to the Underworld, she would only betray him to whatever god or demigod claimed her soul. Word would get out, and then those who wished to avenge Lokan Krayl’s death would come for him.

So he had been forced to take his hands from her neck, to settle for the small joy he got from the sight of the marks he had left on her skin.

Then she had stolen even that paltry pleasure by covering them with the turtlenecks she had worn since.

“You asinine fool!” Djeserit advanced on him, her dark eyes narrowed. Despite her olive coloring, her face was a pale oval framed by the black turtleneck and black knitted cap she wore. Her lips were pale and bloodless, while two bright red flags stained her cheeks. “You lost them both. Two Daughters of Aset in one place, and you let them get away.”

“I? I lost them?” His anger was so rich and thick that his voice trembled with the force of it. “I did not hire Naphré Kurata’s mentor to kill her. I did not stalk her when he failed. I did not let her see me at the graveyard and open us up to all manner of difficulties, including her very presence here this night. It was not me that she sought when she attempted to talk her way past security. You are the reason Naphré came here tonight. Hence, you are the reason Marie has escaped our grasp.”

He made no mention of his own involvement in this night’s debacle. He had no idea what madness had allowed him to leave Marie unattended in the alley even for a moment. But she had been insensate. He had not imagined she could get very far.

He certainly had not imagined that Naphré would leap to the girl’s rescue. His research indicated she had broken with the Asetian Guard years ago. And Marie was not even on their radar. Yet here were two Daughters of Aset, the one saving the other. Was his intel wrong? Was his contact within the Asetian Guard unreliable? Were Marie and Naphré both secret members?

He could not credit it. His contact in the Guard was well situated and in a position to have access to all manner of classified information. A mole at one of the highest levels. It had taken him a decade to cultivate that connection. She had confirmed that Naphré had no contact with the Guard, and that Marie had flown under their radar.

But even more alarming than Naphré’s presence was the fact that it was a soul reaper Pyotr had glimpsed dragging them both off. Two Daughters of Aset in the company of, if Pyotr was not mistaken, not merely a peon, but one of Sutekh’s sons. Having had a hand in the murder of one, he could not mistake another.

What gave these two women such value that the reaper exposed himself in order to nab them, breaking the custom of avoiding being seen by humans? One more question to add to his ever-growing list.

“What do the police believe occurred?”

“It will be recorded as three deaths due to a drunk driver, and a car with an exploding propane tank in the trunk.”

Quite inventive, if he did say so himself.

“Three?”

“Yes.” The three men who had backed him up in the chase had all died, incinerated in the raging inferno that had consumed the car. A sad and tragic loss. And incredibly convenient that their deaths rendered them unable to share with Djeserit the information that they had seen the soul reaper in the alley.

Djeserit did not—and would not—know of the reaper’s presence, because she had arrived after he had disappeared. She had seen nothing but the aftermath, and Pyotr was not about to enlighten her.

Pyotr sucked in a sharp breath. A soul reaper. In the company of Daughters of Aset.

It was impossible. Soul reapers and Otherkin did not work together. Yet they had been together, not once, but twice, tonight, and the night Djeserit had seen him at the cemetery.

He needed to think. He needed to plan.

What if the secrets of the Setnakhts—his secrets—had been betrayed?

Impossible.

Mastering his rising panic, he kept his expression neutral, revealing nothing of his thoughts.

Djeserit whirled away from him and walked around her massive glass-and-metal desk to settle into her ergonomic chair, a luxury paid for by the congregation at the astonishing cost of nearly ten thousand dollars. For a chair.

Pyotr knew she wished to make a statement by her action, to make him stand before her like a subordinate while she sat in luxury, to show him she was the one with the greater position and power. A week ago, he would have let her because it amused him.

Tonight, he stepped forward, swept his arm across the glass surface and sent pens and papers and laptop sailing through the air before plummeting to the ground.