Sins of the Soul

“We are aware.” The Shikome gestured toward the mark of the Daughters of Aset, partially visible under the strap of Naphré’s black tank top. Centipedes dropped from her extended hand and skittered away to be lost in the shadows.

Naphré glanced down as they came closer, then she raised her head and looked directly at where the Shikome’s eyes should have been. Lifting her slippered foot, she brought it down hard as one centipede ran past, then she ground her heel back and forth.

A smile tugged at Alastor’s lips. He had to admire her moxie.

She moved her foot. Where the dead centipede should have been, there was only gleaming wooden floor. Alastor glanced around for the others that had dropped from the Shikome’s hand, but they were gone, swallowed by the shadows or the baseboards…

Or not.

Suspicion unfurled.

“Izanami is aware of your heritage. Your choices—” the Shikome paused “—and your mistakes.”

One of those mistakes being that she’d pledged her soul to Sutekh. He’d seen the fury that had swelled in the Shikome when she’d seen Naphré’s name inscribed there.

“You are no longer part of the Asetian Guard,” the Shikome continued.

Alastor knew that Roxy had walked away from the Guard when she’d taken up with Dagan, though she hadn’t made that choice solely because of her relationship with his brother. She’d said it hadn’t been a good fit for her all along. Something about not doing well with blind obedience. Now it seemed that Naphré hadn’t found it a good fit, either.

Which told him that, like Roxy, she’d been merely a foot soldier with no access to classified information. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have let her go.

“If she comes to Izanami’s realm willingly, can she choose to leave?” Alastor asked, drawing the attention of both Naphré and the Shikome.

“I cannot presume to speak for Izanami.”

An answer that wasn’t an answer. Being adept at those himself, Alastor wasn’t inclined to settle. “Make an educated guess.”

“If she does not partake of the food of the dead, she cannot be held permanently in the realm of the Underworld.”

“Still not an answer. You ever consider politics?”

“It is the only one I can offer.”

Torn, Alastor weighed his options. Take Naphré to Izanami and risk that she could never come back. Leave her here, go alone and risk that he’d be denied access to Butcher’s darksoul and the secrets he might have known in life. He wasn’t liking either one.

“Then she won’t be joining us.” He said the words without intending to, yet once they were out, he felt like they were the only answer he could give. Risking Naphré’s life, her soul, wasn’t something he was willing to do. But risking his own was. “I’ll offer myself in her place.”

An empty, gaping slit appeared in the undulating mass that was the Shikome’s face. Alastor realized it was her version of a smile.

“That is not an option. The meeting of allies draws near. Should Izanami take you, Sutekh’s son, the outcome of that meeting is assured.”

True enough.

A fat, white maggot wriggled along the Shikome’s foot and dropped to the floor. Alastor blinked, and it was gone. He frowned, staring at the place it had been. He inhaled through his nose, tentatively at first, then deeply.

Where was the smell that had been here earlier? “You are not offering anything in my place,” Naphré said with a hard look in his direction. Her hands were fisted at her sides, her shoulders tense, but her tone was neutral and even. “I am right here, despite the fact that the two of you are discussing me like I’m not. And I make my own decisions. You have no jurisdiction over me, Alastor Krayl, though you seem to be making a habit of acting like you do.”

Alastor opened his mouth to reply, then snapped it shut. Something deep and primal unfurled inside him, whispering that he had every right. That she was his. He locked it down, focused on the Shikome, turning her words over and over in his mind.

Understanding clicked like tumblers in a lock. Bring her to me, and I will intercede for you with Izanami. She hadn’t said “give her to me” but rather “bring her to me,” even though she was standing not three feet away. And the smell…other than the initial aroma of rot and decay, the scent the Shikome carried with her had dissipated. All he smelled now was a faint hint of Naphré’s floral shampoo.

He prowled forward onto the landing, crowding the Shikome back toward the stairs. “How is it that you’re walking around Topworld? A rare skill, that.”

The Shikome said nothing.

Lunging forward, Alastor sliced the side of his hand down from the Shikome’s crown clear through to her belly. Centipedes scattered, crawling up his arm and skittering along the ground, and then like smoke, they were gone. She was gone.

Like she had never been.

But the threat she’d carried with her lingered.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN