He took the bottle of whiskey again and downed about a third of what was left before replacing the cap. “I was mugged,” he said after wiping his mouth on the back of a hand.
As he’d said before, it was doubtful a human could do that to him, but I dropped it. He was never one to share with the class anyway.
He lifted a gray T-shirt off the back of another chair and pulled it on with great care. When he settled back, it took a lot for me not to sigh aloud. He looked really good in gray.
“I thought it was almost impossible for demons to get onto this plane.”
“It is. These are left over from our last encounter.”
A jolt of surprise shot through me. “You mean from when they had you in that basement?” I had destroyed them then. The light inside me proved a powerful weapon. “There were more?”
“They’re like cockroaches. Once they escape onto this plane, they can hide for centuries as long as they stay out of the light.”
He’d told me before, they’d been banished from the sun when his father was cast from the heavens. It was now lethal to them.
“They weren’t all in that basement, but most of them were. Still, this is organized. Way more organized than anything the lesser brethren would be capable of. I’m not surprised Hedeshi is behind it. He was always such a suck-up.”
I was hoping to get more answers before he went gallivanting onto the battlefield, hunting down the suck-up. This was a rare opportunity. Having Reyes Farrow all to myself without someone trying to kill us, or without women standing around gawking. Well, other women standing around gawking. I didn’t count.
“What am I capable of?” I asked, changing the subject again.
He filled his lungs to capacity and accepted my query with grace. “Only you can know that.”
The room grew darker by the minute with the setting sun. I stood and leaned toward him until I could smell the earthy essence he’d been born with. Like a lightning storm in a dessert desperate for rain. “I want to know, Reyes. You keep telling me I’m capable of so much more. I want to know what.”
His eyes shimmered with interest. “I’m not lying. I don’t know.”
I took the bottle and shoved away from the table so I could rinse the taste of bile out of the back of my mouth. After taking a swig of a liquid acidic enough to melt the paint off a Chevy, I swished it around, then swallowed. My eyes watered as it seared my already raw throat; then I handed the bottle back and strode to look out the window. I had to ease the thick curtains aside to see onto Central as rush hour traffic came to a head in the evening gloam.
“Every reaper is different in physical form,” Reyes said. “And most never fully come into their powers.”
I turned back to him, so thirsty for information, I was not above begging. “What do you mean? How many of us are there?”
“Not as many as you might think.”
The room had grown even darker, so I reached over and turned on a lamp. It helped, but Reyes still sat in shadows.
I eased back into the chair and waited as he took another drink from the bottle and I realized then that he was still bleeding. Dark spots were seeping through the T-shirt. I tried to tamp down my alarm.
“You’re not really called reapers on the other planes,” he said, placing the bottle carefully back on the table. “That’s a human reference.”
“Wait, other planes? How many planes are there?” I asked, surprised by his word choice.
“How many galaxies are there in the universe? How many stars? It’s hard to know exactly. Suffice it to say, many.”
“I—I had no idea.”
“Not many do. And in answer to your question, there is a new reaper born on this plane every few hundred years. There’s no set time, really.”
I stilled. “But you told me before, you’d been waiting for me. That every time a new reaper was sent, you were disappointed because it wasn’t me. How long have you been here?”
He frowned in thought. “I’m not sure exactly. Maybe fifteen centuries.”
Stunned, I asked, “What the heck were you doing all that time?”
He studied me. “Waiting.”
For me. That Englishman said he’d been sent for me. Was he telling me the truth? Did Reyes’s father send him for me specifically?
“So a new reaper is born every few hundred years. Are they immortal or something?”
“No. Not their physical bodies. Most don’t live more than a few years, in fact.”
“Why?”
He considered me a minute, then said, “Think about your childhood, Dutch. What it was like growing up with your abilities.”
Memories flooded my cerebral cortex instantly. My stepmother’s horror. The loss of good friends once I tried to tell them who I was. What I was. The distractions in class when departed showed up, which often ended with me going to the principal’s office.
“Now think about having those abilities in a world teeming with superstition and fear. Many were killed as children. Of those who weren’t, most became hermits. They were shunned by their own people, never fully accepted. You are truly the first of your kind who has thrived among them.”
I didn’t know what to say. “What happens when we die?”
“You have to understand, your body is the anchor for the portal. It’s the part that got you onto this plane.”
“But if my body is gone, what happens? Will I still be the portal?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “You were a portal long before you ever took human form.”
“So, if—when I die, I’ll still be the grim reaper?”
“Once your body ceases to exist, you become powerful a hundred times over, but you’ll also change. You won’t have that human connection, and every reaper changes over time. They lose their sense of humanity, though some didn’t have that much to lose in the first place. Humans were not kind to them.”
“If that’s the case, why did you try to let your body die?”
He leaned his head to the side. “Back to that?” When I shrugged, he said, “Because it was the draw, Dutch. The bait they could have hooked you with. And they succeeded, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“But they could’ve taken you. Once your corporeal body passed, they could’ve taken you, right?”
His mouth curved knowingly. “They would’ve had to catch me first.”
“The Englishman made it sound like it would be easy to track you down, because of your tattoos, the key.”
“The Englishman?”
“Hedeshi. He’s in the body of an Englishman.”
“Ah. Well, there are ways around that as well.”
Certain he wouldn’t tell me what those ways were, I kept on track. I was actually getting somewhere for the first time in forever.
I shifted in my chair, leaned forward in enthusiasm. “Okay, so, if I’ll become that much more powerful, what am I capable of while still alive?”
“I wish I knew. It’s hard to know for certain. Like I said, most of your kind don’t live long.”
“But you’ve told me repeatedly I’m capable of more.”
“And you are. That doesn’t mean I know exactly what.”
I decided to reword my question. “I’ve been told twice now that I am capable of anything I can imagine.”
“That’s true.”
Well, this wasn’t frustrating at all. “I can imagine a lot,” I said, challenging him. “So, can I shoot fireballs from my hands, because I can totally see myself doing that.”
The look he offered me was full of both humor and affection. “No.”
“Then I’ve been lied to.” I copied him and tossed a foot onto the table. Denise would be horrified.
“Who told you this?” he asked.
“The Englishman, for one, and Sister Mary Elizabeth, for another.”
“And she lies to you often?”
“No,” I said, frowning defensively.
“She did not say you could do anything you can imagine. She said you are capable of anyt
hing you can imagine. Not the act, Dutch, but the consequence.”
“I don’t understand the difference,” I said, feeling thick.
“Think about it. If you could shoot balls of fire from your hands,” he said, pausing to laugh, “what would happen?”
I looked away from him in disgust. “I don’t know. I could make a car explode, maybe.”
“Then that is what you are capable of. The consequence, Dutch. The result.”
His meaning started to take root in my mind, muddled as it was. “So, if I wanted to blow up a car, I could do it, I just couldn’t do it throwing fireballs from my hands.” I squinted, tried to get a firm grip on his meaning, lost it, clawed to get it back, let it slip, gave up with a heave of resignation. “Nope, I don’t get it. But the bottom line is, if I can imagine it, I can do it, right? So, I can kill people with my mind?”
“If you believe you could live with yourself afterwards, sure.”
“That’s a good point. Can you kill people with your mind?”
A soft grin spread across his face. “Only if my mind tells my hands to carry out its orders.”
The smile that I felt widen had to look as diabolical as I felt. “So, I can do more than you can?”
“You always could.”
I hadn’t gotten this many answers from Reyes in, well, never. I decided to tease him a bit. “You still owe me a million dollars.”
“Take off your clothes.”
“No.”
“I’ll give you a million dollars to take off your clothes.”
“Okay.” I lifted my sweater, then paused. Pulling it back down, I said, “I thought you didn’t have any money.”
“I don’t. But you can still take that off.”
“I have more questions,” I said, ignoring him.
“I’d have more answers if you’d take that off.”
I got the feeling the only reason he wasn’t closer to me, running his fingers up this sweater himself, was because of his injuries. They must be really bad. “I have to tell you about Garrett.”
“I’m breathless with anticipation.”
“He went to hell.” When Reyes didn’t comment, I said, “He met your dad.”
He turned the bottle on the table until he could read the label. “Dad doesn’t usually entertain visitors.”
“He made an exception. He showed Garrett what you were like growing up. Serving in his army. Rising through the ranks. He said your father showed him what you did.”
“My father showed him all this? The greatest liar the universe has ever known?”
“Are you saying what he saw wasn’t true? It didn’t really happen?”
After a thoughtful pause, he said, “I was a general in hell, Dutch. What do you suppose that entailed?”
I dropped my gaze to the matted carpet. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“So you can hate me even more?”
I looked up in surprise. “I don’t hate you.”
His jaw flexed in reaction. “There is a fine line between love and hate, or haven’t you heard? Sometimes it’s hard to decipher exactly which emotion is strongest.”
I raised my chin. “I don’t love you either.”
He lowered his head and watched me from underneath his dark lashes. “Are you certain? Because the emotion pouring out of you every time I’m near you is certainly not disinterest.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s love.”
“It could be, I promise you. Take off that sweater and give me ten minutes, and you’ll believe beyond a shadow of a doubt you’re in love.”
13
Drink coffee!
Do stupid things faster and with more energy.
—T-SHIRT
After several rounds of why I should and should not take off my sweater, I decided to give it a rest. Literally. I lay down on the bed only to discover it was straight out of an episode of The Flintstones. Rock-hard mattress. Rough, scratchy bedspread. Lumps where dinosaurs apparently slept. But I was tired and Reyes didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get anywhere for once in his life.
I watched as he walked around the table to join me, his movements forced, painstakingly cautious as he tried to walk with as little agony as possible. I had never seen him in so much pain. His T-shirt had several large circles of blood and several smaller blotches. I didn’t bother offering to take him to urgent care. He wouldn’t have gone if I’d put Margaret to his head and insisted.
“Don’t even think this means I’m taking off my sweater,” I said.
He chuckled and lay next to me. The bed dipped minutely under his weight, and he exhaled loudly when he finally managed to settle in. I turned toward him. He lay on his back with an arm thrown over his forehead, the position both charming and sexy at the same time. His profile was that of a Greek god. Perfect dimensions. Exquisite lines.
“This bed is really hard,” I said, boxing my pillow and wiggling for a more comfortable position, which was not easy with Margaret hogging the bed.
“You should straddle me. I’m harder.”
My eyes flew open and I almost looked before I caught myself. I would not be baited. And he was injured, for heaven’s sake. “So, next question. Why do you call me Dutch?”
He grinned from under his arm. “I don’t.”
I frowned at him, not that it did any good. “You call me Dutch all the time. You’ve always called me Dutch.”
“You know, for someone who knows every language ever spoken on the planet, you’re not very good at siphoning meaning when you need to.”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it.”
“Fine.” I thought about it. I rolled the word over in my mind and on my tongue until his meaning became clear. I gazed at him in astonishment. “Seeker. You’re saying ‘seeker’ in ancient Aramaic.” The word only sounded like Dutch because I’d always associated it as so. It actually had more of a ts sound than a ch, and the u was smoother, more drawn out.
“Bravo.”
“You’ve been calling me ‘seeker’ all this time?”
“It is what you are. The seeker of souls.”
“Wow.” For some reason, that knowledge made me happy inside. Like a mocha latte would have if I could’ve afforded one. I was learning so much, I didn’t want it to end. And him being too injured to storm off in his manly way and go on a quest to slay the Englishman was awesome. More time with moi.
“I like that,” I said.
“Your elders chose well from within your race.”
I smiled. Then blinked. Then frowned. “My race? I have a race?”
“Of course.”
“So, wait. For real? Do I have a family like you? One from another plane?”
“Yes.”
My head snapped up. I hardly expected a straight answer, much less an affirmation. “Really? I have another family?”
“Yes.”
This was boggling. I didn’t know what to think.
“I don’t know that much about them, so don’t strain too much.”
“Are they … are they grim reapers?”
“Only the one who is chosen to cross onto this plane is a seeker. You come from a race of very powerful light bearers. They would never have sent you normally. A seeker of your … standing isn’t sent to do such menial tasks. But you were the youngest and the most powerful among them, and they knew I was here.”
It was one thing to go my entire life not knowing anything about why I had the gifts I had. It was another altogether to get so many answers—answers I’d been begging for my whole life—all in one huge gulp. And for Reyes to talk about it so casually, so nonchalantly, like it didn’t mean the world to me to know about my heritage. I tried to remain calm. I could handle this with grace and dignity. Not as I wanted to, like those women on The Price Is Right.
Then his meaning sank in. “Wait, are you saying I was chosen because of you?”
His lids were closed behind his arm. “If I had to guess, I’d say they felt I was here to
start the war. My father created me to help him bring about the end of humanity. So they sent you.” He turned to me, the green and gold flecks in his eyes sparkling brightly against their rich brown background. “We are enemies, Dutch. A princess and a pawn, each from opposing sides.” One corner of his sensual mouth lifted. “They would be quite disappointed knowing how we’ve gotten along.”
I leaned up and looked down at him. “So, what? I’m supposed to kill you or something?”
He ran a fingertip over my mouth. “Yes. It is why you were sent.”
“Well, that sucks.” So, there’s a guy hotter than a Rolex from Sal’s Pawnshop living on Earth, and they send me to kill him? Me? Clearly I came from a race of crazy people.
“You could do it,” he said, his mouth thinning in regret. “You could kill me. Destroy the opposing portal and cut off my father’s doorway to this plane. The last reaper tried.” He averted his gaze. “He failed, so they sent you.”
“Reyes, that’s ridiculous. I couldn’t just kill you. You’re way stronger than I am, and … and you know how to fight and crap.”
Offering me an unconvinced grin, he said, “When the time comes, and it will come, do it quick. Don’t hesitate, Dutch. Not even for a split second.”
I had no idea how much of his story to believe. He was from a race of liars. How reliable could his intel be?
I frowned in suspicion. “Don’t think that you can win me over by being all noble and charming and insisting I’m powerful enough to kill you. You pushed me,” I said, reminding him of the fight the other night. “And you dragged me and shoved me, so don’t think that just because you’re all sweet now and self-sacrificing, I’ll forget that shit.” I plopped back onto my pillow and crossed my arms. “That’s just not shit you forget.”
His eyes shimmered with mischief in the low light. “I never claimed to be a Boy Scout.”
I could feel the heat of his gaze, and all I could think was, My god, he’s beautiful. I took the chance to assess just how badly he was injured. Raising my hands to his waist, I felt the ridges of duct tape along his rib cage and pressed gently. He sucked air in through his teeth and grabbed hold of my wrist. But blood gushed from under the tape and soaked the tips of my fingers through his shirt.