Chapter Two

“The enemy is a very good teacher.”

—Dalai Lama

Knowing Xiangu’s Deathmark was critical. She would be easier to track.

And if I found her soon, maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t need to capture Brent after all.

Hui was a kid of few words, yet he had no problem approaching the paramedics, who deposited the man into the emergency vehicle. One of them climbed inside, telling the boy that they had a life to save and to “get off.” If Hui was willing to help me at all, perhaps he was attempting to get the name of the victim. I couldn’t wait to find out.

What captured my attention when the emergency personnel tried to shoo Hui away was an attractive, dark-skinned woman staring back at me from across the street. She was partially hidden behind one end of a bus stop shelter. From the heft in her dark-eyed, pointed gaze, she wanted to be seen. Exactly as I had been watching Hui and The Koffee Klatch, she had been watching me.

Could this woman be Xiangu? She didn’t match the ethnicity—most of the stories about her said she was Chinese, like her name—but anything was possible.

“Hui.” I tapped the teenager on the shoulder. Distracting him gave the medics a chance to hop into the ambulance and pull away. I pointed over his shoulder at the woman. She didn’t react to my interest—all the more reason we needed to check her out. “Do you recognize her?”

“Ollie.” Papa gestured off to the opposite side of the street where another person, this one a white male, watched us from afar. He peered out from an alley. Just from a glance, I sensed he wasn’t a Scrivener or Reaper or Eidolon. The only thing he could be was a Trivial, a sociopathic Reaper born without a soul, and he was pale enough to be one. “We’re being watched.”

The Trivial and the black woman, her identity undetermined, faded into the mass of people who disbursed after the ambulance left the scene. Before we had our chance to make chase, they were gone.

“Xiangu?” I asked Hui again.

“They work for her,” he said. “The woman is an Eidolon. They’ve been watching you for days. They told me not to say anything. Guess I have now, though.”

“Are you going to get into trouble?” I was worried now.

He shrugged. “Nah. But you might.”

Shit.

“Xiangu has lackeys?” Delia pushed between Hui and me, her hands on her hips. Hui was tall enough to meet me face to face, but with Delia, he made eye contact directly with her breasts. Delia didn’t seem to notice this, or if she did, she didn’t care. Hui, on the other hand, cared enough to crack a smile on his otherwise impassive face.

“The Eidolon is not to be messed with,” he said directly into Delia’s well-endowed rack. “She directly guards Xiangu. If she is here, she knows what you’re up to.”

Great. A Trivial and an Eidolon who shouldn’t be messed with.

“They won’t let you near her,” Hui added as he began a calculated retreat to the door of The Koffee Klatch. The coffee shop owner had already withdrawn inside after the ambulance left.

I tried to follow Hui to get more information from him, but he had too much of a head start. The door slammed shut, locked, and the shades zipped down.

Papa pounded on the door. He could have easily punched through the barrier and entered, but the point wasn’t to be bullish.

“Papa, let’s not draw more attention to ourselves.” My point was made clearer when he turned around to find everyone on the busy Denver street staring. It wasn’t every day that a six-foot hulk with a voice as powerful as a small intercom system roamed their boulevards, demanding entry into a closed shop.

Papa gave in when he realized he’d created a scene.

“We’ve dealt with worse,” Delia said, and it was very clear to Papa and me that she didn’t think two steps ahead. Delia wasn’t dense, though. Like the rest of us, she was exhausted, and from that came silly comments and decisions—neither of which we could afford today.

“Delia,” I said, “if Xiangu Matches with that Eidolon, we’re…screwed. I’d be hard-pressed to take on that challenge.” A Master Scrivener and Eidolon have the ability to come together into one lethal being—a process called Matching. In addition to having peculiar talents, when they come together into one being, they are virtually unstoppable. I know—I’ve Matched with a few Eidolons, and that makes me the expert in our small group.

One curved red eyebrow rose. “It’s simple, Teacup. Let’s not forget that Nicodemus is an Eidolon, too. You two can Match and shut that woman down.”

“Nah. Nic isn’t a good candidate. He’s buried up to his asshole in library books,” grumbled Papa.

Nicodemus probably was not up for the challenge of Matching anyway. His desperation to help by scanning books was all the evidence I needed. I would not ask him to join a physical battle, at least, not at this point in our hunt for Xiangu. We did not need to fight. We would remain peaceful at all costs.

“What is it?” I said when horror washed over Delia and Papa’s faces.

She grabbed my hand, pulling me into a sprint. Papa and Dudley were close behind. This run-and-ask-questions-later had become commonplace after a few weeks of avoiding Brent. Whoever saw him first didn’t bother with an explanation. Too much time was wasted on shouting “run” when Death was on our trail.

There would be no fighting if possible. As for running? Well, we had that down to an art.

It was conceivable that Delia and Papa didn’t see Brent and that pulling me through the streets was just for giggles. But I knew that wasn’t likely. They didn’t appear to be getting their kicks by pounding pavement as we dodged people, dog walkers, bicyclists, and cars.

I looked over my shoulder even though I knew I shouldn’t. Seeing the Stygian I loved coming at me like a serial killer closing in on his prey, devoid of compassion because the Deathmark on my arm called to him like a homing beacon, sent my heart into my throat. I might’ve appeared fearless to some. Right now, I was anything but.

Quite simply, my beloved had gone savage.

He was set on one thing: ripping the remainder of my soul out of my body. Deep underneath his instincts was the Eidolon I loved. But there was no time for me to beg him for mercy, not when a predator overrode all else.

What I kept telling myself was that I had to be strong to survive. But I also had to be smart, which meant continuing to look back to see the blue eyes and brown beard of my killer was a practice I had to stop because the desire to halt, turn on my heels, and run into his arms could quickly overcome me. Brent had been there whenever I needed him—in Quebec City, California, and in between. He had stopped Watchmen from cornering me in Kentucky. He had drained the life out of an Eidolon called Gizmo who had nearly destroyed me in the bloody battle at Wrightwick. And he had stood before the Head Reaper and all of Styx and promised me that he’d “never take a penny from me” before he ferried half of my soul into his own body to protect me from our fascist leader and death.

“We need to split up,” Papa shouted. We were easily spotted as a group. Going solo meant there were more places to hide and more nooks and crannies to protect us. Well, me, really.

“Going left.” Delia released my hand.

“Going right then,” I huffed.

“Duds and I will go straight.” Papa went for the riskiest trajectory like a proud bull. He used his shoulders and arms to clear his path, giving the impression that he was helping me along while I darted into a narrow alley lined with forest green Dumpsters and trash and puddles of water. Just above a spider web of power lines were rows of metal fire escapes. None of them were close enough to the ground for me to climb without help. And shoving a Dumpster underneath one was impossible. I was powerful, but I wasn’t a bodybuilder.

I ran and ran, nearly losing my feet, until I slowed down to give my pounding heart a short reprieve. I couldn’t run forever. I finally looked back to assess the threat and determine my next move.

Brent wasn’t following me, thank Hades. He was six feet tall. He didn’t fold effortlessly into the background.

I had lost him.

With any luck, so had Delia, Papa, and Dudley.

“Hello,” said a husky female voice.

I turned around and came face-to-face with that female Eidolon known to work for Xiangu. Up close, she looked to be about my age, but with seemingly more experience in street life than me. Her large dark eyes accentuated an elegant, tapered chin. This Eidolon was shorter than me by a few inches. She was muscular but thin like a gymnast.

What made us similar was not just that we were Stygians, but that we both wore dreadlocks. She eyeballed mine.

“Your hair,” she said.

“I like yours.” I gestured to the ebony locks hanging over her shoulders.

A slow lift of her eyebrow was her reply. I assumed from this that she liked mine, too.

“You’re Master Scrivener Dormier,” she said. “You’re all over the news.”

There was no better reply than to nod at the mention of my ill-fated celebrity status.

“I’m Neema.” Spoken like a warrior about to slay me.

This back alley was secluded enough to melt her if I had to defend myself. But I wouldn’t do that. No. Diplomacy was my best defense nowadays.

“I’m looking for someone who can help me,” I said. “Someone who heals Deathmarks.”

Neema’s eyes narrowed at the mention of Deathmarks. Her grimace told me she didn’t like the word “Deathmark.” Well, I didn’t like the word Eidolon, but I somehow managed.

“I’ve heard you know Xiangu.” The instant the name of the Master Scrivener rolled off of my tongue, I regretted it.

Neema reared back and growled something that I had to assume was a challenge. Seeing as I didn’t fight without my shotgun, nor would I melt her and everything around us, I threw my hands up to show that I meant no harm.

This didn’t pacify Neema. Her chocolate eyes colored over a blood red, skipping the mid-level threat of yellow like an average Grim Reaper. Red eyes were an exclusive trait of Eidolons. Had I had any question of Neema’s birthright, now I had confirmation that she was indeed an Eidolon and ready to destroy me.

“Please, I mean no harm.” I tried quelling the iciness building around her like an iron shield. “I need Xiangu’s help with removing a Deathmark. She’s the only one I know of who can—”

My appeal dwindled into a yelp when I noticed that Neema wasn’t prepping to send me limb after limb to a very painful demise. Although, perhaps being dismembered by the Eidolon would’ve been preferable to what she obviously saw behind me.

Brent’s chill was greater than Neema’s, his command superior. The black beast huffed frosty death at my backside.

I looked over my shoulder as I had done for four straight weeks, each time uncertain if I’d make it out alive.

More than anything, I wanted to throw my arms around his neck. Somehow, despite all the odds against us, I almost could believe that if I just kissed him, he would give up on this hunt, that he’d kiss me back.

Brent and I had had little time together when we weren’t under duress. That made no difference. I loved him no matter our challenges. And I knew he loved me, too, and that somewhere inside of him, this pursuit was tearing him apart. I could not imagine if our roles were reversed, and I was the one compelled by instinct to destroy him.

Stuck between two reared-up Eidolons, I had to make a decision. I didn’t know Neema, which meant I didn’t know her skillset or her motivations. But I knew Brent’s. He definitely had the power to kill me, and that was exactly why he was here. I chose to stand against him.

I shoved Neema backward to keep her out of this fight. She growled. Her red eyes brightened with irritation.

There was no time to apologize for being gruff. I retrieved Miss Piggy from my trekker backpack, put the gun’s stock against my hip, turned, and aimed at my lover’s chest. Buckshots wouldn’t kill Brent. The only way I could kill him was to melt him. I had already melted Marin and Chadwick-the-Eidolon-sidekick. I could do it. Easily.

But I wouldn’t.

So I used bullets to offset his threat. They’d piss him off, surely hurt him, but he couldn’t expect anything else from me because, like yesterday and the day before and the day before that, I would not die today. And neither would he.

I squeezed the gun’s trigger. A bullet blew through his abdomen. And a part of my heart crumbled away.

I shot my lover. I shot him!

What kind of Stygian was I?

Brent staggered backward, putting a hand to his stomach. Just as Neema had flashed her own red rage, so did he, but through that lovely beard, he smirked. He had to kill me because, after all, it was his duty. He had to finish me by the laws of Styx. An instinct possessed him to do it. But deep down, where his true personality dwelled, the man who loved me wanted me to live. He was rooting for me, while his savage side did what it was born to do—ferry Stygians whose time had come. When he’d first started his pursuit of me, he had told me to run. Now, that smirk was meant to tell me that I was doing a bang-up job of averting Death. Keep up the good work.

I could not imagine a point at which shooting my beloved with bullets would ever become acceptable or fill me with momentary relief. Still, I cocked the shotgun and fired again. The bullet zipped through Brent’s right shoulder, nearly splitting open the lotus I had tattooed on him a month earlier with the power of my bare hands—a Master Scrivener’s healing mark that had saved him inside of Lethe. His blue flannel shirt frayed from the blast of gunpowder. The wound stunned him. But that was it.

“I’m sorry,” I said to him because I had to. Tears welled in my eyes at the sight of him bent over, blood spraying onto the pavement. So badly I wanted to rush to his side and comfort him. I took a step toward Brent when Neema released a shrill battle cry.

As sure as I had been that she’d align with Brent because, after all, both were Eidolons, she didn’t. She didn’t side with me either, which would have been nice. Before I knew what hit me, Neema thwacked me on the side of the head with a foot, demonstrating that she was far more agile than I could ever hope to be.

I went down hard on the oil-covered pavement. With me out of her way, Neema attacked Brent with a level of speed and cunning that took both Brent and me by surprise. Neema’s skill at combat was masterful. Her grace deserved applause.

Brent tried to counter her thrusts and kicks, but he couldn’t keep up. He was simply too big, his arms and legs too long to block Neema’s unusual speed. A swing here. Another there. Neema circumvented every one of Brent’s parries.

Neema’s interruption afforded me an escape. I climbed to my feet. The direction that had been previously blocked by her was now clear. After stuffing my shotgun inside my backpack, I climbed to my feet and bolted. It was clear from the nightmarish screeches and pounding of feet on pavement that I was, again, the object of pursuit. Having one Eidolon on my hindquarters was bad enough. With two, my odds of escape were cut in half. But like anything since the day Marin had put this Deathmark on me, I kept fighting. Or in this case, running. I could do that, even at this altitude. I mean, I had to, right? Thin mountain air or no, I had few options.

The end to the alleyway came fast and dumped me onto a street much like the one on which The Koffee Klatch resided. But this time I was faced with a walking traffic jam of shoulder-to-shoulder bedlam that was headed in one direction. Panic grew in me. How would I outrun Brent and Neema now? All Brent needed to do was grab onto me—my hand, hair, whatever. He could easily accomplish this feat here in the masses of people moving toward—

A parade?