Hidden Blade (The Soul Eater Book 1) Read online

  Cujo had a point. I wasn’t father material. “I’m hoping the girl has nothing to do with me.”

  He shot me a look, something like, “Keep telling yourself that,” and said, “I’ll run the girl through the NYPD systems and let you know what I find. That’s what got you wasted, huh?”

  “That”—my insides twisted—“and Osiris’s summons.”

  Cujo’s smile died a slow death and his cheeks lost some of their ruddy color. It took a lot to pale Cujo. “Shit.” He shook his head. “Man, it’s been a few years since the last time?”

  I nodded, not trusting my voice.

  He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I wish I could do more for yah.”

  “I appreciate the thought.”

  There was nothing Cujo, or anyone, could do. When the god of the underworld whipped up a curse, he didn’t leave loopholes or wiggle room. I’d spent a few hundred years searching for one. Now I just lived with it, like I had to live with Shukra’s putrid soul bound to mine.

  “There’s some whiskey under the sink,” Cujo offered. “If you want some Dutch courage.”

  “Thanks, but my insides won’t survive. Might take you up on a drink once I’m done with him though.”

  Facing Osiris drunk would only make a bad situation worse. I wouldn’t be able to keep my mouth shut and would probably end up with another curse strangling my already battered soul.

  Cujo’s smile turned sympathetic. “At least he can’t kill you, right?”

  Somehow, I smiled, and not for the first time, I secretly wished Osiris had.

  Chapter 5

  I parked my Ducati next to Ozzy’s black Tesla, kicked the bike over on its stand, and fantasized about bringing Alysdair along for the ride. I didn’t know if the sword could devour a god’s soul, but I’d give it another shot. I’d tried before and failed spectacularly. It wasn’t Osiris who’d taken umbrage at my assassination attempt. He’d found my efforts highly entertaining. Isis, on the other hand…

  I shivered, swung my leg over the bike, palmed my keys, and gouged a deep line along the side of the Tesla, clipping every panel, and then I flicked my collar up and approached the mansion’s entrance. After being around for as long as I had, I realized life was about taking the little pleasures as and when I could find them, because tomorrow, someone could rip them all away.

  Gravel and snow crunched under my boots and the harsh New York wind bit at my bruised face as I stopped at the door. I pressed the bell and heard the chime echo inside. Any hope that Ozzy might have forgotten about his summons quickly died when his hired muscle opened the door. The guards frisked me, like always. I couldn’t imagine anyone would be stupid enough to smuggle in a weapon (apart from me, that one time).

  “Ozzy out back?” I asked Bob, the guard. Bob wasn’t his real name, just the one I’d given him. Bob never smiled. I wouldn’t have much to smile about if I were in Osiris’s service either.

  “You’ll find the mayor waiting for you same place as always,” Bob replied.

  Believe it or not, there wasn’t a whole load of difference between New York and what most people called Hell. Swap the people out for demons, the politicians for gods, throw in the cutthroat family drama, amp up the mood lighting, and turn the Hudson into a river of souls, and welcome to home sweet home. Osiris was mayor here and a god back home. If he had it his way, he’d be a god here too. He probably believed he already was.

  Osiris’s house was a museum, all dressed up for show. I’d never seen anyone out front, in the residence, and doubted Osiris and his wife did more than walk through the pretense of being average New Yorkers.

  I sauntered through the cathedral-like foyer, down a red-carpeted hall, and into the study. I’d once admired the ancient books and array of Egyptian artifacts locked inside the glass cabinets, but now I barely spared them a glance. This wasn’t a social call. If I made the god wait any longer, I’d start to feel the hold he had over me; that was probably part of the reason my hangover was hanging around like the mistress at a wake.

  The theatrics of opening the secret bookcase door had long ago lost its novelty and only served to remind me of the egotistical showman I was about to drop to my knees for.

  The sight greeting me at the foot of the hidden staircase was, unfortunately, a typical one: women and men in various states of undress. Robed servers tended to their every need while they gorged themselves on the banquet of food, wine, and sex. The warm, wet air smelled like jasmine, cinnamon, indulgence, and sweat.

  Overdressed in my coat, I garnered a few long, lingering glances as I picked my way through the revelers, keeping my eyes front and center. I didn’t want to know who they were—probably local officials and celebrities. Many of them likely had no choice but to be here. Osiris could be undeniably persuasive.

  I took a wrong turn, easily done when every doorway was draped in gossamer curtains, and stumbled in on lurid sights I hadn’t seen before and didn’t wish to see again. By the time I found the right section, my heart was thudding fast and heavy and my breaths were coming on a little too hard.

  Heat rolled out of the back chamber, the likes of which I hadn’t known since the weighing chambers. I wiped my hands on my pants, gulped down what would probably be my last free breaths, and pushed through the drapes. It took a long, drawn out three seconds to read the mood in the room, three seconds in which my stride stuttered and instantly told two of the worlds’ most powerful deities exactly what I didn’t want them to know: that I’d prefer to be anywhere else but here with them.

  Isis was lounging in an elaborate golden chair, jewels glittering in her raven-black hair. The fabric of her skintight dress was as thin and colorful as butterfly wings—for all the parts of her it covered up. Her golden skin shone, damp from exertion, as did her eyes, which were fixed across the room on her husband (and brother) seated at the end of a large bed. A woman was currently on her knees, worshipping his cock with her mouth.

  The pair knew I was there, despite neither of them having acknowledged me. I gritted my teeth and waited, eyes fixed on the traditional relief of Osiris tucked inside an alcove along the back wall. I couldn’t do much about the noise, except be grateful I hadn’t eaten.

  “Nameless One…” Osiris drawled. “Come here.”

  My heart turned to stone. The compulsion wrapped around my flesh and bones and buried inside the parts of me deeply rooted in this realm. Forward I went, one foot in front of the other, until I stood beside the god, unable to turn my gaze away from the woman’s bobbing head and rhythmic hand. I could close my eyes—and did, briefly—but that only made it worse.

  If he asked me to suck him, I’d bite it off.

  I waited, willing the time forward so I could get back to my little office and my paranormal clients with their mundane enquires that paid the bills and kept my mind from straying. I even considered being nice to Shu—anything to get me out of this waking nightmare.

  “This is taking too long,” Isis said, the ice in her voice cutting.

  “It’s called sharing, Light of my Life. You had your—” Osiris’s breath caught, and he held it. The girl’s wet lips worked faster. The god leaned back, bracing his arms on the bed behind him, and breathed, “Right there.”

  I shut my eyes and tried to recall the last time I’d ordered stationary. The office had to be due for another batch of pens. I’d get one of those handmade, leather-bound planners too, with all the fancy address cards and pockets.

  Osiris grunted, deep and low, and then let out a strangled groan that rolled on and on until I wished I had brought Alysdair along so I could fall on the sword and put an end to my misery.

  “No, no…” Osiris crooned. “You don’t swallow the nectar. Spit, dear.”

  She did. I heard everything—smelled it too. Bile burned the back of my throat.

  It had been a year, maybe two, since Osiris had summoned me. In that time, I’d deliberately forgotten how much I despised him. There was a time I’d screamed at him, raged, t
hrown my fists, and gotten myself strung up for my efforts. Now I endured.

  I opened my eyes to see Isis sashaying toward us. Nature didn’t make women like her. Infinite power rippled through the air she carved through. She wore her beauty like armor and walked like time and decay couldn’t touch her. Slim and lithe, she didn’t look as though she had the strength to topple empires, but she could and she had—many times.

  She planted something smooth, thin, and cool in my hand. I blinked down, recognized it as a dagger, and wondered if I could plunge it between Osiris’s ribs before either of them could stop me.

  “Don’t move.” The compulsion ran steel rods through my spine, locking me down.

  The god stood, naked but for a plain cotton robe. He had a supremely proud face, a strong jaw, and fierce, long-lashed dark eyes. Without a word, he inspired the best in men—honor and loyalty—and a ferocious adoration from women, the type that could turn a mother against her child.

  I had a blade in my hand and stood a few inches from his sun-baked chest, and he knew I wanted nothing more than to ram the blade into his heart and twist it in deep.

  He appraised my scruffy coat and damp hair. His eyes moved to my face, where he probably hoped to find ammunition to use against me, but I’d learned long ago to keep my intentions far from my expression. He saw only boredom, compliance, and obedience. A snarl pulled at my lip. I swallowed, holding the rage deep inside.

  He yanked the girl to her feet. Her pink tongue darted out, licking at a dribble of semen.

  “Kill her,” Osiris said.

  Panic wrapped around my heart. I fought to pull back my body, to somehow get a grip on its flesh, but all I could do was watch from inside my own skin as I lifted the dagger. No, no!

  Osiris’s warm hand curled around my neck. “Stop.”

  Relief lifted the terror. Through it all, I’d struggled to keep my face an expressionless mask.

  He jerked me forward, so close that his finely kohl-lined eyes were all I could see. “I’m just screwing with you.”

  Gold rimmed his wide, black pupils and bled through the darker hazel color in his irises. He held me under his command, trapping me in my body, and burrowed his gaze deep into mine, knowing the longer he and I locked stares, the likelier it was I’d see into his soul. I closed my eyes, cutting off the magic before it could take root. His soul was not something I had any wish to witness.

  Osiris shoved me back, rocking me onto my back foot, and took the dagger from my hand. “Sit, have a drink, relax.”

  I would do all those things because I didn’t have a choice. Stumbling to the table, I fell into a chair and poured myself wine from a crystal jug. I despised how my hand shook, sloshing wine over the tabletop. I would get through this, just like I had every other time.

  “How’s business?” the god asked, draping himself into the chair next to mine, sprawling like a lion in the sun. He set the dagger down between us. So close, so tempting.

  “Could be better.” I tasted the wine, found it sweet and sickly, but swallowed it anyway. It slipped all the way down and churned in my empty gut. “Could be worse.”

  Isis and the girl—whoever she was—were getting intimate in my peripheral vision. This was par for the course when it came to Osiris. As well as holding the title of God of the Underworld, he also happened to be the God of Fertility, and he was liberal with his blessings.

  He poured himself some wine and cradled the glass stem between his long fingers while leaning back in his chair and looking me over. A smile teased the edges of his mouth. He was probably thinking of all the ways he could pull my strings.

  “I don’t hear much about you. Just the occasional whisper here and there…”

  “We—Shu and I—we prefer it that way. Our clients appreciate discretion.” And most of them didn’t want news of their mistakes getting back to Osiris.

  “Ah, Shukra… How is she?”

  Still tied to my soul, you twisted fuck.

  “Fine.” I swallowed more wine, my throat constricting. I couldn’t stop drinking, not until he released the compulsion. If I vomited it back up, he’d only make me drink more. I willed the wine to stay down. “Why did you summon me?”

  Osiris drew in a deep breath through his nose. He crossed his legs and sent his gaze around the room. “News from the underworld.”

  Which could only mean one thing. “Amy?”

  “Your mother wishes to take her slumber.” He flicked his long fingers as though tossing the comment away, like it was meaningless. He’d just told me that my mother was ready to slumber, which basically translated to: she’d tired of life and wanted to die.

  I hovered my glass near my lips, the shock enough to stall Osiris’s compulsion. Ammit was a constant, like the sky or the earth. It had never crossed my mind that she’d step down. “When?”

  “Well, these things take time, but time is a currency we gods have a surplus of.” He bounced his bare foot. “She wishes to see you.”

  Which was easier said than done, since I was cursed to walk this earth by the very god I was currently drinking with. I finally took the sip of wine, hiding my expression behind the glass. Something wasn’t right. Osiris wouldn’t go back on his curse and agree to let me visit the underworld to pay my respects. That was a kindness the god didn’t have in him. Equally as suspicious, if it was that important, he could compel me to go home. Why give me the choice at all?

  “She was a good mother to you,” he said.

  There wasn’t a question there, so I didn’t reply. Ammit wasn’t my mother by blood, but she had taken me in and treated me like her own. They say that about the river beasts—vicious, but doting on their own kind. She was the ferocious Devourer of Souls, the final destination, and no god wanted to risk their paradise in the afterlife by crossing her—something I’d learned the hard way.

  “I’ve always wondered why she took you in,” Osiris said with a whimsical tone that had the fine hairs on the back of my neck rising. “A nameless nothing, like you. She likes to keep her secrets, your mother.”

  No more or less than any other god, I thought.

  Osiris was looking at me, waiting for a reaction. He knew I couldn’t do anything without his permission, and so we played this ancient game. His control. My obedience. “You must miss the old world as much as I do?”

  I uselessly fought the compulsion, reluctant to give him anything he could use against me, but the answer came. “I do.”

  “I imagine it’s the power you miss most …”

  Not a question. I kept my jaw locked.

  “Is it? Tell me the truth.”

  “Yes.” Bastard. This game, the strings he pulled and how he watched it all—every twitch, every glance, and every time I ground my teeth—was wearing me down. He poked and prodded me like an animal he’d caught in a trap, one he could torture for all eternity.

  My gaze had strayed to the dagger and stayed fixed there, revealing my thoughts as plain as day. Of course, he’d noticed too and smiled when I forced myself to look him in the eye.

  “If you wish to return, I’ll sanction your passage.”

  Why? Why would he help me return home? What was in it for him? This wasn’t right. I had to think this through and find his angle before I agreed to anything.

  “You do wish to return?” he asked casually.

  “Yes, and I’ll consider it.”

  “What is there to consider?” His laughter, short, sharp, and dark, left me with no doubt that he was deliberately jerking my chain.

  “I need to consider why you’re giving me the choice,” I growled, teeth gritted. My fingers itched to close around his neck and choke the life out of him. Such mundane actions couldn’t kill gods and certainly not gods as powerful as Osiris. Still, it would feel good.

  We locked gazes—a challenge—until I looked away, too afraid to see the truth inside those eyes.

  He threw back his wine glass and downed its contents. “Isis, darling,” he beckoned.

 
I watched the goddess in the corner of my eye. She drew the young woman from the bed and led her over. The girl had the wide-eyed, half-high look of someone godstruck. Get too close to a higher deity, like Isis, for too long, and their allure became intoxicating. After spending time with the pair, her mind was probably lost in a pleasurable numbness. I doubted she even remembered her name.

  “Are you finished, my sweetness?” Osiris smiled up at his wife.

  Isis leaned down, rode her hand up his neck, and kissed him deeply.

  “Yes,” she whispered against her husband’s lips.

  They looked into each other’s eyes and power thrummed in the air between them—the power of an eternity spent together and of the two most feared deities the worlds had ever seen.

  “Good,” Osiris said, and with his gaze firmly fixed on Isis, he added, “Nameless One, kill the girl.”

  Chapter 6

  The water in the sink had turned pink. I dug under my nails to get every minuscule piece of dried blood out, but no matter how hard I scrubbed, there was always more. Steam bellowed, fogging up the mirror. At least I couldn’t see my face, my eyes, my soul.

  A few raps on the door rattled my scattered thoughts.

  My gut heaved. I’d already emptied its contents behind Osiris’s garage, but my stomach didn’t seem to care. It carried on heaving, trying to eject the guilt.

  I pulled the plug, twisted on the faucet, swirled water, rinsed off the pink splatters, and splashed my face. My fingers trembled, like the rest of me.

  “Ace, open up or I’ll kick it in.”

  I couldn’t deal with Shu, not in the state I was in. I should have gone home, but the office was closer, and I hadn’t expected her to notice my arrival. She usually went out of her way to avoid me.