Midnight Ash (A Blushing Death Novel) (18 page)

“You brought the Blushing Death to my door?” Garret spat with a growl rumbling deep in his chest. He took a step back, away from us in slow, exaggerated movements.

“Garret?” Dean took a cautious step forward, matching the older wolf step for step. “We mean you no harm. She means you no harm,” Dean said in soft, placating tones as he talked the werewolf from the ledge.

“You’ve brought an assassin into our sanctuary?” His voice carried in the empty space, filling the void with his anger. The thirty odd people behind him bristled at his tone and took a step forward in an aggressive, almost graceful, movement. A singular, deadly unit.

“She was supposed to stay in the car,” Dean growled back over his shoulder at me.

“I was
not
letting you risk yourself without backup,” I growled back. My muscles tensed and my hand reached without thought for the gun in my holster.

Dean jumped between Garret and me, blocking Garret from my view.

“Garret,” Dean said with more force in his voice than he’d used since I’d been listening. Garret’s attention shifted back to Dean with pinpoint precision as he narrowed his gaze on the large, angry werewolf protecting me. “You know me. I mean you no harm,” Dean said, moving with slow, controlled, movements. Garret circled me but Dean moved with him, staying between me and the old wolf. I thought I could almost see his haunches rising with each passing second the standoff continued.

I took my hand from the butt of my gun, raising my palms in the air where everyone could see them. I stood as still as possible, not daring to move a muscle as my heart thundered against my rib cage and adrenaline shot through me.

“I’m not an assassin,” I snarled. I was unable to keep the anger from the edges of my voice as I clenched my jaw. Assassin was an ugly word. I flexed my fingers like claws at the slight. I didn’t like that title. I curled my fingers into tight fists to keep the itch to pull my gun at bay. I had to remain calm or Dean and I were dead.

“Then what are you?” Garret growled at both of us.

“She’s Patrick’s Tiye and Anpu,” Dean uttered with an edge of disappointment to his words. At this point, I didn’t even care if I knew what he was talking about or not. As long as it calmed the situation, I was willing to go with it. Garret looked at me for a long time before he spoke.

“She was with you last night, hunting,” he said, still watching me, still cautious. “But she’s not your Eithina?” he asked with surprise but the tone was fierce.

“What are you talking about?” I snapped.

“She doesn’t know?” Garret asked with surprise as the tension fled his body. Whatever Dean had said eased Garret’s tension. The Pack behind Garret also relaxed and retreated back along the wall, taking their cues from their Gaoh.

“Patrick isn’t an archaic parasite,” Dean said, holding his chest out like a puffed up bird. “It works in Columbus. We’re . . . friends.” Dean sounded proud. He turned to me with an angry determination flashing in his olive-green eyes. “You are Patrick’s Tiye.”

Dean floundered and stumbled over his words as if the words tasted sour. “A consort.” He squirmed at the word.

Fanfuckingtastic.

“So, I get to be Patrick’s whore!”

“No,” Garret offered. “A Tiye is so much more than . . . a lover,” he said with a self-satisfied grin. “A Tiye is not only consort but friend, advisor, confidant, and yes, lover.” Garret took a step toward us, closing the distance. He wasn’t nervous anymore. I suppose my ignorance helped with that. Yippee!

“And Anpu? What’s that?” I asked, annoyed. Once the rage was unleashed, it was its own animal. I couldn’t be held responsible.

“Harbinger of Death,” Dean answered with an unmistakable finality. He turned his eyes away from me and back to Garret. A small smile turned up the corners of my mouth as I met Garret’s gaze. What did that say about me when I was more comfortable with
Harbinger of Death
than
Consort
?

“That doesn’t offend you?” Garret asked.

“No.”

“Why?”

I breathed into that space in my center that was nothing but the calm before the kill. I turned cold unfeeling eyes, my killing eyes, to him.

“It’s true,” I replied with an unnerving, calm inflection to my voice.

Garret took a step back, sensing the danger in my tone.

“The Blushing Death,” Garret whispered in horror. He raised his head, his neck stiff above his tense shoulders as he widened his stance ever so slightly, then turned back to Dean with an anxious look in his eyes. Garret wanted this meeting over and me gone. “You wanted to know where we stood in the event of war?” he asked.

Dean nodded, his hands clasped behind his back and his stature deceptively at ease.

“We’ll be on whichever side she’s on,” he said with a quick nod to me.

Dean’s full lips disappeared in a hard press as his eyes narrowed on me. A flash of clear Caribbean blue melted across his irises before he gave his full attention back to Garrett.

“Your shifting allegiances don’t make me feel better,” I warned as I scrutinized Garret and the Pack behind him. Garret didn’t move or even flinch as he considered my statement.

“What’s best for this Pack is my only concern. Darshan does not care about us other than to use us as the dogs he thinks we are. I’ve heard enough about The Blushing Death to know to side with you than with Darshan if we want to survive.” He bowed his head. “Plus, little girl,” he said, narrowing his gaze on me, “I know a predator when I see one. Now,” he said with a command in his voice and a stern look in his gaze, “it’s not necessary for you to leave in the same fashion you arrived. The front door will be fine.” He pointed to the door behind us.

Dean nodded, turning without another word spoken. His heavy foot falls echoed in the silent warehouse as I remained, watching the older man dismiss us.

“I’ll relay your message,” I said.

Garret’s power washed over my skin like a warm, humid summer breeze. He wasn’t pushing but he was ready for us, me in particular, to be gone.

“I count on that,” he said with another quick nod.

I turned and followed Dean out into the bright, liberating sunshine.

Dean got into the car and unlocked the passenger side door for me. I slid in without a word. He didn’t offer any conversation and neither did I as we kept our eyes forward. His power filled the car as his anger prickled. I felt as if I was sitting in a sauna, beating dry hot air against my skin. I cracked the window but I didn’t think it would help much.

We left Pittsburgh on Route 22 back across the Ohio River toward home. I waited until we were almost to the exit before I said anything.

“Can we make a stop?” I asked, trying not to push him. We’d been in the car for almost forty-five, painful, silent minutes. His power still pushed down on me like a hot twenty-pound weight. “The exit’s just ahead,” I pointed to ramp a quarter mile up ahead.

He took the exit without a word. When we came to a stop sign, I said, “Take a left.”

He made the turn and coasted downhill until he came to another stop sign.

“A right here.”

Mingo Junction had been populated by steelworkers and their families, set on three hills along the river. A Serbian-Russian hill, a Polish hill, and an Italian hill. When I was little, there were storefronts, restaurants, and those little old men who sat outside the local barbershop and talked about how great it
used
to be.

As we drove through now, there was nothing left but a bank, the rusty steel mill entrance, and the rundown barbershop with no one inside. Storefronts were closed and boarded up with plywood and the streets were riddled with potholes, making for an uneven ride. We cruised through the single stoplight and made our way up the Serbian-Russian hill. About halfway up was my destination, Saint Aquinas Cathedral. The church sat across from the once overpopulated Mingo High School which, now, had very few windows left intact and was covered in graffiti.

Dean pulled into the parking lot next to Saint Aquinas Cathedral and stopped the car.

“I’ll only be a few minutes,” I said as I stepped out of the car without making eye contact. I shut the door behind me.

I leaned on the double doors that seemed so much heavier than I remembered and stepped into the familiar open sanctuary. Rows of empty dark wood pews stretched out before me. The exterior stonework was duplicated on the inside to give the entire place a medieval gothic appearance. The large stained-glass windows portrayed scenes from the Passion and just above the gleaming white marble alter was the crucifixion watching over everything. The skylight above the dais looked like heaven shining down as light gleamed off the white marble. I dipped my finger into the holy water by the door and made the sign of the cross.

I took a seat halfway down the silent sanctuary then stared up at that perfect representation of Christ’s sacrifice and took a deep cleansing breath. My shoulders relaxed as my body released all the stress and animosity I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, leaving me . . . empty.

I sat in the pew that my parents, grandparents, and I had used. It was the same pew that my parents, my uncles and aunts, and my brother and his family still sat in to this day. I shouldn’t feel so nostalgic about it. This wasn’t who I was anymore.

A warm familiar presence slid in next to me and took my hand. I closed my eyes and couldn’t help but smile. I’d missed him, so much.

“It’s been a long time,” he said.

“Brennan,” I breathed, turning a genuine smile up to him.

“Ah, ah, ah.” He wagged a finger at me. “Remember, it’s Father Williamson,” he chastised, as he put his arm around my shoulders and hugged me to him.

“You’ll always be
my
Brennan,” I said and leaned my head on his all-too-familiar shoulder. I’d rested my head on his shoulder so many times through my teens that it felt right. He always seemed safe and familiar.

“What brings you to our little neck of the woods?” he asked, rubbing my upper arm, soothing me and probably himself.

“Business.”

“Something tells me that it has nothing to do with the University.” He turned a skeptical glare on me.

I’d stopped coming home once I moved into my own apartment at school. I hadn’t seen Brennan in almost seven years when he’d graduated from the seminary. Yet, somehow, he knew all about me.

“How did you know where I worked?” I asked, pushing away from his comforting, broad shoulder.

“Your mom and dad still come to Mass from time to time. Granted, it’s less frequent now but I try to check in with them. Your brother and his wife come almost every week.” It was a jab at me. The awful truth of the matter was that he was right. I hadn’t been able to let go of all the pain my parents had caused so long ago, still couldn’t. I hadn’t had a dream about electroshock in months. No reason to bring it up now.

“I won’t apologize for my decision, Brennan. I left for a reason.” My voice boomed in the empty sanctuary, angry and volatile. Tears stung at the back of my eyes, burning and my throat tightened as I tried to hold those tears off. I didn’t want to cry. It didn’t solve anything. I was tired of having to explain myself.

“They love you,” he said, pleading.

“No! They tried to commit me.” I couldn’t stop the sob as the words passed my lips. A hot stream of tears trailed a line down my face and I couldn’t stop them.

DAMN IT!

Brennan reached up with his thumb and brushed the tears from my cheek.

“I know that,” he muttered. “They don’t understand and will never understand what happened that night.” He brushed the hair from my face with a pitiful expression. “We all make mistakes but it’s divine to forgive.”

“Then let the divine forgive them because I can’t,” I snapped. I took a deep breath and fought for control of my anger. I wasn’t angry
at
him. I had never been angry
at
Brennan. “What did my mother promise you to give me that little speech if you saw me?” I asked with a small smile, attempting to lighten the mood.

“Your mother can be very persuasive,” he said, smiling at me bashfully.

I laughed. I knew my mother had—at the very least—threatened to take him over her knee if he didn’t. It’s hard to be a spiritual leader and authority figure to someone who watched you play in the mud and ride bikes with their daughter.

I’d once wanted to tell Brennan everything. Now, I wanted him to tell me that everything would be all right. I knew it wouldn’t be, though. I couldn’t burden him with my childhood traumas and forgive myself, especially since there was nothing he could do about it. I took a deep breath instead and told him what I could.

“My life’s gotten more complicated, not less in the last year. They’d never understand some of the choices I’ve made. If they can’t accept what I am, they can’t accept my life and my decisions. I don’t have room in my life for second guessing.” My life wasn’t open for debate no matter how much Brennan, or my parents, Patrick or even Danny wanted it to be.

“You’re taking more risks, aren’t you?” he asked. His voice hitched with his first sign of fear. He sounded like that teenager that had sat in the cemetery with me almost 13 years ago, watching what we’d accidentally called from the darkness.

“In a way,” I answered. “Look.” If I didn’t get it out, I never would. “I needed to talk to you for a reason. If something happens to me, I want you to perform the rites but don’t let my mother change anything. I have everything set as I want it.”

He gawked at me with surprise, his eyes wide and filled with horror.

“My friend Amblan will have all the details.”

“Dahlia, what’s going on?” he asked, more hurried.

My mind wandered to that lanky kid I’d loved, what seemed like a lifetime ago. I smiled at him as I stroked his cheek with trembling fingers. He was still that same guy, maybe a little pudgy around the middle and a little older but he was still
my Brennan
.

“Why are you smiling?” he asked, angry.

“I was just thinking about the boy who gave me my first kiss,” I said. I gave him a hug and got up to leave.

He snatched my hand with a desperate glint in his eyes that I understood all too well. “At least call your mother and give her the same chance to say goodbye. That’s what this is, right? A goodbye?”