Sin Eater (28 page)

Her eyes. Her blood. Her hands clawing at his arms while the screams were strangled out of a throat he was collapsing with his bare hands.

He shook his head at the fast tide of images that cascaded through his brain. He kept his eyes closed but he covered the scratches. This was the first time he’d been in the home of someone he’d killed, although it would have been the second time if that cop bitch hadn’t brought home that man … the one with those weird eyes and strange way about him.

Charlie frowned and opened his eyes. Come to think of it, that man kinda had a lot in common with the old Master, didn’t he? He made Charlie’s skin prickle to the point of
goose bumps, his voice held Charlie’s attention like a string in front of a cat.

Charlie shook his head. No, there could only be o
ne God, and Charlie’s old Master was it. He just needed help getting people to realize it.

Charlie pulled his feet up on to the chair, curling up in a ball with his chin resting on his knees. When that day of reckoning came, Charlie was going to be saved completely, and he bet the Master would ask him to be someone important … maybe even an apostle of some kind. He couldn’t wait.

Iola checked the text message she’d received a moment ago from Vinnie.
B there in 10.

That had been eleven minutes ago. Not that she was incredibly neurotic, it was just that the last train that ran every half hour was due in ten minutes. After that the trains only ran every hour, which meant a long wait for the next one if Vinnie was caught late at work.

Which is where he wasn’t supposed to be, but they’d needed him.

She admitted the fact that he was a doctor was incredibly sexy, but man … did he ever go anywhere
other
than the hospital? The second she thought it she felt like a bitch.

There was a small window next to the station’s back door. She used it to check up and down the alley every minute or so. Still no Vinnie.

There were still people milling about, even this late at night. She didn’t want anyone to notice her, so her little alley checks were kept discreet. All she needed was to step out the door and get hit over the head for her purse by someone that noticed she was waiting for a ride. It
did
happen from time to time.

A couple of whores walked by, followed by a man in a long dark jacket. It seemed hot for a
windbreaker
, never mind a knee-length wool coat, and Iola frowned. Maybe he was from somewhere very tropical and found even their warmest evenings just a touch too chilly. He did have a shaved head, and dark, almost golden-brown skin …

He turned to look right at her, and she backed away from the window, putting her back to the solid metal door, out of sight from the window.

The guy from the hospital. The one that she thought she was hearing in her head.

How’d he find me?

It wasn’t self-involved to wonder that. It was far too random to be seeing him again, down here, at her place of work.

Iola tried to keep herself from panicking, leaning her head back on the door and concentrating on her breathing. He would pass, he’d just keep walking, he didn’t even really notice her in the window …

Iola …

She wanted to make a childish noise of frustration, beat her hand on the door.
Shit
.

Iola … come on out here and see me.

Yeah right. Just ignore the safety of a locked door between her and a total stranger.

Please, I want to see you.

A stranger that could beam his voice right into her head. To hell with not panicking. She was ready to run upstairs and hide under her desk. But her legs wouldn’t move, and she couldn’t open her eyes, either.

You’re not going to do anything except open this door
.

Fuck. That.

Come on now, that kind of language isn’t very becoming.

And read her mind. This stranger could hear what she was thinking.

That’s why there’s no point fighting with me. Open the door.

Her heart was racing, she bet she could see her ribcage shaking if she were to look down at that moment. But all she was able to manage was opening her eyes.

She had her hand on the handle suddenly. It moved without her involvement. It was like watching someone else having complete use of her arm, except she felt the metal in her hand … and the wind rushing in as the door pulled open.

Shit
.

The man was right in front of her, not letting her speak, not letting her blink. He was
just eyeing her up with innocent curiosity, like she was a lab experiment. His head was tilted to one side, and those arresting eyes were locked on her, the only thing she could see.

So beautiful …
he was thinking, but his face didn’t lose its impersonal expression. 
You almost remind me of someone
.

She blinked. That’s all she could do on her own volition.

You smell of jasmine, did you know that? Jasmine and something sweeter … vanilla. It makes you quite irresistible.

She knew he took her hand off the handle only because the door banged shut a moment later. It startled her, but she couldn’t even wince or jump. She was frozen to the spot she stood on.

He glided closer, and Iola wanted to run. She would have done anything to have the use of her legs back. This man was all wrong, everything about this was
bad
. He shouldn’t be here, he didn’t
belong
here.

“Shhh …” he said using his mouth, standing immediately before her. He smelled … he smelled wonderful. But even that felt wrong.  She shouldn’t like how he smelled. She should be much farther away from him than this, to be honest. “I wonder … I wonder if I could touch you.”

No,
but of course her mouth wouldn’t work to say it.
Don’t touch me. Please, oh God, don’t touch me don’t touch me don’t touch me …

His hand was on her cheek. Again the urge to avoid it was so strong her gag reflex had her wanting to cough, but she couldn’t. Her skin was burning all over her body, and not in a good way, like she needed to get out of the fire she was standing too close to.

“You can feel that, can you? I bet you can’t feel it from him, though.”

She didn’t even care who he was talking about. She felt one tear slide down her cheek, and the reaction with her skin at that moment made it feel like battery acid. He caught the drop with his thumb, rubbing it off, spreading the burning sensation across her face.

“I wonder …” he continued, putting both hands to the sides of her head.

Please … just let me go.

His lips came to hers, and her entire being was screaming
Get away! Get away from me!

He backed off, a smile on his face for the first time. “Oh, Iola. You taste like … heaven.” For some reason he found that hilarious, and he collapsed
into laughter. As he did, the spell was lifted.

She caught herself from collapsing to the ground, and then she took a moment to make sure it wasn’t a trick. When she was sure she grabbed the door handle and yanked it open, rushing right
into Vinnie.

“Iola … Iola, what’s wrong?” His voice was like cold water, and arms wrapped her up as she cleaved close to him, realizing right then she was shaking and sobbing.

“Get me out of here, please - ”

Vinnie pushed her behind him and caught the door before it eased all the way closed, and Iola tried to hold him back.

“
Don’t
, Vinnie. Please don’t go in there.”

He turned back to her, confusion in his furrowed brows. “There’s nothing there. What did you see?”

“There was a man … I’d seen him at the hospital earlier today. And he … I don’t know, he just …” How the hell was she going to explain it? He was likely to put her in a home for the deranged.

“Did he scare you? What did he say?”

“He just … he wouldn’t let me go.”

Vinnie uttered a surprising cuss word, and took out his phone. “I’m calling the police.”

She covered his hands. “No, no. You know what? Maybe I overreacted.”

He looked at her incredulously. “You should see yourself right now, Iola. You are completely terrified.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “Just take me home, get me out of here. Okay?”

“Are you sure? Did he … did he
touch
you or anything?”

She shook her head. “No. No. I just couldn’t … get out.”

“I wish you’d let me call the cops.”

“No. Like I said, just … take me home.”

He didn’t want to, but he nodded and put the phone away. He led her to his car with his arm across her shoulders.

Iola was back at her building before the shaking stopped.

Voro would have never guessed that Raphael was a KISS fan, but that was the CD he was playing in this hatchback Ford Focus as they pulled up the drive to Portia’s house. A neighbour came to a window to check and see what was happening, but Voro shot the urgent need to go to the bathroom in the man’s head and he quickly veered right past his kitchen window and out of sight.

Raphael had felt him do it, and he shook his head. “That is so cool.”

“You could do it, too.”

“Nah. Free will, man.”

“I didn’t mess with his free will. His bladder was full. He just didn’t realize it until I pointed it out.”

Raphael shook his head again as they headed for the steps. “Tell yourself whatever you like,
Sin Eater.”

Voro froze with one foot on the bottom step, and Raphael stopped at the door before touching the police tape. “What?”

“You can’t smell that?”

“Is it Essum?”

Voro closed his eyes to concentrate. “Essum was definitely here, not anymore though. But … oh dammit. You really can’t smell that?”

It was horrid. Rotten meat and sulfur and … landfill. It was making his stomach churn.

“I got nothing. You want to go in?”

No.
Voro nodded and Raphael pushed on the door. It swung open.

“Are you breaking and entering?” Voro asked dryly as Raphael ducked under the police tape, which was hard considering his height.

“It was unlocked.”

Voro frowned. That shouldn’t be … but what
ever. He followed the angel then shut the door behind them. The living room was calling to him, the scent of death and violence appealing to his darkness. He fought against it, looking around this cavernous foyer he’d been in only a handful of times.

“So … you say Essum’s been here?”

Voro nodded again. “Definitely. I can sense him.”

“So … it’s not smell with you guys? It’s just a feeling?”

“Yep.”

“Do you smell
anything
?”

“You don’t want to know what it smells like to me in here.”

“I’ll buy that. But what do those smells
mean
?”

Voro paced past the living room and made his way back to the kitchen, the dining room. Raphael followed closely.

“I can smell hatred … rage … fear … shame …
evil
.”

“So, that’s all from someone that
was
here?”

They returned back to the foyer quickly. “Yeah, all that was here, and it was all in one person. It has to be that guy … Charles Goodwin.”

Now it was Raphael’s turn to freeze, his head swiveling to the stairs. “Someone’s here,” he said quietly, calmly. “Upstairs.”

Voro sent out his mental feelers, and he found the brain of a living human upstairs. In Portia’s room.

Voro felt a growl build up in his throat as he flew up the stairs two at a time.

“Voro,” he heard Raphael warn him, but he was too far gone to be influenced.

He basically threw the bedroom door open, making the form in the chair nearly jump right out of his skin. Voro could tell that he’d been sleeping; his brain waves were slow and logy.

Voro grabbed him by his thin arms and shook him so hard the guy’s teeth clattered. “You fucking little worm.”

Raphael’s voice came from the doorway. “Voro. Don’t.”

Voro held Charles Goodwin’s stare as he got ready to unload a lot of mind fuck on the guy at once when Raphael said very softly but with great authority, “Voro. Scan him.”

Voro held back, and then did a little flip-though the guy’s life. The memories of wicked, disgusting acts were there, polluted with the guy’s own psychosis so they didn’t really make sense, but they were orderly, neat, and - more surprisingly – clean. Gone. As in …

“You’ve been forgiven,” Voro breathed, letting Charles go and stepping back.

“A Sin Eater’s already gotten to him?”

Voro shook his head. “No, I’d still be able to feel it elsewhere if that had happened. It would be like a trail of scent left in someone’s wake. I’d know where it was, even. But he’s … he’s completely
forgiven
.”

The man was staring at Voro intently, and with Voro’s words he collapsed to the peach carpet in huge, body-shaking sobs. “Thank you,” he said pathetically as he touched Voro’s shoe, circling his ankle with his hand. “Thank you, God.”

Voro looked to Raphael, who was gazing down at Charlie with divine pity, making his handsome face completely angelic.

“Can … can
you
do something like that?”

Raphael looked back to Voro, surprised. “No, not me. It would have to be someone … different than me. Someone like
… maybe a
decipio
?”

Voro shook his head. “But the
decipio
’s out to kill me. This guy … he’s nothing.”

“He’s not nothing. He’s part of this whole process, too.”

“How?”

Raphael shrugged. “How the hell should I know?”

Once Iola had flown out the door
into the arms of her beloved doctor, Essum had released his physical form. Once he was ether again he let himself gather his breath and try to settle himself.

He’d felt her. He’d touched her. And she had felt it.

He wasn’t even in his true physical form yet. And she was so warm, even as terrified as she’d been. He’d felt her lips …

He hadn’t kissed anyone since he’d tried to kiss Daphne, and that had nearly killed him since a
frustro
was akin to poison when it came to their matched Sin Eater.  It only went one way, though. That was the grossly unfair part.

Essum let his unsolid form wander, out through the roof of the building where he took form
again to study the city from six floors up. So many people and yet no one seemed to know anyone. It never used to be like that. Then again, he hadn’t been in the human world for … two hundred years?

Yeah, two hundred years.

He closed his eyes and tried to conjure up that woman, the love of his existence so far. It wasn’t difficult, she was always right there, waiting to return with the slightest reference.

After her brother had man-handled him and she had hissed at him to be gone for
good, that very evening as she was going to sleep, she had been sitting at a dressing table in her room, looking down at a small plate where a small cake sat.

A burial cake. Made for funerals, given to everyone that attended with the understanding they ate it to keep the memory of the deceased with them. Ancient and archaic, but Daphne’s mother had always thought they were romantic.

Daphne hadn’t eaten hers. She’d kept it.

“If you don’t eat it, he can’t pass over,” Essum had said from her doorway.

She jumped to her feet, pulling her dressing gown tighter around her neck. She was instantly furious, and as she opened her mouth to shout at him or raise the alarm, he held out a hand beseechingly.

“Please,” he said softly, not wanting to frighten her. “I have to explain.”

She didn’t shout. Instead she asked, “You dare to come here?”

“I thought your brother had hurt you. I am sorry. But I don’t see blood relation as a reason to excuse violence. He honours you not.”

Her eyes dropped to the burial cake in front of her. “Is that true?” She asked, gesturing to the small cake, more of a sugary canapé than anything else. She was referring to what he had first said that had startled her.

No
, he thought. “It’s what I’ve been told,” he said instead. “It’s to keep a part of them with you, so they don’t have to hover here and make sure you are well.”

She looked at him sharply. “Am I well? Or am I in danger?” It was said in the manner of a multiple choice question.

“You are well, I swear it. I mean you no ill.”

She sat back down, her eyes back on the cake. “It seems so primitive. Evil. It’s like …”

“Cannibalism?” Essum offered, and she nodded immediately, shuddering. “It is to honour them, that is all. Are you scared that if you eat it you will have nothing left of him?”

She nodded then instantly broke
into sobs. Essum was uncomfortable with crying, but coming from her … the smell of her sorrow was like strong rain on foliage. It hurt him.

“He is with you whether
you eat that or not. So you may as well eat it before the bugs come looking for it. Once they’re here you’ll never be rid of them.”

She looked at him in wonder, then laughed, even as tears were still falling down her alabaster cheeks. He ached to touch her again, but when he thought of how his skin had handled their last contact he held back.

He watched Daphne pick up the cake with delicate fingers and pop it into her mouth all at once, chewing and swallowing like a child eating their vegetables. She had stopped crying but had yet to wipe her tears. Her eyes pointed upwards like she was thinking of other things just to get through this chore.

Essum produced a handkerchief from his pocket and knelt before her to dry her eyes. She let him do this as she swallowed the cake, and he cherished the touch, even with the piece of silk between them. No burning, no jolt of heat, just … warmth.

As she finished, she looked down at him, on his knee before her, leaning more into the palm of his hand. “I am sorry for how my brother spoke to you and treated you. And I am sorry for what I said as well.”

“You need never apologize to me,” he said softly. “You may always say and do what you wish with me.”

Her hands came to his shoulders, and with his clothes keeping her skin from his all he could feel was the heat from her touch.

“You have never told me your name,” she said very softly, watching his face closely.

“Essum,” his voice was hoarse, since he’d never told a human his real name. Or maybe it was from something else.

“Essum. What is that?”

“Latin. E
do Edi Essum. It means …
devour
.”

Her brow had furrowed, and the break in her perfectly smooth skin made her even more lovely. “That’s an odd name.”

“It is,” he agreed, since he had nothing to add to that.

“Devour,” she repeated to herself, her eyes half-open as
they traced across his lips, his jaw, down his neck.

“I should go,” he said without much conviction, without movement to suggest he really meant it.

“Wait,” she said strongly, tightening her hands on the lapel of his greatcoat.

“For what?” Her eyes returned to his lips and she eased forward slightly, lips parted. “What am I waiting for, Daphne?” He knew his voice had the power to seduce, and damn him if he wasn’t using it on her like any other woman he’d ever used it on.

The skin on her lips were soft as wind on water as she brushed them against his, and though he could have moaned at the limited time she gave him to feel them, the second she made contact more forcefully he had to back away and get as far from her as he could.

“Daphne,” he said weakly, getting to his feet and making for her door.

“Essum, what is it?” His name was suddenly obscene coming from her mouth.

“I should not be here,” he covered his panic. “It isn’t proper. I have to go.”

He hadn’t looked back as he left, willing everyone he passed in the household that they weren’t really seeing him. But he’d felt her eyes on his back the whole way down the hallway.

If he’d had his physical form now, he would have wept. Because though he’d meant to stay as far as he could from her, that night had only sealed his fate.

Vinnie handed her a generous glass of wine from her fridge, and she smiled in appreciation. When she did, she realized he was still studying her with grave concern.
She set the wine on the coffee table.

“I’m fine, it’s … well, it wasn’t nothing. But I don’t want to waste the police’s time with some guy that just … scared me. Really … I’m fine.” The more she said it the more
true
it became.

He sat next to her on the sofa, hand on her knee in a completely concerned manner. “You should have seen your face, Iola.”

She put the wine down after taking a healthy swallow, turning to him, putting her hands on his. “I’m sorry. I overreacted. Please, don’t worry. Please, let it go.”

He mulled that over somewhat reluctantly. “Okay. But - ”

“No ‘buts.’ I finally have you all to myself and your phone is off and I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

He burst out laughing unexpectedly, and it made her smile.

“I’m serious,” she insisted through a laugh of her own.

“Okay, this is me dropping it.”