Rogue Soul (The Mythean Arcana Series Book 3) (3 page)

“Help me find a way out of Otherworld.” Desperation was thick in her voice. “Permanently. I renounce my godship. I need your help.”

She needed him. How the hell was he supposed to ignore that? Their past was fucking complicated, but part of him felt like he owed her. “You can’t renounce your godship.”
 

“But there has to be a way out. You found one, and I want it too.”

“I can’t do that. I don’t have that power.”

Ana groaned and nearly stomped her foot. She couldn’t take no for an answer, not after so much time spent searching and dreaming of a way to have a real life. If the other gods found them before she could convince Cam to help her regain her humanity, she’d be forced back to Otherworld. Failure meant a fate she’d happily trade for death if she could.

“Someone has that power, and you know who it is. Take me to them,” she demanded.

“Or what?” His voice froze with a deadly cold.
 

“Or I’ll tell the other gods where you are. I meant it when I said it. I’ve got nothing to lose. If the other gods catch me deserting, I’m worse than dead. If you don’t help me, I’ll tell them where you are. You know I can be back in Otherworld in an instant.” She snapped her fingers. It was the only card she had in her hand, and she had to make him believe her.
 

He cursed, spurring the monkeys on to greater howls. The jungle had as much energy as the bar, but it didn’t bother her like that of the Mythean energy inside. What did bother her was the man who towered over her, even though he’d stepped back. She wasn’t used to feeling small or helpless. She’d left that behind along with her humanity. But he made her feel that way, and she hated the fact that it caused her blood to sing through her veins and her skin to heat.
 

“Well?” she prodded.

“Fine.” His voice carried the harshness of boulders scraping against each other as the earth moved. “Druantia created the potion that allowed me to Fall. I sought her out after meeting you, when I realized the gods were plotting against us.”
 

The name was familiar. She was the most powerful Druid priestess and the one who’d facilitated communication between gods and mortals back when mortals still worshiped Celtic gods.

“She’s your friend, so you think she’ll give me the potion?”

“She’s not my friend. She does a job for me when I need her to, and if you pay her, she’ll do it for you too. She’s difficult and a pain in the ass, but her services can be bought.”

 
“Excellent. Take me to her and I promise I’ll leave you alone. You can have your life”— she gestured to the bar and he scowled—“back to normal.”

He thought about her offer for a moment and nodded. “I’m not actually helping you. I need a new cloaking charm, and you can tag along, but you’re on your own. I’m not taking care of you along the way.”

She scowled at him. “Please, like I need you to protect me. I killed you, remember?”

“Don’t remind me.”

CHAPTER THREE

Cam watched Andrasta step onto the deck of his boat, a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach at the sight of her entering the place he’d called home these past few decades. He hadn’t had another person on his boat in years. He preferred it that way. The jungle allowed him to keep to himself, no questions asked. The towns allowed him to find the occasional woman when he wanted one, but otherwise he was left alone there as well.

So what the hell was he doing, letting her tag along? He hated traveling with others. Not to mention that he’d expected never to see her again. Yet here they were, about to spend the next two days traveling downriver to the nearest airport. After they flew to Scotland, it’d take at least another few days to find Druantia.

He’d fallen hard for Andrasta when he’d met her two thousand years ago. He’d been a stone-cold god, incapable of emotion—until he’d laid eyes on her. She roused things in him that were hard to control. And if he were honest with himself, he hadn’t felt like that about anyone since her.
 

But he couldn’t afford to be distracted by her now, not when all his attention needed to be on getting them safely to Druantia before the gods found them.

“You coming?” She looked back over her shoulder at him.

He shook away the thoughts and stepped off the ramshackle dock he tied off to every time he visited the Caipora’s Den. He’d take her to Druantia, get his cloaking spell renewed, and then he could get back to the work he was meant to be doing. He had responsibilities he couldn’t screw up.
 

“We’ll find Druantia in Scotland, right?” Andrasta asked.

“Yes. It’s been two thousand years since I’ve seen her last, but she’ll be somewhere in the north.” He’d called a couple contacts on the walk to the boat, hoping they’d know where she lived now. “I’m waiting on some information about her whereabouts.”

“I can call my friend Esha and ask. She knows a lot of high-ranking Mytheans in Scotland. She might be able to find her.”

He nodded. “Good.”

“It’s too bad we can’t aetherwalk,” Andrasta said as he moved to the stern of the boat.

He grunted his agreement. The aether, that ephemeral substance connecting earth and the afterworlds, allowed certain Mytheans to travel through it by aetherwalking. Andrasta had the ability, and she could take him along as well. The only downside to that plan—and it was a major downside—was that the aether linked everything. If she entered it to travel, the gods could find her. And him.
 

So it looked like they’d be taking the slow route.

“How long have you had this”—Andrasta peered around with a dubious expression—“vessel?”

“A while.” He liked the old girl, and though he wanted to defend the
Clara G.’s
honor, he didn’t want to give Andrasta any encouragement to keep talking. He’d always liked her voice, full of the joyous way she viewed the world. If he wanted to keep his wits about him, he couldn’t be distracted by mooning over her as he’d done so many years ago.
 

Cam set about untying the lines to free the boat from the dock, the action as much muscle memory as it was conscious act. He didn’t let the dark slow his progress. Andrasta had taken the aether to get here. If the gods were looking for her, this was where they’d show up, since it was the last place her energy led. Getting out of here soon was at the top of his list.

“You can have the bunk.” He nodded to the little cabin built onto the aft end of the boat, which housed a bed and his clothes. The rest of the boat was open air.

With a flick of his wrist, he untied the last line at the bow, then bounded up the small ladder to the raised pilothouse situated in the forward end of the boat. The
Clara G.
was primarily flat deck space, with just the little cabin at the stern and pilothouse at the bow.
 

He flipped on the big lights that would help illuminate the river. It was wide here, the water moving sluggishly downstream. He threw on the engine and pulled smoothly away from the dock. He’d let Andrasta explore while he got them far enough away from the Caipora’s Den that he could breathe freely again.

“What kind of boat is this?” Her head popped up on the ladder leading to the pilothouse.
 

He sighed. So much for exploring the main deck. Not that there was much to see down there. But he didn’t want her squeezing into the tiny pilothouse; she’d be too close.
 

“Get on the roof.” He jerked his head backward to indicate that she should climb on top of the flat roof, which was supported by piping. It didn’t enclose any space on the main deck, but it did provide shelter from the rain.
 

He could hear her climb onto the steel roof and walk around the flat space he used as a deck whenever he wanted to relax or needed a bit of extra cargo space.

“What kind of boat is this?” she asked again. Her voice came from too close behind him.
 

He glanced back to see her standing with her arms folded over the half wall of the pilothouse, staring at him. He turned to face the river, but the back of his neck prickled under her gaze. Normally he liked that the breeze flowed through the pilothouse, which was essentially just a chest-high box with a roof several feet overhead. Now, he wished for windows. Thick ones.

“Steamboat originally. But now it’s powered by diesel,” he said.

“An old one?”

Always so curious. He felt a grin tug at the corners of his mouth, but he stifled it. “You could say that. It’s one of the mini riverboats from the Klondike gold rush back at the end of the nineteenth century. Found it rotting away in a barn up in the Yukon Territories about fifty years ago. Couldn’t save the wooden paddle wheel, and the engines and boiler had been stripped, but the rest of the steel hull was sound. Brought it down here, gave it a couple outboard engines and some modernizing, and it’s been faithful ever since.”

 
“Really?” Excitement laced her voice. “How do you think the diesel engines compare with the original steam propulsion?”

“You like engines?”

“I like technology, and steam was the biggest thing to hit humanity since the wheel.”

She was clever. “Diesel is less exciting and less dangerous, but more reliable and easier to maintain. But I do miss steam sometimes.”

“That’s what I figured. There’s just something so romantic about steam. How’d you get it all the way down here?”

Steam was more romantic? She was clever
and
weird. He’d almost forgotten how much so. He grinned as he said, “I shipped it overland, like that movie. The one where they carried the steamboat over the mountains into South America.”

She made an impressed noise in the back of her throat. Or did he just choose to interpret it that way? He scowled.

“
Fitzcarraldo
? Wouldn’t it have been easier to put it on a cargo ship?”

“Sure, but I’ve got nothing but time and wanted the challenge. You like movies?”
Fitzcarraldo
was an unusual one. He had no idea they had movies in Otherworld—but then again, he hadn’t been there in two thousand years.

“Yes. I need something to pass the time up there, don’t I? My friend Esha gave me a laptop that’s loaded with movies and television shows. It’s how I keep in touch. With earth.”

The tinge of sadness to her voice tugged something within him that he quickly ignored.

“How big is this steamship?”

“Boat. It’s a steamboat. Steamships go on oceans, steamboats go on rivers.”

“Oookay then. I guess you like boats.”

He shrugged. But yeah, he did. About as much as she liked technology. There hadn’t been any significant bodies of water in Otherworld. Nothing other than small rivers and a few ponds. When he’d ended up on earth permanently, oceans had fascinated him, along with the lakes that were as big as seas and rivers so wide you’d have sworn you were at the beach. A passion for boats had followed shortly behind.

“So, how big?”

He sighed. “Don’t you have something else you want to be doing? Instead of bothering me?”

“Nope. Too dark to see much. I’d rather hear about the boat. How big is it?”

He sighed. “Fifty feet. Small open-air galley below the roof you’re standing on, bunkhouse with a bed behind that if you’re feeling tired.” Which he wished she was. She could have his bed, as long as it kept her away from him. He’d take the hammock tied in the open air of the bow, but odds on him sleeping, with the gods possibly on their tail, were slim.
 

“I’m not tired. Too keyed up being on earth,” she said.

“Speaking of, how long ’til the gods start looking for you?”
And me.

“A day. I’ve never come to earth for longer than twenty-four hours. That always seemed to be a safe amount of time. I figure they’ll start to notice I’m gone once I miss a meeting. There’s one tomorrow.”

“They still have those?” He’d hated the damn things when he’d been there.

“Yeah. They’re no longer for accounting for worshipers, since we don’t have any alive anymore. Though the recent interest in Druids has given us a bit of power. Now the meetings are mostly for managing the mortals who came to Otherworld when they died and to keep track of the gods. So we don’t leave.” The last sentence was delivered with a scowl he could hear.