Sin Eater (23 page)

She’d been so lovely, the daughter of a wealthy land owner. Her neck had been long and elegant, her hair jet black, always arranged in curls. She’d moved with the grace only the truly wealthy can pull off.

He’d met her at her grandfather’s funeral. He’d been hired to consume the sins of the old fart. He didn’t appear a beggar, but because of his dark skin, sharp nose and shaved head the people of England had labeled him as a Moor. Even though his colouring was closer to the desert people of Arabia. But it didn’t matter,
not white was not right, to use a modern phrase. And people stayed well the fuck away from him, which suited his purposes just fine.

They’d had the wake for the old man in
the living room of his grand country house. Flowers sat on every flat piece of furniture the room held, their fragrance covering the smell of the corpse, jasmine the most pronounced one since that had been the old man’s favourite. They had it brought in special for the wake. The body’s odor wasn’t too rank when Essum arrived. The sins had to be consumed quickly, they believed. If only they knew how truly late they were …

He’d been paid his fee ahead of time, and Daphne herself had placed the square of bread on her father’s chest and set a tumbler of ale on the table next to his head. They
waited an appropriate amount of time. Of course it was all bullshit, so he used his sixth sense to determine when the people in the room with him were good and uncomfortable … and then he’d wait another five minutes. Then he would say, with all the dramatic flair he could manage, “I give easement and rest to thee, dear man. Come not down the lanes or in our meadows. And for thy peace I pawn my own soul. Amen.”

His voice had always been deep, the effect unsettling because his frame was thin. When he reached for the bread, took it in his mouth, and then drank the ale, any women in the room would always shrink away, further
into the corners to get away from him.

For her grandfather’s sin-eating, Daphne had stood alone right next to him, and she crossed herself as he finished, kissing the crucifix that hung around her neck over her black dress. She wasn’t scared of Essum in the least.

He was astounded by her, so of course he tried to read her thoughts. When he first met the blank wall that was her mind he had no idea what to do. He was staring at her like she was a lock he hadn’t a key for when she’d met his gaze, her green eyes flashing.

“Sin Eater,” she said in her
proper accent, dropping her eyes from his stare. “Thank you for your service. You may go.”

Her voice … it had hit him like the warmest summer breeze he’d ever known. The tones were crystal and pure … the way her lips formed each word was like watching a master conduct his opus. It had speared him through the heart and held him before her, locked in place, even as she was dismissing him from her presence.

Unable to help his nature, he’d let his dark eyes trail down her elegant form, stopping at her feet and then climbing up her long limbs again. She saw him do this, and the hot spice of her anger had piqued his interest.

She was human, but he couldn’t read her. What the hell was she? Of course, he had to know everything about her.

As his eyes trailed up the low-scooped neckline of her mourning clothes, not even trying to be a gentleman, he saw a flush come to her cheeks, even as she became more offended.

“You may leave the premises, and do not presume you are welcome to return,” she said, but the words were as agreeable as a love poem to him. That voice … it held him completely enthralled, and her graceful beauty could not to be overlooked.

He had bowed to her at the waist and made for the door. The fact that he couldn’t read her mind had him in quite a flustered mess, but it was nothing compared to the moment she stopped him on the front stoop by grabbing his wrist.

Her skin on his was a jolt of lightning. They both jumped and pulled away from each other. As Essum turned, her lips parted and she was staring at him with a new interest.

The scent of chocolate filled his nostrils, and he ventured a smile at her.

She returned
it, which had his body aching with need. Somehow he knew he couldn’t have her, and that only made it worse.

Daphne held out her hand, and he cupped his under it. Without touching him she dropped more coins
into his hand.

“For my family’s rudeness,” she said in whispered tones. “I am quite embarrassed they were too scared to be in the room with you. And my brother was in the cupboard with a rifle in case you attacked me.”

Essum’s smile broadened and he felt a proper fool, but looking at her his heart was singing and he was … totally enamored.

Now, surrounded by these barely-clothed modern humans going about their silly, spoiled existence, he longed for that lost era. There was so much mystery to a woman then. And Daphne … well, even though he was little more than ether at the moment his chest ached right where his heart should have been.

For she was dead now, wasn’t she? And Essum had gotten stuck to the fly paper and killed by the built-in poison. He’d languished in more than one kind of hell ever since.

Iola was bounding off the subway, and he hurried to keep up, making himself visible on the platform. Even from a safe following distance he could smell the vanilla-jasmine perfume she carried on her skin, and the ache in his chest grew more pronounced.

Jasmine would always remind him of Daphne.

Iola had checked in on Missus Dean, but she was napping. So she made her way further down the hospital corridor, saying hi to the nurses she recognized, reluctant to stop one and ask if Doctor Aubericus was on the floor.

She somehow knew he was. But just showing up here looking for him … it was making her feel very silly. Then she spotted him, and at that exact moment he looked up and saw her.

His face cracked
into a grin that was probably as goofy as hers was.

He raised a hand to her, then finished talking to another doctor before making his way to her. He was tucking a pen in his coat pocket and still grinning. When he reached her he warmly said her name in greeting, then planted a kiss on her lips. Well, that sure didn’t wipe the smile off her face.

“Vinnie,” she replied. “I was wondering if you’d still be here.”

“Yeah, I was back on shift this morning. Almost done here, though. What are you doing here?”

“I was going to say hi to Missus Dean, but she’s having her nap.”

“Mmm. Yeah, she’s
been tired.” He lowered his tone, making sure they weren’t overheard. “She’s stable but … I think she’s shutting down.”

Iola wanted to cry. Vinnie put an arm around her and started walking with her down the hall. “Let me finish my rounds, then I’ll take you out for an early supper. How’s that?”

“Ummm … sure.”

“When are you due at work?”

“About six.”

“Crap. We’ve got a weird, three-hour window here.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I
really
wish my phone hadn’t rung last night.”

Iola blushed, right to the roots of her hair.  “Me too,” she admitted.

“But maybe … maybe this was a good thing. I like being a bit starved of your company.”

She smiled at him like a total sap. “Okay. Should I wait for you downstairs or ...?”

“Yeah. I’ll be down there in about fifteen minutes. If anything comes up I’ll get you paged.”

“I’ve never been hospital-paged before.”

“Well, this will be quite a treat, won’t it?”

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips before putting her in the elevator headed downstairs. As Iola re-entered the lobby she found an empty bench to sit on and took out her newspaper to read while she waited. After a few minutes the hair on the back of her neck prickled, and she raised her head to look around.

A man was sitting across the lobby from her, on a bench exactly opposite from where she sat. She didn’t recognize him … but he
seemed
familiar. Iola should definitely remember seeing him. He was tall, thin, with darker skin and a glossed, shaved head. His eyes seemed to be devoid of any colour whatsoever, but that wasn’t possible, was it? Maybe they were very pale grey. Or maybe he was blind. But he couldn’t be blind; he was meeting her eyes head-on. Then, very suddenly, he winked at her.

Usually she’d be embarrassed and just go back to reading her paper, hoping to appear like she hadn’t
really
been looking at all. But that wink jolted her, startled her, even. She jumped, and felt like someone had just goosed her brain.

She looked around the lobby, wondering if anyone else was taking note of this guy, because he should have stood out to anyone. He was terribly handsome, but no one seemed
to be looking at him. Couldn’t they
feel
him?

You
are
beautiful
, something was buzzing in her head. Like a radio not quite tuned in properly. So she wasn’t even sure if she was hearing it.

Iola frowned.

Do you want to know how I’m doing this? How I can tell your thoughts? How I know the cut of your pretty pink underwear?

She closed her eyes, the paper dropping to the floor. She rubbed her temples, the buzzing in her head making her feel like she had a migraine.

In a few days, Iola. You’ll know more than you wanted in just a few days.

A hand fell on her shoulder and she cried out, jumping to her feet. She spun on whoever was behind her, hand closed in a fist. Vinnie bellowed out in surprise, raising an arm to block the punch she might or might not throw at him.

“Iola,” he said in a calm voice. “Are you okay?”

Claudia awoke with a gasp, then turned to see if she’d woken Damien. No, he was quiet next to her, completely silent, breathing deep, eyes closed.

She turned her eyes ceiling-ward again, trying to collect herself. When she closed her eyes, all she could feel was … who knew
what
that was? She’d been out of her own body, almost.

She’d never had such a vivid dream in her entire life. What had it been? Why was she breathless?

She’d made love to Iola. In her head. As a man.

Iola had been shy at first, letting Claudia do all the work. Claudia had kissed every conceivable inch of pale, silky skin, she’d pleased her with her hands and tongue, and then she’d entered Iola’s body with a part she didn’t even possess.

She covered her face then rolled to her side to look at the gorgeous man in her bed that was soundly sleeping next to her. She was sure she’d dreamed that she was him. The things she’d done to Iola were the exact things he’d done to her a few times over now. And she’d liked being the one that did it. She swore she could still taste Iola’s skin on her lips, feel her small, slight body moving below her, writhing against her with want and desire. And this body that wasn’t hers had brought out such exquisite delight in Iola that Claudia reached orgasm at the same time …which was why she had just woken up.

The images and sensations she was still basking in had all the characteristics of a dream: layered over each other, a certain sight or taste or sound that stood out, other details a little hazier, but a dream. A very vivid … hot … delightful … and
real
dream. Her afterglow was not lessened by the fact she’d awoken while climaxing. For
real
. She could feel her body’s final twitches of pleasure as she lay here, her breathing slowing.

Good God.
No wonder Damien was happy to please her without worry about his own enjoyment. That had been … absolute  perfection.

Claudia’s hands were shaking and her heart raced to the point of exhaustion. If Damien knew what she’d been dreaming of … the thought almost embarrassed her. Almost.

The truth was she was too happy to really care. At some point he was leaving, her experiment done. This proved it … she was only interested in women. Who knew the why and how of Damien, but this was proof positive.

She wanted women in her bed, and she wanted to please their bodies as they pleased her. Probably not Iola, very likely
not
Iola, but … women nonetheless.

Claudia pressed grateful lips to Damien’s shoulder, and he stirred in his sleep, but it was a shallow disturbance, not one that would wake him. She climbed out of bed on the far
side and strolled to the washroom to take a shower, feeling for the first time ever that she knew what she wanted. And it wasn’t because of what had happened to her. It was what she
wanted
.

Essum wanted to burst out laughing at how Voro’s petite, dear
frustro
had nearly clocked her suitor. She was a feisty one, all right. And strong … she’d fought his mind with surprising determination. But then again, until he had a solid body he was only operating on about twenty-five percent power.

He’d never felt power like that before. If Daphne had this kind of strength he’d never know, she was a tightly closed book. But seeing it like this … the
frustro
truly was something to be reckoned with. Maybe even more than the
decipio
was.

The doctor was saying soothing things as he picked up her newspaper and purse, asking her if she needed any Aspirin. She was saying no, and he released her from his mental transmission. He knew the moment the buzzing stopped because she sighed in relief. He dematerialized back
into ether so no one else would notice him.

She looked for him, but he was long gone. Essum misted closer to catch another whiff of that jasmine scent. But as he did so, he could have sworn the doctor looked right at him anyway, his jaw set in a stern challenge, daring him to try something else.

Essum frowned … emotionally, anyway.
What the fuck
?

Iola let herself be led to the doors, and Essum followed, now truly confused.

A new challenge was presenting itself. What the hell was Doctor Veneratio Aubericus?

The shower kicked into action, the water pipes momentarily making a hell of a ruckus in the walls of the apartment building. It made Voro jump and wonder what they hell happened, what he’d missed.

Holy shit, he’d fallen asleep. True, it had been some time since he’d had a respite of any kind, it was likely overdue. And imposing his imaginary experience
into the mind of a human was taxing to say the least. It usually left him completely wiped, and then, of course, sex itself took a lot of energy. If his tank was already running low then yeah … that little bit of mental juxtaposition likely put him right into Sleepytime Village. Population: one stupid Sin Eater.

Mmmm … that had been good, though. Very,
very
good.

His eyes closed again as his hand rested in the centre of his chest, his heart no longer aching. Then again, naps had a great way of putting everything back
into perspective.

“You had better get back in the fucking game, moron.”

He jumped a good three feet off the mattress, his heart hammering away like a jackrabbit being chased by an entire pride of lions, if that could even happen in nature. Either way, he scrambled up against the headboard, pulling a sheet halfway up his chest. At least he didn’t shriek.

Sitting on top of Claudia’s chest of drawers - which looked more than impossible, since the man was so large of build that he should have toppled the entire thing over with the way his weight was concentrated on one edge – was a man that was so goddamn male-beautiful even the most heterosexual bastard on earth, say James Bond, would be excused for imagining what it might be like to be gay for just a little while.

And why he didn’t topple that dresser on its spindly Chippendale legs was no mystery to Voro. Angels were kind of beyond the laws of physics.

Yep.
Angels.
Why not?

“Raphael? What the hell are you doing here?” Voro breathed in misplaced relief. Because of what he was, angels should
not
be a relief. But then again, seeing his old colleague hadn’t really worked out for him, either. So maybe this
would
be better.

“Well, Voro, old buddy, old pal. I know this looks bad. And it’s not so much that we want to help you … but here it is.” Raphael was so twitchy at having to be there
it was making Voro smile. Then the words tumbled out and Voro stopped smiling. “Essum is seeking to double-cross you with this whole
decipio
we’ve set up for you.
If
it works, he will be … he will be beyond reproach. From either side.”

Voro understood the words, just not the order they were being said in. “What?” Yeah, that was a brilliant response.

“Essum’s got your
decipio
under his thumb. As soon as the man started to transition, Essum found him. We don’t know how. And no one knows how he knew you were the one being set up to go back. But if the
decipio
manages to mortally wound you, and if he
then
is killed by the girl, Essum can … take your form. He can just take over your body, force you right out of this flesh. And if he consumes the
decipio’s
sin of having killed you, then … ah, it’s really fucked up. Essum has your body
and
the sin of having killed you. It’s like a paradox, right? How can he have the sin of the murder of a body he is in possession of?”

Voro suddenly had a splitting headache.

“But if he’s in your body,
we
can’t stop him. He’ll kill the
frustro,
and we can’t make another matched to a Sin Eater that we already targeted. That match is made just for your flesh. It’s done, blueprint destroyed, so to speak. And as for
you
guys … well, the rotation stops. He’s next, he’s already there in
your
form. His form is gone, your soul is ... well, if you have a soul, that is. But it won’t be in that immortal body. It’s one hell of a hiccup. Or one of those burps you get that really hurts, right in the middle of your throat. You know, right here?” Raphael pointed to his Adams’ apple.

Voro ran a hand over his hair. “What happens to me? When Essum kicks me out
of my own ass?”