Sin Eater (36 page)

Claudia murmured in her sleep, and Voro dried his hands and returned to her side. She cuddled up to him immediately, sighing as she fell
into place without waking in the least.

Fuck him. He was such an asshole.

The Aztecs used to worship Tlazolteotl … the earth and mother goddess, the mother of child birth. She was also called the “eater of filth,” a goddess that appeared to a dying man to cleanse his soul of sins after he confessed to them. The superstitions of the dying were the same no matter what part of the world you came from. And Essum couldn’t help but wonder what Tlazolteoltl would have been like. He bet he would have liked her an awful lot.

If his dear Jasper had indeed been injured by the product of Essum’s world, Essum thought it stood to reason that he could be healed by the product of his own world. But that didn’t mean prayer and holy water and psalms from a collection of short stories. That meant he needed to provide the one thing that
only Jasper’s Boss could truly find: forgiveness, a releasing of evil that the other, dark half couldn’t have.

So in short, Essum needed Charlie back.

As he ghosted his way through the police department, he was also on the lookout for any sinners in that group. There were plenty of “bad guys” on the police force, Essum was well aware of that as soon as he misted through the door. But as far as a true sinner? Not that he could sense. He’d have to keep looking.

Charlie was in a cell on his own, lying on the bottom bunk, facing the wall. He didn’t even stir as Essum touched his brain with a gentle,
Charlie … wakey wakey!

Not so much as a mental flinch. Essum would have frowned if he’d been fixed in this world.

Charlie … get up. Master needs you.

Nothing but the equivalent of a telepathic
Fuck off
sighed in response.

Get your ass up. You want to rot in jail?

Charlie sighed, then sat up. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”

Jasper is sick. He needs your help.

That brought Charlie’s head back up. “And he’ll make it go away after? Like before?”

That’s right. He needs to forgive you, Charlie. That’s the only way he can feel better. So we’ve got some work to do.

Charlie sighed and pushed his hands through his bed-head ‘do roughly. “Okay. But no more sex. I don’t want to do that anymore.”

There was a loud laugh from the cell next door. “Good luck with that, sweet cheeks.”

Charlie ignored the other arrestee, and Essum actually felt proud of the guy for a minute.
You just need to clean up some filth, no one ever said you had to fuck anyone, Charlie.

Charlie pulled himself to his feet. “Okay.”

Essum used his mind to unlock the cell door, and Charlie stepped forward when the door slid to the side far enough to let him out.

The loud-
mouthed neighbour saw Charlie walk past and was at the bars in an angry instant, mouthing off loudly. “What the hell, man? Whose dick do I have to suck to get out of here whenever I feel like?”

Charlie stopped in the corridor outside the other man’s cell, and turned to him slowly. Essum studied his little murderer’s face, shocked at the cold calm that was staring out of his grey eyes. Charlie blinked once … twice … and the man backed off, returning to his bunk, keeping a wary eye on the crazy person on the opposite side of the one-and-a-half inch iron bars. Essum could smell the man’s relief to have those bars between him and Charlie. Essum decided to let the guy keep the memory of the 90-pound weakling that stared him down. That seemed like a pretty good punishment for being an annoying asshole.

Charlie kept walking, knowing the way out by heart by this point. Essum followed invisibly, feeling something like pride. This must be how parents felt.

Iola’s nightmares consisted of fire, flames that licked up as high as she could see. She felt as though she was underground, somewhere dark where no one could find her, and she was so alone. So scared and completely alone. It was making her remember every bad deed she’d ever done. Like cutting off Mary Futello’s braid in the third grade just because she hadn’t been invited to Mary’s birthday party. Like she deserved this terrible punishment for something so silly.

Or dating her friend Terry Minter’s ex-boyfriend. Why had she done that? It was so stupid. Why would she do something so terrible?

Then she saw Damien. And the fire didn’t seem to bother him. Actually, he was completely at ease in this terrible place. It stilled her mind, she stopped thinking about pushing her smaller cousin down a couple of steps at her grandparent’s house because she’d been jealous of the attention the younger girl was getting. Damien … made everything okay.

His eyes on her were like a soft, caressing touch. No, that wasn’t accurate. It was like he was mauling her as he was looking at her, his big hands insistent … demanding … and promising. It was like he was making a meal out of the very sight of her.

Her breathing got heavy. Sweat popped out on her skin, and that’s when he walked to her. The need to be under him was burning brighter than all the hellfire around them. His large body made the infinite darkness smaller, his eyes bringing hers to him, focusing her attention.

The world got totally silent. And dark. It was her and him, nothing else.

This was just a dream, right? This wasn’t real. So she brushed against his bare skin with her own, delighted to see how those beautiful eyes flared with desire.

Just a dream. No consequences. And no one could hold your dreams against you … could they?

And when he stopped her, she cried out in frustration, trying to keep him with her, focus him back to her.

Someone said her name. Her eyes flew open.

She was in her hallway. She felt sick. She was completely naked, and Damien had hold of her wrists. And she was … on fucking fire in more ways than one.

The next thing Iola knew she was covering her head with her blankets, trying to push her thoughts away, hiding from them. Two nasty dreams about the guy in one day was bad enough. But the fact that she couldn’t be sure she
was
dreaming was infinitely more worrisome.

This was the worst fever she’d
ever
had. Christ, was she dying?

“Iola,” a voice came again, and all she could do was moan in response. If she was dying, she wanted to do it alone. Just leave her to pass away, let her fall asleep and not wake up.

But then the dream came back. That wouldn’t be passing away peacefully and quietly. Something was
very
wrong here.

“Iola? Honey, please talk to me. Look at me.”

Some part of her turmoil stilled slightly. Now
this
voice she knew. She was trying to connect this voice to the person … it had to be Vinnie.

The blankets were pulled off her head, and she looked over her shoulder at him. Shit. She was still dreaming … her walls were on fire, the paint peeling back, igniting the drywall, all of it curling in blood-red embers. It was only black underneath. He was going to burn.

She tried to push at him, tried to tell him to get away, but he held her hands away easily. Iola’s strength was totally sapped, but she didn’t stop trying to shove him away, somewhere safe from her and this god-awful place she was stuck in.

He held her hands down at her sides, pushing her on to her back. Iola was pinned by the arms, his body holding her in place as he leaned sideways over her. Iola tried to focus on his face, but he seemed totally unaware that the room was burning down around them. And once the room was gone, there could only
be deep, cold darkness. He didn’t seem to
get it
.

“You have to get out of here,” she was panting. “Please, save yourself and get out.”

“Iola? Tell me what’s happening. I want to help you. What can I do to ease you?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, craning her neck backwards.
What can I do to ease you?

Damien had been about to ease her a whole hell of a lot, that much she knew. At the very thought a jolt of intense need and pressure shot through her very core, and she became aware that she was still naked, hot, and under a male.

“Iola? What should I do?”

She opened her eyes, focusing now on the face that was in front of her. He was so beautiful. He couldn’t possibly be in this place with her. Could he?

“What should I do?”

“Fuck me,” she mumbled, and he didn’t hear her clearly.

He lowered his head. “What was that?”

“
Fuck me
,” she hissed, latching on to his lips, biting the bottom one when he tried to pull back.

He cried out as she bit him, pulling away. She could taste his blood on her lip.

“Iola, I … I can’t.” He was flustered. And something else.

Scared. She was scaring the shit out of him.

When he eased up on his hold, she grabbed his shoulders with sudden, surprising strength, yanking him against her bare skin. She forced her lips to his, not waiting to penetrate his mouth with her tongue. One hand had him by the hair now, and he was trying to pull away again … but just for a moment he hesitated, even
maybe
… responding to her.

She pushed her hands at his crotch, finding his pants were in the way. She tied to undo them, and he caught her hands again, pushing them away and breaking contact with her lips. She groaned in frustration, trying to turn away from him, but he held her in place.

Iola could sense he wanted her, but he was doing
the right thing
. Still, his eyes on her were hungry and wanting. Desiring.

“Fuck me,” she repeated under her breath, but he shook his head, his eyes moving up from her breasts to her face.

“I need to … try something. Just please … be still. Then I’ll …
fuck
you.” He had to swallow before he said it. “I promise. But let me try something.”

She stopped pushing at his hold, watching him intently. He let go of one of her hands, bringing his palm to her forehead. She watched his hand as it passed over her face, and when his palm flattened itself on her skin, she … sighed. Her eyes slid closed.

His hand was so cool, so … gentle. It broke the fever she suffered through instantly. The burning on her skin was fading outwards from his touch. Iola felt the air get thinner, easier to breathe, and her gasping stopped. Her pulse calmed, her muscles stilled, and the demanding ache between her legs ceased. Even her toes relaxed.

“Iola?” The voice was worried and tentative, and she opened her eyes, Vinnie’s face coming
into focus very slowly.

She exhaled shakily, the sight of him like a glass of water. The world wasn’t burning, she wasn’t headed for oblivion. Her room was back to normal, her heart no longer raced. Everything was so … calm.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded, and for some inexplicable reason she started to sob. She shouldn’t feel this …
clean
. What could she have possibly done to deserve it?

Vinnie took his hand from her head, and as her bawling became more violent he gathered her up in his arms, hugging her to his chest, stroking her back and her hair, mumbling nonsense designed to make her feel better.

“You’re okay. I got you. Nothing to be scared of. I got you.”

Charlie was staring into the face of the man whose life was leaving his eyes like receding headlights on a highway. The man’s look was pleading with him to not kill him, to let go of his throat, call and ambulance and leave him so he can be saved.

The Master was in Charlie’s head, though, overriding any pity that Charlie might have felt. The Master was telling him how this man was a lot like Charlie, how he had to hurt people to feel …
good
. And this guy liked to hurt and then kill very young girls.

But Charlie felt no victory strangling a man who was basically paralyzed. The Master had rendered him incapable of fighting back, and all Charlie had to do was crush his throat, deny air any access to the man’s lungs, and in doing so, end this skuzzy, filthy and pathetic life.

All Charlie really cared about was that warm, glowing feeling of relief that the new Master would provide for him. That was the carrot at the end of the stick.

The man’s esophagus gave out completely right then, Charlie felt the tube crunch as his thumbs bit
into the man’s thick neck, like a grape under his opposable digits.
Thrunch.
Gone. Not a tube anymore, just a busted pipeline. He would surely die now unless someone found him in time to get him to a hospital.

But Charlie knew they couldn’t leave until the man was definitely dead. He was only ever allowed to leave when the truth of what he had done was hung on him like a shroud, a heavy robe that made his shoulders curve inward and his head hang lower as though it was weighted. He knew that the Master needed the wickedness on him for some reason. And now the need to have the evil stripped off him was a very heavy addition indeed.

Charlie had never felt as though he was inheriting anything other than his own act. But with this man … the foul essence Charlie felt was seeping into him, too, making his thoughts darker. More putrid than anything Charlie had felt on his own.