Wicked Bite (Night Rebel #2)(59)

Pain was etched into Mencheres’s features so deeply, for an instant he looked all of his true age despite his unlined, handsome features. “I promise you that I will fix this.”

“You don’t have to.”

Mencheres’s head, which had bowed with grief, snapped up at that. Ian continued with a wave in my direction.

“My wife is full of surprises. Yanking me back from the grave after my death voided my soul debt to Dagon is merely one of those surprises.”

“How?” Cat’s disbelieving outburst was echoed by her husband. Mencheres looked too shocked to speak.

“The same way I do everything else,” I said, hoping vagueness would be enough. “Bibbity-bobbity-boo.”

Mencheres finally found his voice. “Magic can briefly reanimate flesh or bones, but it cannot pull a soul from the afterlife and restore it back to their body. Only a demon deal can do that . . . or, perhaps, a demon herself.”

Revulsion touched Cat’s features. From Bones’s hardening expression, he’d suspected that, too.

“Don’t insult me,” I snapped before realizing I was insulting my own half brother with the comment. “Though not all demons are evil,” I amended. “Besides, I’m”—the daughter of the embodiment of the river between life and death, to hear my half-demon brother describe it—“Something else,” I finished.

“A demigod,” Ian said with the same casualness that he’d offered them whisky with.

Mencheres gave me a look that wasn’t entirely surprised. Bones, however, rose to his feet.

“Your hair.” He’d actually started to recoil from me before he caught himself and stopped.

Ian rolled his eyes. “Really, Crispin? Act your age.”

Cat was more succinct. “What the hell, honey?”

Bones sat back down, a flash of embarrassment crossing his features. Then they hardened and his aura flared as if arming itself. “Your. Hair.” Each word was an indictment.

“Rude,” Cat hissed to him before saying, “I think your lowlights are cool,” in a louder voice to me. “Granted, I’m a Buckeye fan, and blue and gold are Michigan colors, but—”

“They’re not a Wolverines tribute, Kitten,” Bones interrupted. “Remember the Angel of Death I told you about? When I caught a glimpse of his true form, his hair was just like hers.”

Cat’s eyes bulged until they looked as if they were attempting to escape her face. “I thought my family tree was fucked up,” she breathed. “Wow.”

Suddenly, the air felt like it was squeezing me; a warning from Mencheres. “Ariel, daughter of Aken,” he said, voice low and resonant as he true-named me. “Is Ian truly free from his soul debt to that demon?”

At last, something I could answer without hesitation or vagueness. “Yes.”

“She also had a ghost secretly guard me and set a spell on me that boomeranged any malicious magic off me and sent it back to its caster,” Ian said, resulting in Mencheres giving me his first real smile. “But none of that is why I called Cat and Crispin here,” he continued. “I just found out that Timothy’s alive.”

“My friend Timothy?” At once, Cat gave Bones an accusing look. “You didn’t tell me you thought he was dead!”

“Because I didn’t,” Bones began in an exasperated tone, then stopped when he saw Ian’s face. “You don’t mean . . . ?”

“I do indeed,” Ian replied grimly. “Saw him myself while I was stealing this,” a swipe indicated the bulge beneath his sleeve. Right, they hadn’t seen the horn yet. “And you’ll never guess why he’d hidden himself away from us all these years.”

“Oh, you mean your friend Timothy from when you were all human,” Cat said, cluing in. “If he’s alive, that’s great!”

Bones gave Ian a measuring look before turning to her. “If this were only good news about Timothy being alive, Ian wouldn’t have insisted on giving it to us in person.” To Ian, he said simply, “What’s Timothy done?”

Ian leaned back with a sigh. “It’s what he could do. You remember Timothy left because he was looking for Cain? He and the cult he joined believe they’ve found him, or Cain’s remains, as it were. More importantly, they believe those remains can be raised back to life if given the blood of a human, vampire, and ghoul tri-bred to drink.”

Light suddenly exploded around Cat in twisting, diaphanous forms while an unearthly wail made me want to clutch my ears. Just as quickly, it was gone, leaving Cat haloed in nothing except the artificial glow of the room’s subtle high-hat lighting, while the only sound came from Silver’s contented grunt as he settled near Mencheres’s feet. I looked around, amazed that no one else seemed to have noticed that for an instant, Cat had been surrounded by deadly wraiths.

“Your old friend wants to bleed my daughter?” she hissed.

“If he knew about her, yes,” Ian answered bluntly. “Granted, Timothy didn’t kill me when he had the chance, but I’d never bet on friendship against zealotry, and Timothy is a zealot now.”

Bones reached out to take Cat’s hand. “Then I hope we never see him again,” he said, his tone no less deadly for its new softness. “Now, what’s this thing you stole from him?”