Iniquity (The Premonition, #5)(51)

“If need be.”

“Ye worried one of da fellas will try ta kill me in me sleep?”

“Ye do smell delicious—very much like Genevieve at da moment—ye may want ta go wash off her scent before someone decides ta make ye his queen. And ta yer point, ye resemble such a peaceful craitur when ye’re nappin’. ’Tis a wonder I do na end ye meself,” he says with a grin. His green eyes, so reminiscent of our family’s, glow wi’ humor. Dere’s na a bit o’ malice in his voice, jus mirth. In truth, he’d protect me at his own peril, and I’d protect him at moin.

“Do ye plan ta be around whenever I close me eyes?”

“Ye sleep too deeply. Ye’re like a wan,” he says critically.

“Ye try sleepin’ lightly after all of dese centuries wi’out—’tis no easy task.”

“Ye’re too auld, Brenn” he teases me.

“I might be at dat.”

“Will ye speak of Genevieve or no? I’ve a care ta know how our queen fairs.”

“She’s grand.”

“Is she now?”

“Da divine aingeals have her in a wintry, mountain enclave—’tis very Palladian—ye’d approve.”

“So Emil hasn’t taken her?”

“Na for da moment.”

“Shall we go and collect her den?” Finn asks, but he seems in no hurry ta move from where he is.

“Dere’s more ta it. Atwater is dere wi’ her,” I say. Finn’s demeanor changes as if I had told him dat a fella had touched his Molly. Quick as a click, he’s on his feet by me side wi’ a killer-shine is his eyes.

“Ye’re sure ’twas him?”

“I did na see him wi’ me own eyes. Genevieve told me he sought her out.”

Finn’s knuckles stand out on his fists, ready ta be bloodied. “Whah does da bugger want wi’ Genevieve? Does he have a plan for her as well?”

“He’s an aingeal. Dey all have plans, one way or da other,” I say.

“Except dat Atwater’s plans never come ta fruition.”

“Do dey na? I seem ta recall dat we’re both of us Gancanagh and Aodh is no longer in charge.”

“Dat is da deal ye made wi’ him—da one ta protect me. ’Twas na da deal I made wi’ him. And he should never have led ye ta us! Ye’d never have found me on yer own and ye would have been better off!”

“I’d na be better off knowin’ dat me brudder was at da mercy of a sadistic monster. I could na live like dat.”

“So ye did na live! Ye became undead. ’Tis na whah Atwater promised!”

“How would I know da deal ye made wi’ him if ye never speak o’ it?”

“Ye were never ta be a part of it!”

“Again, Finn, a part of whah?”

“It does na matter. He lied ta me,” Finn says bitterly.

“How did he lie?”

“He was supposed ta protect me family from Aodh and in exchange I’d...”

“Ye’d whah? Whah happened between ye two?”

“Ye want ta know whah happened? I lost me soul. Beyond dat, ye do na need ta know.” An invisible serpent has wound itself around his neck in a strangle hold. He’ll na say more. I know it well enough; we’ve had dis conversation a tousand times.

“Foin. Do na tell me. I’ll jus say dis: Heaven knows all o’ yer weakness—dey know jus whah will make ye do deir bidding. ’Tis after ye agree dat dey cut all da ropes from beneath ye and let ye fall.”

“Sometimes ye have ta do bad ta do good—hide a wave in da tide,” Finn says.

“Did ye mean ta fall den?”

“Did ye?” he counters.

I shrug. “Dere was no help for it.”

“Ye say dat Atwater is wi’ Genevieve?” He’s lookin’ right tru me now.

“He is.”

“When do we go?” Finn asks wi’ a new urgency.

“Whah is yer plan?”

He turns and walks ta da window, yanking away a board covering it. “I jus want ta have a chat wi’ Atwater when we collect our queen, ’tis all.” Cold air wafts inta da room. I rise from da bed and come ta stand next ta Finn. Outside, there are crumbling buildings painted a dull shade of gray tagged wi’ neon-colored graffiti. Nuting stirs wi’out, save da fellas. Da humans who resided nearby have either been instructed ta leave after being touched or dey’ve become food.

“Whah do ye know about our souls?”

Finn shrugs. “Why would I know anyting about our souls? Dey’re in Sheol.”

’Tis true enough, whah Finn says, but I know me brudder; he keeps his own secrets. “I saw me soul once again, when Genevieve changed me.”

Finn leans forward, his hands curl on the windowsill. “Why have ye na told me dis before?” He straightens and glares at me. “Did yer soul speak ta ye?”

“He did.”

“Whah did he say?” Finn asks almost breathlessly.

“Whah deal did ye make wi’ Atwater?”

Finn’s jaw tenses. He glances out da window once more. “I can na tell ye.”

I nod. “So dere was a deal—signed in blood.”