Iniquity (The Premonition, #5)(52)

“Whah did yer soul say?” Finn asks again.

“He had a message for me queen. He said to tell her dat he’d know her by note. Do ye know whah dat means?”

“I do na,” he admits, but he can na hold back a smile as it spreads his lips.

“Why are ye smilin’?”

“Genevieve truly is da queen.”

I grunt. “Did ye doubt it?”

He shakes his head no. “I was sure she was da one da moment she killed Keegan—in da caves—’twas as if time stood still and da life dat I’d known for so long was no more.”

“She gave ye a purpose again.”

He stares at me before he says, “She did. Ye felt it, too?”

“I did,” I say wi’ a perfunctory nod.

“I was na sure. I tought maybe ye jus fell in love wi’ her.”

“Is dere a difference?” I ask.

“Dere is—she’s here ta do a job.”

“Is she?” I ask wi’ a lift of me brow.

“Ye know dat she is.”

“And ye’re here ta help her wi’ dat?” I ask.

“I am here, let us leave it at dat.”

“Whah will ye discuss wi’ Atwater when ye see him?”

“Maybe I jus want ta catch up. Have a cupper wi’ him.”

“Ye do na drink tea,” I point out. “Is it revenge ye’re after?”

“And if ’twas, would ye begrudge me it?”

“I would na,” I admit. “I’d help ye, ye know dat.”

“I do.” His nod is automatic.

“We have ta approach da aingeals carefully, Finn,” I warn. “I do na know how dey’ll react ta any attempts we make ta take Genevieve.”

“Do ye tink dey’d harm her?” he asks wi’ renewed anger in his eyes.

“Maybe. If dey still believe dat we’d change her, den aye.”

He processes da information. “We will be more dan careful den.”

“Good.





RUSSELL


Crashin’ onto a hardwood floor, the dagger embedded in my side rattles and digs deeper. I roll onto my back and grip it by the hilt, yankin’ it from me. It makes a sickenin’ suckin’ sound as the muscles in my abdomen clench in pain. Openin’ my palm, Brennus’ dagger drops from it to land beside me with a loud clatter.

“ARRRRR,” I shout between my teeth. “FFFAAAAAHHHHH—”

Anya looks down at me. She kneels beside me in an attempt to see my wound. I sit up straight, tryin’ not to show her how my hands shake. My heart is a black sinkhole in my chest as thoughts of Emil and Sheol erode it further.

Anya tucks her long, black hair behind her ears, “Let me see,” she demands. Her dark wings are retracted inside of her back. Someone has given her an oversized, red woolen jacket to wear, but because she was magically forced into the portal, she got to keep her own clothes too. Her hands are buried in the red sleeves. She’s tiny without her wings—fragile and delicate. I find her fingers and hold them in my grasp. Her eyes shift to mine, lush as green fields. I want to sink into them, drift down her valleys—find my way back to her.

“I’m not dyin’. They didn’t want to kill me just yet,” I explain to reassure her. Anya leans her forehead against the middle of my chest, murmuring broken words in Angel. My hand comes up to rest against the back of her neck. Soft tears wet me. “Shh, it’s gonna be okay. We’re okay.” I repeat those words like a mantra, wantin’ her to believe them even when I don’t.

She lifts her head from me. It’s smeared with my blood from my chest. Her eyes shine like broken bottles in sunlight with unshed tears. She’s determined to hold them back. Her fingers touch the edge of my jagged skin. A steady flow of blood seeps from it. There are many more slices, but that one is the newest. From over Anya’s shoulder, Brownie hands Anya a kitchen towel. I suck in my breath as Anya uses the fabric to apply pressure to slow down the bleeding while I heal.

“What’d ya just say to me in Angel?” I ask Anya as I pant against the pain.

“I told you that you’re a mess.”

I laugh, and then wince as shootin’ pain in my gut reminds me not to do that. “I wasn’t always this bad. I keep wonderin’ how I got here when just a couple of years ago I was cuttin’ lawns for gas money.” I try to smile.

“Now someone is cutting you.” She frowns in concentration.

“I’ll heal.”

“This time,” Anya murmurs. Over her shoulder to Brownie, she says, “Close the portal.” Brownie moves to a table near me. She lifts a white pitcher and drops it on the floor. The painted blue porcelain shatters into a hundred pieces.

“It’s closed,” Brownie says. She looks like a child playing dress up in oversized men’s clothing.

Relief floods through my veins as Buns runs into the room in a blur of speed. “What happened?” she demands. The bright white oversized tank top she wears is covered in splotches of blood, but it’s obvious it’s not her own blood. She’s fully intact—no pieces of her were lost or left behind.

“Nothing! It’s okay,” Brownie assures her as she holds up her hand to stop her impending freak out. “I just killed the portal so all of Sheol can’t follow us here.”