Iniquity (The Premonition, #5)(54)

Buns shrugs as she holds out both her hands palms up. “With travel the way it is these days it might take him longer to get here. We may have to work on him, too—invoke Heaven to send him. He believes he should follow Tau’s orders, but Heaven comes first. If Heaven deems that he help us, then he will.”

I try not to give her my skeptical face, but dammit if it isn’t hard not to. “Glad to know how this all works. So, do you think Heaven will be on our side because from this perspective we’ve been on our own for a while now.”

“There are rules,” Zephyr says. “Heaven is reluctant to disturb the balance or the scales tip in favor of Sheol.”

“And nobody wants that,” Buns agrees emphatically, as she point her finger at me.

“I don’t know ‘bout any of y’all, but I do my best prayin’ before a meal—sometimes after. Do you think we can eat somethin’?”

Buns looks skeptical. “You might want to take a shower first. I have to go forage the island for food. This place is a seasonal resort—only a handful of humans remain on the island this time of year. We can go to the closed restaurants and see what they have in their freezers and pantries.”

“Where are we?” I ask.

“We’re in the Straits of Mackinaw.”

“We’re by the U. P. again?” I shudder. I don’t want to be anywhere near the Upper Peninsula

“Yeah. Missed it?”

“Not really. No,” I respond, “and just so you know for next time, I’m all for warm climates.”

Buns hops down from the arm of the sofa. “Noted.”

“I will go with you,” Zephyr tells Buns.

“It’s okay, Zee—”

“I. Will. Go. With. You.”

“Ohh-kayyy,” Buns states, holdin’ up both her hands, like she wants to keep her head. “But there’s nothing scarier than you on this island, Zee.”

“Do not try to appease me,” Zee replies.

Buns indicates that I follow her. Climbin’ the stairs to a row a rooms above, she shows me to a bedroom that has an attached bathroom. “Brownie and I will scout for some clothes for you while we’re out,” she grimaces as she assesses my size before she turns to leave.

“Thanks,” I call after her.

The shower is like a spa. With my hands braced against the tile wall, I lean my head down so water runs over my face. All the caked-on blood drains away from me as if the torture of the last few hours didn’t exist. But it did. I have bruises inside me. No matter what I do to protect my friends or myself, we’re vulnerable. There’s no magic that’ll stop what’s gonna happen—whatever is meant to happen will happen. We’re here for a purpose. I know what it is now and nothin’ else seems very important. Emil has to be obliterated. Once he is, I’m truly free—one way or the other. Knowin’ that is a type of freedom in itself—freedom from fear. I’ll fight the fight, and then this will end. I want it to end.

Somethin’ about that last thought shocks me. It’s not that I want to die—that isn’t it. I just want to be free to make my own decisions, to have my own existence separate from Emil’s or Evie’s—somethin’ that’s mine—somethin’ beautiful.

I shut off the water and exit the shower. Findin’ a towel on a shelf, I use it to dry off. Wrappin’ it ‘round my hips when I’m done, I move to the bedroom. The house is quiet. I pick up my bloody clothes from the floor where I’d thrown them and go in search of the washin’ machine.

When I locate the laundry room, I stop in the doorway, takin’ in the view of Anya in nothin’ but a tight black cami and the sexiest pair of black underwear I’ve ever seen in my life. In truth, they’re just normal underwear really, but they’re coverin’ her so they’re enough to make my entire body flush. She has her head in the dryer next to the washin’ machine. I have to readjust my towel before I clear my throat, “Urr hum.”

Anya lifts her head fast and smacks it on the edge of the dryer. She stumbles back a step. “Uhh,” she moans, putting her hand to the back of her head.

“Aww, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you,” I put out my hand as I move to her. Droppin’ my clothes in front of the machine, I ease her hand away from her head so I can see if there’s a bump growin’ on her scalp. On impulse, I lean down and kiss her hair. “I think it’s okay,” I murmur. “What were you doin’ with your head in the dryer?”

Anya turns in my arms to face me. A soft pink blush is colorin’ her cheeks. “I was trying to make it go—I don’t know how it works,” she admits with a frustrated frown.

“You don’t have to figure it out on your own. You just have to ask one of us and we’ll help you.” I smile down at her as I rest my hands on her upper arms.

She blinks at me for a second, like she’s unsure of why I’m smilin’. Her lips turn down as she waves her hand in the air, disregardin’ my comment. “Zephyr and the Reapers have gone for food, you were in the shower and I’m capable of dissecting a problem and finding a solution.”

Turnin’ away, she gathers up our clothes from the floor and shoves them in the dryer. She grasps the laundry detergent, twistin’ off the cap with the aim of pourin’ it into the dryer. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I pluck the bottle of detergent from her grasp. “You don’t wanna do that.”