Chapter 10 Delilah
Chapter ten
Delilah
My head snapped up, the shock of hearing my name like a jolt of electricity straight to my heart.
“What?” I asked dumbly. “What did you say?”
Archer looked at me, his eyes narrowed as he glared at me over the folded paper he’d pulled out of the relic.
“The letter is addressed to someone named Delilah. Do you know her?”
I blinked, the words he’d spoken not quite processing. I opened my mouth to respond, but the explanation died on my tongue when a sudden noise from the hallway drew all our attention.
“Shit,” muttered Mal, moving silently to the door and staring out the narrow window, his head tilting first one way, then the other. “It’s the staff. Must be earlier than we thought. There’s three of them so far, all human. All headed this way.”
“Don’t hurt them!” I wheezed out, my throat feeling raw as all that had happened began to pile up in my brain.
Heidi. Phips. Demons. Hell hounds. Now the letter.
How much more would I be handed?
How much could I take?
“I wasn’t going to hurt them, witch,” Archer snarled at me, his brows drawn low. In the dim light of the morgue, he looked even more sinister than he had in the tunnel. Dark and menacing and alarmingly handsome.
It was unfair.
I swallowed thickly as those highly inappropriate thoughts rolled through me.
The shadow collar moved, feeling like silk against my throat.
Undulating like a living thing attuned to my moods, the sensation both foreign and intimate, a sensation that was entirely too distracting considering the situation.
This time, rather than tighten threateningly, it seemed to caress me, the surprisingly warm feel of it barely a whisper against my skin.
The collar continued to stroke me, feather-light touches that had shivers dancing along my spine and sent more than one inappropriate thought through my mind.
Would Archer’s touch feel as good as that of his shadow collar?
Did I really want to find out?
“Archer, we gotta go,” Corson stated. “We can deal with all this other shit once we get outta here.”
Pocketing the letter, Archer moved toward where Corson stood, ready to help him re-cover their friend with the sheet once more, but froze, a quiet curse tumbling from his lips as he stared down at the priest’s body.
“That symbol,” he whispered, drawing the sheet lower so that he could see more of the body. Taking a chance, I also crept forward, wanting to know what he had seen. “It can’t be.” Glancing over his shoulder, I could see what had drawn his attention, and I nearly gasped.
Sitting low on the priest’s hip was a small tattoo, standing out starkly against the pale flesh of the poor dead man before us. It was familiar, but in the way that a dream is familiar; foggy and half remembered.
Because anytime I’d asked about it, Heidi had shut my questions down decisively.
Looking at it now, I could see it was a circle, much as the symbol of the Umbra Fratrum had been. But this time, instead of encasing a flame, the circle contained a tree, full branches reaching skyward, long roots snaking down, deep into the earth.
Deep roots. Strong branches.
The symbol of the Everwood line.
The symbol of my family.
“It’s been three hundred years,” Archer muttered quietly, almost to himself. “Why now? Why us?” Lifting his head, Archer gave Corson a meaningful look. “Fucking Asmodeus. I’m going to kick his slang-talking ass.”
“Secrets upon secrets,” Vine whispered, his eyes taking on a far away look. “Deeper than the ninth circle.”
“Archer, now!” Mal called out urgently, his voice nearly a squawk as he moved, flitting across the room with agitation.
“Right.” Striding toward me, Archer swept his arm out, opening another of his strange portals.
Then, with absolutely no warning, he thrust out his other hand, a shadow reaching toward me like a spear.
I stepped back, attempting to dodge him, but it was no use.
The new shadow latched on to my collar, a dark, hateful leash securing me tightly in Archer’s grasp.
“Can’t have you slipping away, can I?” He gave a sharp tug, and like a puppet on a string, I followed him through.
The second trip was only slightly less dizzying as the first, feeling like an eternity and an instant at the same time.
Stumbling out the other side, I found myself surrounded by trees, the unmistakable sound of a busy city bustling around me.
The noise was shocking after the oppressive quiet of the morgue, the sudden cacophony sending my heart racing.
“Come,” Archer barked, his tone brisk as he continued to haul me along the concrete path and into a darkened alcove among the trees and shrubs.
Confusion swamped me, the sounds of a bustling metropolis mingled with the dank, earthy smells of the trees around me creating a nauseating cocktail that I had to close my eyes against or risk puking all over Archer’s shiny loafers.
“Wait,” I protested, stumbling behind him as he used that infernal fucking leash to drag me where he wanted. “Just wait!”
He didn’t stop moving, but he did slow, allowing me to stay upright, at least for the moment.
I could hear the others marching along behind us, their own footsteps not as hurried as Archers or as clumsy as mine. Finally, he directed me to a bench, the low seat surrounding a cluster of squat trees, their few remaining leaves dancing in the cold October wind.
“Sit.”
I gaped at him, somehow still shocked at his audacity, but Archer only loomed over me until I complied, his arms crossed over his broad chest and his dark eyes narrowed in anger.
I didn’t know what he had to be angry about. I was the one getting mysterious letters left for me in ancient crypts, not him.
“Oh, sweet!” Vine crowed, one fist in the air as he looked around. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down, boss. I’ll be right back. Don’t start without me.”
I watched him take off, darting over a low wrought iron fence and across multiple lanes of traffic—ignoring several angry shouts and even more blaring car horns—before disappearing inside a dimly lit shop.
Less than two minutes later he was racing back toward us, two to-go boxes dangling from his hands and a smile stretched across his handsome face.
“Hey, witch. Want a wiener?”
“Excuse me?” Startled by his brash words, I looked at the others. Mal was staring off into the trees, his head once again tilted at an odd angle, ignoring us completely. Corson, however, stood with one fist over his mouth, trying and failing to hide a chuckle.
Vine grinned at me, his eyes flashing with amusement as he settled on the bench beside me, placing one of the boxes on his lap like it was the most precious thing in the world.
“You know...a wiener. A delicious, smoky frankfurter in a fresh-baked bun.” Opening the box, he reached inside and pulled out a hot dog, holding it in front of my face and waving it back and forth as it steamed in the brisk morning air. “There is nothing better than a hot dog from Gray’s Papaya.”
Unbidden, and very much against my wishes, my stomach decided to rumble loudly, the delicious smell of the hot dog overwhelming my desire to remain stoic and aloof.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Vine laughed as he passed me the hot dog, both of us ignoring the sullen stare that Archer was firing our way.
The other guys both crowded around, divvying up the food and scarfing it down like they hadn’t eaten in a month, but Archer stayed where he was, across the square, scowling impressively, still connected to me by a strand of ghostly shadow.
Bastard.
Still, something in me wanted to bridge the gap between us—both literal and metaphorical.
Catching his eye, I held up another of the hot dogs, offering it to him because it seemed that the others were not inclined to ensure he also got something to eat.
Lip curling, Archer ignored my offer, huffing out an annoyed breath and looking around impatiently.
Fine. He could go hungry for all I cared.
I was down to my last bite, a small wedge of processed meat that should probably not be identified for the sake of my mental health, when Pandora poked her nose out of her pouch, sniffing the chilly air.
“Sorry, girl,” I whispered, smiling down at her regretfully as I held out the piece of meat for her. “No mealworms today.” Huffing out her displeasure, she took the offering, stuffing it into her mouth as fast as she could.
“What does she normally eat?” Vine asked around a mouthful of food.
“Bugs, mostly,” I said, rubbing my finger lightly along her forehead and down to her nose, smiling at the little purr she made under my touch. “Some fruits and veggies, too.”
“We’ll get her taken care of,” he said confidently, as if crickets and fresh peas were easy to come by on a New York street corner.
“If you’re all quite finished,” Archer drawled, rolling his eyes. Vine let out a soft chuckle, not at all intimidated by the angry demon glaring daggers at us.
Another tug on the leash, and I stood, my stomach settled and my head mostly screwed on straight.
“Let’s go.”
Discarding the trash, Vine slid into step behind Archer, keeping pace with me as I trailed along behind. The other two took up rear positions, and I recognized the defensive formation immediately.
Vine continued to make easy conversation as we walked, matching my stride as I struggled to keep up with Archer, dodging the determined commuters on their way to work.
A couple of them looked at me, their confused gazes eyeing me up in my cloak and boots, but one look from Vine and they tucked their chins and went about their business, like any good New Yorker would.
“They can’t see the shadow,” Vine said lightly when yet another person passed our party like we weren’t even there.
I saw Archer’s shoulders stiffen at Vine’s words, but he didn’t comment.
“In all honesty,” Vine continued when I gave him a questioning glance.
“Humans don’t really see much of anything.
They live in their own worlds, focused on themselves so completely that none of them ever really bother to lift their heads and look around. ”
His words made sense—I’d seen the same thing over and over. People tended to be happy to ignore what they wanted to—but I couldn’t understand why he sounded like the situation made him sad.
As we continued on our way, New York City came alive around us, the streets filled with people hustling along, most with life-giving coffee clutched in their hands.
Everyone seemed like they had somewhere important to be, the chaos of the city looking like a well-rehearsed dance as people went about their business, in a hurry to go absolutely nowhere.
But Vine was right; none of them truly saw us, their gazes sliding over our little group as though we were as insubstantial as the shadows that currently danced along my throat.
After less than ten minutes we arrived at a stately brownstone, the massive four-story building standing tall in a row of nearly identical homes.
Iron bars fenced in the small front yard, the wickedly pointed tips a stark warning to anyone who might dare approach.
Dark and foreboding, the house lacked any of the warmth that the softly lit windows of the neighbors held, rising above the street, silent and cold, a sentinel standing against the ever-turning passage of humanity.
I was drawn to a jerking stop when Archer gave another tug on the leash, and I glared at him before turning to face the house we’d stopped at.
As I stared up at it, the watery morning sun providing a muted gray glow against the weathered facade, I wondered just what in the holy hells we were doing here, the home such a beautiful contradiction of history and malice.
“Well, you gonna stand out here all day, or are you coming in?” Vine asked, following Archer up the steep front steps.
“Come in? Who lives here?”
“We do,” Vine laughed, as though it should have been obvious. “Home sweet home, baby.”