Roc withdrew two three-blades. Taliyah reacted to his sudden aggression and palmed daggers. Together, they halted.
There, at the far end of the street, congregated at least fifty fiends. All were females dressed in widow’s weeds, of course, sporting a firstone necklace to prevent the Astra from flashing.
His ears twitched, and he homed in, listening more intently. The phantoms chanted, “Go to town, walk around, tell the girl. Go to town, walk around, tell the girl.”
So. Erebus had a message for Taliyah. What would it be? What could the god say to incite more misery?
“Stay here,” he commanded, summoning posts to lock the phantoms in place. He stepped forward.
“Oh, no, no, no.” Taliyah jumped into his path. “That isn’t how this is going to work. This is the perfect practice herd to bone up my skills. I’m doing the killing.”
This idea he liked. The more prepared she was for the next attacks, the safer she’d be. He slapped the hilt of a three-blade into her palm, saying, “Don’t stab yourself.”
She flipped him off as they strode forward side by side. “Trust me, I know the effects of trinite. A shot to the heart is supposed to kill me for good. Having fought the other herd, however, I’m skeptical. I shouldn’t die like other phantoms. I’m...me. And I’ve recovered from a thousand other things.”
“Is this how you focus on a fight? Get your mind on your job—staying alive.”
“Sir, yes, sir.” She offered a jaunty salute, only appearing halfway mocking. So, he’d clearly made progress. “Let’s skip 101, and go straight to the advanced class. Any tips for the teacher’s pet?”
Hundreds. But few involved the battle. “If a phantom disembodies to avoid your strike, don’t change your position. It—she is coming closer. Keep stabbing.”
“Or I could disembody with her and take her down in spirit form? It’s a skill I’ve always hidden. Maybe it’s time I show off. It’s worth a shot, anyway.” Taliyah bounded over before he had a chance to respond.
She delivered a flawless first strike, hitting her mark: a straight shot to the heart. As the phantom dropped, Taliyah spun, coming up behind the next one, three-blade already in motion. Contact. The second phantom dropped, beginning the process of evaporation.
The others sensed her and halted. Quieted. In unison, they pivoted toward her to relay their message. “Will you truly ruin your dreams for the man planning to kill you, Taliyah Skyhawk?”
Hate Erebus. Hate the Blade of Destiny.
Ready to feed, the phantoms attacked her in unison. Taliyah stutter-stepped before going low, avoiding their grasping hands. There was a thoughtful glaze in her eyes, the wheels in her mind obviously turning. She pulled her next strike, and the next, working her way behind a phantom.
He frowned. Why did she do this?
Roc rolled his weight onto his heels, preparing to launch forward and offer aid.
“I think they’re harpies,” she called. “I might be seeing wings under those dresses.” Blink. She vanished, not flashing but misting to escape a tangle of arms and legs. Blink. She reappeared behind the farthest fiend, away from the others, and ripped the back of her gown.
Taliyah froze and gasped, allowing two phantoms to ghost closer. Embodying, they crashed into her. She let them. Because of their origins, she’d stopped playing offense.
“They are! Let’s capture and confine them,” she called. Because of course she did.
“Never tell me I do nothing for you, wife,” he grumbled and made his way over.
31
Days passed. Ten of them, actually. To Taliyah’s surprise and appreciation, Roc kept his word and allowed her to meet with Roux. Though she’d questioned him, slapped him around and shouted to Blythe, her sister had made no attempt to communicate. Maybe she wasn’t in there.
Afterward, she’d retreated to the bedroom and fell into Roc’s arms, forgetting her disappointment for a little while.
To her added surprise and appreciation, he never pressured her for sex. As he waited for her to render a decision, day by day, hour after hour, he never mentioned the possibility again.
Did his mood darken while he waited? Oh, baby. Dark only scratched the surface.
At first, all went well. Each morning, they woke and bathed together. He removed his alevala, asked if she wanted to feed, and when she declined, he pouted but said nothing else as they dressed and headed off to accomplish their respective tasks. In the evenings, when they came together again, they acted like long-lost lovers who’d finally found each other. Orgasms abounded. She might have giggled again, without his soul or his seed.
Each of those ten days, he labored over the altar for several hours. He labored on it even now. Did she understand the need to do so? Definitely. At the appointed moment, some kind of sacrifice had to take place. But oh, wow, she resented his job, too. And as her mood darkened, his got worse.