“Desdenova?”
Suddenly shaking, she sensed Blackthorn’s hug, him pulling her against his chest and cooing softly as her vision blackened. Felt too good, like a dream.
Her last fleeting thought was of the mournful cry as a soul is put to death for the heinous crimes its body has committed.
Blackthorn laid the sin-eater on her bed and pulled down her skirt to cover her knees. The room was another exercise in bohemian excess. The red lacquered dresser was crowded with framed photos. Family, he decided, comparing the little girl in various pictures to that of mother and father. A family she no longer had, for he felt her loneliness.
Did he want to save Desdenova Fleetwood? Or would it be far wiser to save his own hide and ensure the devil got his due?
Blackthorn had lived uncountable millennia. He’d gone beyond the everyday thoughts and trivialities of mortal life. He had become a vessel that ferried souls. Yet, he existed on the earthly realm and had perhaps even loved.
Loved? Maybe not.
But he understood the concept, and knew it was what kept most mortals alive. The emotion of everything being right and in its place. Of belonging. Of intimacy and respect. The mortal soul actually required love to beam brightly.
To be honest, when standing so close to Nova he’d felt something akin to want. To needing to belong. To existing again.
Why should he be denied simple pleasure when he served his holy and unholy masters so well?
Glancing to the bed, he noticed that her body wore a nimbus of moonlight. He wanted to kiss her pale lips. Lips tainted by multitude sin. Lips formed from the sweetness of innocence he’d never known. And though she was innocent — or believed herself to be — the woman was steeped in evil for some sins cleaved to the sin-eater’s soul ever after.
And who would eat her sins? Not any sane sin-eater.
The woman needed rescuing. But he was no knight.
He shimmered away from her and got caught in the stream of soul cries that beckoned for his attention.
Nova owned far too much stuff. She made connections with inanimate things more easily than with the living and breathing.
But he had breath. You felt it on your face.
She wanted to feel it again.
She splayed her fingers over the books on the shelf. Memories of heroes and heroines would always be hers; she didn’t need the physical pages. The furniture in the living room echoed her bohemian aesthetic, but who needed a couch when they were dead?
Kicking aside the packing boxes half-filled with books she had labelled for the library and kitchen utensils she’d donate to charity, she settled on the floor, sinking against the wall.
The family photos peered at her from the bedroom dresser. Packing those felt like sacrilege.
“I am the queen of sacrilege,” she muttered, “according to the Soul-bringer.”
Could he be right? Was she the real thief?
An insistent knock at the door prompted her to call out, “It’s open, Blackthorn.” She didn’t get company. Ever. So he was the only possibility.
The Soul-bringer stepped through the doorway and swept the room with his dark eyes. He wasn’t much of a smiler. Yet his snazzy vest chased away the dour. He had stepped out of a different time period. Perhaps he had lived them all. Had he made connections in all those periods of time? Or was she a unique intrusion into his life?
“You intending a move?” he put out.
Nova sighed.
The man accepted her silence, wandered around the boxes, and circled back to Nova. Squatting before her, he pressed the heel of his palm to the wall over her shoulder and replicated her world-is-ending sigh.
“You cannot go through with your task tomorrow, Desdenova.”
“Who are you to tell me what to do? And what makes you think you know what I’m going to do?”
“You are going through your things. It is as if you do not expect to be around after tomorrow.”
“So what if I’m not? We all gotta go some time.”
“I can agree that Scott Weston must leave this realm tomorrow at noon. But you have a choice.”
“Don’t you find it interesting a man can know his exact hour of death?” she pondered, avoiding his eyes. “And because of that knowledge, suddenly I’ve been given the hour of my death.”
“Nova. .” He didn’t know what to say. Did he feel as uncomfortable as she, so close to one another? Did he want to taste her breath on his lips? “You don’t need to do this. You cannot.”
“I made a promise.”
“Is breaking a promise a sin?”
“It is if I believe it a sin.”
“You have to believe in a god to subscribe to sin.”
He had her there. She did believe in a higher power — in Heaven — and redemption.
“My word is good, Blackthorn. I would never say something and not carry through with it. And if I had no intention to do something, then I would never say it.”
“You’ve more integrity than ninety-nine per cent of the world’s population.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“I admire your honesty,” he offered.
No one had ever admired a thing about her. Why did something interesting have to happen to her now, when her end was so near?
“Then don’t ask me to break a promise. I’ll stop eating sins right after Mr Weston. You don’t think my soul will go to Heaven?”
“I cannot know. Your sins will be judged by your maker.”
“You got that right.” Bravery was getting heavier to bear.
Blackthorn dipped his head and looked aside. “What gives you the right to steal sin? You cannot be any man’s judge. Only your god is allowed such mastery over the human soul.”
She’d had this argument with herself before she’d begun sin-eating at thirteen. “People make mistakes, Blackthorn.”
“Murder, dozens of times over, is not a mistake.”
And was thirteen too young to know any better? It should be.
“Nova.” His sighs sparkled within her when they should have made her sad. “There is a sinister delicacy to the human soul. Once tainted by evil it is very difficult to clean, no matter the circumstances that brought about the taint.”
“Even if those circumstances involved taking other people’s sins,” she stated, not liking the reality of her profession. Thievery, indeed.
She took his hands in hers and smoothed her thumbs along them. They were strong and calloused. A man’s hands. What would they feel like wrapped around her?
Nova cleared her throat and her wandering thoughts.
“When I first started,” she said, “I ate the sin from a man who had dropped his crippled mother down the stairs. It was an accident. He had been carrying her from the bath to her bedroom. Her head hit the tile landing and she died instantly. He spoke to me a week before he died of cancer. He thought he was guilty, couldn’t get beyond it, even after the police had ruled it an accident.
“I am there to calm worries, Blackthorn. To take away guilt for things that should never cause guilt. In a sense, we are all sin-eaters. We sit beside our loved ones when they are dying, ease their discomfort, grant them absolution for simple things.”
“Yes, but you’ve the power to erase sin, Nova. It should not be wielded without great care. The only worry this serial killer has is that you won’t make it there in time. He bears no remorse for his crimes. His soul belongs Beneath. It is not for you to decide.”
“Nor is it your decision.”
She tugged her hands from his and drew her knees up to her chest. “I will quit after this last one. I promise.”
“The Receiver of Beneath will take your soul if he is not satisfied.”
Nova grimaced. “The devil wants to take my soul? Bring it on.”