Page 49 of Iron Cross

I grumbled, “She told Aaron Jackson her coffee order today.”

“So?”

“I never knew it,” I admitted. “I never knew how she liked her coffee.”

Shiny stared at me with a quizzical expression.

“Do you know how Ajax likes his coffee?” I asked.

“A scoop of creatine and fake sugar,” she rattled it off without a thought.

That was a part of marriage we did not have time to get to. I did not know how she liked her coffee, and I had no idea what she wanted with her toast. I didn’t know what food she liked when she was sick, or what shows she’d watch when she was on bed rest.

The overwhelming need to know these things about her, and about my son, felt like a heat beneath the skin. A fever that could only be quenched when I took my spot as the man of the house and cared for my wife and child, as a father and husband should.

My shoes were soaked in the blood of a hostage who would do my Muse harm, and I saw it clear as day. To be a husband and father, I would need to draw more blood, and my blade needed to be sharpened on the flesh of our enemies. That was all I had to offer my bride - more blood, more death, more sins on my conscience.

I’d take it all, for the precious, mundane domestic bliss of waking up and getting her coffee ready in the morning, never having to ask her what it was.

I reached into my pocket, to look at the coins I had, to see what our little accomplice merited.

“It’s weird that you do that,” Shiny said, looking at my open palm. “Even in death, you continue their torture.”

I chuckled, “Care to explain?”

Maybe Morelli was rubbing off on me. The Socratic method. I wanted to see if she had read me right.

“You give them too few coins for Kharon, the boatman that will take them over the river Styx into the afterlife,” she said, shaking her head. “They need at least two coins, and you only give one. Fewer if you’ve slaughtered a group.”

“They can fight over it in the afterlife,” I smirked.

“You don’t believe in any of that,” Shiny said, her face grave. “Do you? Fairies, witches, the Greeks… it’s hard to peg down what you believe.”

That was a good question.

“I imagine I believe in all of them, and none of them,” I said, looking at the corpse I had to dispose of. “My faith has waned over the years, but I believe in family, in promises kept, in loyalty.”

I believed in marriage. In Kira.

“If there is a boatman, though,” I said, “or if St. Peter takes bribes at the pearly gates, I want them to turn on each other. To know of each other’s treachery and deceit.”

When the masks came off, I wanted them to see one another for what they truly were.

Chapter fifteen

I Miss You

Kira

For two days, Aaron Jackson came with a coffee and pastry in his hand. He came and he looked at the paintings. He brought me coffee in the morning, and then hot chocolate in the afternoon.

This afternoon, he even came back with peppermint tea, his eyes full of concern.

“You don’t look so good,” he said, as I sniffled into a napkin.

“Thanks,” I said sarcastically.

“I mean… you look sick. Are you sure I can’t get you something?” He looked up and down Main Street, his eyes landing on a littleMom and Pop restaurant. “They have chicken noodle soup,” he said triumphantly. “I can bring you some.”

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