Page 14 of Deadly Lineage
Her combat boots gripped the wooden porch slats. When her eyes found mine, they glowed an unholy Caribbean blue. “You did not feel that way when Janus died. Or when Arie Belview met his fate at the hand of the fairy queen.”
“I don’t relish death, but I won’t deny that sometimes it’s necessary. We all chose our own paths. Janus had a chance.” This was the first time Aurelia had mentioned Janus’s name. I’dwondered if she held me responsible for his death and asked just that. “Do you blame me?”
“For Janus’s demise?”
I nodded, swallowing a painfully thick lump of saliva. I’d never viewed Aurelia as an enemy and didn’t relish the thought of changing that perception.
“No,” she answered, disinterest evident. Lifting her feet, the swing creaked to life again. “Janus’s death was inevitable. You did not force a blade into his hand.” With a shrug, Aurelia seemed to dismiss the conversation. “As you said, Janus made his own decisions.”
My hammering heart stuttered before starting a hesitant return to normal. “I’m still sorry,” I offered.
Again, Aurelia shrugged. “Given your area of expertise, I find it odd that you have such distaste for death.”
Since I didn’t seem to be in immediate danger, I closed the distance between us. When the swing came my direction again, I sat next to Aurelia, adding my own manual labor to the cause. “I deal with the dead, but that doesn’t mean I want anyone to find that path before their time.”
“And who do you believe decides that time?”
I considered the question, but no magical answer was forthcoming. “I’m not certain.”
“Then how do you know their death was premature?” Aurelia sounded genuinely curious.
“I suppose I don’t. All I have to judge by is the average lifespan of the species. When one dies before their expected allotment, then it feels like they were lost too soon, like they were cheated.”
Aurelia quietly sat beside me before answering. “I suppose that is as good an answer as any. As a djinn, time has lost meaning. Nearly all species have fatally short lives compared to me.” Her gaze swiveled, catching with my own. “To my eye,humans exist for little more than the blink of an eye. It seems odd to mourn them when they pass even quicker.”
While I could understand her point of view, Aurelia’s cold delivery sent shivers down my spine. My own given allotment of time was no more than a human’s.
“And witches? They live far longer.” Witches and warlocks were on par with each other, often living at least four hundred years. There were a few reports here and there of a witch or warlock reaching over six hundred, but those were far and few between.
Aurelia’s eyes shimmered beneath slanted lids. “You may search all you like, but you will never find an ounce of sympathy within me when it comes to a witch. The current population may seem tame, but I assure you, there are those within their precious covens who would seek djinn power again should they believe there is enough gain and minimal risk.”
“I won’t argue the point, just offer that you’ll find that in every species.” I considered those words and amended, “Except maybe pixies. And brownies. Maybe.” I was fairly certain about pixies. Brownies were a different matter. They already packed a big magical punch. I didn’t think they’d have any need to create something like a djinn. So, did that truly make them morally better than other species? Maybe the only reason why they didn’t consider it was because it wasn’t necessary. Gaia, my head was starting to hurt.
“Perhaps you are correct. But I was not maliciously created by any of those species.” Aurelia lifted her face, capturing the slight breeze filtering through the open porch. “Pixies are curious creatures,” she said, sounding confused. “So far, Peaches has proved an…interesting master.”
I stared out across the street as the same kids that had ridden their bikes by earlier wheeled by, this time going the oppositedirection. “I may not know him well, but I don’t think Peaches will disappoint you.”
Aurelia grunted something either unintelligible or in a language I didn’t know. “If there is one thing my centuries of existence has taught me, it is that disappointment is inevitable.”
I started to respond, but my words would have fallen on deaf ears. Or, in this case, absent ones. Once again, Aurelia winked away, leaving me alone on my porch swing.
My alarm clock didn’t so much ring as blare to life, music filling my small bedroom. Reaching over, I slammed my hand down on it, searching for the off button. Finding it was an auditory gift.
“Shit.” Rolling onto my back, I rubbed my hands over my face. Two days after finding Rebecca Ann Mosely’s grave, I was still trying to recover. Unfortunately, time was up. I had another job tonight, and needed to get up and get going if I was going to make it to Biloxi in time for my appointment.
Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I stood reluctantly and made my way to the bathroom, crawling into the shower after relieving my protesting bladder. Summer or winter, I always liked a hot shower, and today was no different. Leaning into the spray, I tried thinking about my upcoming job, but just like the past few days, my brain kept defaulting to Rebecca. I still woke up each night, body covered in sweat, the sound of Rebecca’s screams and the rough feel of her tattered soul consuming my mind. I hadn’t heard another peep from Detective O’Hare, and wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. There wasn’t necessarily a reason he should be contacting me. At this point I figured I’d been as helpful as I was going to be.
That didn’t stop my disappointment. Unless I stumbled over another murdered corpse, I didn’t really have a reason to contact Franklin. And didn’t that just suck.
Leaning my head against the shower tile, I inhaled deeply, letting the steam and scent of my body wash fill my lungs. The lavender fragrance didn’t so much wake me up as calm me down. I wasn’t necessarily an anxiety-prone person, but I felt unsettled much of the time. My momma said I’d always been a restless child—body and mind. Pops had made me special charms when I was younger. They allowed me to sleep and gave Momma a much-needed break. I figured he helped save both our sanities.
Maybe I should have asked him for some rest charms when I sent the text requesting the pain ones, but Pops was already worried. If I asked for something to help me sleep, he’d be on a plane first thing, hand-delivering them.
That thought eased my compressed chest. No matter the species, I was one of the lucky ones. I never doubted I was loved. My parents made it abundantly clear that I was wanted. A necromancer son might not have been what Pops desired, but he’d never made me feel like less. He’d never made me feel unwanted or like I was a disappointment. Pops made it abundantly clear that he was proud of me. Momma and Pops were two pillars rooting me to the earth and holding me upright. They anchored me through the roughest storms and gave me a sense of safety. I didn’t think there was anything more precious in the entire world than that.
Wrapping a towel around my hips, I headed back into my bedroom to dress. According to Pops, my choice of wardrobe was a tragedy. I think he would have lit my closet on fire if he thought I’d change my habits. As it was, burning my clothes would be a waste of magical energy. I’d just go out and replace them with something similar.
What can I say, I liked being comfortable.
