20. Nixon

Chapter twenty

Nixon

D espite feeling terrible, I manage to stuff down some food and then shower with the hottest water I can stand.

I wouldn’t describe the achy feeling I have as flu-like. It’s more like a throbbing wound in the center of my chest that seems to be radiating outward toward my limbs, winding through my muscles, and causing my nerve endings to cringe and shrivel. All I want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep next to Arit. Hopefully, I won’t feel the gnawing tear going on inside me if I’m unconscious.

I know if I were to go to the emergency room, doctors wouldn’t be able to find anything wrong with me. There is nothing wrong with me physically. What’s happening inside me is on a different level. My soul is literally being pulled from my bones and ligaments, stripped from my very essence as its time draws near.

I don’t want to freak Arit out, but I’m not sure how much time I have left. If things keep going the way they seem to have been escalating, it’ll only be a matter of days.

That thought makes me want to puke, my stomach twisting violently at the idea of losing Arit so soon. Without the comfort of knowing I can find him again in another life, the very notion of losing my soul mate is unfathomable.

And what will happen to Arit after I go? He’ll be destined to walk this earth without me, knowing the endless eons he has to come, he’ll never see me again. Never encounter this soul or feel any kind of comfort. He’ll be crushed by memories of the scant few days we managed to eke out together. Ultimate happiness usurped by bitter betrayal.

Can Fate really be so cruel? Especially to one of Her own?

As I pull on some sweats and my comfiest tee, I very much intend to find out. “Ready?” I ask, determination straightening my spine. Arit meets my gaze head-on, already sensing the change in my demeanor.

“Let’s do this. If the portal doesn’t work, we’ll find Fate the hard way.” He holds out his hand for me to join him, and I step close as he summons his chariot once again.

I’ve got to say, the chariot is the coolest mode of transportation I’ve ever, or never, thought I would encounter. It’s like stepping onto a pedestal and simply willing it to move. With sleek lines, Arit’s chariot is matte black with black wheels, and the front rounded panel comes to mid-thigh. Where the usual pole or shaft that would attach to whatever animal was pulling the cart would be, there’s simply nothing, and the chariot balances perfectly on two wheels.

I can’t help wondering if Arit’s chariot has evolved alongside him and was at one time modeled after ancient Greek or Roman versions. That thought makes me smile as I wrap my arm behind Arit’s back. My reaper is seriously impressive.

“Ready?” Arit checks, pressing a kiss to my temple. He has the borrowed books tucked under his other arm.

I reach up and cup his smooth cheek, drawing him in for a sweet kiss. “Mm-hm.”

He smiles adoringly and then begins to weave his magic, the same golden-hued shimmer I noticed the first two times appearing out of thin air. I couldn’t begin to guess what type of magic or energy he’s using, but whatever it is, I’m glad he’s the one wielding it and not some government agency.

As before, the chariot moves effortlessly forward, gliding into the golden dimension that allows us to travel instantaneously to our destination. No one notices our arrival on the sidewalk outside The Magic Shop. Just as in Paris, I’m overwhelmed in the best way and demonstrate my thanks and joy with a quick kiss to Arit’s cheek. “You’re incredible.”

Bashful is adorable on my man.

“Let’s go,” he says and guides me toward the entrance.

The shop looks exactly the same as I remember, and we walk up to the counter, where Arit drops his stack of books. As I look around, I wonder where everyone is. Come to think of it, there was no one here the last time I was in either.

“It’s so quiet in here,” I whisper, feeling an odd sensation lurking in the empty store that sends goose bumps along my arms and raises the hair on the back of my neck.

Arit merely bumps my shoulder, and I look over to see him smirking. “There is a presence here you cannot see. But don’t worry, love. Others know who I am, and they won’t bother us.”

I raise an eyebrow, impressed. “You’re some kind of supernatural guard dog? The Grim Reaper no one messes with?”

That makes him smile in full, and he tips his head slightly to the right. “Something like that. You’re safe. We only need to wait for them to finish up.”

“I wasn’t worried,” I remark, even though Arit can probably tell I actually was unsettled.

He drops his arm over my shoulders and pulls me close. “I know.” He turns his attention toward the far back corner of the store but lowers his voice when he says, “They’re almost done. There is a spirit here looking to gain the strength they need to contact a lost family member. Usually it’s the living who try to contact the dead, but sometimes the dead have unfinished business and refuse to come when we’re called to carry them. Cases of hauntings or poltergeist activity are usually spirits with unfinished business. This chap knows who I am and what I can do. He doesn’t want to come any closer to me for fear of being taken before his business is concluded.”

I stare wide eyed toward where Arit is looking, hardly able to process what he’s telling me. I suppose I’ve never been sure one way or the other whether ghosts or spirits were real or not. People are always saying they’ve seen ghosts or have video proof, but I always assumed the videos were fake. Or never thought too much about it in the first place to care one way or the other.

But hearing Arit say there are indeed restless souls who refuse to go to their afterlife because they have unfinished business is kind of freaky. Or maybe more than kind of freaky and leading into terrifying.

I swallow and press closer into Arit’s side, not at all sure I’m ready to encounter my first ghost, friendly or otherwise.

As he murmurs reassurances into my hair, I settle slightly until The Owner calls out a greeting. “Thank you ever so much for your patience.” He appears, top hat in place, from a back aisle, his welcoming smile turning cautious when he sees us standing at the counter. “My apologies for the delay, gentlemen. How may I assist you today? Were the books helpful?”

Arit nudges the books forward for The Owner to take. “Marginally. We’ve come to seek the use of your portal. We were so pleased with how well it worked in bringing us together, we had high hopes it would bring a favorable outcome to our current situation. Time is of the essence. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to get what I need. And what I need is an audience with Fate.”

The Owner swallows, taking the books into his arms protectively.

I can’t help smirking to myself. So this is how Arit gets things done. No threat. Just as he told me. All he needs is the suggestion that he would be disappointed if things didn’t work out in his favor. And The Owner knows enough about Arit to be unsettled by his statement.

“Of course. I’ll do what I can to assist.” The Owner backs away, then motions for us to follow. “Though please understand I’ve never used the portal in that way. If we should be unsuccessful…” He leaves the statement unfinished, and I can’t help wondering if he’s contemplating what Arit might do to him.

“Then we’ll have to try other means,” Arit supplies darkly. “Which would be most inconvenient, because my mate is dying, and that is something I cannot allow. Your success is imperative to our future happiness.”

The Owner stops then and turns to look at me. I level him with my best don’t fuck this up, this is serious look, and he must decide it’s in his best interest to believe us. “Then let’s get started,” he says, straightening his spine and urging us behind the curtain.

After setting the returned books aside, The Owner leads us to his workbench. As before, he gathers a slew of ingredients. “The water used to wash the body of a dead male leatherworker. A pinch of dust from a ground moon rock. One petal from a blossoming nightshade flower. Gold flakes.” He rummages around a bit more, grabbing what looks like honey but probably isn’t, a root of some kind, and a possible lump of coal. “We’ll need your blood offering as before,” he says to me, and then he turns to Arit. “What will your contribution be? No blood, I assume.”

That catches me off guard as Arit shakes his head and pulls out a couple of strands of hair. I mean, I know Arit is not human, but the sudden realization that he doesn’t have blood in his veins, or possibly even veins at all, is a little shocking. I’ve gotten so used to his humanlike ways and appearance that I’ve almost completely ignored his otherworldliness.

Arit previously mentioned getting his energy from the universe, but how and what exactly does that mean? I can feel his life force thrumming in his chest, but how does that work to keep him “alive” for millions of years?

The Owner takes the offering with a remarkable degree of awed reverence, perhaps realizing the significance of Arit’s very presence and his own mortality where a being like Arit is concerned. He may not know exactly what Arit is, but anyone with eyes and a regular dealing with supernatural entities can tell he’s special. “Thank you.” He looks up and meets Arit’s gaze, something unspoken passing between them.

Arit narrows his eyes ever so slightly and tugs a few more strands loose, handing them over in what I assume is The Owner’s odd request for payment. The Owner practically bows, his hat never moving from his head, and then straightens and produces the same blessed blade he used to slice my hand the last time I was here.

A low, menacing growl vibrates the air, and I turn a raised eyebrow Arit’s way. “What?” he says, unaffected. “I don’t have to like the terms, even if they are acceptable. I never want to see you hurt. For any reason.”

As much as his words affect me, I refrain from getting too emotional in front of The Owner. I pat Arit’s chest affectionately. “Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m already prone to injury. You’ve seen that firsthand. Thank you for your concern though. I think we’re in need of an exception this time.”

Arit has no such compunctions about showing his affection, and he pulls my hand up, pressing a kiss to my palm. “Only because we need it. From now on, as long as I’m around, no harm will come to you.”

Sweet though his sentiment is, it’s not exactly practical or realistic. “Thank you. I know you’ll do your best. But”—I place his hand on my aching chest—“for now, maybe we can get back to the reason we’re here. I’m kind of in need of saving at the moment.”

That immediately snaps Arit out of his chivalrous musings, and he turns an intensely serious look The Owner’s way, urgency mixing with desperation. “Help us. Please.” And he takes my hand and holds it out to The Owner, his fear and love bleeding together in a plea I’ll never forget.