Chapter 15

Matty played possum in the driver's seat while I let myself into the cemetery through the front gate with a charm Harrow had given me. Good thing one of us had been thinking ahead. I wouldn't have been able to climb the fence as usual. That would have brought our stealth mission grinding to a halt. The short walk down Sheftall Way eroded into a limp, but I kept pushing, hoping Kierce would step into my path.

For the second time, the spirits held their tongues. No warnings. No urgings. No hints they were awake.

Sweat beaded on my forehead, and I bit back a hiss of pain when I turned my ankle on a loose stone.

"You shouldn't be here."

Closing my eyes for a brief moment, I opened them then turned toward the voice. "Oh?"

"You're hurt." Kierce, hands in his pockets and mud on his shoes, edged out of the shadows. "You should be resting."

"I will." Blaming the limp for his insight, I stretched the hem of my cardigan lower. "Later."

"You were struck by a vehicle." His voice rolled, cold and hard. "You're in no condition to be here alone."

A hard thud in my chest almost rocked me back a step. "How did you…?"

"You interest me, and I watch over those who have caught my eye."

"You saw it happen?" More confused than ever, I took a step back. "Or you heard?—?"

No. That made no sense. The spirits could have seen, could have told him, but they were terrified of him and wouldn't play messenger willingly. He must have had other ways of knowing, but that meant he was watching me. Stalking me? Had Josie been right? There was a first time for everything.

"I've frightened you." He planted his feet. "I apologize." He issued a shrill whistle. "Bive told me."

Bive? Rhymed with alive? That was an unusual name.

A delicate crow pinwheeled overhead before swooping down to land on Kierce's shoulder with a caw.

Not Bive. Badb. An Irish goddess of sorcery and death.

Having an affinity for death myself, I had researched lore about those with similar talents as part of my education.

"Hello, Badb." I gambled on the universal willingness of people to talk about pets. "Is she your familiar?"

"I have no familiar." He scratched her cheek, and she leaned her head into his hand. "She's a friend."

"Ah." That did nothing to explain their bond. "She told you what happened to me?"

"I was on my way to you when I saw you were well in hand. You didn't need me, so I left."

Part of me wished he had stayed, that he had come to my rescue rather than leaving me to Harrow. But he had been the last person to see Phelps alive. Had he come to me, would I have ended up in a morgue instead of a hospital? "Does that mean you're staying nearby?"

The crunch of footsteps on gravel interrupted us, and Kierce angled toward the sound.

"You brought someone." He murmured to Badb, who flew away. "To see me."

"He wants to ask you a few questions." I found myself drawn forward, closer to him. "That's all."

I had no reason to trust Kierce, but in his presence, I couldn't not feel a connection to him.

That hum between us made me feel like a dirt sandwich for bringing Harrow without warning him first.

"This is important." I was babbling now. "I swear. I wouldn't have brought him otherwise. Will you stay?"

"All right." He lifted his head, his eyes no longer misty gray but black as a moonless night. "I will stay."

Concern he would disappear if I let him out of my sight propelled me forward. "Thank you."

As if I had done it a million times, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, I took Kierce's hand. To find his skin warm surprised me all over again. He should have been cold as the grave, hard as stone. He was neither of those things. He stiffened, and I thought for certain I had bungled the supportive gesture. But, slowly at first, he curled his fingers around mine.

As a wondering smile tempted Kierce's lips, Harrow turned the corner. He saw us there, holding hands, and shut his eyes for the span of two blinks before approaching us.

"I'm Detective Harrow with the Savannah Police Department." He stuck out his hand. "You're Kierce?"

Ignoring his hand, Kierce tightened his fingers on me instead. "I am."

"Can you tell me your last name?" Harrow took the snub on the chin, no doubt used to suspects being a tad standoffish. "I'll also need an address and a phone number where we can reach you."

"Kierce will do." His expression grew pensive. "I have no address or phone."

Rare individuals refused to carry cellphones that allowed anyone twenty-four hour access to them, but it was harder to believe he was unhoused with a wardrobe like his. As fascinating as I found his statement, I was glad to let Harrow ask the questions.

"You must live somewhere." Harrow appraised his appearance. "You're too well dressed to be indigent."

An old tiredness filled Kierce's expression, marking him as ancient. "What questions do you have for me?"

Harrow cut me a look I couldn't read, and I decided to try my luck with interrogation. "Here's the thing."

Angling his chin toward me, Kierce waited for me to continue with a lift of his eyebrows.

"A vampire was killed on River Street a few nights ago. I summoned a spirit, a witness, who saw a man fitting your description with the victim at the scene of the crime."

"His death is part of an ongoing investigation," Harrow chimed in, sounding much more official than me. "We would appreciate your cooperation in this matter."

"The man's name was Duncan Phelps. He was a vampire, as I'm sure you've discovered." Kierce dipped his chin in what I read as a show of respect to the dead. "I found him and the woman shortly after the attack. It's an odd thing, but her name was both Mimi Brightman and Bernadette Ormewood."

Hand going limp in his, I sucked in a breath, floored he knew their names. All their names.

"How could you possibly know that?" Harrow sharpened the edge in his tone. "Who are you, really?"

"I have many titles." Kierce traced his jaw then forced his hand to his side. "Among them is Viduus."

"That can't be right." A tidal wave of dizziness crashed through me. "Viduus was an ancient Roman deity who separated spirits from their bodies after death." I couldn't get my mouth to work. Until it did. And I shouted inches from his face, "You're a god?"

Vi would flip when I told her about this. She had met a god or two in NOLA, but Viduus was a big name.

This must be the divine link she discovered in the candle ash. Kierce had touched the victims.

"I serve a god," he corrected me gently. "His will is what brought me here."

And his blessing was no doubt the reason the witness had seen a dark aura behind Kierce's head.

"I need to sit." I couldn't wrap my head around this. "Viduus? Really? You're really him?"

"It's more of an honorific, but yes. I am the current Viduus."

The current Viduus gave wiggle room on his age, which kept me from fainting on the spot. He was one of the old legends brought to life. I was holding his hand. I had never met a god, or one of their direct hires.

Certainly, none of them had ever answered my prayers when I was young and vulnerable and pleading.

"What business does your…employer…have in Savannah?" Leave it to Harrow to be unimpressed with a piece of living history. "Does that mean Phelps is related to your purpose or…?"

"I am called to shepherd the dead," Kierce—Viduus? No. Kierce. Definitely Kierce. Otherwise, my head might explode—allowed, "but not in this form."

This formimplied he had others, and why was that so fascinating? I knew shifters. I had watched changes into animals both exotic and mundane with awe and envy. Why was this any different?

Because he's like me.

Finally, I understood why that little voice in my head had overridden the spirits' caution.

Good thing Kierce led me to a memorial bench, or my knees might have buckled on me.

"A creature is feeding on spirits," he told us, choosing to stand while also keeping hold of my hand. "Few of them were earmarked for my master, but he has taken an interest in the area." Kierce made certain to look everywhere but at me. "He allows necromancers to hold court in Savannah under strict laws that govern the undead. I, and others like me, enforce them. Vampirism is a voluntary state. He likewise takes no issue with what necromancers term as banishment of spirits or exorcisms. Those acts free spirits from traps of their own making. But the consumption of spirits is a crime that cannot be overlooked or forgiven. Souls are living testaments to the existence of an afterlife. Death gods, of which there are many, thrive on that belief."

Arawn. Yama. Morrigan. Ankou. Chernobog. On and on. Too many to name. Death had all the gods.

"Individual gods—" I turned it over in my head, "—don't require specific worship as long as a portion of their myth is believed?"

"Yes." He angled a smile at me. "Though I would argue if myth is the correct term."

Harrow, his jaw tense, tossed out the next best thing to an accusation. "Are you here for Frankie?"

"Frankie would no sooner harm a soul than she would injure her own siblings."

"You just happened to bump into a necromancer in the cemetery." Harrow must have heard how silly he sounded and reeled in his temper. "You're hunting this creature. That's why you've been in Bonaventure."

"Yes." Kierce slid me another look. "That was my original purpose."

"Has your purpose changed?" Harrow zeroed in on where our hands met. "What is your interest in?—?"

"We might be after the same creature." I shot to my feet and instantly regretted the pinch in my hip, but it was worth it to avoid Kierce's answer to Harrow's last question. "We should pool our resources."

"You want to help?" Kierce stared at his feet. "No one has ever offered to assist me."

"If you're in service to a god," Harrow grumbled, "you don't need backup beyond him, do you?"

"Need and want, I am learning, are two separate beasts." Kierce lifted his chin. "I would like your help, Frankie."

"Harrow?" A thrill tingled through me. "Are you in?"

"You're my expert. I brought you in. I won't abandon you now."

"It's settled then." I checked my watch, eager to get back to Matty. "Should we pick a time and place to share our information?" I thought back on Kierce's lack of phone. "How can we get in touch with you?"

Curving a hand over my forearm, his caress as warm and hesitant as ever, he murmured, "May I?"

Curious what he was doing, I leaned closer, unsure what to expect. "Yes?"

The warmth spread from his palm into his fingertips, and black ink spilled across my skin. The design was mostly hidden by his hand, but the pattern wrapped my entire forearm. With a flourish, he revealed it to me. He watched while my brain caught up, his expression unreadable until I laughed.

Delight tripped through me as I recognized his inspiration. "It's Badb."

"You don't mind?" He rolled his thumb across his art. "I can change it if…"

"No." I twisted my arm to get the full effect. "It's beautiful."

"You branded her." Harrow scowled like his stare might erase it. "Does it come off?"

"Can you imagine how cool it will be when people ask where I got my tattoo, and I tell them ‘No biggie. The messenger of a god gave it to me to use as a summoning token.'" I checked with Kierce. "That's what it is, right?" I grinned when he nodded. "How does it work?"

"There is a cost," he began, reading in my expression that I understood. "A drop of blood within the lines will call me to you." He smiled, a fragile thing, when I gasped as the design sank into my skin. "The token is only visible when it's active. Otherwise, it will fade." He smoothed his thumb over my skin once more. "It's dangerous for anyone to know I have given you this power over me."

"Power over you?" I gripped his hand tighter. "What do you mean?"

"Just know that if you call me, I will come."

Already a suspicion bloomed in the back of my mind. To call a spirit invoked a binding on them. He was a solid, tangible figure. That didn't make him alive in the usual definition of the word. Not when he served a death god. Did this mark constitute a binding for him too?

"It's getting late." I released his fingers. "The shop can't open for the day until Matty and I get back."

"Frankie and I will hash out the details." Harrow cupped my elbow and guided me away. "She'll be in touch then."

A loud caw pierced my ears as a crow swooped behind me close enough her feathers tickled my nape.

Jumping back, Harrow swatted at the bird and ended up slinging a bloody finger. "Damn bird."

"She bit you?" I gripped his wrist and inspected the wound. "We need to get it cleaned and bandaged."

About to say my goodbyes, I sought out Kierce, but he was already gone. No surprise there. He wasn't one for farewells.

As Harrow wrapped his finger with a fast food napkin from his pocket, I realized Badb had bitten the hand that touched me.