The Cursed (The Unearthly) (15 page)

Chapter 21

“
Merry freaking Christmas
to me,” I muttered the next morning as I padded into Andre’s study with a cup of coffee and a book. Other teenagers got clothes and electronics for Christmas. I got my name on a hit list.

All last night, Andre had been on the phone with his contacts, bribing and threatening anyone and everyone he could to get my name off that list.

Problem was, there was no actual list. From what I understood, the hit was nothing more than a whisper in the night, passed from one shady being to another. Try as Andre might, he couldn’t remove a threat that had no origin and no traceable trajectory.

I took a deep breath. Time to lose myself in a good story and forget about the hot mess that was my life.

Just as I plopped down on a couch in Andre’s study and cracked open my book, the front door was thrown open and I swear to God I heard what sounded like yodeling.

I closed my eyes. There was Oliver, doing who the hell knew what.

A minute later he entered the study, escorted by one of Andre’s servants.

“Great Mother of Earth and Heaven and All Things Delicious, there you are!” Oliver said. “We were so worried!”

He crossed the room and swept me up into a huge hug. Behind him Caleb entered the room.

“Caleb,” I said, shocked. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Andre sent a car over to bring us over,” Caleb said stiffly, as though admitting to this made him uncomfortable.

“But the roads
—
”

“They were clear enough this morning to pick us up. Merry Christmas, by the way.”

Next to me Oliver pried my book from my hands and tossed it over his shoulder. “Merry Christmas!” he said.

“Hey
—
I was reading that,” I said, glaring at Oliver.

“Yeah, and now you’re not because the fun has arrived.”

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“So,” Caleb said, interrupting us, “what exactly happened two nights ago, Gabrielle?” He sat down in a nearby wingback chair.

I gave him a strained smile. “It’s a long story.”

I spent the
next twenty minutes rehashing last two nights’ events, beginning with the kidnapping, and ending with the demonic hit list. I decided to omit the part about the devil talking to me while I was getting down with Andre. That had
uncomfortable
written all over it.

“The devil told you that you were fated to be his?” Caleb asked. He looked a little ill.

I winced and nodded.

“And he meant fate as in, ‘there was a prophecy, and I’m owed my due,’ or was he speaking in more general terms?”

I tipped my head back and forth, weighing his words. The devil was an arrogant, slippery being, but from everything I’d learned last night … “I think he meant the prophetic kind of fate,” I said.

Caleb’s throat worked, but he nodded. He stood up and rubbed his forehead. When he drew his hand away, realization flashed over his features. “Holy shit,” he said, staring off in the distance.

“What?” I asked anxiously.

His eyes met mine. “I have a theory.”

“A theory about what?” I asked.

“About you, the murders, the devil. But shit, it’s not good, Gabrielle.”

Oliver glanced at me, his eyebrows raised.

“What is it?” I asked Caleb.

His eyes were distracted. “Let me get my suitcase …” He trailed off as he left the room, his paces quick.

“Luggage?” I asked, turning to Oliver.

Oliver shrugged. “Andre invited us to stay here for the remainder of the investigation.”

“And you both agreed to it?” I asked, disbelieving him.

“Hey, I like Andre, even if he does scare the shit out of me. Plus, he loves you and you love him.”

D’awww.

“Also, I wanted to get out of that piece of crap inn,” Oliver added. He’d had the perfect response, and then he had to go and butcher it.

“What about Caleb?” I asked. “There’s no way he’d agree to stay here.”

“Well he did.”

I thinned my eyes. “And how did you manage that?”

Oliver sniffed, smoothing down his shirt. “I promised him you’d go on a date with him.”

“
Oliver
!”

Said fairy buffed his nails against his shirt. “What?” he asked innocently. “It’s his fault he’s a sucker.”

I let my forehead fall into my hands. “I’m starting to think our classicist textbook was right
—
fairies are evil little creatures.”

“Says the girl with fangs.”

Touché.

Oliver threw a sly glance over his shoulder, to where Caleb retreated. “So,” he said, turning back to me, “now that Caleb’s gone, care to tell me the rest of what happened over the last two nights?”

“And what makes you think that there’s more to it?”

“Please, honey. It’s me you’re talking to. I know an edited story when I hear one.”

My eyes flicked to the doorway.

“He won’t be back for a while. Now spill.”

And so I did, receiving a squeal from Oliver every time I mentioned a juicy detail.

Once I’d finished relating it to him, Oliver’s eyes were wide. “You mean to tell me that Andre was finally DTF, and the devil cock blocked you?”

I let out a sad laugh and pushed a hand through my hair. “Pretty much.”

“Damn, sweets, that blows loads.”

I gave him a dark look at his little innuendo.

“Or not.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway,” he continued, “I never would’ve pegged the devil as a possessive bastard when it came to his woman.”

“
I am not his woman.
”

Oliver patted my knee like I was cute. “I say you screw them both.”

“Oliver!”

“What?” he said, trying to look innocent. “Fate gave you two men; girl you should
own that shit
.”

“Hello, Oliver, one of those men just happens to be
the devil
.”

Oliver cocked his head thoughtfully. “You know that whole evil incarnate business might be really hot
—
he’s probably a god in the sack.”

Ew ew ew! “For the sake of our friendship, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Fine,” Oliver said testily, “enjoy virgin-hood. I hear you guys make great sacrifices.”

I was about to respond when the sound of footsteps drew my attention to the doorway.

A moment later Caleb entered the room, a manila folder tucked under his arm. He dropped it on a nearby coffee table, and Oliver and I got up to take a closer look.

Caleb crouched in front of the file and opened it up. Inside were a series of photographs from the second crime scene. He flipped through them, his expression determined. Expectant. And suddenly I didn’t think his theory was any theory at all. A nervous thrill shot through me at what he might’ve discovered.

From the stack he pulled out a series of photos that focused on the wooden altar.

I gave him a questioning look, but he didn’t see it.

“There,” he said, pointing to the image. It was a close up of one of the scenes carved onto the altar. Depicted on it was an image of a man carrying a woman away.

“What about it?” I asked.

Instead of answering me, he flipped to another photo of the altar and tapped on a bit of detailing between the carved images. “That’s a pomegranate.”

“It is?” I said. Huh, it looked more like a peach to me, but then again, I wasn’t exactly a botanist.

“So what?” Oliver said. He’d become our unofficial partner. Typical.

“The pomegranate has an important meaning in Greek mythology,” Caleb explained. “It symbolizes the story of Hades and Persephone.”

It took me a moment to recall the story. Persephone was the daughter of Demeter, the goddess of the harvest, and she was unfortunate enough to catch the attention of Hades, the god of the Underworld.

The myth went something like this: One day when Persephone was frolicking in a field
—
or whatever it was innocent Greek girls did back in the day
—
Hades kidnapped her and took her to the Underworld to be his captive bride.

Meanwhile, topside, Persephone’s mother was grieving the loss of her daughter, and in her sorrow, she was causing all the earth’s crops to die. The gods took notice and tried to retrieve Persephone from Hades before the land fell into a perpetual winter. Only by that time, Persephone had eaten a couple pomegranate seeds
—
food of the dead
—
and the sustenance bound her to the Underworld. Because of this, it was no longer a simple matter of retrieval.

But to prevent the total destruction of the world, something needed to happen. So a bargain was struck: Persephone would live with her mother for a part of the year, and she’d live in the Underworld with Hades for the other part of the year.

And everybody lived happily freaking ever.

I focused on the detailed carvings again. “Holy shit,” I murmured. Looking at the pictures with the myth in mind, they fit.

I allowed myself a moment of surprise and excitement
—
Caleb had figured out what the altar’s images were depicting. “Do you think other investigators have figured this out?” I asked.

“Probably. We won’t know for sure until we exchange notes. But Gabrielle,” Caleb’s eyes met mine. “That’s not all.”

A wave of unease passed through me at the worry in his eyes.

“The woman at the club,” he said, “you told me that the first thing she did when you met her was kneel.”

“Uh huh,” I said, not sure where this was going.

“That’s kind of strange, isn’t it?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know what’s normal for a killer. She called me consort. I can only assume that she worshipped … the devil.” I furrowed my brows even as I said this. A Satanist that performed pagan rituals over an altar depicting Hades and Persephone? The religions seemed mutually exclusive.

Rather than dampening Caleb’s enthusiasm my words seemed to stoke it. “The other woman who was there called you something unusual too, didn’t she?” he said. “Something that started with a ‘P’?”

I stared at him for a moment trying to connect the dots. When I did, the blood drained from my face. I thought back to the club, to my interaction with the petite woman who’d stabbed me. “She didn’t call me Persephone, though,” I whispered.

Caleb’s determined expression didn’t change. “She goes by several names,” he said, “And at least one other starts with a ‘P’.”

“Which one?” I barely breathed as I watched Caleb.

He looked at me pityingly. “Her Roman one
—
Proserpine.”

“
Did our suspect
call you that, Gabrielle?” Caleb probed.

As soon as he’d mentioned the name, I’d remembered. Like a puzzle piece it fit with the rest of the memory.

“Sweets?” Oliver asked gently. I blinked and looked at him, then at Caleb.

“She did.” A thoughtful silence descended as we all took this in. These killers thought I was this Persephone, the daughter of the goddess of the harvest.

Harvest
. My eyes snapped to Caleb. “I need to grab something,” I said, rising from my seat. Uncomfortable silence descended as I reached into my book back. If I looked up, I was sure I’d find Caleb and Oliver giving each other uneasy looks. They probably thought I’d lost it. Who knew, maybe I had.

I flipped through my bag until I pulled out what I was looking for. I laid the cream-colored slip of paper down on the coffee table. On it were five lines written in loopy handwriting. Caleb and Oliver craned their necks to read it along with me.

Daughter of wheat and grain,

Betrothed to soil and stain,

Your lifeblood drips,

The scales tip,

But will it be in vain?

Shit.

That first line
—
it only took a little imagination to realize that Cecilia was describing Persephone. I rubbed my forehead. It was one thing for two killers to call me Proserpine, and another for a Fate to.

“But why? Why would anyone assume I was Persephone?” I said out loud. “We’re not the same,” I said. My mother may have had the looks of a goddess, but she wasn’t one. She lived as a mortal and died just like one. “I mean, I’m dying, for crying out loud. Wasn’t Persephone all about life and fertility?” I asked, looking between Oliver and Caleb.

“Well, the devil isn’t quite the lord of death, either now,” Caleb said. “He’s simply the lord of the Underworld, the lord of the damned.”

“There’s still the fact that the myth preceded me by thousands of years. That marriage between Hades and Persephone happened a long time ago
—
if it ever happened at all.”

“Hmmm,” Oliver had that I-know-something-really-important-but-I-don’t-much-care tone of voice.

“What?” I asked.

Oliver shrugged and picked a nonexistent piece of lint off of his shirt. “What if the myth isn’t really a myth? What if it’s a prophecy?”

The thought made me pause. Another prophecy? But I already had one
—
and it was disturbing enough as is. Instead I said, “But the details are all wrong.” I mean,
all the details
.

“The details may not be what’s true.
You
may be what’s true,” Caleb said.

My eyes flicked to him. “So you also think the myth of Hades and Persephone might be a prophecy.”

He hesitated. “Maybe
—
it makes sense.”

I sat back on my heels and pondered that, my stomach plummeting. The devil was undoubtedly after me, and on Samhain Cecilia had called him Pluto, the Roman name for the god Hades. Could the man in the suit be both the devil and Hades?

“This shit may not be science,” Caleb added, “but that doesn’t mean you should ignore it.”

I looked between Caleb and Oliver. “So you think that I’m the devil’s Persephone, his consort, and what, these killers are running around, offing people in the devil’s name?” I tried to sound skeptical, but I didn’t pull it off. The devil liked to collect his due in flesh and souls.

“Yes, but not in just his name,” Caleb said. “They’re killing in your name, too.”

Right about now
the breakfast I’d eaten earlier wasn’t sitting so well in my stomach. I put the back of my hand to my mouth.

It was one thing to think that the murders were to appease the devil. It was another to consider that people were being killed to appease
me
.

Oh God, if I was responsible for those deaths, how could I ration that my soul was worth the cost of those lives lost?

“Well, I’d say that all in all this is turning out to be a crappy Christmas,” Oliver said, interrupting my dark thoughts. He stood up. “I think this calls for a quest to find alcohol. Anyone want a drink?”

“Hell yes,” Caleb said.

When Oliver looked at me I said, “Don’t bother bringing me a glass. I’ll take the bottle straight.”