Devon Monk - Hell Bent

He lifted his cup toward the tray of food on the coffee table. French toast, coffee, sausage, and apple butter.

“Not going to feed you. Unless you want me to.”

“No,” I said. “I don’t.”

I bent, groaned as I pulled the tray over to me, setting it across my legs. Didn’t spill a drop.

If Terric was talking, only the walls were listening. I didn’t hear a thing while I consumed every bite, lick, and morsel of breakfast.

I felt like I hadn’t eaten for months. And after I’d plowed through the food, I felt a lot better.

“Did you spike it with . . .” I wiggled my fingers over my empty plate.

“No. You walked for miles last night, Shame. Anyone would be hungry. Also, I am a hell of a cook.”

“Yeah, you are.”

I scraped the last bit of tart and sweet apple butter off the plate with my fork, licked the tines clean, then set the tray back on the table. Noticed the coffee carafe, cream and sugar there.

Refilled my cup. Sat back and took a drink.

“Did you find Dessa?” I asked.

“Not yet. The Hounds are looking.”

“Try the inn.”

“Why?”

“She’s renting a room. Did you tell Clyde about this?”

“Just that Collins contacted you last night and said we have a day or less before more people die.”

I thought that through. “So you didn’t tell him he wanted us to find his Soul Complement? It’s not like you to lie, Terric. That’s my shtick.”

Terric drank his tea with that quiet grace that reminded me of elegant people in old movies. “He could have gone to anyone,” he said. “Why did Eli go to you, Shame?”

“Fuck all if I know.”

“Maybe he still thinks we’re the head of the Authority?” Terric said.

“Everyone knows you were the head of the Authority. But no. He made it clear he doesn’t think the Authority has any power.”

“If I tell Clyde Eli wanted us to find his Soul Complement, Clyde’s going to want that handled through proper channels. What do you suppose that is?”

I rubbed my fingers across my scalp. God, I was filthy. “I don’t know. Call the cops? Start an investigation?”

“We’re already investigating Eli. The police already know he’s a suspect in Joshua’s death. They’re already looking for him. The Authority knows he’s behind Joshua’s death. We’re looking for him.”

“So . . . what? The police would question me, I guess.”

“Detective Stotts would lock you up,” Terric said. “For your own safety. Maybe as bait for Eli, but mostly to keep you safe. Plus, you wouldn’t be out barefoot on the streets destroying swaths of innocent horticulture from one end of Portland to the other.”

I cringed. “I killed plants?”

“Trees, bushes, grass, greenhouses. Took out a neighborhood garden off of Lombard.”

I waited. Waited for him to tell me how many people I’d killed.

“None,” he said over the rim of his cup, guessing correctly what I was thinking.

“There was blood on my mouth. In my mouth.”

“I think a few raccoons and possums met their maker.”

“Are you sure? There were people, a lot of people.” The memory was chaotic, but I knew it wasn’t a dream. “A bar?”

“No missing persons reports, no unusual injury reports at the hospitals. No unknown causes of death. Not bad for being half out of your mind.”

I closed my eyes. Realized my heart had been beating. Hard. With fear. Worry. Terric wouldn’t lie to me. Not about this. Not about the monster inside me.

I sat there for a bit, until my heartbeat quieted.

“So if we’re not telling Clyde that Eli tried to kill me so I would agree to help him, what’s next?” I asked.

“You,” he said, “are going to take a shower because you reek. I have some clothes I think will fit.”

“Jeremy’s clothes?” I asked, my eyes still closed.

“No.” Tight. Didn’t want to talk about it.

So, of course, I did. “Other than thinking I’m a waste of skin, is there some specific reason he hates me? We haven’t met before last night, have we?”

“You haven’t met,” Terric said quietly.

“He seems to know a lot about me.”

A pause. Then, “He thinks he does. I’ve . . . said a few things.”

“Bad things?”

“You make it hard to say good things, Shame.”

“True.”

Silence again.

“You know his family is involved in Blood magic,” I said.

“Used to be involved,” he said. “Blood magic isn’t what it used to be.”

“It’s not nothing,” I said. “With the right spell carved in blood, added to the right drug, you can still get results. People pay big money for those customized highs.”

“You’re telling me he’s a drug dealer.”

“I’m telling you he’s a part of the drug syndicate, Terric. The Black Crane. And the only thing he wants from you is your magic.”

Terric didn’t say anything for a minute.

“Where are you getting your information?” he asked far too calmly.

“I know people.”

“You don’t know him, Shame. He’s not like that.”

“He jumped pretty quickly to accuse me of using you.”

“And that makes him a part of a drug cartel?” he snapped. Then, with a lowered voice, “Shame. I don’t need two jealous men on my hands.”

So much for him listening to me. That was fine. I hadn’t expected him to. He cared about Jeremy, I knew that. I could take care of Jeremy on my own. And really, maybe it was better Terric didn’t know about it.

I smiled. My eyes were still closed.

“What?” he said.

“Jealousy is for people who know they can’t hold on to what they want.”

“My statement stands,” he said.

I opened my eyes, rolled my head so I could see him. “No. I can’t lose you, Terric. Not if I tried. Which is pretty much my default mode, come to think of it.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why is that, Shame? Why do you insist, still, after all these years, to close me out?”

I sat up, put a little weight on my feet. Nothing popped, split, or bled. So I stood. Managed it well enough. Took a step toward the bathroom. And another.

Ouch.

“You’re not even going to talk about it?” he asked.

I paused, put one hand out on the wall to keep my balance. “Talking doesn’t seem to be our thing.”

“It needs to become our thing. We’re a part of each other’s lives. Whether you want to acknowledge that or not.”

I turned so I could see him.

“Lives?” I shook my head. “Deaths. That’s what we’re a part of, Terric. Each other’s deaths. When we’re together, one of us always gets hurt. The more we are together, the more we hurt each other.”

He watched me for a moment. “Tell that to your healing feet.”

“Jesus.” I pushed away from the wall and made my way to the bathroom. “You’re impossible,” I said too quietly for him to hear.

He answered me anyway. “No. I’m right.”

Found the bathroom. It was depressingly clean and color-coordinated. Started the shower, stripped, and stepped in the water. Saw something bright out of the corner of my eye. Eleanor, sitting on the sink.

“Hey,” I said. “Thanks for waking me.”

She floated up so she could peek over the top of the shower door and down at me. I didn’t care that she would see me naked. We’d been together for so long, she’d seen me do many worse things than bathe.

She pointed at her neck about the same spot where Eli stabbed me with the needle.

“It hurts,” I said. “Feels like someone sewed a golf ball under my skin.”

She pointed at her chest.

“That hurts too.”

Shook her head, disappeared, then faded through the shower door so she was standing in the shower with me. The water rushed through her, but didn’t stir her hair, or dampen her glowing skin. She pointed at my heart, and pressed just the tip of her finger there.