Amanda Bonilla - Shaedes of Gray - A Shaede Assassin Novel

Chapter 13

Delilah waited by my building, looking like a potted plant wilting under the morning sun. Maybe she was getting as tired of our little arrangement as I was. We rode the lift in silence, but she cocked her head in my direction. Perhaps she sensed the questions forming on my tongue.

“Spill it,” I growled. “Everything you know.”

“If I tell you everything I know, we’ll be here for a year,” Delilah said, plopping down in front of the TV. It drove me crazy the way she talked and channel surfed at the same time.

“I’m not in the mood for your smart-ass answers,” I said. But she was right. Good Lord, between her and Levi it would cost a year of my time and a million dollars in fifties to properly educate me. “Tell me about Tyler. When you said you’ve known him for ages, you weren’t kidding, were you? Exactly how old are you?”

“Older than you by about ten centuries,” she said.

“And Tyler?” I asked, dreading the answer.

“Older than me.”

My cheeks flushed with anger and humiliation. Here I’d been, so superior in my otherness, boasting and tossing casual threats, demeaning Ty with human this and human that. And he literally had lifetimes on me. He’d let me make a fool of myself over and over again, never letting me in on his little secret.

“What about the wish granting. How does it work?”

“Well.” Delilah paused to listen to the verdict on her court show. “It’s not like the stories. You don’t come across a lamp or bottle and give it a good rub. He’s not a slave, per se. But he can tie himself to someone if he wants to. Once he’s chosen the bond, he becomes that person’s sworn protector, and he only grants that person’s wishes. No others until you break the bond. His loyalty is uncompromising.”

“How do you break it?” Delilah’s attention drifted back to the television, but she heard me.

“There are no magic words or rituals, Darian. You simply end it.”

Kind of like a breakup, I guessed. “So if I say, ‘Tyler, I don’t want you as my genie. Go away,’ he has to do as I ask?”

“Pretty much,” Delilah said. “But why would you want to? If it’s in his power, he’ll help you any way he can.”

“Are there restrictions?” I asked. “I mean, could I wish for world peace, a billion dollars, or a new car—and just get it?”

“There are restrictions,” Delilah said, “but you’ll have to ask Tyler about that. I’m no Jinn, and I don’t know the rules.”

“What are you ?”

“I’m a Seer, plain and simple. More to the point, I’m an Oracle, but as few can afford that service, it goes unused for the most part.”

“So . . . you see the future?”

“Sometimes.”

“Can you tell me mine?”

Delilah laughed. “Sorry, it doesn’t work like that. You have to make a sacrifice. Like I said, few can afford the price.”

“You’ve been around the block a few times. You know all about us , don’t you?”

Delilah turned her attention from the TV and threw down the remote. “If you’re talking about Shaedes, sure, I know about them.”

I hated feeling vulnerable. And this moment proved no less unsettling. I had once been strong, confident, and self-assured. Now I was weak, self-conscious, and unsure. I had no sense of identity. A creature without race or allegiance. Even more of a nothing than I was by my very nature.

“Delilah,” I ventured, “how do you kill a Shaede? Is it with a magic blade?”

Her head jerked in the avian fashion that made her look so wild. Pity poured off her like rotten honey, and it made me sick. I didn’t want pity. I wanted answers.

“There are stranger and stronger bonds than the one you have with Tyler,” Delilah said. “A bond with one of your own is what gives you power over life and death.”

Fear congealed into a sour lump in the pit of my stomach. I could barely comprehend the words as she spoke them. Here I was, nearly one hundred years since my making, and tiny, strange Delilah was laying out who I was more plainly than Azriel or Xander ever had.

“A parent and child, husband and wife, maker and made: These are all the strongest of bonds, and the only thing that will lend you dominion over one of your own. It’s not that strange. These bonds are strong no matter your creed.”

“No matter the time of day?” I ventured.

“Anyplace, anytime, anywhere,” she said.

Xander. That son of a bitch. He’d known all about me; he hadn’t stumbled across me. My skills weren’t impressive or unique. I held power over someone he wanted dead, and I was the only one who could deliver the blow. No magic blade would do the job, no weapon designed specifically to carry out our executions. I was the weapon. Me and me alone.

“Azriel,” I whispered in disbelief. “He’s alive.”

“Who’s that?” Delilah asked.

“My maker. I can kill him after sundown. Even in his shadow form. No one else. Is that right?”

“Yep,” she said. “No one else. Well, that’s not exactly true,” she said, tapping a finger on her bottom lip. “His father, mother, or maker could kill him as well. A wife, if he’d been sworn to one. It’s a real tangled web when you get right down to it. Like a family tree of death.” She giggled, which put her weirdness factor through the roof, and then she turned up the volume on the TV.

“And the Lyhtan?” I spoke over the noise. “Raif said we are equals in the gray hours. Can we kill one another then?”

“As far as I know,” Delilah said after some consideration.

I slumped down on my bed, dead tired and emotionally spent. I’d let Xander play me like a fiddle, all because the words sounded pretty coming out of his mouth. I’d never thought of him as anything more than a man. But he was, and had always been, the king, and I was simply his pawn. Not a subject, not even a woman. Just something to use. I could be discarded as easily as I’d been picked up.

The sour feeling of betrayal in my stomach bubbled up and lodged near my sternum. Without thinking, I let out a primal scream. It felt good to vent the rage trapped in my chest. I ached a little less by releasing that scream. Delilah didn’t even flinch. She watched her shows as if I weren’t there, oblivious to my display of temper.

I jumped from the bed like it was on fire and tucked a dagger into my belt. Swinging a black jacket over my shoulders, I stalked toward the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” Delilah asked, saccharin sweet.

“Out.” I didn’t have the patience for more than the one word.

“I’m supposed to go with you when you go out,” she called after me.

I paused at the counter and stared at the bottle of anti-Lyhtan goo, wondering if I should stuff it in my pocket. I didn’t. “No. I don’t need you tagging along right now. Stay here, Delilah,” I said. “I’ll be back in a while.”

“Tyler’s not going to be happy,” she said.

I stalked to the lift and shut the gate in front of me. “Do I look like I give a flying fuck?” I asked.

“I don’t know how you look,” I heard her say as the lift began its descent. “But you sure don’t sound like you do.”

I stared from the street toward the iron gate of Xander’s place. It looked less menacing in the light of day. The house sat deep in Capitol Hill, which was a better place than Belltown to remain obscure. The area reminded me of the Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco. Grunge met grandeur, and the seedy, dirty, and half-crazy mingled with the haughty, spiffy, and wealthy every day. Of course, wasn’t that the case almost everywhere? Old cities were the perfect melting pots. Ever expanding, always making room, modern architecture never steamrolling over classic elegance. Flashy condos felt right at home next to early-1900s Victorians. A twelve-million-dollar mansion could sit beside a rundown motel and it didn’t bother anyone. Well, maybe except for real estate agents. But social variety made it easy to hide, and I had no doubt Xander had picked the area for its eccentricity.