Killing Rites (The Black Sun's Daughter #4)

Killing Rites (The Black Sun's Daughter #4) Page 43

They tried to stop me with the raw press of bodies, the riders using the flesh they’d stolen to limit my movement. I danced through the assault, untouchable, like I was walking between raindrops, and my threefold will reached out to devastate my enemies. I could see our power swirling around me like a white aurora, shifting with Chapin’s attention, striking with my rider’s strength. I felt their cries of horror and despair. I watched the lolling, evil flesh of their filthy tongues boil away into smoke. The black eyes faded to blue and brown and white. And with every one, I felt the old warrior bare his teeth in triumph.

Dolores’s sister, Soledad, appeared amid e crowd, her mouth a square gape of rage. The red steel axe swung toward me and the old man in my arms. Freeing her took no more than a breath. She and Dolores had almost beaten me in the hotel, days or weeks or years before, and now breaking her bonds was just one note in a symphony. It was the grace and knowledge of a lifetime translated into a few moments of transcendence. Our dance was the final product of Father Chapin’s life lit from within until, together, we glowed brighter than the sun, violence without the violence. I never hit anyone, never felt the bones give way under my foot or fist, only reached out with our combined will where Chapin showed us, and they fell before us like mown grass.

And then it was over. I stood in the winter night, my enemies sent broken back to Hell. The ground was littered with the confused, stumbling people from whom the unclean spirits had fled. The sky was a mosaic of crows and floating embers and stars.

The three of us looked around, suffused with the combined sense of profound satisfaction and desolating regret.

The work of a lifetime, now finished.

I fell back into the world like I was waking from a dream. There were voices all around me, crying and shouting. Someone to my right was retching violently, and the sanctuary was in flames, the heat radiating out into the darkness. Fire spat out from a half dozen shattered windows, and men still coated with nauseating greenish slime were throwing handfuls of snow into the flames. As if that could stop it.

Ex touched my shoulder, and I turned. There was blood at the corner of his mouth and soot streaked his face and hair. He was grinning.

“Are you okay?” he shouted.

“I think so,” I said. “Where is everyone? Are they okay?”

“I don’t know. Chogyi Jake’s over there. The others went toward the back like you told them. I think they made it out, but I’m not sure. I’ll go check for stragglers.”

“Don’t go alone,” I said. “We cleaned these out, but there may be more Akaname out there. I may have missed some.”

The fire lit half his face in the warmth of red and gold, and the moon shone white-blue on the other. He shook his head.

“You didn’t,” he said. Before I could say anything else, he leaned in, kissed me on the lips, and then turned and marched off into the night. The fatigue was sudden and absolute. My arms ached. My legs burned from the muscles out. Slowly, gently, I put Father Chapin down in the snow. His eyes opened, tiny glittering slits between the lids.

“Not bad for an old, gutshot guy,” I said, and his lips widened a millimeter.

He opened his mouth, trying to speak, but I could no more hear him than I could turn dim the moonlight. I shifted forward on my knees, leaning into him until his breath warmed my earlobe.

“I am sorry, Miss Jayné,” he whispered, “that I could not save you.”

It was the last thing he said.

Chapin’s funeral filled the cathedral in Santa Fe. Men and women, white haired and weak with age to babies still in strollers. It seemed like a lot of people knew one another. On the way in, there had been lots of quiet conversations and long-held hand clasping. I sat in the back in a pew beside three old men who pointedly didn’t look at me and Chogyi Jake. Every now and then, I caught sight of the back of Ex’s head far ahead of us. Near the altar. Miguel sat to his left, Carsey to his right. Carsey was getting a little bald spot. I hadn’t noticed that before.

At the pulpit, the archbishop said the Mass. I followed along as best I could. It had been a long time since I’d gone to church, and when I had, it had all been in English. Here, it was all Requiem aeternam dona eis, Dominae. On the one hand, it seemed like it didn’t have anything to do with Chapin as a man. On the other hand, it was what he’d dedicated his life to. What he’d died for.

The requiem began, the notes of the organ rising toward heaven. I felt like an impostor. I folded my hands in my lap and waited. Somewhere nearby, a man was sobbing uncontrollably. I didn’t know who. When the time came to go forward for communion, the three men shuffled past me with sour expressions on their faces. The urge to go up to the front and take the body and the blood tugged at me, but I couldn’t. I imagined Ex trying to retake his vows, unable to say the words because he couldn’t mean them. I was there. I got it.

When the recessional finally came, Chogyi Jake and I stood out on the steps. The sun was warm, even in the winter air. The snow had melted off everywhere except the deepest shadows where it still lurked, dark and light at the same time. The other attendees streamed out past us, heading left toward the parking lots or the plaza. Ex appeared at my side. In the three days since he’d kissed me as the sanctuary burned, he hadn’t touched me, and he didn’t touch me now.

“I’m going to need a few minutes,” he said.

Looking back through the doors into the beautiful darkness of the cathedral, I could see Alexander, Carsey, and Miguel talking together. Tamblen sat in a pew beside them, his head still bowed in prayer. They were all that remained of Ex’s previous family. Alexander looked up, his gaze meeting mine. He lifted a hand, and I waved back.

“As long as you want,” I said. “There’s no rush.”

He walked back in with his shoulders stiff. The gouges on his back hadn’t healed yet. My bruised rib still ached sometimes when I breathed in too deeply. My feet hurt a lot, but they’d pretty much stopped bleeding. From all I’d heard, rebuilding the sanctuary was dicey, and there were still a couple of dozen Chapin’s group had “saved” in the last few years who hadn’t been part of the attack. I guessed tracking down the remaining filth-lickers trumped fixing the architecture, but it wasn’t my call to make.

I watched the cars go by, one after another, going about the business of the world. Most of the people on the street didn’t know or care what had happened in San Esteban. I envied them that.

“How are you feeling?” Chogyi Jake asked.

“Tired,” I said. “Weirdly lonesome. Undercaffeinated.”

“Lonesome?”

“Yeah. Can’t explain that,” I said. “But I do.”

“Do you miss Aubrey?”

“Sure,” I said. “Are he and Kim … Are they happy, do you think?”

“Yes. They’re happy. And they’re sad. Confused, grateful, hurt, angry. They’re all those things, and will be, I think, for a while before they find a place of relative calm.”

“Do you think they’ll make it?”

“I don’t know.”

“What about you?” I asked. “Are you still angry that I ditched you in Chicago?”

I smiled when I said it. I wanted it to be a joke.

“Yes,” he said gently. “I am. But the anger comes from being hurt. When the one fades, the other will.”

“I know it doesn’t help, but I’m really sorry.”

“No,” he said. “That helps.”

I looked back. Ex and Miguel were walking away from us. Miguel had an arm over Ex’s shoulder, like they were brothers or lovers. Intimates. I knew how I would have felt if Chogyi Jake or Ex or even Aubrey had given me the runaround for weeks. Months. I’d have been a lot less Zen about it.

“Forgive me?” I said.

“Yes,” Chogyi Jake said.

Four men came out of the cathedral. Two I didn’t recognize, one was the archbishop, and the last was Tamblen. He nodded at me as they passed. A truck drove by playing music loud enough to shake the air. Charming.

“Jayné!”

Dolores ran up, throwing her arms around me and grinning. She looked so bright and delighted, I had to smile back. Funeral black couldn’t keep her down. The marks of what she’d been through were invisible. She’d lost her body twice now to beings of terrible power. No matter how much she looked like a child, no matter how bright her eyes were, she and I both knew that her life had been touched by fire. There would always be a scar.

And we both knew it was true for me too.

“Hey, kid,” I said. “You’re looking better.”

“I get to go back to school after Christmas,” she said, bouncing on her toes. I wondered if I’d ever been that happy at the idea of going to class. Probably, but I didn’t remember it. “Where’s Ozzie?”

“Back at the ranch,” I said. “Holding things down. How’s Soledad doing?”

Dolores wrinkled her nose.

“She’s a little fragile,” she said. Her inflection was so adult, I was sure she’d been hearing her mother and grandmother saying it.

“Well, be a little patient with her. She had a hard time.”

“I hd a hard time too,” she said, frowning.

“We all did.”

The new voice was sharp as a cracking stick.

“Dolores, come here.”

The three women stood at the curb below us. The oldest one stared up at me with something that bordered on hatred. The youngest—

Soledad—wouldn’t look at me. Dolores hesitated for half a breath, then gave me a fast hug.

“I love you,” she said, then turned and bounded down to her family. Her grandmother’s eyes fixed on me as she crossed herself and spat over her shoulder. Her grip on the little girl’s arm was steely as they walked away.

“Well, that seemed uncalled-for,” Chogyi Jake said.

“Yeah, well,” I said. “I didn’t really keep my situation a secret from Dolores, and they’ve got a thing about people with riders living in them. Got to say it’s honestly come by.”