Page 111 of Terror at the Gates

I know this hurts. I’m sorry.

His most recent message had come sometime this morning.

Funeral is tomorrow at 10 a.m.

The invite deadened my lust instantly, and a needlelike numbness consumed me.

A funeral.

I’d known this was coming, but I hadn’t let myself think about it. They were going to put her in the ground. That wasn’t exactly shocking. Everyone in Eden was buried or entombed in great mausoleums except criminals, who they burned as a punishment so that their souls could not return to their bodies upon the second coming.

I had never believed in the second coming. I’d had too many questions about how it worked. How did the dead, buried deep, rise from their graves? Were their bodies miraculously restored? Why did God delay such a grand promise just to test the loyalty of the people He claimed to love so deeply?

It didn’t make sense to me, but it was possible Esther believed it, and if that was the case, I wanted her to have the option of returning to her body, even if I loathed the thought of seeing her buried in the cold ground.

I guessed I should just be glad I had a place to go when I wanted to visit her.

I didn’t acknowledge Gabriel’s messages. I didn’t know what to say to him. Despite finding thatdemoniccreature in their apartment, I still blamed him for Esther’s death. If he’d been there…well, I didn’t really know what might have happened, and it wasn’t fair to say she might have lived when there was a real possibility that I could have lost both of them.

I just wasn’t ready.

I hated myself for it, but that was the truth, and I’d rather wait until I knew I could face him so I didn’t ruin what I had left.

I set my phone aside and brushed away a few stray tears on my cheeks before getting dressed for the evening and packing my backpack. I slipped Cherub’s scarf over my head and looked down at her.

“Ready?” I asked.

She didn’t answer or look at me, too busy licking her paw.

“Hey,” I said, snapping my fingers near her head. That got her attention, and she swatted at me like I was playing. I picked her up, staring into her copper eyes. “If you’re going to be my sidekick, I need you to be alert, got it?”

She meowed as if accepting my instruction. I settled her in the sling and then slipped on my jacket and the backpack.

“Let’s go steal some drugs,” I said as I headed out the door.

I didn’t necessarily think this counted as stealing. Technically, the drugs I was taking from Zahariev had belonged to my father, so they were mine, but I wasn’t going to argue the semantics until I had to.

I still wondered what he planned to do with the shipment. I knew for a fact Zahariev wasn’t involved in the drug trade, and he forbade any of his men from making or distributing substances. If they were caught, they were immediately dismissed. I wondered what Zahariev would do if—when—he found out what I was doing. I was used to his disappointment so that didn’t scare me, but I did wonder if I was pushing his limits.

I guessed I’d find out how big a mistake I was making soon.

I headed east, toward the port of Nineveh, which took up most of the coast, with only a small portion dedicated to a beach that was often trashed. Ironically, it was a hangout for users and often dangerous, littered with spent needles. Zahariev had made attempts to clean it up, but the cycle began anew. I thought it was one reason he detested drugs so much and likely why he’d stolen the shipment from my father, to prevent it from filtering into his city.

The port technically belonged to the church, but the families oversaw the sale and distribution of the goods received there, which were things like vehicles, cranes, and other industrial machinery, all produced by penal colonies on the Kurari Sea Islands.

Most of the port was enclosed by a tall chain-link fence, which I would normally climb, but it was topped with barbed wire, so I was going to have to use one of the actual entrances. The challenge was that there were many, since various goods belonged to different corporations, and I didn’t exactly know which section belonged to Zahariev.

It was just more information I was going to have to pull out of the poor soul who stood guard tonight, though interacting with the security wasn’t ideal. The port wasn’t actually guarded by Zahariev’s men. It was guarded by enforcers, which meant I wasn’t breaking Zahariev’s rules, I was breaking the church’s rules.

It wouldn’t be the first time, but I wondered when Zahariev would stop saving me from the consequences of my actions.

I headed across Procession Street to Gomorrah and turned down Fourth Street. It was mostly dark, save for a bluish glow from the port ahead. The ground sloped downward steadily and then wove through a stretch of grassy field. I was glad there was no traffic, though I suspected at this time of night, it would be rather desolate until early morning when shipments came in and moved out.

I came around the final curve. Ahead, there was a small guardhouse with darkened windows and a red-and-white reflective beam barring the entrance. As I approached, I spotted several cameras aimed in every direction, including at me, so I wasn’t surprised when a man emerged from the guardhouse.

He was wearing dark clothes and a jacket, which was irritating, because I couldn’t see what sort of weapons he carried. His hat spelled out SECURITY, with theTstylized to look like a cross. He was what I expected—young, fit, round-faced.

“Can I help you?” he asked in a firm tone.

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