Page 45 of King Among the Dead

“Kay,” she said, understanding.

He turned his head a fraction, so he could meet her gaze, the barest scrap of a smile touching his mouth. “I took one look at her, and she looked back, and her eyes were screamingget me out of here. Castor wasn’t there. I killed Kay’s husband, and brought her with me, and I’ve been trying to kill the bastard himself every day since.”

She swallowed all the things she wanted to ask, because he really didn’t have to tell her, and he meant these discussions about the Rift to be a lesson, she knew. When he got lost in his own memories and emotions, she knew he hadn’t wanted to. “What happened to the conduit?”

“That one? I don’t know. The one I saw the other night is different.”

“You said his name was Daniel.”

“So he said. And I don’t think either of us need to be told which angel he’s channeling.”

“Gabriel.” She sat back hard, shoulders sagging beneath the weight of the information he’d just shared. “I don’t get it.”

“Which part?” he asked with a snort.

“I understand why the crime bosses are trying to control everyone. Money and power. I get that. But the angels…what isthatabout?”

He shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

FOURTEEN

Kay maintained her stony silence for almost a week. Beck kept Rose busy with study; she pored over books about the Rift, and modern history in the wake of it. Brushed up on crime families and the nature of contemporary politics. She watched the news like it was homework, and searched papers and online articles for conduit sightings in the past decade. She found some – but, like the Big Foot sightings of old, all were easily disproved. Or, at least, that was what reporters wanted readers to think.

The consensus across publication was that conduits, if they’d ever existed, were long gone, and really just terrorists rather than supernatural phenomenon.

“I want to show you something,” Beck said one morning while they were clearing the breakfast dishes, something like excitement in his gaze, and Kay let out a big, theatrical sigh.

They both turned to her.

“Something on your mind, Kay?” Beck asked politely.

She heaved another sigh. “You’re just dead set on dragging her into this, aren’t you?” She sounded resigned, and not especially angry.

“Actually, Rose inserted herself into it when she came to gut a man in the kitchen rather than seek shelter. No use crying over spilt milk, and all that.” He grinned against the rim of his teacup.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Listen, honey.” Kay turned to Rose, expression serious. “You can say ‘no.’ You know he’ll respect that, right? He’s fucked up, but he does have manners. If you don’t want to be involved in his crusade, you say so, don’t hold back.”

Rose thought of blood swirling in bathwater, and the way Beck had looked that night in the kitchen; the squeeze of his hand around hers on the knife handle.

“Your funeral,” Kay said, but attempted a grin. To Beck: “You gonna show her your playground?”

“That’s just where I was headed.”

Kay gestured to the table. “I’m not cleaning this mess up by myself. I’ve worked to the bone the last few weeks.”

“Of course.”

They washed up as usual, with Beck helping; he stowed the plates and glasses after Kay dried them. Then he rubbed his hands together in a rare, childish show of eagerness, canines flashing when he smiled. “Now. The basement.”

Rose grinned back, helpless in the face of his enthusiasm.

Kay rolled her eyes. “You two deserve one another.”

Beck ignored her, and went to the far wall, to the built-in cabinets to the right of the fireplace. A few crumbling old albums and books, a few sad silk plants resided there; Rose had scoped the titles while dusting, and found a few volumes on gardening practice that hadn’t been in favor since before the Rift. Beck reached for one now – for the small, Chinese crested dog bookend holding it in place, and tipped it forward.

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