Page 3 of My Kind of Sin
“It’s about a case I—” He cut off suddenly as the waiter returned with our coffees, and even after the waiter left, he hesitated. Instead of getting straight to the point as he usually would, Lagamal waited until he was certain we were entirely alone before he explained why I was here. With another look over his shoulder, he leaned forward with his forearms on the table, and I found myself mirroring his pose, our heads close. To anyone else, it might look intimate.
The look on his face left me unsettled. We’d both seen our share of shit through the millennia, and for something to rattle the dark god, it was unprecedented. “Spit it out already, you’re creeping me out,” I said, goosebumps scattering up my arms in dread.
His voice barely above a whisper, he began. “I can’t discuss the specifics about the cases I’m working on, but I need your help figuringsomething out. I’ve recently noticed an unsettling trend. We’ve been… overrun with cases over the last month.”
I frowned. “So? I’m sure the crime rate goes up and down. Maybe Mars is in retrograde?”
He shook his head sharply, barely restraining an eyeroll. “Even if I believed in astrology, which I don’t, it’s more than that. There are no patterns to the suspects. They’re young and old, all genders and designations, rich and poor, all cultures. No commonalities to the crimes either. Armed robbery, vandalism, assault… murder. And each one of them claims they’re innocent.”
I snorted. “Sounds like every criminal ever to me.”
“Normally I would agree with you, but the thing is, they all swear they have no memory of doing it, but the evidence is rock solid. We have them on camera, their fingerprints all over the scene. In one case, the guy was still covered in the victim’s blood, and he had stolen goods in his pocket. Under normal circumstances, these cases would be open and shut, but… they’re allgoodpeople. I’ve judged countless souls throughout my life, and the scales aren’t tipped against them. They simply aren’t the type to commit these violent crimes. It just doesn’t sit right with me. And now I’ve got the mayor’s office breathing down my neck to get this shit figured out. It’s a stain on Valleywood’s reputation that our darling mayor Loki doesn’t need,” he said, not holding back the eyeroll this time. “I liked him better before he lost his power. He’s gotten so grouchy.”
Leaning back in my seat, I rasped a hand over my beard. “So what are you thinking, drugs?”
He huffed out a long sigh. “I don’t know. Maybe? Some sort of toxic gas leak? Mass mind control?”
I sputtered a laugh, shaking my head. “Careful, Mr. District Attorney. You’re starting to sound like a defense lawyer.”
“Whatever, Rue,” he said, but his lips twitched with a ghost of a smile, and I applauded myself for the win. He sobered, eyes carefully guarded. “Has Danu had anything to say about it?”
I shrugged as casually as I could manage. “You know Danu, stoic as always.” In truth, I hadn’t heard from my patron in too long, not on this topic nor any other. I’d been increasingly concerned about her ongoing silence. The well of magic inside myself, her gift to me, was completely placid, not a single ripple from her to offer an opinion one way or another.
We ordered some breakfast and caught up on each other’s lives a little, but the shadow never left his gaze. Whatever was going on, it had clearly fallen outside his neat-and-tidy world of black and white. I knew I was probably going to regret it, but I already knew I was going to help him.
After breakfast, we stood outside on the sidewalk, watching the city come alive around us. I sighed. “All right. Let me do some digging around, see what I can come up with.”
He offered me a hand and shook it firmly. “Thank you, Rue. Truly.”
“Now, now, don’t get all sappy on me. Next thing you know, you’ll be giving out hugs.” Hell would sooner freeze over. “I’ll be in touch.”
Lagamal was still standing there, haunted, when I rounded the corner.
Chapter 2
Ulysses
Itiedmyshoesquickly and threw on a light jacket. I was so going to be late. Ihatedbeing late. Everybody would turn in their seats and stare at me with their judgy sneers. Even if they didn’t say it out loud, it would be written all over their faces. And if there was one thing I knew as a sin-eater, it was the secret toxic inner voices inside people’s heads. Nobody was exempt, not even theniceones.Especiallythem. It was so unhealthy to bottle all that up. The ones who said exactly what they thought, though, their souls were surprisingly clean.
I nearly tripped over a stack of books on the way out the door and muttered a curse. Now, contrary to appearances, I was not a slob. My apartment was clean, spotless even, but it wasn’t even a little tidy. The vibes I was going for were chaos chic. Books were piled on every available surface, shelves full of trinkets that had been given to me by grieving families as payment for a purging, and not a single bare patch of wall to be seen between the various artwork hung with no rhymeor reason, reminders of all the countries I’d lived (and inevitably fled from shortly after).
I made a silent promise to clean up later—a blatant lie I’d been telling myself for the past 250 years. I mean, I wasn’t immune to sinning myself. I was practically made of the stuff, so it was only natural that it rubbed off on me.
Which was exactly why I was retiring. Today. No more sin-eating as of right now. I was going clean, cold turkey.
I wasn’t entirely sure what kind of consequences to expect. Like, would I become mortal if I stopped consuming the sins of others? Would I care if I did? It made sense. I’d lived more than my share of years, so it would only be fair if there was an end in sight, right? And if I died, where would my own soul end up once I crossed over? Not that there was much left of my soul at this point. It had been fraying over the centuries, worn thin in places, overwhelmed by time and darkness.
I decided retirement was something to be celebrated. I had a lot of plans for my golden years. Bingo, walks in the park, matinee movies. I wasn’t sure what shuffleboard was, but I’d heard people say it was all the rage at the retirement home. Dinner at 4pm? Sign me up! I was really looking forward to that senior discount.
I gnawed on the inside of my cheek as I hustled down the sidewalk in the direction of the Valleywood Community Altar: non-denominational, for all your sacrificial needs. No sacrifices would be made today, as far as I knew. It was just where the ex-supernatural support group met every week. Which I would be… as of right now.Ex-supernatural. With a deep breath, I allowed myself a tiny smile. I was going to rock the hell out of this mortality gig. I would just have to learn to ignore the tingling in my fingertips as I walked through a crowd, itching to reach out and touch those with the most delicious sins. The rich chocolate of greed, the bitter bite of wrath, the sweet effervescenceof lust, like champagne across my tongue… My mouth watered at the thought.
Whether it was irony or karma, that was the exact second my phone rang in my pocket. I missed a step and nearly bumped into a streetlight. That little ember of hope for a sin-free future was snuffed out with that chirpy trill, because nobody called me just to chat. I had no friends who checked to see what I was doing this weekend or sent me pictures of their cat. No, it was always business.
Dread weighing me down, I paused right there on the sidewalk, the traffic splitting around me like a stream around a stone as I pulled out my phone. “Hello?” And even though I’d been retired for less than a day, I suddenly found myself back at work.
The air within the small home was stifling, death hovering thick and oppressive, clinging to me like a shroud. I stepped inside with no outward sign of the emotional hurricane going on inside me, and as the door closed with a resounding click, I forced my expression into one of polite condolence. “I’m sorry for your loss,” I told the elderly woman before me.
She nodded her thanks, swallowing thickly but saying nothing. Her eyes were sunken and red-rimmed against her soft papery skin, creased with a long life lived, silver hair an untidy halo around where her bun had come loose. “Thank you for coming,” she finally managed to say, out of habit as a host welcoming someone into her home, though I knew better than to feel welcome.
