Soul Stealer: Sin Eater Series Book 2

By C.D. Breadner

There was one being that could manifest itself from spirit to living deity simply by consuming human souls. And he’s back. Now the Sin Eater Voro will meet Evil head-on fighting on the side of “Good” for the first time ever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.D. Breadner
• Release date: Jul 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310634444

C.D. Breadner

C.D. Breadner is a self-published author. Her first novel (Sin Eater, 2013) was the beginning of The Sin Eater series and she looks to branch into other genres since there are many kinds of creative juices following through her. Recently she was christened a contributing author to The Freak Circle(www.freakcirclepress.com); a collective of amazing and supportive writers. She also has a second series on the go, following the lives of the Red Rebels MC. She lives in a cosy home in the woods with her wonderful husband and two German Shepherds.

Book preview

The walk down the hallway with a full basket of freshly washed clothing was a long one. The pretty college student held a laundry basket against one hip, the other hand clenching her Android tightly, with which she was responding to a text from her friend still living back home.

She was homesick, definitely. She’d left the family home mid-summer, got her apartment, settled in, and was a month into school. So far she’d made friends, liked her roommate, and was still trying to find a part-time job to supplement the costs of university. It felt busy, stifling, and freeing.

Her smartphone played a little tune, and she glanced down, steps slowing while she read. Goin to Jax w Glen. Msg u l8r.

She smiled at the little screen then tossed the phone on the pile of clean laundry, shifting the basket’s weight to both hands for the final yards. If only she were heading to the bar with friends instead of trying to make heads or tails of a physics textbook.

She put her hand on the doorknob of her apartment then jumped as something creaked in the hallway just behind her. She spun, wrist hitting the door knob painfully as her grip on the plastic rim of the basket tightened. She ignored the flare of dull pain as her eyes swept the corridor. Nothing was there. The only sound in the hall was a cross-section of her neighbors’ television habits, sounds drifting in to the hall much like the smell of everyone’s supper usually did.

She gave a light Ha! out of embarrassment and nervousness, even though no one was around to see her overreaction. She opened her apartment door, shoving it with her hip to get the laundry through first. As she lugged the load down the thin apartment hallway she heard the door click, and reminded herself to lock it once she set her clothes down. Her room was dark but she dropped the basket where she knew her bed was, and returned to the door, snapping over the dead bolt and shutting off the hallway light. She could almost hear her father: We don’t own stock in the electric company, you know.

After the slightest of hesitations, she put her eye to the peephole, but a fish-eyed empty hallway was the only thing out there. Nothing was stirring.

She turned her bedroom light on, grabbed the T-shirts off the top of the pile and moved to the closet to hang them up. As she was putting the first hanger on the bar, there was a thud against the door, like a single, heavy knock.

She frowned, frozen and listening to see if the knock would sound again. Once she was thoroughly acquainted with the sound of her blood pounding in her ears, she gave the same nervous laugh and walked over to her iPod dock to turn on some music.

The laundry stowed away, she returned to the hallway, lights off in her bedroom. As she passed the door, the hair on the back of her neck stood up. There was no cause for it. It made her stop mid-step as a chill raced up her bare arms. She ran her hands up and down them as she wondered if she’d left the patio door in living room open. As she was about to start moving again, that same, dull thud sounded against the door, right next to her.

She jumped, maybe even squeaked in alarm. She put her eye to the peephole, but it was blocked. Nothing but black.

She backed away from the door quietly, making her way in to the dimmed living room where only the light of the TV, sound off, showed her where her furniture was. The cordless phone was on the sofa, and she picked it up with one hand while throwing the lock on the patio door. She called the police by the 7-digit number, not really sure if someone playing a prank counted as an emergency.

The dispatcher sounded pleasant as he listened to her story, which ended lamely with, I’m sure it’s just a prank, but either way I think someone’s in the building that doesn’t live here.

She was promised that someone would be by to check it out, and she gave him her buzzer number so she’d know when the police arrived.

She hung up the phone, turned the volume up slightly on the TV and watched out the patio window as a guy on a bike rode by. Otherwise, the street was empty in the gold glow of the light standard.

The thud came again, making her jump. She got to her feet and from the entryway said loudly, The police are coming. If you have any brains at all you’ll get the hell out of here.

Thud.

She jumped higher this time. The noise had been louder, and she heard all the metal of the lock rattle with the impact.

I mean it, she said, not sounding at all threatening. The cops are coming. Get the hell out of here!

The sound of splintering wood was the last thing she heard before a swirling darkness knocked her to the floor.

Chapter One

Jasper McKay lay on his back, contemplating the ceiling of his hospital room. It had been a good day with no headaches. And he’d been going on to his one hundred and sixty-second day with no outside voices in his head.

Still free of Essum, still free of the nightmares that he couldn’t keep straight.

The one thing bothering him more as time went on was his worry for Iola Day. He should have been happy for the friendship she had offered him. Losing his mind and scaring the crap out of her from basic desire had been such a betrayal. The ache in his chest had nothing to do with his diagnosed psychosis. Guilt really hurt like a motherfucker when you were locked up and forbidden from talking to the person you’d caused such distress. He couldn’t even twelve-step his way out of this shame.

Thank Christ she hadn’t actually been hurt.

No court, no trial. He pleaded guilty to everything they pinned to him. He’d been honest in his defense: there was a demon telling him what to do, informing him he could be immortal if he just followed directions.

He could only imagine his public defense lawyer’s internal monologue when Jasper told the poor bastard he’d been eating people’s sins for them, and that it made him stronger. The guy had nodded like he heard that shit all the time. What he was probably thinking: insanity plea. Open and shut.

About a month after he’d been admitted he’d had his one and only visitor; Claudia Bauer. He’d been shocked and terrified to see her. After all, he’d beaten her and nearly raped her, all in an attempt to set a trap for some enemy of Essum’s.

Understandably she didn’t smile at him, hug him and proclaim that all was forgiven. She’d sat in a plastic chair at a round table in the common art room, visitor’s tag pinned to her jacket, looking pretty to be sure, but twitchy.

Mental hospitals are only meant to be calming for the patients, after all.

Jasper sat across from her, feeling like complete dog shit. He was impressed with her toughness as she got right to the point.

I can’t remember anything that happened. When I try, I get a migraine. Iola remembers a bit more, but not much. Vinnie remembers snippets but they don’t make sense. She leaned forward and he reflexively leaned back. She didn’t even notice. What happened? Why the hell were Iola and I anywhere near your apartment?

He told her his story. How he was meant to kill that big fucker, Damien whatever, and a man only he could see was training him how to take people’s sins, trap the evil on earth, then he’d be immortal and Iola would love him forever.

She’d blinked once, twice, then stood and left. He hadn’t seen her since.

If he had sleepless nights lately it was because he was honestly waiting for Essum to show up again. He knew the tread and walking patterns of every nurse and orderly. Whenever a staff member started in this ward and he heard an unfamiliar cadence of footsteps he couldn’t sleep for a few nights until he was certain that those steps belonged to someone who was supposed to be there.

Someone real.

It was corny as hell but the more time marched on the more the darkness was fading away from him. The terrible things he’d seen done, and the horrific acts he’d committed himself, started to feel like another life; a dark and twisted version of this reality.

Jasper also felt safe here. There was something incredibly restful about not having to face new people every day, put on a smile and pretend to be agreeable when you might actually be having a shitty day. No one expected you to be normal here. No one here was normal.

It was pure bliss.

As his eyelids were sliding shut and his warm and comfy bed was starting to feel like it was hugging him, ice-cold panic gripped his gut, making his gasp out loud and convulse, sitting up to curl around his stomach as though protecting it.

Cold. Dark. Wrong. He inexplicably began crying, trying to stay quiet. He hadn’t needed sedating in over two months.

The feeling was back. Not Essum this time. Bigger. Scarier.

Claudia Bauer was flicking through the mail she’d just collected from her mailbox before her shower, hair wrapped up in a towel and nothing else on. For September it was outrageously hot in the building, and the air conditioner made so much noise it gave her headaches. All she could do was close the blinds all day to stop the sun from adding to the sauna.

The flyers and unsolicited limited time offers made it to the garbage can in record time. One letter wasn’t post-dated; it had just been dropped in the mail slot after all the regular mail had come.

She opened it with a fingernail, turning the paper on its side to read the hand-written note. As it went on, she dropped all the other mail to the kitchen table.

Claudia, I have to tell you first how much I’ve enjoyed our time together. But I cannot see this going anywhere. I need someone to be there for me always, and I don’t think that person can be you. You are beautiful, strong, and everything I should want. I know you will find someone someday that will make you very happy. But it won’t be me.

She closed her eyes for a moment, not to keep a tear from dropping, but more so that the prickle in her nose didn’t start the tearing up process. It wasn’t signed, but she knew who it was from.

Megan Priestly was the floor manager at a downtown tattoo parlor. They’d met at an all-night diner. Megan had been out with some guy that was giving her a hard time and she was too drunk to drive herself home.

Claudia had recognized the need to be noticed and wanted immediately. It was like looking at herself in a mirror ten years ago. And not that far off: Megan was only 23, but they’d gotten along well after that meeting and had eventually become lovers.

Maybe Megan was second-guessing the lesbian decision. Maybe she didn’t like dating a cop after all. But she’d sure liked the uniform.

Claudia crumpled the letter in her fist, tossing it into the trash bin with the junk mail. She had to admit they weren’t in love, but anything was possible. And that’s what sucked the most.

She suddenly wanted to be clothed. She walked numbly to her bedroom and pulled on some flannel pajama shorts and a tank top. Next, the fridge and the Brita water jug. Claudia poured herself a tall cold one. It felt good as the chill spread outward from her throat.

She closed her eyes, leaning against the fridge. She had been kidding herself with Megan. At 23 Claudia hadn’t known what she wanted, either. How could it be any different for a 23-year-old today?

Thank God her neighbor was at work tonight. Claudia was not in the mood for any company, and if Iola were to walk in at that moment …

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter. The tears were there, but she was not crying. She fought it like the champ she was.

Her neighbor. The lovely, ethereal and gorgeous Iola Day. The voice of an angel, eyes the color of the flesh of a lime, the only person that could make Claudia’s heart ache this way.

Claudia was still in love with her best friend in the whole world. No amount of time passing had changed it. All the evidence that Iola was happily in love with a doctor didn’t make Claudia want her any less.

Good thing those two had taken to staying at Vinnie’s together when he had nights off. Every grunt and groan that came through the bedroom wall clear as a bell was like a knife in the heart.

Claudia straightened up, downing the rest of her water and making a decision. She didn’t like it, but she knew where she wanted to go.

Raphael knocked on the door with one knuckle, smiling at a novice as she passed in the hall. She smiled, ducked her head in a sign of respect and carried on her way, no part of her making a sound or giving any indication that she’d ever tread there.

There was a weird muffled sound from the room he waited in front of, and he knocked again, harder this time.

It fell silent again. He knocked louder, not so much asking as demanding, Voro, you there?

The sound came again, and just as he was about to knock a fourth time the door was yanked open and a flurry of white fabric flew past him. Then, remembering herself, the novice turned, ducked her head to him, avoided his gaze completely and ran off down the hall. It was the noisiest exit he’d ever seen a novice make.

He frowned after her then caught the door before it swung closed and let himself in. The latch caught behind him as he approached the bed, arms crossed over his chest.

Raphael knew his face was likely flaming bright red, but that was nothing new. Voro would see it and not give a fig.

Raphael – you didn’t bring me breakfast.

As Raphael looked down on his … ward? Friend? Charge? Guest? He felt his anger peak and then just melt. Angels only got mad for short, intense periods of time. And when he was dealing with Voro, he knew it was a completely wasted effort.

The man on the bed was tall, over six-two, with hair that curled to his shoulders and managed to stay out of his face. His eyes were the color of lilacs. His stubble was permanent. His lips were full, skin decidedly olive, and his expression: bemused. His clothes were nowhere to be seen.

We have an appointment in five minutes. In five minutes I have to convince Peter to let you stay here. And what have you been up to?

Useless question. Between the novice’s blush and the fact that Voro was sprawled on his bed completely naked it didn’t take much deductive reasoning to figure it out.

I know. I’m getting up.

The Sin Eater got to his feet, not at all embarrassed by his nudity, and picked up a pair of jeans from the floor. The T-shirt he collected from the lamp.

Raphael was shaking his head as Voro slipped his feet into flip-flops.

What? Voro asked, noticing the motion and shaking his hair back, not too terribly concerned.

When I met you your clothes cost more than most people’s cars. And now, we’re going before Peter to beg for you to stay and this is what you wear.

Voro shrugged his heavy shoulders. You introduced me to comfortable clothes. And no offense: Peter is not my saint.

Don’t call him that. I beg you.

Voro smiled, the severe features of his face instantly softening to look incredibly handsome. We’ll see.

The voice inside Raphael’s head groaned, but he knew better than to vocalize. Getting Voro worked up before going to see the superiors was a bad idea.

He motioned for Voro to follow him, muttering You could have at least put on underwear.

Makes it easier to moon someone, was the smart-ass answer.

As he opened the door a novice was just about to knock, her face expectant and excited. At the sight of Raphael she went from confused to surprised to embarrassed, and gave a polite nod before scurrying off in that unnerving, silent way.

Raphael turned to his friend, who was smiling back at him. He just shook his head. Why did I bring you here? You are a horrible influence.

Hey, all these angels were made anatomically correct, weren’t they? They were given all the sweet spots. What are they there for if they ain’t being used?

Raphael closed his eyes at the vulgarity of the response, but really shouldn’t have been shocked. Voro had been here … four months now? And he’d sullied as many novices as were being taken on for study. Sure they wouldn’t all become angels. But still …

Come on, he growled, shaking his head as Voro chuckled behind him.

Iola rolled over in the sheets, pressing her face into the other pillow and breathing deep, catching the scent of Vinnie’s shampoo as she did. It made her smile without opening her eyes. She’d spent the night at his place and he’d left for work hours ago. Her body was thoroughly blissed out and she hated to get up for any reason and break the spell.

She cracked one eyelid open, smiling at the note he’d left on the bedside table. A slip of paper folded in half and tented so she could read it from where she was. Love you. Will crave you all day. Vinnie. He’d opened the black-out blinds when he left, and she could see that it was a gray, cloudy, likely stuffy and humid day outside. Thank God this building had air conditioning.

Iola flopped over on to her back, stretching and yawning herself into a more conscious state. It was apparently 11am. Even for her, working the night shift like she usually did, this was sleeping in.

Rubbing her eyes she crossed the room into Vinnie’s gorgeous if not sparse en suite bathroom. The lights were golden and not harsh but she groaned anyway. She looked like herself but rumpled; pillow creases on her cheeks, eyes a bit puffy from lack of sleep. But that was the way of it when he worked days and she worked at night. She came here at five in the morning to get her fix of lovin’ before he went to work.

Iola turned the shower on, letting the water warm a bit. The tile floor was cold because of the air conditioning and it brought out goose pimples on her skin. She used the toilet then climbed in under that hot spray, arching her back under the showerhead and running her fingers through her hair to wet it. She used his shampoo usually, loving the smell of it around her all day as a reminder.

She was a freak in some ways.

After her shower she made herself a breakfast of toast in Vinnie’s Scandinavian-designed and rarely-used kitchen. He’d started coffee for her, but by this point the heating plate had turned off and it was stone cold.

This morning was the first time he’d broached the subject of moving in together. As she glanced around his sleek and masculine-styled furniture choices, she had the same feeling of apprehension she’d had initially. She loved her cramped and stuffy apartment, her worn and mismatched furniture; she loved it all because it was hers and she’d bought it and put it there and made it all fit.

And she loved Vinnie. Ferociously, comfortably, like a best friend and as a lover. She fancied spending every waking moment with him, even if it was limited because of the job he had. So why did the thought of moving in here make her palms sweat?

Big decisions. Big change. She wasn’t good with either one of those concepts.

Plus there was Claudia, her best friend across the hall. That apartment was what had made them friends. If she moved, would she still see Claudia? People always say they’ll keep in touch but they rarely do. And there was one more incident that bonded them together. Iola couldn’t let her mind go there, not at this moment at least. It was a faded and fuzzy memory of an event where she was sure she had been in grave danger, but really didn’t remember anything else. And time was making her memory grainier still.

Thoughts of Claudia still made her feel guilty for no good reason. Her friend thought she was in love with her. That distinction made Iola uncomfortable. Iola knew Claudia desired her, loved her, and was as faithful and loyal a friend as anyone could want. Iola just didn’t feel that way about her. Sure, she’d had moments of wondering what it would be like to be with Claudia, and had even kissed her once. That was before Vinnie. And now, all around, it was awkward. It seemed like Claudia and Vinnie got along very well. Maybe it was just Iola’s issue, not theirs.

Probably; she excelled at making issues out of everything.

It was always biting. The jaw tingled with the need to sink its teeth into meat and tear at it. Chew it. Swallow from necessity then repeat.

Blood would fill his mouth, tangy and coppery, wonderfully warm. Fluid and real; the opposite of what he was at that moment.

The last time he’d held solid form was ages ago, yet he could remember the carnal thrill of taking something smooth and unmarred and ruining it with his own teeth. Souls went down smoother, sure, but that was just energy for the metaphysical batteries. Until he was stable he only had dark dreams and memories of far-away places.

These were moist, green, tropical and lush locations where they sacrificed young women with fair hair and skin to keep him from stealing the souls of the entire community. Virgins volunteered for the honour of dying for the greater good. Rumor was his bite brought orgasmic pleasure at the moment of death.

Not true in the least. It hurt. He felt their pain as he tore into that tender skin, hardly touched by sun. They screamed and it only made him more ravenous. He tore with clenched teeth and the straining of his own neck muscles. The blood would spurt and spray all over their thin white shifts, running hot down his neck and chest. His face was completely wet with it, and the victim would be gasping, eyes pleading for death. When they were mad with the need to pass he would let his mind wander in to theirs, finding that spark inside that drove the whole mechanism of their human bodies. He tore it out by the root, and that’s when death occurred.

The dark-skinned tribes of small jungle islands used to give gold and chocolate. In return he’d take their killers and rapists in their sleep. It was punishment for evil-doers, and they kept paying him for it until he would become tired of the climate and move on. In the North they didn’t do sacrifices. So instead he was the Arctic boogeyman; a tale to caution people on how dangerous it was to wander away alone in the coldest of the cold and dark months. He couldn’t be picky on what he ate there: he took anything he found for months then headed for the equator to thaw his hungering body.

But lately every time he tried to solidify, starting with a few souls taken here and there, growing his power slowly but surely, he lost the will to keep going. He would scatter again to the winds of time, blown away to linger and wait for the urge to hit him again. Months and months of existing off of souls was no way to thrive. It was a difficult hill to crest; he needed blood. He wanted the meat.

Maybe this time. If he held the memory of that food as a goal for going through with all the work of becoming fixed in the world, maybe he could see it through this time.

That first soul had been lovely. So pure, sweet. Completely untainted. How delicious the young ones were … Their flesh was even better.

Yes, the souls were necessary; they were the vegetables that kept him healthy and going. But next to that he had to have the living, breathing, bleeding and still wriggling meat to make it all worthwhile. He only lived once every few millennia. He had to make it worth the effort.

Chapter Two

Constable Trevor Vance stepped over the threshold, hearing the sounds of a camera in the other room. The apartment was stuffy, like all the windows had been closed for days. The air was actually thick enough to have its own R-rating.

It was terribly disconcerting, especially as he entered the living room.

His nerves were all clamoring to get away from that room. It took all his resolve to stay, even though it was his job to stay.

The girl was on the floor, lying across the threshold of the kitchen’s linoleum floor, halfway into the living room on the beige sculpted carpet. She was dressed for lounging, with thin cotton pajama bottoms and a spaghetti-strap tank top.

She looked like she’d just fallen casually to her side, fainted. But her eyes were wide and wild, staring up at the ceiling.

She was dead with no visible trauma. No bruises. Not even stiff yet because the police had been responding to a mischief call she herself had phoned in. They had found her very quickly.

No one else had been in the apartment. The only sign that anything had gone down was the splintered apartment door.

Who turned the lights on? Vance asked another uniform in the living room.

I did, he replied, eyes on the figure on the floor. I tripped over her. Couldn’t see anything. The switch next to the front door didn’t work. I had to turn the one on in here. He indicated the light plate on the wall in the living room.

And no one else was here.

Nope. The TV was on, volume was pretty low.

Looks like she was ready for bed.

Or studying. The uniform pointed to a text book open on the coffee table.

Vance just nodded, watching the coroner’s assistants load the body in to the body bag. They’d put bags over her hands, but he was pretty sure there wouldn’t be anything under her nails. There was nothing here but a very young, very dead girl.

Found some ID, another uniform said from the kitchen. Looks like she just started university. Her class list is here, along with a brand spanking-new student ID card.

The laminated card travelled from the uniform’s gloved hand to his. Melody Sinclair. 18 years old, almost 19. Pretty smile.

And so young.

Vance shook his head and gave the card back. This is a pickler, isn’t it?

The other constable put the card back where he found it. No one heard or saw anything until we were trying to get in the building.

Door was left open, right?

He nodded. Wide open. No footprint on the paint indicating it was kicked, but it had to be.

Vance took a step closer, letting his voice drop to a conspirer’s level. Does this place feel … wrong to you?

The guy – Scott was his last name – frowned. How do you mean?

When you first got here, was it … hard for you to walk in?

Scott swallowed hard, and there was a slight flicker of understanding. Like … a bad intuition. Yeah. Totally.

I can still feel it. Vance turned as the body bag was zipped up. Like something just walked over my grave. I gotta get the hell out of here.

Voro could feel Raphael’s trepidation beside him. The guy was genuinely freaking out with worry that Voro might do something unthinkable in front of Saint Peter.

The dude behind the desk in front of them was shuffling papers, apologizing for not being ready for their meeting. He quickly signed something, handed it to the male novice behind his left shoulder and then greeted them both with a smile, folding his hands in front of him, ready to deal out a decision.

Voro was used to having no idea where he would end up. And this time was no different, just more existential. His mortal form was dead and decaying on the other side, and the forces that had forged it were likely not on his side anymore. Due to an odd twist of fate having everything to do with self-sacrifice, here he was on the sunny side of the clouds, chilling his heels while they decided what to do with him.

It had been five months now. It was becoming apparent that they had no idea what to do with him.

Voro, the older man said, smiling nicely enough. How are you finding our accommodations? Still satisfactory?

Voro couldn’t lie to this guy. Found that out the first day. Peter really did know all; he just couldn’t do anything about it all. And Voro wasn’t about to drop this guy just for being friendly. Peter could kick ass better than most pro wrestlers.

Things are quite to my liking, sir.

Peter gave a slight shake of the head. Nine novices in one week.

Shit. This again.

We know that free will is always in question, but the spirits of our novices are fragile. After lying with you once one poor girl tried to kill herself for the debauchery she’d committed.

Beginner’s mistake. They couldn’t die.

Sir, with all due respect, I don’t want to come in your house and just start wrecking the place. They come to me.

Peter smiled. Free will.

Voro was confused. Exactly.

I’m talking about yours. You can turn them away, you know.

Voro stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Peter, can I ask you a question?

Please don’t, Raphael said softly beside him.

Voro ignored him. Have you ever fucked anything?

The question hung in the room like the passing of gas. No one moved, but at least Peter wasn’t enraged or embarrassed. He just took off his glasses and set them on his ink blotter. What the hell are you talking about?

That’s the closest anyone around here would come to cussing on this side. Voro was instantly impressed.

I’m just saying, if you’ve never had sex, how can you tell me that I could always just say no? He made it sound like the preposterous suggestion that it truly was.

Some good and decent part of you should take a moment, look upon their youth and innocence, and realize that for them the physical act is love. And for you … it’s an itch.

Good and decent part of me? You’ve seen my birth certificate, right?

Peter smiled indulgently. "Good and decent would be the traits that saved the life and honour of a frustro."

At the word Voro had to look down at his feet, bare in their flip-flops, and realized that maybe he was ridiculous after all.

See Voro? You can’t even deny it. So the next time one of our novices loses sight of her virtue, please keep in mind your dear Iola.

She was never my dear, he insisted.

Voro noticed when Raphael closed his eyes. He recognized the tone, apparently.

She was a biological trap sprung to catch me, and I did exactly as expected. That’s not free will, either.

Peter leveled a gaze at him, losing the affable expression. Instead of condemning her to spend her days wallowing in your brand of filth you ended your six-hundred year existence of fucking and sin eating.

Just like expected, Voro finished for him, not even catching the cuss word that time.

"No. Not at all like expected. She could have just killed you. Or the decipio could have done it."

This was better … for her, he was actually getting choked up. Damn it.

That’s almost something like love.

No. It was basically a potion, wasn’t it?

Peter sighed. There is no witchcraft. If the trap plays out the way it’s meant you go back to Hell, and those two live a natural life where they either deal with what happens or they don’t.

No.

Peter’s frown deepened. I beg your pardon?

Raphael actually grabbed his arm. What are you doing?

"If a Sin Eater is slain by the decipio, the decipio then kills the frustro."

Peter gave pause. Sometimes.

Too big a chance. So I ended the whole stupid thing. And here we are. Tell me again how well this whole thing worked out?

Peter put his glasses back on. "You know, Voro, we will find a use for you eventually. But just remember that we can either make this pleasant or not. It’s not like you can go home again, is it?"

Shoes made slapping sounds in the hallway, and Patrice Jenkins felt the relief immediately but didn’t let up on the hold she had on her patient. He was gnashing his teeth, trying to throw her off, but she had more experience restraining people than he did in the art of breaking free.

She breathed evenly, avoiding eye contact. In this particular case eye contact always sent this guy over the line from violent into completely psychotic.

The orderlies burst through the doorway, knowing the drill instantly. They got the patient’s hands into the straps first, but the legs put up more of a fight.

As two men the size of refrigerators wrestled the remaining limbs in to the straps she prepared the sedative with steady hands. This guy was a sad case, and these fits were getting further and further apart. He was rational and almost sweet when he was calm. Who knew what had set this episode off? Hopefully it wouldn’t set back his treatment too far.

As the sedative raced through his veins he stopped screaming, and after a moment, his body relaxed and he stopped straining against the leather straps. His breathing calmed, eyes sliding closed slowly.

Patrice thanked the orderlies and cleaned up the snack she’d been bringing him that he had sent flying across the room. Then she collected the wrapping from the sharp she’d had to use on him. The sharp itself she deposited in to the biohazard container in the hall.

Patrice returned to the patient’s side, some motherly instinct making her put a hand on his forehead. In reaction to her touch, his face turned towards her but his eyes stayed shut.

Oh Charlie, she said softly and sympathetically. Please rest well.

He swallowed, then he peeked out at her from drooping lids. I can’t, he said, sounding like his mouth wasn’t working the way he wanted it to.

Of course you can, honey. We’re here to take care of you, remember that. We’re your friends.

He shook his head just slightly. Damned, he croaked weakly.

He always said that. She’d heard it many times and it still broke her heart.

Charles Goodwin had done awful, violent and horrifying things. But she’d heard his back story, and even after these infrequent rages she couldn’t imagine him being capable of such atrocities. They kept a watchful eye at all times but the most he’d ever done was bat her hand away when she handed him food he didn’t want.

For a homicidal schizophrenic he seemed quite harmless.

Alarms sounded again and she frowned. When the room number was paged she sighed and turned back the way she’d been, headed for Charlie’s neighbor’s room.

When these two men had first been admitted their attacks were always linked, but it hadn’t happened for months now. Charlie may have been sweet, but Jasper McKay was another story. He had none of Charlie’s innocence, and something about him always made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. He’d never been violent or menacing, but the guy was cold.

Patrice was always more comfortable when she wasn’t left alone with Jasper. Now she had two orderlies restraining McKay while she took his vitals. She nodded that he was stable, and they were trying to talk the man down while she readied the sedative. She avoided McKay’s eyes as she injected the mixture, only exhaling when his body stopped jerking and convulsing. She didn’t