Page 6 of A Breath of Life (Shadowy Solutions #4)

Tallus

D iem refused to check the leather pouch while on the street, insisting we take it home to see what it contained, convinced the police would circle back and catch us with something that wasn’t ours. He was confident that when the gentleman’s senses returned, he would report that we had robbed him.

The incident in the alley left Diem tense and edgy. He walked home faster than I could keep up, no longer holding my hand and commanding Echo to stay at his side where she couldn’t sniff everything in sight. His patience was gone.

At the apartment, he busied himself getting Echo’s dinner, slamming plates around, and unearthing the containers of Chinese food from the paper bag. Most were crushed and leaking from having been hugged so tightly against my chest during the crisis.

I wasn’t hungry after witnessing a man almost die in an alley, but Diem heated the food and pretended the mysterious leather pouch he’d tucked away in his pocket didn’t exist .

“Can I see it?” I asked as he slopped food unceremoniously onto two plates.

“Eat first.”

“I don’t want to eat first. I want to know what’s in the bag that the guy was so determined we find and throw away. Aren’t you at all curious?”

Diem dropped the serving spoon, braced his hands on the counter, and bowed his head, audibly breathing through his nose in the way he did when he was trying not to yell. His back rose and fell with each steady inhale and exhale, but regardless of his efforts, a deep rumble emanated from his chest.

Echo glanced from her meal, peering at Diem with concern.

She heard it too. His stress was elevated, and it was her job to calm him.

Abandoning her food, she moved to his side and leaned her weight against his leg, pawing the air and glancing up at the distressed man with her golden, love-filled eyes.

“I’m okay, Echo. Go eat your kibble.”

She refused until he scratched her ear and reassured her once again. Even as she moved back to her dish, she continued to check on her charge. She didn’t believe his words any more than I did.

Still facing the counter, Diem rubbed a hand briskly over the mop of thick hair he’d grown for his nana’s sake as he blew out a sharp breath.

An evening dealing with dying men and cops was not how Diem preferred to relax, and I shouldn’t have been pushing him.

He needed time and space to decompress, but I couldn’t quell my curious nature. Not knowing was eating me alive.

Another long minute passed while he stood unmoving, staring at the food he’d plated.

I was ready to tell him to forget it when, without a word, he slipped two fingers into the back pocket of his jeans and withdrew the pouch. He tossed it onto the counter with a grumbled, “Have at ’er,” and took his plate and fork to the table to eat.

I stared after him.

Echo stared after him.

Diem sat and shoveled food into his mouth without showing any sign he enjoyed or even tasted it.

I hated that our night had gotten so turned around, but this was the nature of the beast. Diem’s moods were fragile and easily influenced by stressful situations. He dealt with them as best he could, but it put a strain on our relationship when I couldn’t break through his walls.

Sighing, I added an extra egg roll to my plate and took it and the mysterious leather pouch to the table, sitting across from Diem, who still hadn’t said a word.

“Why are you upset?” I asked after a few measly mouthfuls of food.

“I’m not upset.” He stabbed a chicken ball with more force than was necessary before plunging it into sweet and sour sauce and jamming the entire thing into his mouth.

“Diem, you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset.” Stab. Dunk. Eat.

“You are so. I know you.”

“Tallus—” he snarled with a mouthful of food.

“Diem,” I mocked with a mountain of petulance, arching a brow when he glared up from his plate. “What? Don’t be an ass. Talk to me.”

God, I wasn’t angling to fight, but he was so frustrating sometimes.

Putting his fork down, Diem rubbed his eyes and sat more upright.

Glancing around the apartment, he chewed his thoughts before speaking, his tone level and tightly controlled.

“I’m not upset. I’m… processing. I’m… rattled.

A man nearly died in front of me tonight, and I didn’t know how to help him. ”

“But he didn’t die, and you did help him. You talked to him. I heard you.”

Diem stared at his plate and scraped his teeth over his bottom lip. “A lot of good words do for a man who can’t breathe.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t downplay your role. Do you know how much he probably appreciated your effort?”

Diem swiped a hand over his mouth and met my eyes momentarily before refocusing on his food.

“I’m uncomfortable dealing with the cops.

You know that. As irrational as it sounds, I was convinced I would be blamed for hurting that man.

I know that’s stupid, but when bad things happen, it’s somehow always my fault. ”

“That’s not true.”

“Tell that to my brain, Tallus. You don’t live inside my head.

Stop telling me how to feel. Guilt is a weird thing, and I can’t shake it.

I’m in fucking therapy for a reason. My dad used to beat me unconscious and somehow managed to convince me it was my fault.

That kind of manipulation doesn’t go away overnight.

I know, logically, I had nothing to do with what happened to that guy tonight.

I tried to help him, but I did steal from him while he lay dying on the ground. ” He indicated the leather pouch.

“You didn’t. He told you to take it.”

“Yeah, and if he changes his mind at the hospital, and the police come back looking for it, I’m fucked.”

“He won’t.” I ran my finger along the drawstring closure. I couldn’t explain the stranger’s reasoning, but something about the man’s determination told me he wouldn’t expose us as thieves.

“Just fucking open it. Allay your curiosity so I can walk down the street to a fucking dumpster and throw it away like he asked me to. I would feel much better if it was gone. ”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. Diem had only kept the pouch because I’d insisted.

Yes, I was curious. Who wouldn’t be? The whole situation was bizarre, and I couldn’t help wondering what had made a dying man panic so badly to insist with his literal last breath that Diem find this drawstring bag and throw it away.

I pushed my dinner aside and drew the pouch forward. The leather was soft and black, the tie secured with a double knot that required persistence and finagling to undo. Once loosened, I wedged two fingers inside and pulled it open.

I wasn’t sure what I expected to find—counterfeit money, a genie, a stolen pocket watch, other pieces of affluent jewelry, illegal drugs, forged ID—but the reality was not something I could have ever guessed.

I withdrew the item and frowned. It was a playing card, but not just any playing card.

I highly doubted this one was part of a deck.

Its unique craftsmanship was unlike anything I’d ever seen.

It seemed to be framed in some type of black iridescent metal, the interior plate had the appearance of gold, and the card’s design seemed to be forged with inlaid silver.

Whether authentic or fake, I had no idea.

“The ace of spades,” I said, showing Diem.

Within the silver ace, a finely engraved skull shimmered when the card was tipped at a certain angle. The corner letter As were formed with tiny, black gemstones.

Mouth hanging open, I studied the card and all its intricacies. It had weight but was no thicker than the plastic name badges the clerks wore at the bank. I couldn’t bend it, but that didn’t surprise me.

I flipped it over. The back was intricately patterned in black and inlaid gold. As I processed what the hell I was holding, Diem reached across the table and snatched it from my hand, a deep frown marring his brow .

I let him have it without a fight, and he examined it with the same disbelief etched on his face.

“Do you think that’s real gold?” I asked after he’d looked his fill.

“No.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t.”

“Check for a mark. Usually, real gold is marked.”

He didn’t check and tapped it against the table for whatever reason as though testing its vitality.

“It could be worth a fortune,” I added.

“It’s not.”

Unwilling to argue in circles, I checked the pouch to be sure that was all it contained. “What do you think it is?”

“A playing card. The ace of spades, like you said.”

I deadpanned. “Thanks for stating the obvious, D. I figured that much out on my own.”

He glared.

I glared right back.

“Are you satisfied now?” he asked, sliding the card across the table. “Put it back in the pouch, and I’ll go down the street and throw it away.”

“What? Are you kidding? This thing could be worth a lot of money.” I squinted at the shiny surfaces of gold, seeking a marking but not finding one. “We should have it appraised. Memphis knows a guy who—”

“No. We’re getting rid of it.”

“Diem, I swear to god this is gold, and if it’s gold, then maybe this here is silver.” I traced the outline of the spade. “And if it’s real silver, then who knows what these gemstones are.”

“Plastic. ”

“You don’t know that. They don’t look like plastic. They don’t feel like plastic.” I scraped a nail over one, seeing if I could pick it off, but it didn’t budge.

Diem took the playing card from my hand again, scrutinizing it more than the first time.

He couldn’t argue, and after several long minutes, his frown deepened.

“If it’s real, it’s probably stolen. Hence why that asshole wanted us to dispose of it.

He didn’t want to possess stolen goods.” He waved the card in the air.

“Now we have it, and if we’re caught with this thing—”

“There might be a reward. If it was stolen.”

“Tallus—”

“I’m serious, Guns. This thing looks valuable. We can’t toss it in a dumpster.”

He set the card down again and stared at it for a long time. “How much?”