Page 13

Thirteen

Atlas didn’t immediately go to Talahalusi like he’d ordered the others.

After catching his breath and cursing himself, he cleaned himself up, then bent to pick up the picture of his brothers.

And the one behind it that had jostled loose when he shook the other free of the broken glass. Two green-eyed women and a third one with golden eyes and honey blond hair, each of their faces split with a smile.

He should burn it, let their secret die here, but that seemed like a push too far, especially on a day when he’d already tempted fate to the max.

Folding the photo instead, he hid it inside the other and shoved them both in his wallet, then with a last look at the blazing cottage up the hill, snapped himself to the cemetery where he’d buried another brother eight days ago.

He’d been prepared to kneel alone next to the second freshly dug grave but found a familiar form sitting cross-legged between the two, like he was hanging out with friends. Souls the medium could see and hear.

“I know,” Paris said with a laugh to one of them. “But I consider him a friend.” He twisted half around and threw him a smile. “There you are. Took you long enough.”

“Did they take your plane and leave you behind?” Atlas teased as he wove through the Shaw graves to reach his former pupil, as Robin had called him.

“I told them you’d get me home.” He looked good, color in his cheeks, brown eyes lively, a wide easy smile. He seemed comfortable in his skin in a way Atlas had never seen the young man. “And I thought you might need a friend.”

A knot formed in Atlas’s throat, and he swallowed hard to force it down. Paris Cirillo was the one thing he’d done right in this world. Teaching him, sheltering him, believing in him. “You thought wrong.”

“Cut the crap, Atlas.”

“Oh,” Atlas drawled, dramatically rearing back, a hand splayed on his chest. “Growing more of that backbone.”

“Thanks to you.”

He lowered himself onto the ground beside Paris. “I tried to sacrifice you.”

“So did Robin. You both had your reasons.”

“That’s not?—”

Paris bumped a shoulder against his. “I forgive you. Same as I forgave him.” Then jutted his chin at the freshly dug grave. “Can you forgive her?”

“Some part of me understands.” He propped his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands, fingers tugging at the roots of his hair. “The things I did at Vincent’s side...”

“The things my father made you do because he had your brother.” Atlas whipped his gaze back up. “I saw it,” Paris explained.

“I was there voluntarily, at first.”

Paris shook his head. “Not voluntarily. You were doing your job. Did you forgive Cole, or Canton, or your mother, for putting all this on you?”

The kid was also growing into that big brain Atlas always knew he had. Wrap all that knowledge and intuition in a blanket of empathy, and it was a powerful combination. He was a perfect medium; Atlas only hated what he’d had to put Paris through to get him there.

He raked a hand through his hair, then let his arms hang over his knees. “I lied before. I am sorry for what I did to you.”

“I know you are. I can see it in your aura. I thought Robin won the prize for aura with the most guilt but nope, you’re the winner.”

Atlas hung his head back and sighed, something else he and the coyote had in common.

“Not gonna tell you what I saw just now.”

Atlas chuckled. “Thank you.”

Several long moments of comfortable silence passed while Atlas pushed aside the matter of the coyote and searched inside himself for a well of forgiveness that was perilously close to dry.

Daphne had forgiven him for what he’d had to do, same as Paris.

Could he return the favor? “She could have plunged us into darkness.”

“Unless she knew you’d stop that from happening.”

“Maybe a part of her thought that, but a bigger part of her wanted out.”

“Flip that,” Paris said. “Assuming what Liam told me before he joined the others is true. And I have no reason to doubt him.”

Neither did Atlas; the reaper had no reason to lie. And that truth only made Atlas feel worse. He hung his head again and wrapped his hands around his nape, the weight of it all too much to balance.

Paris clasped his shoulder, his touch and words gentle. “Come to the mountain, Atlas. You don’t have to keep doing this alone.”

Folks kept telling him that, and folks kept dying. For we . He couldn’t risk the man beside him, the deity they protected, the son of the woman whose picture was in his pocket. “I can’t?—”

“At least hear us out. At least lay eyes on her there so you know she’s safe. Then make your decision. You owe me that much.”

Atlas had to laugh at the spunk that had been punched down for so long, that suited Paris so well. “There’s that backbone again. No promises.”

Paris nodded. “No promises.” He stood and brushed off his pants. “I’ll give you a minute,” he said, then wandered off among the headstones.

Worry instinctively spiked, but then Atlas remembered who the human here was and who the souls in their presence were more likely to protect.

With Paris safe, he turned his attention back to the grave in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” he told her, then tapping that well Paris had somehow filled with just enough of what he needed, added, “I forgive you.”

He shifted onto his knees and dug his fingers into the dirt, pouring all his magic into it, all of his real self that only a few people sensed beneath the stench of decay.

He propelled blades of grass up through the dirt, growing high and fast enough to match the strips of green on either side of the grave, hiding it within seconds.

Her father, their family would simply think Daphne had gone off on another of her “work assignments.” Atlas would have Mary forge an email to sell the story.

And by the time the truth came out, Atlas would be gone too. “I’ll see you soon, cuz.”