Page 4 of The Clash of the Damned (The Titan Syndicate Saga #2)

Sloane

T he votive flames flicker inside their red and amber jars, the main source of light in the dim church.

Hundreds of them at varying heights cast a glow across the mourners faces, a small comfort in their grief as they light a candle for their lost loved one.

The perfume of the melted wax tickles my nose, but I refuse to sneeze and draw more attention to myself than necessary.

Mourners leave and enter the church, their donation coins clinking in the box at the entrance, but I ignore them.

I’m looking for a specific mourner today, and I have a good idea of where to find her.

She usually stands at the same spot for hours on end so lost in her grief that she doesn’t understand that all the time she spends here won’t bring him back.

Spotting her behind her black veil, I try to remain discreet as I approach her, and she remains motionless to the passerby.

But the closer I get, the more I can hear her muffled tears.

“I believe you, Dad. I will never stop trying to find a way to prove you were right. That it wasn’t all in vain,” she whispers to the heavens with her hands clasped in prayer.

This couldn’t have worked out better if I tried. What she thinks is a chance accident has been weeks of me waiting for the right moment to approach her. “Excuse me, did you say you want to avenge your father?”

I’ve been observing the heirs’ world longer than I’ve been a part of it, but there are a few habits I’ve retained during the transition.

Spending my life hiding the way I have, my number one priority is survival.

I had to constantly learn new skills and adapt to get where I am now.

Something I started doing at a young age was checking public records for deaths, especially of notable people.

It’s a great way to know if the people I’m hiding from are dead.

What I didn’t expect to learn during this was how much people left behind in valuable assets.

Sure, their will protects their darkest secrets, but public records show enough to point a person in the right direction.

A person like me.

Turns out that being the only child of a cult leader–excuse me– religious group , pays very well.

Something I don’t think the congregation knew.

I expect they thought they were funding something religious like an orphanage in Africa.

But in reality, all they were doing was padding their leader’s stock portfolio and securing his daughter’s future.

If Eden doesn’t want to work a day in her life, she won’t have to.

But she wants the one thing that she and her father could never have: People to believe her and the accusations she has made.

She didn’t have the proof she needed, and now I am happy to help her create it.

Which leads me to the second survival habit that I have developed: exploitation.

While occasionally unpleasant, it’s effective when wielded efficiently, which is what I did with Eden.

By approaching her in her weakest moment, I was able to exploit her need to be heard and understood.

Like any desperate person, she grasped at the lifeline I was offering her.

My offer was simple; if she partnered with me, and together we eradicated the Supernaturals in Chicago, we would both get what we want.

She wants revenge, and I want justice, but regardless of the definition followed, the end result will be the same.

My boots squeak against the marble floors in the hotel lobby, one of Eden’s probably.

While I despise being ordered around, I need her for now, and I need to keep my eye on the bigger picture.

Walking past tech moguls and bell hobs with luggage, I realize I don’t stand out as much as I did in France.

Here, I remain forgettable, which is exactly what I want.

Taking the lift to Eden’s room, I knock at the room number she gave me, and the door flies open to her glare. “What took you so long?”

Taken aback at her open hostility, I try my best to reason with her. “Can I come in first so we can discuss this in private?”

She motions for me to walk into the room, and it’s simpler than I thought from someone of her stature. I expected a penthouse, instead, it’s a plain double bed and bathroom with a flat screen TV. “I’m waiting,” she prompts.

Making a huge effort, I keep my face neutral.

“Not that I need to explain myself to you,” I pause, staring her down so she gets the message, “but I was in the South of France. It wasn’t like I couldn’t go when Dominic suggested it.

In order for our plan to work, I need to stay by his side for as long as possible. ”

“Shouldn’t you be struggling with jet lag then?

” Eden asks, as if she is trying to catch me out.

She pauses in front of the vanity to check that her blonde chignon is still perfect and straightens out the lapel of her baby-pink, tweed suit that ages her barely twenty-year-old face before she turns back to me.

“A normal person would,” I tell her. “But I’ve learned to operate on less sleep than most need.”

Huffing, Eden finally addresses why she is hostile today, whereas the last time we met up, we were as close to friends as we ever would be.

“Why are you helping me? Especially when you’re like them .

” Oh boy, we’re doing this again. She already knows the answer.

Do all these church goers need to be so fucking predictable?

Wear some black, color outside the lines.

I wonder if they realize these aren’t the things that will get them sent to hell.

But I didn’t pick Eden for her ability to think rationally.

In fact, it’s her religious zealot nature that I’m counting on.

“Yes, I’m like them, but they don’t know that yet, which we can use to our advantage.

They think they’re unique.” I snort. “If you’re still not over your hate for my kind, we can always call it a day and go our separate ways.

I don’t have to be here. You need me. It really is your choice.

” My voice trails off, the threat hanging between us as I count to ten in my head.

I hope she doesn’t call my bluff. Without her, I’m going to have to get my hands dirty, which I wanted to avoid this early on in the plan.

Luckily for me, her hate for what happened to her father wins out over her hate for my kind.

Walking to the curtain, I know we’re high enough that no one can see us, but I can’t help checking out of habit.

I first draw it back to scope out the landscape under us–a pool–and then draw back the curtain so we have complete privacy.

Up here, I feel cornered, and it’s making me antsy.

Murderous even. “Tell me, Eden, do you know what it’s like to spend your life wondering where your next meal will come from?

Or knowing that if you’re caught by the wrong people, they’ll kill you, based on how you were born?

” Her porcelain cheeks go red, and she shakes her head.

I’m almost impressed by her honesty. “To answer your question, I have my reasons for helping you, very justified ones. Ones you’re well aware of.

The families we’re targeting grew up with excess while mine had next to nothing.

We accepted the hand outs they gave us to stay hidden, but we never told them my family was waiting for someone as strong as me.

I need the world to see them for what they are.

The fact that it will benefit you is a bonus. ”

Eden’s pretty face sneers as she adds, “No one believed my father. He saw the Rhodes for what they were, unholy things that go against the natural order. When I realized one of them was in my school! I called Brooklyn out for what she was, a demon. And they all laughed at me. Then they told me Daddy had a mistress, and she killed him. I was so angry at the ridicule. But that was a lie too–he would have never done that to the group, to Mommy. Now, our group has disbanded, my mom has married his second, and I’m just here, so angry all the time at how we’ve been treated, how his memory is laughed at. ”

It wouldn’t help to add that her father really did have a mistress as the truth will help no one.

Especially as her anger about how her father was treated is helping her let go of her hostility towards me.

Giving her an awkward pat on the shoulder, I reassure her.

“That’s why we’re starting with their family first. You have people you can still trust, right? ”

A thud knocks on the floor, and confused, I see Eden stamp her foot like a child. I almost can’t believe I’m watching a grown woman behave like this. “I said I did, didn’t I? When are you finally going to share your plans with me? I can see you’re only giving me pieces!”

My momentary sympathy for her gone, I try my best to remain soothing. “If you do your part and show me you can deliver on this, I will share more of my plan with you.”

What Eden doesn’t want to hear is people believe what they want to believe.

If something doesn’t fit into their world of normal, they justify it.

If they see magic performed, they say it’s a trick of the light.

All when it’s been staring them in the face the whole time.

Nothing about us is normal, and the world they believe to be straight forward is much more complex than they ever believed it to be.

That is why I need to see if she will actually go through with this, if she is as committed to our cause as she says she is.

“We’ve identified which of the Rhodes we’re going to kidnap, and we know you need us to force the change. But how is this enough to convince people? If they’re really as powerful as you say, won’t they overpower us?”

She is right, the rare time that she is.

I take the locket from my neck, and a faint glow appears around my hands as I feed some of my stored magic into it.

Every time I convert magic, it’s an incredible feeling, like a burst of coffee directly to my veins.

Not for the first time, I wonder if our brand of magic is more addictive than we realize.

Handing the locket to her, I say, “Faith, that’s how.

Aren’t you big on that stuff?” Her eyes narrow at my spin on her beloved word, and I explain to her how to use it.

“With magic, intention is everything. With mine, there is a time limit; don’t forget that.

So only use it when you really need it.” The locket glows in my hand for a moment.

“This will help you force the shift on the Druid for a short period.”

She takes the locket from me hesitantly, almost like my magic will taint her.

It’s the first time I’ve let her see my Supernatural abilities, and she does better with it than I gave her credit for.

We’ve never had anyone teach us how to do magic, a lot of what we know we’ve learned through trial and error.

I had to learn the hard way that magic is not something I can sustain on my own, but any source of energy, from a life force to the electricity in the walls, is enough for me to convert it into my own magic.

The more I drain, the better. Once I start using the magic, it doesn’t last long, unless I find spells to keep it in stasis.

Regardless of how well she handles it, I can still see her struggling with indecision.

Knowing I need to get back to Dom soon, my patience officially runs out with this entitled brat, so I lift my glowing hand and drain some power from the hotel’s main grid.

The lights briefly flicker as the power grid overcompensates from my unwelcome theft.

“Tap this three times when you’re ready. It will give you ten minutes to force the Druid to do whatever you want. Once the time is up, it will be a cheap trinket, then you’re on your own, and your faith will need to be in your God again.”

Lifting my palm, I feed magic towards Eden, and she calms. “We’re friends, and you want to help me.” Her eyes go blank, and she repeats my instruction. “Film everything, and make sure the reporter we discussed gets it.” She repeats my instruction again.

“Good,” I tell her. “Keep this up and I’ll be ready to share everything with you in no time.”