“I am right now. Give me a minute.” I groan, waiting for the feeling to subside. Gunnar stalks out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Even fighting the queasy feeling, I still notice the way it splits over his thigh when he walks.
“What did you do to her?” Gunnar tries to nudge Grim out of the way to get closer to me, but the Angel of Death makes a sound that I’m hard pressed to describe—it’s not a growl, but something close. Gunnar pretends not to notice, but he stops trying to wedge his way between us.
“Omnia, tell me what is wrong so I can fix it,” he demands, as if everything is just that simple.
I pull my shoulders back and shake out my limbs a little. The feeling has mostly passed, but the memory is fresh, as are the memories of my childhood. “I think I might have screwed up.”
“No,” Grim disagrees with a quick shake of his head.
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, dude, but something is definitely wrong with me. Can you see my soul, my aura?”
Grim’s gray eyes quickly scan me, his gaze lingering for just a moment at the apex of my thighs. He tilts his head a minute amount, but for him it’s a big tell. Without finishing his perusal of my body, his eyes jerk back up to mine. “Yes.” The one word comes out slow and thick.
I roll my wrist, urging him to continue. “Well, is there something wrong with it? Did eating the witches’ souls screw up my homeostasis or some shit?”
“What the fuck is home… st—whatever you just said?” Gunnar looks between me and Grim.
“Balance in the body,” Grim tells him with disinterest, but it’s a much more simple explanation than I would have given him. Reaching forward like he might place his hand on my hip, he shifts course and cups my exposed shoulder instead. “Your soul is fine, perfect.”
“Then what’s wrong with me? Is it because I ate the soul and not the sin? I don’t remember feeling like this when it happened when I was younger.”
I’m still looking to Grim for answers, but Gunnar cuts in. “Maybe it’s just like eating bad sushi.” He’s holding the towel at his waist with one hand. The long scar over his abdomen from the night he showed up on my floor all bloody is visible, crisscrossed with many others.
“Bad sushi?” I blink.
“Yeah, feels like your guts are going to fall out until you get rid of it… one way or the other.” His lips twist in a sympathetic pout.
“You’re suggesting I shit out the witches’ souls?” I roll my lips in to keep myself from laughing. I know he’s trying to help.
“Is there some other way you can process them?” Gunnar glances at Grim, including him in his question.
“You haven’t released them?” Grim’s eyes change as he examines me. “That would explain it,” he mutters to himself.
“Explain what?” I watch the rivers in his eyes widen until there’s not much gray left, only burning flames.
“Why you’re not feeling well, why you haven’t eaten. You need to release them, Omnia, or they will cease to exist.”
“Are you telling me I have two witches’ souls decaying inside me?” I suppress a full body shudder, but the disgust in my voice makes it clear I’m disturbed by the thought.
Grim drops his other hand on my shoulder and runs his palms over my upper arms in a soothing manner. “Not decaying, dissolving. You need to release them before there’s nothing left.”
“How the hell do I do that?” I gather the rough fabric of the towel over my stomach. All I can imagine is two black souls swirling around in my stomach. “Please do not tell me I have to shit them out.” I glance over at Gunnar, wondering if he was somehow right.
Grim makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “No, I will help you. I’m sorry it never occurred to me that you would be able to contain them in such a way.” Grim pulls me in and places a chaste kiss on my temple before releasing me. Turning to Gunnar, he inquires, “Have you found us another residence?”
Gunnar’s face falls. “I’ll take care of it right now.”
Grim nods once. “Good, where is the Nemean?”
“Calix,” I correct. I’ve been trying to get them to address each other by their names instead of their monsters. “I’m not sure, he was gone when we got out of the shower.”
“I’ll find him.” Gunnar drops the towel without hesitation and grabs the pants he wore yesterday, sliding them on without his boxers—they’re probably a wet mess on the bathroom floor anyway.
“Find us a place to stay first. I want to make sure Damiana is comfortable,” Grim orders, and moves over to the bed before unzipping my large suitcase.
“My service is shit.” Gunnar holds up his phone, showing the web browser trying to load. “I’ll have better luck using the hotel’s computer. Calix—” Gunnar looks at me, wanting approval for using the name. I give him a toothy grin, even though I’m freaking out on the inside. “Is probably down at the restaurant anyway.”
Grim ignores him. “What would you like to wear, Omnia?”
