I nodded.
"Does it matter?" he asked, eyeing me with sudden wariness.
"No," I lied, but really, I wasn't sure if it did or not.
"I was never taken to the Seer. My soul was determined the moment I died. The Daemons that collected me extended an offer to let me remain behind. It would seem my crimes from my human life would serve me well as a Trader," he said. "I guess I should be thankful. My ass could be frying in hell right now if I hadn't taken the deal."
His words ran through my head on a continuous loop. I suddenly felt uneasy as bile rose up in my throat and my vision momentarily blurred. Which crime would serve a Trader? Only one came to mind, and I loathed to even think it. Could Emrys really be a murderer?
"You want me to take you home?" he asked with a sudden edge in his voice as he took in my expression.
"I don't know. I'm just trying to process everything," I admitted. "I never expected...I just hoped…" my voice trailed off as I tried to form a coherent sentence.
"You hoped what? That I was hanging out as a Trader because I was a choir boy in my past life? You really think I would have chosen this existence if I would have had a choice?" he asked angrily.
"I don't know. I guess I was hoping that you weren't some murderer!" I yelled, pissed that I was the one under attack. "In case you missed it, I kind of work for the good guys," I said, stalking away in a huff.
"Wait a minute," Emrys said, making the mistake of snagging my wrist.
Anger coursed through me and my instincts took over. I flipped my hand around in one fluid movement and twisted his arm behind his back. "Don't touch me," I hissed, making it clear I could hurt him if I wanted to.
"Jordyn, I wasn't a murderer. I was a thief," he said quietly, not struggling against my hold.
"A thief?" I huffed out as I tried to tamp back my anger.
"Yes, a thief. A very good thief."
All the anger in me dissipated as quickly as it had gripped me. "A thief," I repeated, releasing his arm. "You were being sent to hell because you stole stuff?" I asked incredulously, sinking down on the sand in disbelief. >"I am more concerned about those you have not delivered to us," Haniel answered tightly.
"Hey, man, that's not my decision. My job is to get them to the Between. If you've heard otherwise, you're talking to the wrong being," Emrys said, all humor gone from his voice.
"I have been informed that many of you Traders have bypassed the Between," Haniel shot back.
"Informed by who? Who are these sources? Are you a reporter now?" I interrupted, trying to defuse the situation. The tension radiating off of Emrys was tangible.
Emrys laughed out loud at my questions while Haniel merely acknowledged them by pulling his eyes away from Emrys. I guarantee Haniel had no idea why it was funny, but either way, he seemed uninterested in divulging where he'd received his so-called information.
"So, Emrys, where exactly do you live?" Krista asked, once again steering the conversation to a safer topic.
"I have a home in the foothills, just beyond Boulder in Colorado that I stay at sometimes, and a small chateau in Italy that I visit when I have time. Lately, I've been hanging out a lot, locally," he said, smiling at me.
"We can see that," Krista answered dryly. "We'd appreciate for the time being if you could refrain from taking Jordyn anywhere that would take longer than an hour to get to by car."
"What kind of car?" Emrys deadpanned before cracking a smile. "Kidding. I'll keep things local."
"And no sex," Mark blared, out of the blue.
"Holy frick, Uncle Mark," I screeched.
"Dear, no," Krista said at the same time as me, shaking her head negatively at him.
"What, too much?" he asked with false innocence.
"Just a bit," she answered, holding her fingers up an inch apart.
"More like this much," I complained, spreading my arms as far apart as they would go while Emrys looked on with his normal grin.
Krista rescued the conversation again by asking Emrys about his childhood. It was interesting to hear his stories of his childhood. I couldn't help picturing him as a little boy playing stickball on the streets of Brooklyn or ice skating in Central Park. He talked about tagging along on job sites with his dad during the summer and collecting bottles with his friends so they could see a double matinee at the local theater. It all seemed so wholesome and simplistic. Although he was years removed from that time, he recalled it with amazing clarity. I felt envious that he could remember things more than sixty years old when I couldn't remember anything from a year ago.