by Jory Strong
“Usually when He comes on us we’re in a prayerful state. He tells us to take up the serpent, to put His mark on our flesh. But not always.”
“Amen.”
“There was a time He moved on me and I saw an angel.”
“Tell us more.”
“You want to hear it was a beautiful sight.”
“Yes, Brother.”
“You want to hear I was filled with His glorious love.”
“Yes, Brother.”
“Well, I’m not going to tell you either of those things. I’m going to tell you it was a terrible sight. It filled me with fear, the same fear I have now, standing in the presence of this stranger—this stranger who appeared with signs following!
“But I’m thankful for the fear! I’m thankful for the chance to make things right before it’s too late.”
Edom pointed at the corpse laid out on the picnic table. “Brothers and sisters, we’ve been fooling ourselves about Ghost. It cost us a good man.”
“He was a good man,” came the reply.
“Brother Scott saw the message He delivered in that place of sin but didn’t know how to interpret it correctly. We’ve been telling ourselves it was all right because we weren’t breaking any laws, because what little money we took for it went to do His work. But no more!”
“Amen.”
“We won’t be part of the devil’s plan.”
“You got that right, Brother.”
“Amen,” Edom said, releasing the hold he had on his congregation and turning to Aisling, motioning her forward. “Only a few of us know where the drug comes from. It’s best if we keep it that way.”
The gathered church members dispersed, respecting the need for privacy. Women and girls started clearing the picnic tables. Men and boys clustered around the corpse, discussing burial details.
“She doesn’t think we know who she is,” Elisheba said when Aisling stood next to the preacher and his wife. “Edom and I are the only two people who’ve seen her face. If she guesses that we recognized her, the guardsmen will be given an excuse to kill us and none will question it or be the wiser.”
“Who is she?” Aisling asked.
“Ilka Glass,” Edom said, naming the predatory woman in red who’d so easily swayed the crowd at Sinners so they voted the Ghosting men out to their deaths. “She’s the wife of the man who’s in charge of the guardsmen.”
“And powerful in her own right,” Elisheba added. “She’s the daughter of one of the First Families to reclaim Oakland. Her husband has never come with her, but he must know or be a part of what she’s doing. There are more guardsmen hunting The Barrens on the days she gives us Ghost and collects what we took from those who bought the previous batch.”
A man’s voice interrupted. “Brother Edom, what should we do about this? It’s still full.”
Aisling shivered at the sight of the small, coffinlike container the Ghost seller offered her at Sinners in the seconds before a coldness swept into the room along with a malevolent presence.
Last one.
“Bring it here,” Edom said, and as if picking up on Aisling’s thoughts, he added, “We don’t have any more Ghost. Brother Scott took all that was left of what we got last month to the city. We won’t accept any more of it if it’s offered to us after the next full moon.”
“That’s when you get it?” Aisling asked, knowing the full moon was a week away and not surprised a substance like Ghost would most likely be created at a time when power for many supernatural beings peaked and the barrier between this world and the spirit one thinned.
“We get it the day after the full moon,” Elisheba said.
The man who’d discovered the container walked as if he was carrying a bomb that might detonate in his hand, or an item that might cause the heavens to open and a bolt of lightning to strike him. When he reached them, Edom took it from him and shoved it into Aisling’s hands. She fought the impulse to hurl it aside and wipe damp palms on her pants.
Her heart raced. She braced herself, almost expecting the spirit winds to claim her despite the onyx pentacle hidden in her fetish pouch and the thin slice of metal keeping the powerful substance contained.
Nothing happened.
Her heart rate slowed. The breath she was holding eased out.
Aisling slipped the container into her jacket pocket. Women and young teens were picking up baskets and gathering the smaller children, intending to return to the Fellowship compound hidden from view.
“Ghost wasn’t the only reason I came here,” Aisling said, finally locating Anya standing apart, her features wearing the shell-shocked expression Aisling had seen often enough on the faces of those left on Geneva’s doorstep. “I came for one of the children brought here from The Mission.”
“Recently?” Elisheba asked.
“Yesterday. She has a home elsewhere.”
“Ah, those children haven’t been taken in by families yet,” Elisheba said, relief in her voice. “Edom?”
He nodded. “Take the child with you. If you’ve been to The Mission, then you know there are many others we could raise in our community.”
Aisling glanced at the sky. The return trip would be faster since they wouldn’t need to search for the symbols leading to the Fellowship. If they hurried, they should make it back to the outskirts of Oakland in time to catch the bus and get Anya to the Wainwright house before dark.
“We’ll leave now,” she said, surreptitiously looking for Zurael but not seeing the serpent.
“May The Spirit stay on you,” Edom said.
“Amen,” Elisheba murmured.
Aisling went to Anya. The little girl took her offered hand, and surprised her by saying, “I dreamed you came for me.”
A wave of homesickness assailed Aisling as she thought about her sisters and brothers, especially the young, gifted ones. “I’m taking you to a family where you’ll belong.”
Anya nodded solemnly.
A church member gave Aisling a basket packed with food as they passed. “For your journey. May The Spirit stay on you while you’re in the land of sin.”
“Thank you.”
At the edge of the forest Aisling felt the hot breath of a swirling breeze pass by her. From the dark shelter of pine and oak, Zurael emerged to block the path.
Anya’s hand tightened slightly on Aisling’s. In the same solemn voice with which she’d greeted Aisling, she said, “You’re magic. Like the ferret.”
Zurael chuckled and the gentle expression on his face as he looked at the child sent warmth cascading down to Aisling’s toes. She handed him the food.
He leaned in, whispered a kiss across her lips. “Thank you. We’ll have to hurry if we hope to make it.”
They traded off, each of them carrying Anya, alternating between walking and running. They raced the sun, dodging the guardsmen and lawless humans patrolling The Barrens in the daylight.
It was a relief to get to The Mission. To hurry past it and climb onto an empty bus.
Tamara and her mother were both on the Wainwright porch when Aisling, carrying an exhausted and sleeping Anya, turned the corner with Zurael. The child didn’t wake when she was transferred to Annalise’s waiting arms.
Aisling’s fingers went to the sun-shaped pendant at her wrist. Annalise shook her head and whispered, “Levanna wants you to keep it.”
The dusk approached too rapidly for them to linger. But Aisling wanted to. Her heart felt strangely heavy, her arms empty now that Annalise had Anya.
“Visit the child when you can,” Annalise said with an understanding smile.
“I will.”
Aisling left the porch and joined Zurael where he waited beyond the warded boundaries of the witches’ property. Her thoughts shifted from Anya to Aziel and her pace quickened.
Destruction and devastation greeted her when she opened the door. The old, tattered furniture was turned over, tossed against the wall and left broken. Cabinet doors hung open in the kitchen. But it was the sile
nce, the emptiness, the fear of finding Aziel dead that numbed her to the core.
She didn’t protest when Zurael urged her forward and to the side, closing the door behind them so a guardsman driving by wouldn’t know they were back. “Let me check the other rooms,” he said, voice soft, his knuckles brushing her cheek, his eyes burning with fierce tenderness.
Aisling nodded and leaned against the wall for support. Guilt swamped her.
How easily she’d convinced herself it was Father Ursu who had sent the guardsmen after her, using bedclothes or a discarded towel from her night in the church as a scent article. How easily she’d pushed aside her worry for Aziel, told herself he was safe in the house. If only . . .
“Aziel’s not here,” Zurael said, and she sagged, torn between relief and dread.
Sixteen
RAGE coursed through Zurael over the violation of Aisling’s home and the pain radiating from her with the loss of her pet. He felt savage, barely in control—with no outlet for his fury other than passion.
He took her in his arms and crushed his mouth to hers, promised her with the force of his kiss that he’d see her pet returned and her suffering avenged. She softened immediately. Clung to him for strength and comfort, and in doing so, gentled him.
As they’d traveled through The Barrens, they’d decided on a plan of action, reasoned that the best place to hunt the ones responsible for Ghost was Sinners, where there would be no repercussions from either the humans present or the law.
“If the man in charge of the guardsmen and his wife know anything about this, we’ll learn it tonight,” Zurael said, parting from the kiss just long enough to say the words before recapturing her lips.
He rubbed his tongue against hers. Didn’t know how he’d ever resisted the lure of her mouth, the soul-shattering intimacy of sharing a kiss.
A desperation settled over him. If they were successful tonight in destroying those responsible for Ghost, then he would have to turn his attention to his own task and she would become bait in a trap for Javier.
He could see no other way. But the thought of her being in danger—
It couldn’t be helped. Until he’d returned to his father’s kingdom with the tablet in his possession, their future together was uncertain and her life would be at risk from the Djinn.
With a groan he picked Aisling up and carried her to the bathroom. He set her on her feet next to the shower stall.
“We need to hurry if we’re going to get to Sinners,” he said, stripping before reaching in to turn on the water.
Her clothes fell away quickly and he shivered in ecstasy at the feel of her skin against his. They stepped underneath the water, already lost in the steamy cocoon of passion.
Zurael lifted her, impaled her. His tongue thrust against hers with the same urgency as his cock plunged into her slit.
He promised himself that one day he would lay her on a bed covered with silken pillows and sheets. He would spend hours pleasuring her with his mouth and hands—and being pleasured in return. But here, now, with the night swiftly approaching, he coupled with her furiously. He swallowed her cry of release and came in a shuddering, hot eruption when her channel tightened like an erotic fist around his penis.
They hurried through the remainder of their shower, then dressed and ate. A knock sounded as they were ready to leave.
Aisling went to the window and peeked out, felt her breath freeze in her lungs at the sight of a priest’s black robes.
“It’s Father Ursu,” she said, keeping her voice low enough so it wouldn’t be heard through the door.
A warm swirl of air greeted her announcement. She turned to find the room empty.
She didn’t think it was a coincidence that Father Ursu had arrived so soon after she’d used the bus pass, though unlike before, she’d slipped it through the magnetic card reader only once, then used folding money to pay Anya and Zurael’s fare—hoping the Church wouldn’t take the time to question the bus driver and discover she hadn’t been traveling alone. She opened the door but blocked it with her body so Father Ursu couldn’t enter and delay them from getting to Sinners.
Worry creased his forehead. His eyes were kindly until he glanced behind her, to the devastation of the living room.
Surprise registered in his face. And though she would never trust him, she didn’t think it feigned.
“What happened here?” he asked. “Who did this?”
“I don’t know who’s responsible. It was like this when I returned home.”
His attention shifted to the right. “At least your pet wasn’t harmed.”
For an instant the sight of the black ferret left Aisling giddy with happiness. But when he didn’t chirp a greeting or move from his position next to the workroom doorway, she knew it was Zurael and not Aziel.
She fought the worry that threatened to crush her with thoughts of Aziel, realized Zurael’s appearance was meant to get a reaction from Father Ursu, to gauge whether or not he might know where Aziel was.
Aisling considered what she’d seen in Father Ursu’s face and heard in his words. Once again she thought they were unfeigned.
She realized he must have questioned the driver who took them to the edge of Oakland the day before. Otherwise he wouldn’t have known Aziel wasn’t with them.
Uneasiness knotted her stomach when she looked at Father Ursu and caught him with his eyes closed, his eyebrows drawn together, his attention still on Zurael.
Javier’s words rang in her mind. I spent a great deal of my childhood in the tender care of the Church, much of it with Father Ursu, who saw the dark nature of my soul—read my aura and the strength of my inherent gifts.
Father Ursu opened his eyes and caught her looking at him. “Aisling,” he said, and the weight he gave her name invited confession—as if he’d read Zurael’s aura and knew she consorted with a demon. “May I come in?”
“I’m just on my way out.”
“This close to dusk? Do you think that’s wise?”
She thought it better to deflect him if she could. “I’m not going far. Just to a friend’s house.”
A disappointed expression settled on his features. “I suspect the friend you intend to visit is the very one I’d hoped to speak with you about. As you know, Henri’s death weighs heavily on me. I was his priest, and more often than not, the only friend he felt he could talk openly to. I feel a great deal of responsibility toward you as well. You’re a beautiful young woman out on your own for the first time and alone in a strange place. Just because I wear the robes of the Church doesn’t mean I don’t understand loneliness or the temptations of the flesh.”
Aisling couldn’t prevent the heat from rising in her cheeks. She glanced beyond him at the growing dusk, wanted to bolt from his presence and his false attempts to befriend her.
Father Ursu’s face softened, invited confidence. “Last night it was brought to my attention that you’d gotten off the bus near The Mission and hadn’t caught it for a return trip. I suspected, given your history, you might have decided to help Davida with the orphans. But I was still concerned enough to contact her. She told me you’d been there in the company of a man previously, and she’d seen you entering The Barrens with that same man earlier in the day.”
Aisling’s heart raced along with her thoughts. Questions formed but she didn’t speak, because asking them would also reveal what she knew, what she guessed.
When she didn’t say anything, Father Ursu’s sigh filled the space between them. He made a point of looking at the devastation behind her in the living room. “Aisling, have you considered that what happened here is a result of your involvement with your friend? No decent man would take a young woman into The Barrens.”
She kept her silence, and his expression became grave. She willed him to say more, to answer the questions she didn’t dare ask.
He said, “A couple of guardsmen lost their lives in The Barrens last night because after speaking to Davida, I grew very concerned for your w
elfare and initiated a search.”
Aisling sagged with a lessening of the guilt over leaving Aziel behind. She’d been right in thinking the Church was behind the search, had probably offered the linens she’d used as scent articles.
Her reaction seemed to satisfy Father Ursu. She wondered if he’d suspected her of having something to do with the deaths. She thought maybe the purpose of his visit had been accomplished, but then he said, “I’m afraid the Church incurred quite a bit of expense on your behalf, Aisling.”
An icy finger traced her spine. This was the very thing she’d worried about from the first and sought to avoid—being entrapped by debt.
She met his gaze boldly, refusing to become a victim. “It was your choice to initiate a search.”
A part of her expected him to point to Zurael, to hint she could find herself accused of consorting with a demon. Instead he nodded his head in agreement. “You’re correct. The Church can’t expect you to reimburse it for the expense of the search. However, quite some time ago Henri tithed this house to the Church. While he lived in it, there was no reason to expect rent from the property. But with his death, and the cost incurred because of the search, those in charge of the Church’s finances have successfully argued this property should be offered to someone able to pay rent. At Bishop Routledge’s insistence, they’re willing to give you a week before vacating or signing a rental agreement.”
Aisling could guess at their plan. If they believed Ghost was made during the full moon, then that would be the time to use her as their weapon against its maker.
She didn’t ask what the rent would be. She knew it would be set impossibly high—so that with the threat of eviction looming over her, she’d think it a godsend when they offered to let her perform a task in exchange for being able to remain in the house.
It would explain why Father Ursu didn’t hint about her alliance with a demon, about the taint he might well see on her. To accuse her might make her flee, or it could bring suspicion on the Church if during a trial they were found to have used her services while suspecting she might summon a demon in the course of doing the task they asked of her.