“Hey. Boone back at the house?”
“No. Not this trip.” Tone flat, he didn’t bother introducing her.
“Damn. I was hoping we’d go rafting. Maybe you and your friend would be interested?”
“Sounds fun, but we can’t.”
Seth finally angled around his father and reached out. “Seth, by the way.”
The pressure of Zane’s hand against her spine increased.
“Nice to meet you.” She took Seth fingers and, because of the awkward position, shook quickly.
“I hear we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” He smiled, wide and friendly, and then winked. “Have to say, I’m not gonna mind.”
The fingers at her back flexed into a loose fist.
“Seth’s training too,” George explained quickly, batting his son’s arm out of his face with a sweep of his hand. “Finally.”
“Every life journey is different. You can’t make me feel guilty for taking my time, Pop.”
“It’s not about guilt. I’m glad you’re moving out.” He chuckled. “Why don’t you two hop into the back cab?” George hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “It’s tight for a cornstalk like you, but it beats walking, and I’m damn near starved.”
“It’s not that far,” Zane said. “We were—”
“Yes. Thank you,” she interrupted, concerned his mom was holding dinner. She opened the small back door. “After dinner. Like you said.” She smiled at him, hoping to ease away his frown.
It worked.
He climbed in behind her, angling so close to her face she could feel his soft hair against her cheek, and then he stretched his long legs out sideways in the cramped quarters.
The truck lurched forward, rocking Seth as he turned around to talk to them. “You gotta at least make time to hike up Quentin Lookout. Can’t go too late unless you want an overnighter.”
Overnighter? She studied the side of Zane’s face and noticed the hint of a smirk. Definitely some tension brewed between him and Seth.
“That’s an overnight no matter what time of day you start out.” He glanced over at her then, his mouth softening at the corners, and his clear blue eyes took on a dreamy haze. “Because you can’t bear to tear your eyes away from the view. From sunrise to sunset, it’s glorious, but for me the real show starts when the stars come out.” He shook his head. “Shame we won’t have time.”
“I dunno, Zane.” George flashed them a glance in the rearview. “Could be the perfect spot for training. Worked out well for you.”
“She’s never hiked, and it’s a long way up.”
Worked out well for Zane? If that was the place he’d lost his visions, she wanted to go.
“I can take whatever you dish out, Cowboy.” Butterflies stirred in the pit of her stomach. A little fear and a whole lot of I-hope-so swirled with them. He’d pegged it. She’d never hiked a day in her life. Never spent the night outside under the stars.
“It’s worth the effort if you’re up for it. But I warn you, once we’re up—we’re staying. No leaving before the sun rises.”
“You’re on.” And she meant it. She wouldn’t leave until she was cleansed of all her evils.
»»•««
Some women would claim it sexist that the menfolk abandoned her and Maria to clean up dinner, but Delphine was glad for it. In fact, she’d insisted Zane go outside with his dad and leave her to do kitchen chores. The Gideons had opened their home to her, the least she could do was handle a few dirty dishes. Best of all, Maria treated her like one of the family, snapping orders with a smile and telling funny stories about her boys.
When the last pot sat upturned on the drain, Maria poured two glasses of Chardonnay and ordered Delphine to follow her outside.
Double French doors opened onto a patio of gray stone pavers that encircled a brightly lit swimming pool at the far end of the house. An entertaining area complete with a matching stone barbeque sat nearest the kitchen doors. Another Rush Gideon design, she was sure. Though fancy, the elegance of his craftsmanship was in the way everything complemented the views, as if the mountains themselves pushed up this paradise from within.
All four men sat near the smoldering barbeque pit, sipping from longnecks and talking quietly. Their faces were too serious for Delphine’s liking. The hairs on the back of her neck bristled, and she rubbed a hand over them.
“Saved you a seat.” Zane waved her over where he flanked the low burning grill.
She eased into the chair beside him, probably another Rush original constructed from roughly hewn aspens with the arms and legs retaining their log shape. The second she lounged back with her glass of wine, she knew she’d be hard-pressed to get to her feet again.
“You didn’t have to help Mom, you know. I’d have done it.”
“Not a bother. I’ve always found the kitchen a healing place. And your mom’s a hoot.” She sipped from her glass and watched him turn a marshmallow on a two-pronged stick over the ebbing fire.
“We’ve got lots of healing places around here. Most without pots and pans.”
Her lids lolled heavily as she watched the fire lick against the silver-gray colored bricks. Someone poked the coals and hickory, sending a spurt of embers into the air. The tiny orange bursts seemed to ignite the stars.
Why on earth had Zane ever left home? She could understand wanting to experience the world, but to permanently trade in all this splendor for a bustling city or to abandon the nest of a loving family for a job that literally put him through Hell?
Zane laughed at something his father said, and she stole a glance his way. The epitome of happiness with one booted foot hooked onto the bottom board of his chair, he leaned toward the fire. The golden heat from the popping flames bronzed the strong planes of his face.
She stared. If she wouldn’t embarrass him or herself, she’d run upstairs and fetch her sketchpad. Commit his fine face and wide shoulders to paper.
Later. In private, she’d trust her memory to capture him.
Caught gawking, he turned toward her, grinned, and extended the two-pronged stick he’d been holding in his other hand. “Marshmallow?”
“We just finished dinner.” She sat up a little straighter. “And dessert.”
“It’s perfectly browned,” he said, wiggling the stick, intentionally trying to entice her. “And about to fall off. Take it. Quick.”
The gooey cube melted around the metal prong and slid, right into Delphine’s waiting palm. “Woot. That’s scorching.” Carefully, she grasped what remained of the crust between her fingers and popped the hot mess into her mouth.
“Pass me the bag.” He nodded toward Seth.
Seth lobbed it, and though Zane caught the bag, marshmallows spurted out of the opening in a fountain of white. “Smooth, Gideon.”
“You could’ve tied the top shut.”
“Hey, I folded it over, but your mutant hands squeezed it like a football.”
The puffs rolling over the pavers glowed brilliantly in the gentle firelight. More earthly stars that would go unnoticed anywhere else.
“Boys.” Maria slung her feet out and reclined in her chair. “I don’t care how it happened. In this heat, they’ll melt by mid-morning. You can clean those up now or scrub the sticky mess they’ll leave on my patio. Your choice.”
By the time his mom finished her admonishment, Zane was out of his chair, scooping up the marshmallows. “If we got a new dog, we wouldn’t have to clean them up.”
“Then you’d been cleaning up dog puke.” Maria grinned and sipped from her glass.
“Done it before. Wouldn’t mind.”
“I’m not ready to replace Boz,” Rush added, setting down his beer on the stone floor next to his chair. “He was too good a dog to replace so fast.”
Zane sat back down, the dirty marshmallows on top of the new, and tied the bag closed. “He wasn’t so much dog as your favorite son.”
His dad nodded. “True that. He listened when I spoke.”
“W
e listened, Dad. We just did the right thing instead.”
Everyone laughed, though she doubted Rush Gideon had ever steered his boys in the wrong direction.
“Delphine.” George leaned forward in his chair. “I hear you don’t have a clear connection with your spirit animal.”
“No. I don’t.” She hesitated, a little nervous to ask what was on her mind but then she spit it out. “Do I need a spirit animal? Maybe I’m not supposed to have one. Maybe that’s a sign I’m not meant to be an oracle.”
“There’s no doubt you’re an oracle. It’s a sign you’re afraid,” George said. “Fear is healthy, especially in our line of work. But too much fear will inhibit your ability to control the visions and cloud your progression.”
“I don’t want to control the visions,” she said firmly. “I don’t want to progress. I’m sorry if that disappoints you, but I want to be free.”
The shaman nodded thoughtfully. “We’re all about free will. Some have chosen to abandon their calling. But as I’m sure Zane told you, no one gets stripped of their blessing until the blessing is fully realized. That’s not a Hell Runner’s rule, but the nature of our gifts.”
“I may not have explained the rule quite that plainly.” Cowboy shot her a sorry-to-the-toes look. “I didn’t want to frighten you, so I couched the process a bit.”
Delphine shivered as if an Arctic breeze cut through the backyard. “So, my visions of Hell are going to intensify before I get better?”
“It’s not an illness, Del.” Rush gathered up the empty soldiers by sticking his fingers inside the long necks. “It’s an opportunity only a very small percentage of the population gets to experience. It will be like you’re really there, except in the safety of this plane.”
“Dad. Please.” Zane reached over and cupped her chin with upturned fingers so she had to stare him in the face. In the dim light, she couldn’t assess the look in his eyes, but she heard the empathy in his voice, felt the compassion in the way he held her face. “The visions will become all-encompassing. No lie. But you won’t do it alone.”
She shook her head, and he let go of her face.
“The less you fight the truth, the faster you’ll be free. Of everything.”
Everything. Including Cowboy.
She swallowed hard as if the truth needed to be pushed down her throat.
If only he wasn’t one of them.
If only she wasn’t cursed.
If only the way out wasn’t through fire and a pit of evil.
“Fine,” she said at last, hugging her body. “I’ll retake the test.”
“Forget the quiz,” George said. “We’ll do this old school. Tomorrow we go to Quentin Lookout. You’ll meditate in complete peace. Your spirit animal will come. You will obtain a greater understanding.”
She glanced at Zane, a billion wings fluttering inside of her. “An overnighter? That’s—”
“A long-ass hike,” Rush jumped in when she wanted to say exciting. “If you’re headed to the Lookout, you’ve got to start early in the morning.”
“Rush,” Maria chided. “They’ve only just got here.”
“This isn’t a visit, honey. Zane and Del have a job to do. Best they get down to it.”
He clanked the beer bottles dangling from his fingers. “I’ll put the gear together tonight.”
Maria stood. “Guess I’ll start packing food.” She pointed a finger and waggled it between them. “No more talk. Off to bed. Now.”
Exhausted and emotionally drained, Delphine had no strength to protest or ask questions. She had a lot of questions, like would George and Seth stay while she spent the night with Zane under the stars? She hoped so. The thought of alone time with Cowboy under a vast night sky elicited far too much excitement to be smart. She needed her wits more than his luscious lips connected to hers.
“Come on, Cutoffs. You’ve earned a good night’s sleep.” Zane extended a hand to her.
Instead of declining, she gripped his strong fingers and pushed to her feet. Knees shaky, she stumbled forward. He caught her around the waist and cinched her against his side. Had any man ever been more attentive? More forthright? More caring? Deep down, she knew he’d do anything in his power to protect her.
The question remained how much danger would find her and how much power did Cowboy possess?
Both George and Seth stood. “We should be going too. The moon doesn’t put in a long night. And you shouldn’t either.” He slapped Zane on the back. “We’ll pick you up in the morning. No later than five.”
“Five?” she asked no one in particular. “What time do I have to be ready?”
“Oh, Delphine,” Maria said with a motherly tsk. “You were ready the minute you stepped on that plane.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Savard clipped his shin on the corner of his coffee table and cursed, but continued pacing the length of his small apartment.
And fuming.
Delphine Claudel had not shown for their meeting. He’d waited well over an hour before realizing he’d been stood up. Two subsequent phone calls to Madame Claudel’s apartment went unanswered. By the time he’d hung up on the second call, he’d realized he’d been suckered.
Jack Luckett had alerted Solange and her granddaughter not to trust him. Of course, he could counter Luckett by maintaining he’d told Delphine the truth. He spoke buckets overflowing with fake sincerity every day.
But showing up at their home unannounced would only solidify Luckett’s claim. Solange wielded too much power, and he refused to lose the Council’s support.
Not now. Not ever.
He crossed to the bar cart near his balcony, poured a third whiskey into a cut crystal glass, and then stepped onto the terrace.
The city air blew hot and did nothing to calm his frustration. His heart raced almost as fast as his brain. He’d either combust or devise a new plan to capture the oracle.
Capture without Vipond’s knowledge. The chancellor—his chancellor—could no longer be trusted. And he’d prove that to the Council, once he’d garnered enough information to redirect the entire Society.
Then dishonorably booting Jack Luckett out of power would be easy.
Luckett’s admonishment of his perfectly logical plan to extract information from the unwilling oracle burned holes in his brain. Holes he filled with resentment and a driving need for revenge.
How dare that American upstart and his entire crew of misfits think they could exert control of the French Council? Or at least over Vipond.
But not over him.
Hell Runners needed to get back on track. Souls in dire need to be saved endured torture somewhere below the void of the First Ring. Baalberith must be located and destroyed. Swift too, as far as Savard was concerned. Demons are the enemy and so are their sons.
They needed the mind of the oracle. Unwilling, what choice remained beside force? The Council would see that once he produced viable information.
A pleasant thought enticed a grin to smooth away his bitter frown.
If he was promoted in the process, all the better. The Society lacked strong, fearless leadership. Apparent by the way the Americans ran roughshod over the rules.
Thanks to Jack’s misfits, the First Ring of Hell closed. Disappeared.
So had Jack Luckett.
Savard frowned again and went inside with his drink to check his computer.
At first, when Luckett announced his return to Philadelphia this afternoon, he didn’t think anything of it. In fact, he’d struggled not to show he’d been overjoyed. With the American chancellor out of the picture, he’d have no interference with the oracle.
Then the oracle didn’t show.
Coincidences were as mythical as unicorns and honest men.
He sat in his ergonomically designed chair and tapped the keyboard sitting on the glass-topped desk. His email account lit up with one line darker than the rest.
Herbert, the company liaison providing their private jets, responded to h
is late-night plea requesting a report of all company arrivals and departures with passenger manifests over the last twenty-four hours. Of course, he’d threaten the man with loss of his job if he didn’t cooperate within the hour. As the Society’s chief financial officer, he negotiated all contracts. If he even dared insinuate customer service caused a loss of their business, the man would be fired. Instantly.
He clicked on the email and read.
Jack Luckett departed for Philadelphia at 2:00 p.m. Alone.
Not what Savard expected to see. He downed the rest of his whiskey.
Though worn out, he couldn’t sleep—wouldn’t sleep—without a lead on the oracle.
But where to start.
He poured another drink, sipped, and pondered. His computer pinged.
Another email from Herbert. More flights?
He clicked.
Read.
Read it again and then grinned so hard his cheeks ached.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Though her first time hiking, let alone navigating a poorly marked trail through woods over rocky terrain, Delphine impressed Zane with her can-do attitude and nimble climbing.
Positioned behind her, she’d also impressed him with the way she filled out the seat of her new blue jeans. Leave it to Mom to notice her first female houseguest had packed only shorts and knit shirts. Always thinking two steps ahead, she’d wisely called her friend at the local Army Navy Store and had them deliver hiking-approved jeans, boots, shirts, and a jacket. At four thirty a.m. she woke them with a hot breakfast, shoved the package of clothes at Delphine, and pumped them with a pep talk by the time George laid into his horn at five a.m.
The forest line thinned, replaced by mostly scrub and rock. Overhead, the true blue sky of a cloudless morning butted against the mountain tops still far above them and the jutting plateau so few knew existed.
Delphine stopped walking and craned her neck in the direction George and Seth continued to scale.
Dream Breakers, Oath Takers Page 17