“I don’t know.”
“How’s she supposed to do the job? She’s a teenager.”
“She can travel at will between all three planes.”
Rachel snorted. “Em can travel to heaven anytime she wants? I don’t think so. If that were true, there’s no way she’d stick around to clean her room on Saturday mornings.”
“She may no’ be aware of her ability.”
The first giggle bubbled out of her mouth before she could stop it, and another quickly followed. The sheer ridiculousness of everything she’d heard this afternoon overwhelmed her: Lachlan dead, Drew a demon, Em able to fly to heaven. She’d actually started to suspend her disbelief until that part. But Em being some kind of weird superkid was just too much. Another laugh burst free—and another. In a moment, she was laughing so hard, her belly ached and tears were streaming from her eyes.
She laughed until Lachlan swooped in and silenced her hysterics with a kiss—not a hot kiss, an impossibly tender kiss.
He pressed his lips firmly against hers, with enough heat and passion to break through her troubled thoughts, but only just. The rest of the kiss was understanding and acceptance, comfort and contentment—slow and sweet, as if they had all the time in the world.
As if it didn’t matter that Lachlan was delusional.
But it did.
“I’m sorry,” she moaned against his lips. “I want to believe all this stuff, but I just ca—”
“Hush,” he said softly, kissing the corner of her mouth and then the tip of her nose. “I understand.”
Weak woman that she was, she let him kiss her and hold her. Just for a moment, she wanted to close her eyes, rest her cheek against his chest, and pretend that everything in her life was normal, that her man was a regular, run-of-the mill guy—an accountant, maybe. Not a priest, or a Soul Gatherer, or a nut.
Other women had normal boyfriends.
Was it too much to ask?
Lachlan reluctantly left Rachel at her desk, silent and frowning, and returned to the visitor parking lot, where he found Death waiting for him.
She leaned upon the shiny hood of his car, dressed entirely in black: slim jeans, a cotton shirt, and a pair of low-heeled leather cowboy boots. A long white ponytail completed the outfit. All she was missing was the pale horse.
“My liege,” he acknowledged warily as he crossed the sidewalk. “To what do I owe this honor?”
He couldn’t remember the last time she’d come to him. Tasked with marking more than two hundred thousand people every day, she was an industrious goddess, and usually it was the other way around—he had to fit into her schedule.
She straightened, standing tall and regal, and judging by the tight slash of her dark red lips, annoyed. “Were my instructions not clear, Gatherer?”
“About what?”
“You were to inform me of any unusual occurrences.”
“I remember. If I’ve failed in that, my apologies. These days, everything seems unusual.”
She tossed a glare at him, but it quickly faded, replaced by a more contemplative expression. “How many gathers have you done in the past week?”
“Nine.”
“And none of them were … odd?”
“No,” he said slowly, reviewing them in his head. “Why?”
“Something is afoot.”
Lachlan lifted his brows. “You mean other than the ridiculous number of demon attacks and the intolerable delays of the angels?”
“Pah! What the psychopomps are doing is of little concern. I mean something serious. At the monthly tallying of souls, the numbers favored Satan for the first time in two millenniums. I was shocked, but apparently not nearly as shocked as Archangel Michael. He dove across the neutral line, grabbed Lucifer by the shirt, and accused him of cheating. Not your usual fare, at all. Michael is usually the very epitome of civil.”
“And you’re telling me this because … ?”
“Because Michael also mentioned he paid you a—” Death halted, her eyelids slipping down to cover her frosty blue gaze. “Never mind. I need to know everything that’s happened of late. Come here. I wish to read you.”
Lachlan hesitated. Death could review all of his gathers in detail, simply by placing her hand over his heart. She’d not checked up on him in such a manner since his first few clumsy efforts, and it did not bode well that she wished to do so now. But it was a reasonable request, and he could not refuse.
He stepped closer.
Her hand was frigid, even through his thick T-shirt. No sooner had it touched his chest than chips of ice sped through his veins, chilling every inch of him, numbing every muscle. Basic movements, even breathing, became a chore.
Death’s eyes drifted shut and she caught her crimson lip between her teeth. Small flickers of her eyes beneath her lids reflected the rapid pace of her thoughts. A bare instant after she began, her eyes popped open.
He startled at the hungry glow in them.
“By the gods,” she breathed, “I was right. She’s the one.”
Beneath her hand, his heartbeat accelerated. Bloody hell. He had assumed—wrongly—that her ability to read him was limited to his gathers. How much did she know?
“The one?” he asked carefully.
“Emily Lewis is the Trinity Soul.”
What little hope he had drifted away like smoke on a breeze. “Perhaps. But she’s shown no sign of possessing the Trinity powers described in the ancient texts.”
Death ignored him. She stepped back, a cold smile spreading over her face. “The information that led me to her was naught but a faint bread crumb trail through the old testaments. There was no way to be certain it was she. But you’ve found definitive proof. What an absolute delight.”
Delight? Nay, disgust would be a better label for the roil in his gut. He’d read the entire section on the Trinity Soul, and he knew the value Emily represented to Death: a chance to rise up the ladder and become a full god.
“She’s shown no sign of possessing the Trinity powers,” he repeated.
Death’s gaze turned to him. “That’s irrelevant.”
“She may no’ be the one.”
“Of course she is. The mark you found upon the mother is indisputable. She simply hasn’t matured yet.”
Lachlan, who up to that moment believed he’d left his superstitious nature back in the seventeenth century, crossed his fingers behind his back. “Until she fully matures, I assume she’s of no use to you?”
“Correct. The more power she controls at the moment I consume her soul, the more power I will absorb.” Death’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Which means you must be more diligent than ever in keeping her soul out of Satan’s hands. I will not tolerate failure, not at this stage.”
“Then tell me how to defeat the lure demon.”
Her familiar smirk returned. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? I’m disappointed, MacGregor. Not as smart as you’d like to think, are you?”
“Apparently no’.”
“You’ve done well for me today, so I’ll reward you,” she said. “The trade you made with your brother all those years ago—your life for his—was a fair one. He gave you the very tool you need to succeed.”
An old fury, still surprisingly bitter, rose in his chest. “Fair? Do no’ dare call that trade fair. You were duplicitous. You implied you would save him, when in fact—”
“Cease.” She snapped her fingers under his nose. “I lived up to my bargain. Your father’s line continues even to this day. Your reluctance to accept the truth has long become tiresome.”
Lachlan subsided—with difficulty. It would be a mistake to let the past distract him from the importance of her advice. “What tool did he give me?”
“The holy rood, of course.”
“You lie,” he snarled, reaching the end of his patience. “I was wearing the cross when I last battled Drusus, and it did nothing to protect me.”
“Come now, MacGregor, you must know the rood is simply a physi
cal representation of God’s abiding love for humankind. It’s nothing but a focusing tool. The power lies in your faith, in God, and in yourself.”
“You’re saying that any Gatherer with faith can defeat a lure demon? I find it hard to believe none have ever succeeded, then.”
She laughed. “Ah, there’s the rub. Since the moment God called me into being on the First Day, there’s never been a Gatherer arrived upon my doorstep with his faith intact. Spiritually damaged, one and all.”
“So, if I—”
“Stop.” She held her hands like a shield. “I’ve given you all I care to. I’ve many people to visit today. The rest is up to you.”
“By God, you’re a bloody useless git.”
But his words were not the defiant bullets of scorn he intended them to be. She’d already disappeared in a brilliant flash of cold white light.
13
Lachlan located Brian in a posh little boutique on Santana Row, trying on a pair of hand-stitched New & Lingwood loafers.
“You can’t run in those,” he said to the young Gatherer.
“No,” Brian agreed as he stood and extended his American Express card to the pretty salesgirl. “But if they catch me, I’ll be the best-looking corpse on the street.”
“Don’t you have a gather to do?”
“Yup. Don’t worry, I’m on it. See the poor bugger sitting at that table on the corner, sipping his Java and yakking with his pals? He’s about to get hit by a 1977 Mercury Marquis. The old guy driving is going to stomp on the brake when he sees the red light, but hit the gas pedal instead.”
Peering through the etched glass of the store window, Lachlan studied the coffee drinker relaxing beneath an umbrella: middle-aged, fit, probably a dad. He couldn’t see the telltale white spiral glowing upon his cheek, but he trusted Brian to know it was there. “Shite.”
“Yeah.”
Brian smiled nicely at the salesgirl, accepted his shoe box, and then pushed through the mahogany-framed door to the street. About twenty seconds later, a bilious green land yacht bounced over the curb, mowed down the decorative metal fence, and struck the table, just the way Brian predicted.
Metal shrieked, people screamed and ran, coffee flew everywhere, and the hazy odor of car exhaust was replaced by the ugly stench of blood and fear.
The younger Gatherer thrust his box at Lachlan and dove into the crowd of horrified bystanders, trying to reach his target. But an off-duty police officer took control of the situation, holding unnecessary people back while another man administered CPR. Unknown to those scrambling to keep the man’s heart pumping, he was already brain-dead, the back of his head crushed against the pavement. Brian returned almost ten minutes later, looking annoyed.
“Poor bastard. They wouldn’t let me near him. He had to stay in that mangled body way longer than he should’ve, dealing with the mental shock of what happened. Definitely not fun.”
“But he’s at peace now?”
“Well, that would depend on how you define peace. He’s destined to join us in purgatory. Didn’t quite live the pure life he should have.”
“That’s the price we pay for our mistakes.”
“Yeah, but I still feel bad. He’s got two little kids and another baby on the way. He’s leaving behind a lot of sad people, people who need him.”
Lachlan didn’t answer. Any response would either minimize the man’s death or pull them both into a morose bog of empathy. He handed Brian his shoes. “I want you to do something for me.”
“Name it.”
“Buy the lads some bling.”
Brian stared at him.
“To be more specific, Christian bling. Big silver crosses on heavy chains.” He tossed Brian a roll of bills. “Buy as many as you think they can comfortably wear.”
“Are you serious?”
“Aye.”
“Why?”
Lachlan explained what Death had told him.
“How is that good news, exactly?” Brian asked as he and Lachlan strolled up the street. “Drusus almost punched your time clock the other night and you’ve got more faith in God than the rest of us put together. What makes you think a crucifix or two is going to save our asses?”
“Just do as I asked, Webster.”
“Okay, okay.” He shrugged. “By the way, Carlos said he saw something freaky happen with Emily yesterday.”
“What?”
“One second she was holding a pencil, the next she was levitating it. Carlos said it hovered there for a second; then the pencil just vanished.”
Lachlan sighed. So much for his hope that Emily wasn’t the Trinity Soul. “She’s unconsciously shredding the barriers between the planes. He should be careful.”
“I’ll warn him.” Brian nodded, but his attention had wandered to the sign for a Mexican bistro. “Have you had lunch?”
Before Lachlan could respond, a bright red spark arced across the pavement and ricocheted off the black-painted lamppost in the grassy median beside them. A busy street in the middle of the day was a poor choice for a visitation, so he snatched Brian by the arm and hauled him down into the depths of a nearby underground parking garage.
“Hey,” Brian protested, smoothing the wrinkles on his navy suit jacket. “This is Armani, pal.”
“Did you bring your sword?”
“Yeah.” One spark became three, lighting up the dimness in a series of brilliant flashes. Brian’s attention finally shifted from his attire. “We’re not running?”
“No.”
“Alrighty, then.” He tossed the shoe box onto the oil-spotted concrete floor and pulled his sword from the baldric under his jacket. “Showtime.”
Lachlan drew his own weapon just as the air parched and his ears went pop. Four rapacious demons appeared before them, hungry for a taste of human soul. Having come out on the wrong side of fair play in recent days, he didn’t warn them off. He simply whipped up a hasty shield charm and attacked, taking off the head of the closest demon and severing the arm of the fellow next to him with his first swing.
Brian leapt into the fight without hesitation and made a powerful two-handed slice that took the third demon by surprise, gutting him. In less than five minutes the battle was over, with the last demon collapsing the cloaking dome in a desperate bid to save his immortal life. Unfortunately for him, Lachlan split the front of his neck just before he disappeared. Demon gore ran thickly down the claidheamh mòr as the dome winked into nothingness.
“How many is that now? Four?” Brian wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow with his arm and resheathed his sword. “At the rate you’re saving me from extinction, I may not be able to repay you before your term is up.”
“You owe me nothing. We fought as a team.”
“I did okay, huh?”
“You did well.”
“Wow, was that actually a compliment?” Grinning, the young Gatherer bent to retrieve his new shoes, which had spilled out of the box. He polished the toe of one loafer with his sleeve before carefully tucking it back in the tissue. “I’m going to get a swelled head.”
Lachlan studied Brian.
And it struck him then that he might not always be around to guide the young man’s development or to convey the things he wanted to convey. He put a hand on Brian’s sleeve. “You’re a natural leader and a quick study. You’ve learned a great deal. If the worst should happen, I’d expect you to take charge of the others.”
“Christ, don’t say shit like that.”
“It’s no’ my intent to expire.” Not if he could help it, anyway. “But you must be prepared for every eventuality. If my end comes unexpectedly, promise me you’ll find another seasoned swordsman and keep training.”
“MacGregor, cut it out. This is bullshit. I’m not going to discuss what I’m supposed to do after you’re whacked.”
“It’s good strategy to review all the possible outcomes.”
“No, it’s just nuts. How about we discuss all the possible ways we can beat this asshole lu
re demon instead?”
Lachlan smiled. “Aye, that’s also good strategy.”
“Score one for the Yale grad. Uh, does that mean you’re up for lunch at Consuelo’s? I’m starving.”
“By God, Webster, do all your conversations eventually come back to you and your superficial needs?”
Tugging the cuffs of his pale blue shirt to adjust the amount showing beneath his Armani jacket, Brian led the way up the ramp to the street. “Pretty much. Got a problem with that?”
Em’s brain was so saturated with dark thoughts over the humiliations she’d suffered at the hands of other students that she barely noticed Carlos all day. It took a pointed comment from Sheryl to shake her loose.
“Girl, he is so crushing on you.”
“Who?”
“The new guy.”
She lifted her gaze from her bootlaces and glanced around the school yard. Almost every other kid was scrambling to leave as quickly as he could, either walking briskly home or lining up for the buses. Hands in the pockets of his long black coat, earphones in his ears, Carlos leaned against the brick wall, watching her.
With those deeply soulful eyes.
Keeping her face neutral, she finished tying her boots and then straightened. “He’s cool.”
“No,” Sheryl disagreed fervently, “he’s totally hot.”
“He’s on my bus.”
“No way.”
“Way.”
Sheryl pitched her a thoughtful frown. “What about Drew?”
Em blinked. Whoops. Just for a second, she’d actually forgotten about Drew. “Don’t worry, I’m not looking for a new boyfriend, just enjoying the attention.”
“Oooh, here he comes.” Smiling with a shade of jealousy, Sheryl adjusted her books in her arms. “Text me later and give me the scoop.”
“ ’Kay.”
Carlos sauntered over, all smooth, silky waves and quiet intensity, and Em’s heartbeat fluttered. Most boys carried the distinct edge of body odor on their clothes, but not Carlos. He smelled warm and lemony at the same time.
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