“Sweet, there is no one else like us. We’re one of a kind. He’ll certainly never understand what we’re thinking about doing. Forget him.”
The dark vines of gloom creeping through her mind sprang into full blossom. Em drew a decent rendition of Daria’s head and put a hangman’s noose around her skinny neck. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“That’s my girl. Hey, your dad’s coming up this weekend, isn’t he? Will I get to meet him?”
Em glanced up at the dresser top, to her favorite Christmas photo. For once, the laughing faces didn’t make her feel like crying. Maybe she was getting used to disappointment. “He’s not coming.”
“That really sucks, Em. I know how much you miss him. Your mom did it again, huh? Discouraged him from making the trip?”
“Yeah.” What was that? The fifth time? She sketched a limp body beneath the head—riddled with bullet holes. “She’s down on everything lately.”
“Everything except this priest guy.”
“She didn’t have anything good to say about him last night, either.”
“That’s good. He sounds like a nut.”
“Yeah.” Em’s pen paused above the paper. She recalled the afternoon she’d spent with Father MacGregor, the ice cream, the kidding around. He hadn’t seemed like a nut. He’d been pretty nice, actually.
“So, can I pick you up tomorrow, maybe take you for a spin out to the fairgrounds?”
“I’m still grounded.”
“Come on, Em,” he coaxed. “We haven’t had any time together lately. Can’t you blow off Mr. Wyatt?”
“I only have one more day left, and if I blow him off, I’ll end up grounded for another two weeks.”
“We can’t have that, can we?” Dry amusement flavored his voice. “I’ll be good. I’ll pick you up and drive you right home.”
She drew another body lying on the ground beside Daria, and labeled it Todd. “Okay.”
“You don’t sound too sure.”
“My mom’ll be mad if she finds out.”
“Your mom,” he said pointedly, “is looking for reasons to hate me. We need to calm her down, let her think we’re falling in line. Let me drive you home. Let me get you back safe and sound, and maybe I can score some points with her.”
“Okay.”
“That’s my girl. All right, back to your reading. You’ve only a half hour left before your mom starts hounding you about homework.”
“You know me too well.”
“Impossible. No such thing.” Then, after a pause, he said, “I love you, Em.”
She opened her mouth to toss back an automatic echo of the sentiment, one she’d uttered a dozen times before without a qualm. But an image of Carlos surfaced in her mind, his brown eyes as troubled as her own. The roiling darkness of her thoughts eased, and she hesitated—just for a second. Then she said, “I love you, too, Drew. See ya tomorrow.”
“Looking forward to it.”
Em folded the phone and placed it back on the bed, staring at the sleek silver shape and wondering why, for the very first time, she couldn’t say the same.
The next morning, quite auspiciously, it rained.
The steady drizzle perked up the wilting lawn and brought to Lachlan’s mind, however briefly, the soft wet weather of Scotland. Standing on the balcony, with a steaming cup of coffee in hand and his face turned up to meet the fine spray, he almost missed Emily’s regular trek to the bus stop.
But the grunt the teenager gave as she hefted her large backpack over her shoulders drew his attention to the stone pathway—and to Emily’s straggly hair and black-lined eyes.
And that’s when the earth stopped spinning.
Perhaps on a bright sunny day it might not have been so noticeable, but in the overcast gloom, the pearly white mark glowed like a lighthouse beacon, even through the pancake makeup. Even through the rain.
The helix of Death.
On Emily’s cheek.
Bile replaced the nutty taste of coffee on his tongue. The fact that he could see it meant that he was the one destined to gather her soul. Closing his eyes, he shut out the image of the ghastly, immutable mark, unwilling to accept that it was truly there. It couldn’t be. Death had assured him only yesterday that Emily was of no use to her yet, that she still wanted Lachlan to watch over her, protect her.
Why would she do that? Unless …
He dragged his eyes open.
She lied. She knew he’d grown attached to Emily, and she knew he’d be honor-bound to save her. So the wretched witch had lied. She had said whatever was necessary in order to throw him off the trail, then cold-bloodedly sought out Emily and branded her cheek with a mark that he knew all too well could never be removed—ever.
Emily was going to die.
And there was not one damned thing he could do about it.
Awash in a torrent of bitter regret, Lachlan threw his mug with all his might, smashing it against the whitewashed side of his apartment building, watching the dark brown liquid splatter and run … and slowly drip away under the fine rain.
Dear God, how was he going to face Rachel?
Desperate for a pick-me-up on a dreary wet day, Rachel indulged in a vanilla latte from Starbucks. As she exited the shop, sipping on her cup and holding her purse over her head, she spotted a man standing on the street corner in the rain—no one she knew, a stranger, a guy in a light overcoat, identical to a dozen other people treading the sidewalk that morning.
Except for one thing: He was talking out loud, to no one.
Not subtly, either, but with plenty of hand gestures and facial expressions, enthusiastic words, and sudden, loud guffaws. He paused occasionally, tilting his head as if he could hear someone responding, then rambled on again.
Obviously the guy was mentally troubled, schizophrenic perhaps.
Nothing like Lachlan. Lachlan not only looked normal; he acted normal. More than normal, in fact. Competent. There was no sign of muddled thoughts, no sign of undue stress, no sign of anything but a sane, rational man. When she compared the two men, it made her assumption that Lachlan was crazy seem … crazy.
She skirted past the wildly gesturing man on the corner and dove into the Datsun. The little car growled ferociously on start-up, then settled into a low rumble. She really needed to book an appointment with a mechanic … someday when she had a few extra bucks.
The sharp rap of a knuckle on her window made her jump, and foamy coffee sloshed down the front of her pale green sweater.
“Sorry.”
She glanced up.
Through the trickling beads of water on the glass she recognized the nut brown hair of the young man from Lachlan’s apartment. It was Brian, looking very dapper in a charcoal suit; looking very, uh, alive. But if she believed Lachlan’s story, this man was also a Soul Gatherer.
She rolled down her window.
“Can I get a lift into town?” he asked, smiling pleasantly. He was much more handsome than she remembered. His eyes matched his silver tie and his cologne smelled heavenly.
“Because you have a … job to do?”
At her obvious disgust, his smile broadened. “Nope, I’m off duty. Lachlan just asked me to keep an eye on you.”
Melting a little under the knowledge that Lachlan was thinking about her, she nodded. When he was in, with the door shut and his seat belt fastened, she pulled away from the curb. “If you’re immortal, why bother with a seat belt?”
“It’s the law, and I’ve got better things to do with my money than give it to the cops.”
That made sense. “But if you went through the windshield, you’d live, right?”
“Yes, although survive would be a better term than live, since technically, I’m not alive now.” He leaned over and flicked on her wipers. “As for the windshield thing … been there, done that; don’t recommend it.”
She glanced at him. “You died in a car accident?”
“Yup. And no, I wasn’t wearing my seat belt. I wasn’t sober, either. All I can sa
y in my favor is that I didn’t kill anyone else on my way out the door.”
“How reassuring, they pick morons to be Soul Gatherers.”
“Ouch. But for the record, Death doesn’t pick morons, just sinners. Morons don’t last long in this job.”
“Don’t all the sinners go to hell?”
“No, believe it or not, a lot of them make it into heaven. God’s big on the whole forgiveness schtick. Only the completely unredeemable souls go to hell.” He grinned. “I didn’t qualify. We Gatherers aren’t rotten enough for hell and aren’t sweet enough for heaven. We’re getting one last chance to prove ourselves.”
“I see.” Sort of. “But Gatherers are all men, right? What happens to the women who fall into a similar limbo?”
“Doomed to an eternity as high school guidance counselors, I think.”
“Very funny.”
His eyes twinkled. “Seriously? The odd woman passes muster as a Gatherer, but you’re right, most don’t. They and the guys who aren’t natural warriors end up working somewhere in Death’s bureaucracy, managing her messaging system, extracting relevant information from the huge volumes of data she collects on humans, giving us our job assignments, that type of thing.”
“Ugh.”
“Hey, no one said purgatory would be fun. You want to turn left here.”
She glanced in her rearview mirror, then darted into the left-hand lane. “So Lachlan’s a sinner? What did he do?”
“Not for me to say, I’m afraid. You’ll have to ask him.”
Nice dodge by a very smooth talker. Once they rounded the corner, she asked, “Do you believe all this stuff about the Trinity Soul?”
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But I’m probably not the best person to ask. I didn’t believe in God or Satan, either, until I ended up on the wrong side of the soul track. One thing’s for sure: What happens behind the scenes is a lot weirder than you think.”
Pulling to a stop at a red light, Rachel looked at him. “I don’t know that I buy any of this.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty hard to take. I walked around in a stupor for a week after Death handed me my walking-dead papers.”
“And now you fight demons every day.”
“Not every day. Light’s green; you can go.”
She grimaced as she took her foot off the brake and accelerated through the intersection with a barely muffled roar. “Let me guess. You no longer own a car.”
“Nope, me and driving don’t mix.”
She turned at the next corner and then right again into the SpliNext parking lot. To her surprise, Lachlan MacGregor was waiting in front of the entry gate—shirt soaked through, hair spiked, a heavy frown upon his handsome face.
“I think that’s my cue to bow out,” Brian said, tugging on the door handle.
“He doesn’t look very happy.”
“No,” he agreed with a rueful smile as he slid out. “But I wouldn’t worry unless he pulls his sword out. After that, all bets are off.”
She stared at the intensity of Lachlan’s gaze through the thumping wipers, her palms damp, her heartbeat riotous. How could a guy who looked at her like that—as if she were the best thing that happened to him today—be crazy? Wasn’t it possible that she was just letting old fears hold her back? That her painful mistake over Grant was clouding her judgment? Wasn’t it possible this was the real deal? “He carries a sword?”
“Yeah, but trust me, Mrs. L, that’s a good thing.”
“Don’t call me Mrs. Lewis.”
Brian grinned. “I wasn’t.” He shut the door and waved her on through the gate.
“Everything okay?” Lachlan asked Brian as he watched Rachel maneuver through the lot and park her rust bucket of a car near the back fence, several spots over from the big blue Dumpster and the clump of maples.
“I dunno. Did you see Carlos when you followed Emily to the school this morning?”
“No. Why?”
“I didn’t hear from him last night.”
Rachel scurried across the pavement toward them, her purse over her head, the edges of her green sweater flapping in the rain. She wore a narrow black skirt today, which hugged her very shapely arse and highlighted her long, slim legs. “Probably out on a gather.”
Brian turned up his collar. “Yeah, but he’s supposed to check in every night, to let me know how things are going. If you’re okay here, maybe I’ll head over to his place.”
“Fine.”
“Are you okay here? You seem a little … tense.”
Lachlan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It didn’t do a damned thing to loosen the tightness in his chest. “Emily has the mark.”
“The mark? As in lovely white spiral?”
“Aye.”
“Fuck.” Brian glanced at him, then over at Rachel, who was leaping over a small puddle. “You gonna tell her?”
“I don’t know.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Thank you for the advice. I’ll take it under advisement.”
“Man, what a freakin’ shame. Kind of expected, though, right? Given the lure and all? Do you know how it’ll happen?”
“No, I haven’t received the job assignment yet.”
Rachel reached them and smiled tentatively at Lachlan. “Did I miss anything?”
“No.” Lachlan stood there, staring into her big golden eyes, listening to the raindrops plop into the puddles, each one of them a second lost of Emily’s life. He ran through several options of what to say next, and discarded them all.
Brian cut the awkward silence. “Well, I’m off. Don’t have too much fun without me.”
“Call me when you touch base with Carlos.”
“Absolutely.” And then he was gone.
Leaving them alone.
A droplet of rain slid down Rachel’s nose, and though the temptation to kiss it off was very powerful, Lachlan grabbed her arm and led her into the SpliNext foyer, where it was warm and dry. Inside the cave of green marble tile, where even the slightest sound echoed off the walls, he lowered his voice.
“We’re running out of time, Rachel.”
“You think Drew’s going to doing something?”
“Aye.”
“Well, I finally have an idea of what she might want. She’s been looking forward to a school trip in May, but I had to pull the plug on it yesterday and she’s pretty upset.” A soft flush of embarrassment rose in her cheeks. “We don’t have the cash.”
Lachlan slid his hand down Rachel’s soft woolen sleeve and threaded her cool, wet fingers with his, squeezing gently. May was a long way off. Any feelings tied to the school trip would be muted, and it was unlikely to give Drusus the jolt of emotion he needed to finalize the lure. But he didn’t have the courage to tell Rachel that.
“Good.”
He should have said more, soothed her, wrapped her in his arms, and lent her a bit of his strength, but he felt helpless. And his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.
“I’ve been thinking,” Rachel said softly.
Their gazes met.
Her eyes shone. “I’ve decided to believe you.”
She didn’t muddy the words with further explanations or justifications or excuses. She just let the statement hang there, beautiful in its simplicity.
The last bricks around his heart fell.
He didn’t deserve her faith, but his blood still pounded with the heady rush of it. By God, what more could he ask for? Despite all the doubts she had, despite his sorry lack of evidence to support his claims, she was putting her trust in him. She was making a leap.
For him.
And she not only believed him; she seemed quite determined to prove it. Dropping her purse to the marble floor with a sharp clatter and leaning against his chest, she dug her slim fingers into the sopping mess of his hair and kissed him—open-mouthed, eager, and unbelievably sweet.
She tasted like vanilla.
The simmering warmth in his blood exploded into a raging brush fire
, and miserable cad that he was, he accepted the kiss—then deepened it.
He drank from her like a drowning man, fearful that this might well be the last kiss he ever stole from her lips. Closing his eyes, he slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her as if she were truly his, as if there weren’t a huge, dark chasm between them, as if the future held light and promise instead of gloom and despair. Because that’s how she made him feel, however briefly.
When he finally pulled back to let her breathe, all she said was, “Wow.”
He smiled in agreement, but for the first time, he had difficulty meeting her eyes. “I’m going to stick close to Emily from now on. To make certain Drusus doesn’t get an easy shot at her.”
“Thank you. I swear, the more I think about him, the more creeped out I get. Did you know he’s as old as Christianity?”
“Where did you hear that?”
“I read it on the Internet. He earned a bucketful of medals as a Roman centurion, then got assigned as a political aide to Pontius Pilate. Pretty fancy career, but it ended on a rather sour note—he was poisoned the same year Jesus was nailed to the cross. By Pilate himself, if the rumors were true.”
So, the timing was right for Drusus to be the demon who forced the Protectorate to hide the Linen—not obviously useful information, but worthy of being tucked away just the same.
Rachel grimaced at her watch. “I’ve got to go.”
His fingers tightened around her arm. “Call me if anything unusual happens.”
“You’ll answer your phone this time?”
He winced. “I apologize for that. I was out of cell range.”
“Okay, just don’t do it again.”
“Rachel, I—”
She tilted her head, her eyes curious. Trusting. “What?”
The words froze in his chest. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t look her in the eye and tell her that Emily was going to die. He couldn’t admit that he, the warrior who had already failed his family and his brother, had also failed her.
“Nothing.”
The rain stopped around noon, the sun came out, and by two thirty not a patch of dampness or gray cloud remained—except in Lachlan’s thoughts.
At first, the low chugging sound matched the steady drum of guilt in his head and it didn’t register. But as the rumble grew closer, he identified the noise as a motorcycle. Tearing his gaze from the painted red doors of the school, he sought the source, his pulse hammering.
Drawn into Darkness Page 20