“But I am uniquely capable. My vow to protect the Linen gave me an unusual ability to tap into the power of faith. Combined with my natural talents as a warrior—which priest Protectors do not possess—it made me a Gatherer candidate unlike any other. You knew that the day you exchanged my life for my brother’s. It’s why you agreed to the trade. I didn’t know the truth then, but I know it now. If anyone can defeat you, it is I.”
The cant of her shoulders slipped a little, but her voice remained hard as ice. “Even should you strike a lucky blow, do you know the price of slaying me?”
He nodded. “If I kill you, I assume your role.”
“And is that what you want? To be forever tasked with ending lives?”
“No,” he admitted. “The notion turns my stomach. But I will gladly do it if you attempt to harm Rachel. Make no mistake.”
She shrugged. “Truthfully, I do not care about your woman.”
“My protection extends to Emily.”
“Now that”—Death smiled coldly and with a wave of her hand conjured a dozen soldiers to her side, twelve skin-and-bone warriors with cloudy white eyes and sharp, shiny swords—“is a mistake. I think you underestimate my powers, Gatherer.”
Lachlan gently pushed Rachel behind him and brandished his sword. “I think you underestimate mine.”
A bright blue spark arced through the mobile home, crackling loudly, grounding itself in the television set. Another quickly followed, this time zapping the stainless steel refrigerator. Rachel peered around Lachlan’s broad shoulders, wondering if he’d performed some sort of spell.
The tang of lemons filled the air, and her ears popped. An elderly man in a brown tweed suit and yellow vest suddenly appeared in the middle of the room, blinking with confusion.
“By the saints.” Lachlan shuddered.
“Damn.” Death stepped back, waving her ghouls behind her.
Rachel’s gaze darted between Death and the newcomer as she tried to make sense of what was happening and tried not to panic at the thought of a man materializing out of thin air, from God knew where.
The elderly man smiled at Lachlan. “Ah, there you are.”
Lachlan sighed, a huge, hollow sound of disgust. “I have no soul for you to collect, old man. You’ve made an error.”
Death snorted.
The tweed-clad man favored her with a long, steady look, one brow lifted. “How very disappointing.”
Her gaze dropped to the carpet, a flush rising on her pallid cheeks. “I’m not certain what you mean, Michael.”
Rachel felt Lachlan stiffen.
“He put his faith in you, and you betrayed him.”
Death’s gaze lifted. “It was not betrayal. I merely wished to asc—”
The elderly man shook his head. “Do not attempt to minimize your actions. He’s not the fool you take him to be. You will face his judgment and be duly punished.”
“But—”
He raised his hand to halt her explanation, and she closed her mouth, reluctantly submissive. Then he turned back to Rachel and Lachlan.
“A fine muddle, this.”
Lachlan fell to his knees. “My sincere apologies, Your Glory. My rudeness was unforgivable, but I had no idea—”
Stunned by the extremely reverent and apologetic tone in his voice, Rachel stared at his bowed head. What the f—
“There’s naught to forgive, my boy,” the tweed-clad man said. “I play the part of a dotard to great success, do I not? Get up.”
As Lachlan rose to his feet, his hand clutching hers, he whispered hoarsely in Rachel’s ear, “God’s most holy messenger, the Archangel Michael.”
She blinked, then studied the peppered hair of the man standing before her. Had she heard that right? Did Lachlan just say this old geezer was an archangel? Weren’t archangels supposed to be the most beautiful of all the angels?
The elder looked at her, his rheumy eyes twinkling. “Not quite what you expected, eh?” He patted his bright yellow vest. “All just an illusion, I’m afraid. But I rather enjoy this persona. He has a bumbling charm I don’t actually possess.”
The amusement faded.
In a flash, the short, plump old man was gone, replaced by a tall man with long, golden blond hair, who somehow managed to pull off a plain white suit with elegance to spare. His eyes, the deep blue of lapis lazuli, contrasted with the light tan of his face, giving him an air of unrelenting intensity—almost a glow.
“Step forward, Lachlan MacGregor.”
Lachlan tried to shake Rachel’s hand loose as he stepped toward the angel, but she wouldn’t let him.
Michael frowned at her refusal to be parted from him, but otherwise ignored her. “I so enjoy being right. Since becoming a Gatherer, you’ve consistently made difficult but righteous choices. In the cavern you had the opportunity to use void magic to defeat Drusus, an opportunity many men would have found difficult to resist. You chose not to. Instead, you relied on your own skills and courageous heart.” He paused. “The man you once were would not have made that same decision. You’ve proven yourself an honorable soul.”
“Thank you, Your Glory.”
The mightiest of God’s angels held out his hand to Rachel. “The reliquary, if you will.”
She handed him the tube.
Michael snapped the glass in half and a rush of white light left the vial, swirled around him several times, and disappeared into the air above his head. The reliquary fragments vanished.
“Your family now resides in the upper plane,” he told Lachlan. “You’ve done them proud.”
Lachlan’s hand tightened around hers, a slight tremble in his fingers, and she squeezed him in return.
“Now,” said Michael, “we have a mess to clean up.”
He raised both hands and the gray stone wall disappeared. The occupants of the room spun around almost as a unit, staring past Michael to Death and her minions, horror on their faces.
But Death remained in her spot by the window, unmoving.
“Emily, approach me.”
Rachel opened her mouth to prompt her daughter, but as it turned out, the urging was unnecessary. Although still pale and withdrawn, Em answered the summons, rounding a huge oak table and shuffling forward.
Michael made the sign of the cross on Em’s forehead, and her eyes cleared and brightened, the last hints of enthrallment fading away. Her head tilted as she studied the tall man.
“Cool,” she said simply.
He took her chin in his hand and examined her right cheek. Out of nowhere, a white spiral, thin and cruel, appeared on her daughter’s pale skin.
“The mark of Death, how unfortunate.” He glanced at Rachel. “It’s a primal spell, dating back to the very beginning of time. I’m afraid even God does not possess the power to remove it.”
Whatever hope remained in Rachel’s heart turned to dust.
“However,” he added, sighing heavily, “there is one thing he can do. He’s reluctant, of course, because the solution has its own drawbacks, but there’s little choice.”
Rachel’s heart began to beat again.
She crossed her fingers behind her back.
“By the power vested in me by Our Most Holy God”—Michael placed a lean finger upon Em’s cheek, and almost immediately, the skin beneath began to glow a soft blue, like a robin’s egg—“I bless you with the mark of Life.”
Atop the pearly white spiral that Death had placed, another symbol took shape, the outline of an oak tree. When he dropped his hand, both symbols remained, blended together as if they were one.
“Are you mad?” Death surged forward to study Em’s cheek. “Neither can be removed. One will forever balance the other.”
He eyed her narrowly. “Indeed.”
Death fisted her hands at her side, glaring at Michael. “Why? Why create a monster simply to tame my efforts to ascend? What sort of foolishness is that?”
“A monster?” Rachel stiffened. “What does she mean?”
Michae
l turned to her, his mouth opening to speak.
But Death snarled a response first.
“She can never die, that’s what it means. She’s doomed to walk the middle plane for eternity. And before you get excited, ask any of the Gatherers how they feel about that notion. It’s not a gift; it’s a punishment.”
“Why?” wailed Rachel, suddenly overwhelmed by her daughter’s bleak future. She spun to face the archangel. “She doesn’t deserve this. Damn it. Why did he have to pick Em in the first place? Why the hell didn’t he pick someone else?”
Michael’s vivid gaze found hers. “He didn’t pick her, Rachel. He chose you.”
The blood left Rachel’s head in a rush. “Me?”
He nodded. “Do you remember visiting the Louvre when you were in Paris? Sitting in front of the da Vinci painting Virgin of the Rocks for hours, studying the details?”
“Yes.” As vividly as if it had happened yesterday. Those had been the last carefree hours she’d enjoyed before the phone call that changed her life.
“Da Vinci had a gift, rarely found. You were the only artist in a very long time who, like he, truly saw the connection between the elements—who knew the painting required the sharp contrast between the drab rocks, the beautiful Madonna, and the intricacies of the vegetation to fully come together. You were the only one who completely understood the balance between light and dark, and grasped the higher-level interdependency of it all. To unite the three planes, the Trinity Soul would require that same unique insight, so God chose you as her mother.”
Rachel frowned. “Does that also mean he chose Grant?”
“For his intelligence, yes.”
“So, basically, he put me through hell on purpose.”
Michael tossed her a disapproving look. “He required the Trinity Soul to possess specific qualities. She has them.”
“And she gets to keep them forever, apparently.”
“It’s not as bad as Death makes out,” the angel said, his expression calm, his eyes steady. “Emily is not trapped here. As the Trinity Soul, she can visit all three planes at will. Even God and Satan cannot do that. They are limited to their own plane and the middle.”
“Still.” Rachel glanced at Em, who didn’t seem at all concerned by Death’s pronouncement of her fate. “She’s stuck forever as a fourteen-year-old, condemned to never grow up, never get married, and never have a child.”
Michael shook his head. “She can age, if she desires. She can wed and have children, if she desires.”
“Yes, but her husband and children will die before her,” Death tossed in spitefully. “Ask MacGregor how good that feels.”
“Now, now,” Michael admonished, smiling at Em. “Even that is not as dreadful as it sounds. She will be able to visit them on whatever plane they reside. All worthy souls, of course, end up on the upper plane with him.”
“Except the ones Satan steals because the angels are bloody well late.” That gruff comment came from the group of Gatherers, but it wasn’t clear which one.
Michael took no offense.
“We’ve been a trifle busy the past few months, patching up rifts in the planes and returning out-of-place creatures to their proper dimension. But with Emily finally gaining a measure of control over her new skills, the angels will have more time to meet with the Gatherers.” The archangel turned his head. “Which leaves only one remaining item. What to do with you, Lachlan MacGregor.”
“According to his indenture contract,” Death said, “he still has ninety-one years in my service. Why do anything?”
“He’s earned his soul back,” Michael replied.
“But that’s not—”
He raised a hand, and Death vanished.
After an instant of stunned silence, the Gatherers burst into applause.
“Be very careful, lads,” Michael said, his gaze level. “I only sent her home to Antarctica. When all this is over, you’ll report to her as usual, and it might not be wise to test her.”
The applause died, but the grins remained.
“Now, Lachlan.”
Rachel slid deeper into Lachlan’s embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist. Earning his soul back sounded like a good thing, but she was suddenly afraid of what that might involve.
“God’s given great thought to your future,” Michael said slowly. “You would make an excellent archangel, and all of heaven knows we need more good people.”
Rachel squeezed Lachlan tight and closed her eyes.
“But one sticky issue still remains.”
Her eyes popped open.
“You have never recanted your decision to take your own life.”
“No,” Lachlan agreed.
“You know full well his stand on this matter: Life is very precious. A gift that is never to be taken lightly and never to be discarded willfully. Had you leapt in front of your brother to prevent a sword from piercing him, that would be one thing. Very selfless, no direct intention to die. Stabbing yourself on purpose is quite another.”
“Aye.”
“Knowing what you know now, understanding the full consequences of your actions, would you choose a different course of action?”
Lachlan was silent for a moment. Then he sighed and said, “No.”
“We’re disappointed in your response,” Michael said, shaking his head. “You leave him with no choice. Since you’ve earned your soul back, he must force you to live a second life and insist that you spend those years proving how much you value the gift. Only if you live that life with the honor and dignity it deserves will he grant you a place in the upper plane.”
Rachel’s breath caught. A second life?
“Do I start anew, as a bairn?” Lachlan asked slowly.
“That’s one option.” Michael peered down the length of his nose, thoughtful. “Or he could leave you right where you are and let you make your way from here.”
Lachlan’s heart thudded heavily against Rachel’s cheek.
“Do I get a choice?”
Michael smiled crookedly. “I’m afraid not. His decision.”
The room was silent again, expectant.
“God has summoned the Trinity Soul now for good reason—to combat a rising tide of evil. Belief in God has fallen to an all-time low among the humans and, as sin spreads, more corrupted souls are entering hell than ever before. Each one adds fuel to Satan’s fire, and their concentrated power is such that each one doubles his strength. But that alone would not have been cause to raise the Trinity Soul. Satan’s interest in the Pontius Pilate Linen suggests these recent gains in power have incited him to consider the unthinkable. We believe he plots to overthrow God.”
Rachel frowned. That really didn’t sound good.
“To actively seek out and destroy the threat, we must be properly prepared,” the archangel continued. “Emily will need considerable guidance in her role as the Trinity Soul, and he can think of no one better suited to take her in hand than you, Lachlan MacGregor. He’s decided you will continue from here.”
The room exploded into applause and hoots.
Rachel almost fainted with relief. Lachlan would stay.
Michael held up his hand to regain order. “One more thing. You are hereby offered the newly created role of Gatherer Trainer. We can no longer tolerate the preventable loss of souls. If you accept, you and your mortal progeny will train new Gatherers in the art of mystical war.”
Lachlan slowly let the air out of his lungs and nodded. “I accept.”
Michael nodded solemnly. “So be it.”
Then he was gone.
20
Lachlan scooped a small blue-black rock from the shore of the windswept loch and ran his thumb over its smooth surface. Slate, from Ballachulish, judging by the color. Worn by the waves and faded by the sun, it was clearly old, perhaps an ancient fragment of slate roof. He tucked it in his sporran.
Climbing the rocky bank to level ground, his gaze automatically swung to the moss-covered lump of wall where Emily sat
wrapped in her boyfriend’s gray cotton hoodie. The damp May breeze tugged at the couple’s clothing, encouraging a twining of bodies. He studied the pair for a moment, then glanced down at the image on Rachel’s canvas, an image that successfully captured both the brightness of Emily’s smile and the glowering clouds drifting across the west end of the loch. “I’m still no’ convinced that’s a prudent relationship.”
“Leave them alone. They’re good for each other.”
He peered at his wife. “Pardon? Weren’t you the one who insisted he was too old for her?”
“He is.” She added a smudge of gold to the bottom of a cloud. “And the fact that he’s dead doesn’t win him any points. But look at them. Have you ever seen two happier people? Compare those expressions to the ones they wore seven months ago.”
She had a point.
The darkness that had once haunted Carlos had eased. Whether it was because the lad had learned to forgive himself for his brother’s death, or because Emily had a unique ability to soothe his soul, he couldn’t be sure.
“Besides,” Rachel added, rinsing her paintbrush in a tiny pot and standing, “we couldn’t stop her from resurrecting him, so how the heck could we possibly stop her from dating him?”
“Paddle her arse ’til it’s purple?”
“She’s fifteen.” She wrapped her arms around Lachlan’s waist and pressed her body tight against the warm wool of his Aran sweater. Her hands were chafed and chilled from the hour she’d spent capturing the wild Scottish landscape, but not once had she complained.
“If you’re suggesting that’s too old for a healthy dose of discipline, think again.” He planted a kiss on the top of her head. “Reacting emotionally—which she does all too often—is very dangerous for an immortal with the power she possesses. She snatched his soul from beneath Satan’s nose. Trust me, that’s no’ the sort of deed that eases tension.”
“He didn’t deserve to go to hell.”
“No, he didn’t,” Lachlan agreed. “But Satan is an immensely capable primal being, no’ an enemy to be trifled with. He’s stirring up enough trouble as it is. The demon attacks may be fewer these days, but they’re more purposeful and more dangerous. The last thing we need is to have Emily incite him into anger. She needs to gain some self-control.”
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