Then again, in a perfect world, they wouldn’t be performing an exorcism at all.
If they survived this, it would a miracle.
He stared at the woman kneeling in front of the pile of stones, pulling exorcism paraphernalia out of a carpet bag, preparing to rid an entire town of the demon haunting it, and thought of the man she had lost, of the gentle way his spirit had reached out to brush her hair from her temple. And he thought of the command that ghost had given Trip to care for her, as if he knew that Ruby and Trip would need one another, and wanted to give it his blessing.
Sometimes, miracles happen.
Ruby paused in laying out her various ritual items. “Trip?” she asked, her voice tentative.
“Yeah?”
“Do you think Flint will ever come back to me again?”
Reaching out his own hand, he smoothed back the tendrils of hair framing her face. “I don’t think he’ll ever leave,” he said softly.
“Good.” She took his hand in her own and rested her cheek against it briefly, then went back to arranging for her ceremony.
When she was finished, she stood and checked over her preparations one last time. Trip recognized some of the elements—a pentagram scratched into the dirt, with elements piled at each point, or in the case of the final one, water soaking the dusty ground, a circle enclosing it all. The smudge stick lay next to an unlit match, ready to be burned when necessary.
“When I pull the demon out of the stones, he’s likely to come at us fast and hard,” Ruby said. “We’ll need to be ready to defend one another.”
“Will you need to be able to move around to complete the ceremony?” Trip asked.
“No.”
“Then I suggest we prepare now.” He turned his back to hers, readying himself to cover one side of the street.
Ruby pressed her back against Trip’s. “What kind of ammunition do you have?” she asked.
“Silver. Tremayne insisted on it when I was assigned out here.”
“Good. It’s one of the few things that seems to repel the demonic forces.”
He grinned as he looked over his shoulder at her. “Isn’t it a little late to be asking that?”
Ruby’s laugh stemmed as much from nerves as amusement, Trip suspected. “Probably. I only thought of it this moment.”
“Well, I’m good. You ready?”
Her back heaved against his once as she breathed in. “Let’s go.”
Once again, as when he first came to town—only the morning before, though it seemed much longer ago—and again during the séance, Ruby’s low, alto voice formed a humming undercurrent to the power that began to swirl around them. This time, though, Trip could feel the vibration of her back against his as she spoke.
This is how it should be.
The two of them, standing together, fighting against whatever evil forces might attempt to take them down.
Even as the misty form of the demon rose up into the air in front of him, Trip knew with a certainty he felt through his whole being, that as long as they worked together, they would defeat it.
* * *
Ruby’s exhaustion played against her as she used all her strength to pull the demon out of the rocks in the pile in front of the bank, and she almost lost her grip on the beast when Mr. Schmidt, the bank manager, came scuttling around the corner.
“Get back,” she ordered, and the round man froze, his face a mask of sheer horror as he saw the demonic form—vaguely human, but covered with scales and a visage so frightening that she didn’t wonder at the man’s response.
He paled even further, if that was indeed possible, and disappeared back the way he came.
I guess that answers the question of whether Mr. Schmidt contacted the Tremayne PSI Agency as the demon’s accomplice or pawn.
To anyone on the outside, it would look as if the demon merely hovered in the air above them as Ruby and Trip stood back-to-back. But Ruby trembled with the effort of holding it outside the stones, pulling it through the earth from the quarry where it drew its own power, and forcing it into corporeal form.
“Tell me when to shoot,” Trip had said grimly, then linked arms with Ruby and dug his heels into the earth, keeping them steady.
The momentary distraction of Mr. Schmidt allowed the demon to gain traction, pulling at Ruby and slipping back into the stones.
“No,” Ruby gritted out, joining her aura to Trip’s and allowing the flaring light to fuel her determination.
The additional power flooded through her, and she poured it into her intentions, shoving it through the pentagram and the elements. As the demon took solid form, settling on the ground, the wind around them picked up, swirling as it had the morning before.
“Smudge-stick,” she shouted over her shoulder to Trip, who reacted as if they had rehearsed it. Unhooking one arm, he waited for her to grab the smudge-stick and match from the ground, then swung her around, as if finishing a do-si-do, ending with Ruby huddled against his chest as he held a gun on the demon.
It took three tries to light the sage bundle without letting the demon loose from her confining will, but she managed it, and when she was ready, Trip spun her around, again without ever letting go, to face the monster, now fully embodied. “I have to go all the way around it,” she shouted.
Trip simply picked her up, his own muscles straining against the force of the demonic winds attempting to hold them back. Ruby shook even more than before with the effort of sprinkling salt and smudging the circle.
When they finished, sweat drenched both Ruby and Trip, but she knew they were almost done. The beast stood trapped in the circle, the pentagram keeping it from sending out its own magic. A shimmering dome, like a crystal bowl turned upside down, held the monstrous creature at bay.
“Now,” Ruby said, her voice threaded with exhaustion. “Shoot it now.”
"Will the bullets cause the barrier to collapse?" he asked worriedly.
"No." She kept one arm looped through his, but gave up the other to allow him to aim.
Inside the trap, the demon roared and screamed dire threats, clawing at the invisible walls holding it in.
Trip took aim, and Ruby worked to remain motionless, to avoid jarring his arm as he pulled the trigger.
The bubble of power shimmered when the silver bullets pierced it, wobbling as if it might pop, but remained upright. With an agonized screech, the demon grasped its abdomen. Despite its inhuman countenance, every line of its face betrayed its shock at being wounded.
"There, you son of a bitch," Ruby whispered. The demon's head whipped around toward her, and she realized it could hear her.
Good.
She had some things to say.
"You took the most precious thing I had and destroyed it. I can't imagine you value anything more than your own hide. So now I'm making sure you lose. You hear that, you bastard? You lose."
Trip had stopped shooting as she spoke, allowing her time to say her piece, as if he understood her need for words.
"I'm done," she said. "Kill it."
Trip’s silver bullets finished the job, the demon collapsing into a pile inside the containment circle. As the last of its life-force bled out onto the ground, the incandescent bubble containing it disappeared.
Ruby watched it die, then sent her paranormal senses questing through the town.
Nothing.
She was sure of it.
The townspeople of Rittersburg might someday have an actual poltergeist to deal with. But for now, they were free of all supernatural forces.
She glanced up at Trip. His face was pale and drawn, but satisfied, and she knew she couldn’t have done it without him.
He returned her gaze, and a slight smile crossed his face. “I don’t know about you, but I could use some sleep,” Trip said, threading his fingers through hers and tugging her toward Mrs. Baumgartner’s.
“OK,” Ruby said, laughing at his open-mouthed outrage at her use of the term. “But we sleep in our own beds.” She pau
sed, glancing at him. “For now.”
“For now,” he agreed. “But only because I am exhausted.”
She glanced heavenward. And because I am not yet ready, Flint. But I will be. Eventually.
For the first time since walking away from that church in New Mexico, Ruby actually felt alive.
* * *
As she finally drifted to sleep in the bed she was using for the first time in the Gasthof, Ruby imagined Flint stroking the hair back from her face, as he used to do. Then she was half-dreaming, half-remembering his shade as it stood next to her during the séance the night before.
“Rowan,” he said, his blue-gray eyes kind as he reached out, not quite touching her. “I want you to be happy. I mean that. More than anything, I want you to be happy.” His gaze flicked toward Trip, who was watching the scene play out before him with his usual calculating stare hidden beneath a lazy half-smile. “Let yourself be loved, sweetheart,” Flint continued. “Allow someone else to look out for you, watch over you.”
Ruby’s shoulders heaved, and the part of her mind that knew this was only a memory felt her body twitch. But she didn’t wake. The dream played itself out to its end, as if reminding her of her promise.
“I will,” she said.
Flint turned to Trip and said something she hadn’t heard during the actual séance—now, however, the sound carried with perfect clarity. “You will care for her,” Flint announced, his words to the other man bearing the weight of a directive from the Great Beyond. “Protect her.”
Trip nodded solemnly.
Trip doesn’t understand that he’s now compelled by two competing mystical bindings. One to part ways with me when this case ends, the other to protect me. Indefinitely.
Their conflicting constraints would tear him apart.
And only Ruby could release him from one of them.
For that matter, she realized, Flint had placed her under an obligation of her own—to allow herself to be cared for. Then he had connected it, at least tangentially, to the oath he had extracted from Trip.
Damn you, Flint. You sneaky son of a bitch. Alone in her mind, she could curse and call him all the names she wanted, be as unladylike as she had sometimes been with him.
She almost heard the echo of his laughter, pleased with himself and his machinations.
It’s what you need, my love, she heard him say.
This time, when she felt the brush of his fingers against her temple, she drifted into a true sleep—where she dreamed of Trip, standing back to back with her, facing anything that might come their way.
* * *
Afternoon sun streaming through his window woke Trip the next day. He rolled over and groaned, aching and sore all over.
If he really intended to find a way to follow Ruby when she left town, he would need to work on developing his demon-fighting muscles.
Assuming there were any more demons out there to be fought.
Maybe next time we’ll get some actual poltergeists.
Or how about a regular old ghost or two? A simple haunting would seem almost pleasant after the last twenty-four hours.
Keep dreaming, Austin.
Somehow, he knew that, although it might often be pleasant, life with Ruby would never be simple.
He dragged himself up to a sitting position as he considered that last thought. Was he seriously planning to try to build a life with this woman after only one day?
I am.
For one thing, he had promised Flint’s ghost that he would care for Ruby. That promise held the force of a vow.
More important, though, Trip realized, was the fact that he simply wanted to be with her. She was strong and resourceful and resilient, and from what he had seen of her interactions with Flint’s shade, she held a deep reservoir of emotion.
The kind that could water a desert, if she let it.
Trip might not be the man to help her tap into that pool, but he would sure like to try.
A tap at his door interrupted his musings. “Just a minute,” he called. He dragged himself out of bed, put on his pants, and made his way to the door. Somehow, he was unsurprised to find Ruby standing outside, a steaming mug in her hand.
“Good morning,” she said. “Or rather, afternoon. Here. Drink this. It will make you feel better.” Handing the hot drink to him, she swept past him into the room, glancing around appraisingly.
The bitter taste of the tea was barely concealed by the honey that sweetened it. “This is horrible,” he said, making a face between sips. “What is it?”
“Witches’ brew,” she replied distractedly as she pulled open the doors of the armoire. Finding it empty, she closed the doors again and turned to face Trip. When she discovered him staring down into his cup in feigned horror, she shook her head, even as she laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s willow bark tea, with a few other herbal ingredients. If you will simply drink it, you should be ready to ride in an hour or so.”
He took a long drink, holding his breath. “Ready to ride in an hour?” he said, working to keep his tone as mild as possible.
“Yes.” Ruby held her hands out to her sides, palms up. “Our horses are almost ready. Where are your saddle bags?”
“Under the bed.” He gestured with the cup before tilting it back to drain it. Grimacing, he set it aside on the washstand.
“Ah, there.” Ruby was already dragging the saddlebags out from where he had stashed them. With a slight grunt, she heaved them up onto the mattress.
Recognizing her almost frenzied activity as a mask for worry, Trip stepped forward to intervene as she began to open one of the saddlebags, and placed his hand over hers to still it. “I can pack for myself, Ruby.”
She froze, then tilted her head far enough to look at him from under her lashes. Neither said anything at all for a long, quiet moment.
Then she slowly turned her hand palm-up and laced her fingers through his. She closed her eyes, and another surge of power rushed through him. Unlike the others, though, this one didn’t hurt.
It did leave him slightly dizzy—or maybe that was the tea.
Or perhaps is was simply Ruby’s touch.
Whatever it was, it put a smile on his face.
“You don’t have to… .” Ruby’s voice trailed off.
“Don’t have to what?”
She closed her eyes, took a breath, and stood up straight to look him in the eye—but she didn’t let go of his hand.
That’s a good sign.
“I have been to the telegram office this morning,” she said, her gaze almost as intense as it had been when she had confessed to burning down the church in New Mexico.
“Oh, yeah?”
“The Tremayne Agency will be wiring our pay to San Antonio.”
“What’s in San Antonio?” he asked.
“Our next case.”
Trip didn’t know if Ruby was even aware that she was holding her breath. Part of him wanted to tease her a little, make her wait for his confirmation of her unspoken request.
The rest of him wanted to pick her up and spin her around in the air before kissing her soundly. Again.
But either response would be wrong.
“Our case?” he repeated.
Her voice dropped. “If you’re willing to partner with me, that is.”
A slow smile spread across his face, and in a moment, it was matched by Ruby’s grin. Trip picked up their clasped hands, turned them over, and dropped a light kiss on the back of her wrist.
“What are we looking at when we get there?” he asked, letting go of Ruby and pulling open the straps of the saddlebag.
Ruby handed him a shirt from where it hung on the slat-back rocker in the corner of the room. “It looks to be interesting—apparently there’s some kind of water-creature haunting a bridge across the river there. Nat Tremayne seems to think it might be a troll.”
Trip’s heart grew lighter as he listened to Ruby outline what she knew about trolls.
Oh, yes. It looks to be int
eresting, indeed.
* * *
About the Author
Margo Bond Collins is addicted to coffee and SF/F television, especially Supernatural (maybe because of those Winchesters). She writes contemporary and paranormal romance, urban fantasy, and paranormal mystery. She lives in Texas with her daughter and several spoiled pets. Although she teaches college-level English courses online, writing fiction is her first love. She enjoys reading romance and paranormal fiction of any genre and spends most of her free time daydreaming about heroes, cowboys, vampires, ghosts, werewolves, and the women who love (and sometimes fight) them.
You can learn more about her at http://www.MargoBondCollins.net and follow her on all the usual social media outlets.
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