by Riley London
In spite of myself, color flushes my cheeks. Here I was thinking about taking him to bed when I to get back and he has an even better idea.
I stand and give him such a bold stare that it takes a minute for me to realize he looks confused. Well, not confused exactly, but like maybe I inferred something he didn’t exactly intend to imply.
The tips of his ears are blood red, and his ducking his head. “Max, I…”
If it happened organically, I would love to have mind blowing sex with this man and then rage into Hell to reclaim my adopted father.
But the reality is that I think Erik needs to take things slow. Focus on things one at a time.
An even more surprising truth: I like him so much that’s just fine with me.
And the promise of having his full, undivided attention? That’s not the worst idea ever.
Now if I can just get him to get through this without embarrassing us both.
I laugh out loud as his eyes track to his bedroom door.
“What do you say we get in a good hard training session before it’s time that out? Sounds like we could both blow off some steam.”
He moves close to me again.
“That sounds great,” his voice is a deep growl in my ear. “And when we’re back? I have some other ideas.”
Oh, hell yes.
14
Erik’s flat on his back on the mat in the practice room.
I’m on top of him, squeezing him between my thighs with a blade pulled at his throat.
It’s a dull practice blade, but still, satisfying.
It’s one of the few times I’ve gotten the upper advantage against him in our sparring sessions. For a minute, I think I’m improving. Except, a couple of things suggest that he’s not necessarily fighting back as hard as he could.
One is the way he looks at me.
The other is rock hard against my thigh.
A shadow passes over us as someone steps into the doorway, clearing his throat and breaking the spell, saving me from having to contemplate anything else happening here too closely.
Ari watches us from the doorway, implacable, although he gives the scene a slow, methodical appraisal.
“Well done, Max,” he says brightly. “Erik, I think your sword is in danger of impaling her.”
I can’t suppress a snort as I rise to my feet.
Erik’s head falls back against the mat with a resigned thump.
“Could you join me for a moment if your training is done? You have a guest.” Ari’s eyes are on me.
“What guest?” barks Erik, who is already on his feet behind me.
“A messenger,” Ari replies.
I’m a mess, hair piled into a bun on top of my head with wild curls escaping. Wearing nothing but yoga pants and a training bra under a loose-fitting tank top. Not exactly on par with Ari, looking fresh as ever in his pressed linen day suit.
Two weeks ago, I didn’t even know that day suits were a thing.
Salem Academy: training in hunting supernatural baddies and a full-on social education.
“Sure, why not.”
I follow up the stairs, Erik trudging behind me unhappily. I look back and catch him staring at my backside.
Wickedly, I can’t stop the grin spreading across my face.
In the atrium, a man that I immediately dub Jeeves waits at rigid attention. He’s wearing a penguin suit – like a legit tuxedo – and holding a huge pale embossed envelope in his hand.
Ari pauses next to the man but makes no move to leave. That strikes me as unusual.
“Maximiliana Ryder, may I present Alexander Wilkins? Wilkins here is the family butler for your grandmother, Mrs. Loretta Ryder,” he says primly.
I like how he spells it out, like I’ve got of bunch of rich grandmothers running around with butlers in tow.
At the mention of my grandmother, a hot spike of fury takes root in my gut.
For his part, Erik lets out an almost feral growl that has me considering other ways to channel that aggression.
But the most interesting point in this whole mess is the open-mouthed stare that Wilkins gives me.
“You’re the very image of your mother, Miss Ryder.” There’s a tightness to his voice that makes me think maybe my mother meant something to him once.
“Call me Max,” I say, faux-cheerful to hide my frustration and nerves. “What brings you to our humble little corner of Salem?”
Ari coughs. Erik shifts. Wilkins looks taken aback before he hands me an invitation.
Fine. Clearly I don’t have a budding future as a society hostess.
“Miss Ryder,” he says, ignoring my request to call me Max like a normal person. “Your grandmother has been remiss in not inviting you to Ryder Manor sooner. She’s anxious to see you and has of course become aware of the circumstances that precipitated your return to Salem.”
Okay.
“She’s been using her not inconsequential network to see how she might be helpful, and she believes that she has information that might assist you in safely securing the return of the exorcist.”
“Father Gabriel,” I bite out, annoyed that he didn’t bother to use his name.
“Ah yes, of course.” He hands me the envelope. “She would like for you to join her for an intimate dinner tonight.”
I meet his eyes. “Let’s go.”
Wilkins looks around, almost panicked. “But Miss Ryder, it’s only after 4 p.m. Mrs. Ryder doesn’t take dinner before nine, I am afraid. Join her sharply at nine. May I tell her you’ll join her?”
I start to say I’ll tell her myself because we’re fucking going now, but when I look around the room, something stops me.
Something’s off here, about this guy, about the invitation. Not just the circumstances. The magical trace doesn’t exactly ring true either. There’s some sort of signature on both the butler and the invitation, and it feels like it’s on the darker side.
Family in Salem.
Ari’s strange demeanor and Erik’s discomfort reinforce those instincts.
I smile brightly and say in an oddly cheerful voice, “Yes, of course. Nine p.m. sharp. I’ll be there.”
It looks like Wilkins wants to say more, but the icy silence combined with Ari opening the door sees him out. He stands there watching until Wilkins is out of sight and off the property before he swings it shut.
“You’re not going,” growls Erik.
I whirl around, turning on him so fast the world spins. “The fuck I’m not. You don’t tell me what to do.”
It feels like the edge of an argument is about to unfold, but Ari clears his voice and then says, “Enough.”
He does that influence thing that tamps down the emotions flying high, but doesn’t seem to touch my annoyance.
“Erik, there’s something you need to go take care of now,” he says pointedly. It takes Erik a second to get whatever message Ari’s sending, but he looks uncomfortable and stalks off without another word.
“You have an interesting effect on that man, Max,” says Ari, looking after him. “I’ve known him his entire life. And well, I’ve never seen him like this.”
I tuck that away to think about later. Not the least of which is that Ari and Erik look like they should be roughly the same age.
“I’m going, Ari.”
He nods.
“Definitely. There’s something I want to show you first, if you’ll come with me.” He starts walking. Not toward his office, but toward another door that I don’t think I’ve been through before.
It takes me a second to really process that he didn’t argue with me.
The door opens into an exquisite library. Shelves line the walls stuffed with books, and display cases hold weapons, armor, and other things. But it’s the murals on the walls that seem to have Ari’s attention. He stops immediately beneath something that looks medieval.
“What is it?” I ask.
“This was painted by one of the most visionary prophetic painters of the 11th ce
ntury,” he says, stopping to glance at me. “Do you know what a prophetic painter is?”
I don’t.
“The angels and demons – and maybe god – talked to them. Inspired their art. Showed them visions.”
It reminds me of the Sistine Chapel. Father Gabriel got to go to Rome once for exorcist training. It was just for a few days, but he saved up and bought a ticket for me to wander around doing the tourist thing while he did the sessions. It’s the only time I’d been out of the country.
And it had cost him every spare cent he had, and was one of the kindest things anyone ever did for me.
I take in the contours of the work. It’s maybe a little faded, but otherwise perfectly preserved. The main theme seems to be a battle, all being fought from horses and by troops on the ground with swords and axes. Below them, a pocket seems to open and show demons crowded around some boss monster demon on a throne.
Lucifer, I guess. A chill skitters across my skin.
And for just a second, I wonder how a medieval painting seems embedded in a wall of a manor house in Salem, a town that wasn’t settled until the 1600s.
A puzzle for another time.
I look back at the mural.
On the other side, above, a similar scene opens up to Heaven. It’s much less disturbing.
“Tell me what you see, Max.”
I look from the painting to Ari. I want to indulge him, but I don’t know what to say. My patience is running thin.
I say the first thing that comes to me, “It’s the big picture. The overarching organization of the way this artist thought that angels, demons and people worked, I guess.”
Surprise widens his eyes, but he nods, looking pleased. He makes a little gesture that goes on.
I point to the angels. “At first glance, that’s all goodness and light, while those guys down under are darkness and hellfire. But then I look at the scene unfolding on earth and it’s actually the worst thing of all.”
The silence goes on for so long that I turn to Ari and he stands there regarding me. Unmoving, those features really do give the impression of a stone sculpture. But he skips the usual adulations and polite remarks.
Instead he crosses the library to a small case. The case itself is glass, but the front can only be opened through a touchpad.
High tech.
The door swings open after he punches in the code, and seconds later his fingers withdraw a small silver dagger. It’s housed in a black velvet box, which he carries over to the table. Standing next to him, I looked down at the small unassuming knife.
It is silver, with a handle that looks functional and a blade that looks sharp. But it is devoid of runic inscriptions, inlays, or even an embedded gem that could explain the magic that’s pouring off it.
Almost reverently, Ari lifts the blade from its box and hands it to me.
A magical steak knife?
Metal on skin causes an explosion of awareness. All the training that I have been doing to recognize magic kicks in. While I can’t identify the exact signature that I’m picking up, this weapon – if you could call it a weapon – is definitely enchanted.
“What is it?” I ask, moving to lay the knife back in its box. Ari’s hand shoots out and catches my wrist.
“No Max. I need you to listen.” There’s a serious, almost severe note that I’ve never heard in his voice before. “You need to take the dagger with you. You need to keep it with you, on your person where you can reach it at all times. From the time you leave this room until the time you get back to Salem Academy.”
There’s a precision to his words that sparks my awareness. It’s like he’s trying to tell me something, let me in on one of the visions that he has. But I still haven’t mastered how to decode this man and the way that he sees the world.
He doesn’t seem prepared to offer anything else.
My mind goes back to Brother Dominic and his severe voice as he warned me to keep my distance from Ari. Warned me that there was more to Ari than the eye could see, and that what was hidden from view was critically dangerous information.
“Tell me what it is first,” I say sharply. “Be honest with me and I’ll trust you enough to take this with me.”
For just a second, the ultra-polished and professional mask cracks. Clearly it hasn’t occurred to him that I didn’t trust him, that I wouldn’t simply obey. I can see him weighing his options.
“If you mindfuck me Ari, I will use this dagger on you.”
Anger and something like fear mold his features for a second, before he deliberately rearranges that into their more usual state.
“My dear Max, there is going to come a day in the not so distant future where you will look back on this conversation and are grateful that you chose to take me seriously. There will also be a moment where you will look back and marvel that despite how you spoke to me, I let you leave the room alive,” says Ari.
His voice is so cold, so matter of fact, that I finally feel like I’m seeing a hint of the real man below the elaborate mask.
Honest, actual Ari.
For some reason, it makes me like him more.
Something in his voice tells me that this isn’t a threat; it’s just a fact. And that’s all I’ve been looking for all along here: the truth.
“It sounds like I am just going to have to take your word. What the hell do you want me to do with this?”
At the word hell, Ari gives me a wolfish grin. “Oh, don’t you worry about that little Max. You’ll know exactly what to do with that when the time comes.”
It strikes me that I’d normally bristle if someone called me little Max, but that with him, I seem inclined to let it go.
Again, a thought for another time.
For now, my thoughts are full enough.
I shoot him a menacing grin of my own. “I trust you to have my back. Tell me if something comes up and I miss it. Tell me when it’s time to use the dagger.”
Ari’s face shifts into that expression that tells me he is considering what to share. I half expect him to invite me to the fireside in his office. But instead, he simply gives me a shake of the head.
“Max, for a number of reasons that you don’t understand right now but will soon, I can’t join you on this quest. But now is the time when all of your training comes into play. Everything that you have learned up to this minute, from Father Gabriel, here at the Academy, from any aspect of your life. Now is the time to make sure that you are prepared to use it to stay alive.”
The weight of those words is lead in my gut.
“Come on Ari,” I say, trying to sound brighter than I feel. “It’s just dinner with the family. It can’t be that bad.”
He gives me a sad smile as he moves out of the room.
“Remember Max, just two things. Keep the dagger with you at all times and trust that you’ll know when to use it. And even more important, don’t forget: one wrong choice and hellfire and brimstone will consume us all.”
I stare after him for a long time. Finally, I head up to my room, change into dark combat clothes, and grab my weapons. I’m just suiting up when there’s a tap at my door.
“Come in,” I call over my shoulder.
The floor shifts and I look up to see Erik standing in the doorway. He looks awkward, uncomfortable, like he doesn’t really want to be here – or maybe he feels like he shouldn’t be. He’s changed into dark cargo pants, combat boots, and a black T-shirt that does nothing to hide his amazing physique.
“About earlier,” he says, and for one awful minute I think he’s here to apologize for popping a boner in the dojo. But instead he continues, “Max, there’s something that I want to tell you about your grandmother.”
Erik has been almost entirely close lipped about anything to do with my family. If I think about it, it makes me furious. But I’ve also come to understand that he believes he has my best interests at heart.
And he did share something with me about Micah, and that alone is deeply treasured information.<
br />
My brother’s still alive, and if I make it through this damned day, there’s a chance that I can see him again.
But for now, my attention’s on Erik.
The fact that he’s up here, in my room, offering me intel on my family? He’s got my full attention.
I keep strapping blades to my ankle, my thigh, my hip, and the wrap under my tank top. But my eyes are on that rugged face. “What is it Erik?”
“Loretta Ryder is not a good woman,” he says tightly. I snort. I’ve definitely gotten that much from the little bit of gleaned info.
He takes a frustrated step into my bedroom, looking around for somewhere to sit that’s strong enough to hold his form. He looks at the bed, glances at me, and then looks away. When I jerk my head and make a “you’re being ridiculous” face, he finally sits on the edge of the bed as far away from me as he can get.
Poor guy. Maybe I have been teasing him too much.
I lift my shirt and start to slide knives into the holders, and it’s like his view is arrested before he forces himself to look away. Secretly, I love that he finds me attractive. But I need to stop being distracted right now.
“Erik, I don’t know what we’re walking into. My understanding is that this woman is a killer. Maybe she killed my mother. Maybe she tried to kill me. I don’t know, it’s hard to make sense of the memories and I don’t have anybody who is willing to help me understand what I’m remembering,” I say simply.
He has the grace to look abashed.
But when he jumps in with, “I am so sorry Max. But I am sworn to protect you and I am sworn not to share this information. At least not right now.” I wave him off with a dismissive hand gesture. I unbuckle my belt and shimmy my pants down over my hips to slide knives into the need to thigh holsters situated there.
Sliding them out with of the sheaths with the belt is no problem. Getting them in there takes a little more work.
Erik looks like he might have a stroke.
“I don’t want to get killed trying to go to dinner with grandma. If there is any information, anything at all that you can share with me right now, I would be forever grateful.” I haul my pants back up and situate the belt so I can buckle it. One thing that I have learned about Erik is that he’s a careful man, so as he weighs my words I just wait.