Grave Things (Grave Things Series Book 1)

by Lindsay Mead

  The brujo waited in the courtyard in a dark purple suit, his hair pulled neatly back, and a fresh set of Day of The Dead paint around his eyes. The morning light glinted off the half-a-dozen rings in his eyebrow. He smiled greedily at the sight of her. "Mm, satisfied looks good on you."

  Ian growled a few choice curse words from the bedroom. Viola was by no means tempted by Miguel, given that half of her brain was still on her naked husband. But she could easily imagine that most girls fell into his arms when they heard that smooth voice and saw his smoldering grin.

  Vi, immune to his charms, smirked and changed the subject, "How did you like your suite?"

  "Muy bien." Miguel gave a bow of gratitude. "Thank your husband for letting me stay as his guest."

  "It was the least we could do for all your help."

  "You and I are not so different. We both keep one hand with the living and one on the otherside." He eyed her, spinning one of the rings around his knuckle. "You remember that when you need a helping hand."

  "I will." Viola leaned on the railing, wondering what naked mischief Ian was up to. "So, did you come out here just to compliment my music?"

  "I wanted to wish you good luck and farewell." Wandering to the fountain, Miguel pulled a large silver piece from his pocket and flicked it into the water basin. "Though, I know I'll see you sooner than you think."

  The man was an enigma, or at least he wanted to seem like one. "And how do you know that?"

  "I told you, Diablo likes to whisper." Miguel gave her a wink over his shoulder. The gesture was playful, but something about his tone made Vi think that he wasn't just being mysterious. With an inhale he added, "Your stepbrother wants me to take him on a church tour. We'll be gone most of the day."

  "That's fine." This time it was her turn to give a naughty wink. "I'm in no hurry to leave this bedroom."

  "I can imagine." Smirking, Miguel put his hands in his pockets and started for the exit. "See you around, Señora."

  Wondering about the fascinating brujo, Viola left the balcony. At least she didn't have to worry about Aaron's safety with him. If there was something truly unsavory about Miguel, God would've warned Aaron by now.

  "Take off that robe and come to bed, my wife," Ian said, patting the space next to him beneath the blankets.

  "That is very tempting." It really was. "What would you say to going out for a bit?"

  "No exorcising, Viola." Ian scowled. "I want us to have this day to ourselves."

  "It's going to rain all day." Vi put a hand on her hip. "Do you really think that I want to spend my honeymoon soaking wet in the cemetery?"

  Okay, she wouldn't mind that one bit, but that wasn't why she wanted to leave the bedroom.

  He pursed his lips skeptically. "How do you know it's going to rain?"

  She pointed to the Spanish newspaper by the food tray. "I thought it might be fun to visit the festival for a few hours before the rain starts."

  "Like a date?" A teasing smile curled the corner of his mouth.

  "Yeah." Moving to the bed, Vi sat on the edge and let her hand caress the blanket. "One that ends with us coming back here for more endless sex and nakedness."

  "Well, that sounds…perfect." Ian ran a hand through his sex-tussled hair, causing her to track his flexing bicep, and frowned. "You're really okay with putting off this blood money stuff for another day?"

  "Only because you'll be safe with me here." She glanced at the salt lines, making sure they were still in place and mumbled, "Tomorrow, you'll wait in the church while I get this done."

  Ian scoffed. "You think I'm going to wait on the sidelines while you face a vampire demon?"

  "Damn right, that's exactly what you're gonna do." She leaned over his lap and kissed him softly. "Your wife is giving you an order."

  "I've given you too much power over me." He shook his head as though he'd realized his mistake.

  Viola tugged open the knot of her robe, giving Ian a good flash of her body. "I'm afraid that mother nature did that first."

  "Oooh, I'm so getting a quickie before we go." Wrapping an arm around her, he flipped her to the bed.

  Viola squealed in surprise—and that's where her protest ended.

  The crowds on the final festival day were as large as ever. That would probably change when the rain started, only the truly devoted would remain. As they weaved through the crowd, stopping at various shops and vendors, Ian rarely let go of her hand. It was a great feeling, knowing that she was holding hands with her husband. In between various distractions, they took turns asking all of the questions couples normally answered before marriage.

  Swinging their arms together as they strolled, Viola asked, "When I buy you shirts, I'll need to know your favorite color."

  "Green," Ian answered, then tilted his head. "What flower should I send you when I'm thinking of you?"

  "Sunflowers." Viola pictured the dozens of yellow petals swaying in the wind at her grandparent's farm.

  Ian raised an eyebrow. "Really? I expected you to say black orchids or something."

  "Ick, how goth." Vi pretended to gag, but added with a shrug, "I like sunflowers because they make me think of home."

  He glanced down at her. "You miss home a lot?"

  "I do, but my job keeps my home safe." She stepped out of the way as a corpse bride and groom danced past. "While I'm chasing demons, I can always imagine my grandparents riding their horses or my parents drinking sun tea on the front porch."

  "I think I'd feel the same if I had your family." Lifting her hand, Ian planted a kiss on her knuckles.

  "Well actually, you do now." Viola's insides curled with excitement. "They're your family, too."

  Ian grinned and released her hand. "Hold on a second. Don't move."

  Making sure Viola stayed put, he jogged to a flower cart. She lost sight of him as people passed, but he reappeared a moment later carrying a small sunflower. Ian lifted the petals to his nose, eying her with a beautifully languid gaze.

  "Oh, how delightfully cheesy." Vi held still as he slipped the flower into her hair. "I love it."

  "That's good"—Cupping her jaw in his hands, Ian lowered his head and murmured against her lips—"because I'm going to shower you in a lifetime of cheesy."

  She was so going to love that. Before Viola could say as much, Ian wrapped his mouth around hers. His kiss was deep and slow, savoring the taste of local spices on her tongue. Vi clutched onto his sides as her core warmed in response and the surrounding crowd disappeared from thought.

  Thunder clapped overhead, announcing the coming rain. A couple droplets landed on their cheeks. It felt wonderfully cool against her hot skin. Still kissing her, Ian caressed her cheek and wiped away the raindrops.

  A satin sensation rolled around Viola. It curled up her spine, causing all of her senses to vibrate. Vi recognized the feeling immediately. Though she'd only encountered angels a couple times in her life, she could never forget what their presence felt like. Taking Ian's hand from her cheek, Viola turned to peer through the crowd.

  Angels existed outside of space and time, moving unseen among the living. And they were stunning to behold. The approaching divine male walked as if in slow motion, his wings hovering like duel ivory arches at his back. Tattooed along his cheekbones and nose, Angelic script read, And He Is Destruction Of All. The silver letters shined despite the cloudy sky. Viola gaped at the angel dressed in a dark trench coat and jeans with his luminous caramel skin and long, swaying jet-black locks. The crowd parted for him, unaware of how close they were to the Angel of Death.

  "Azriel," Viola whispered as her blood ran cold.

  Hearing his name, Azriel's silver irises fell upon her and shimmered. She was frozen. Why was he here? Who was he here for? He continued to stare, his slow footsteps bringing him closer still. Ian tugged at her hand, then his fingers slipped free.

  Wondering where Ian was going, Viola turned. He was gone. She quickly scanned the crowd, needing to make sure he was safe. Vi half expected to
see a strigoi waiting to attack. Her gaze whirled down, and that's when she found Ian… His body limp, his head pitched to the side.

  "Oh, God, no," Viola mumbled, dropping to his side. "Please God, not him."

  Her hands went to his warm face as raindrops splashed all around them. Heart racing, she forced him to look at her, but his eyes didn't see. Their glimmer was gone. Panic ripped its way through her chest and Viola searched for a pulse. She couldn't find one. A gulping sob rocked her body as people began to stare.

  "Ian!" Her voice cracked with fear and agony. Dropping, she brought her forehead to his and smoothed her hands along his hair. She glared into his blank eyes. Why wasn't he reacting to her? "Look at me, Ian."

  He's dead, a voice inside her said. Viola shook her head, resisting the thought. He couldn't be. Nothing had attacked him. She checked his clothing, but there was no blood. Ian couldn't just be gone.

  The world suddenly slowed, and Viola felt herself drift into a different rate of existence. She peered up to see raindrops halt mid-fall. They inched ever so slowly toward the ground, nearly suspended, as the crowd's movements stilled. Black boots fell next to Ian and the angel knelt at his side, his wings casting them in shadow.

  "Please don't take him." Viola whimpered and grabbed at Ian's shirt, trying to drag him away from the deadly angel. "I'm begging you."

  "It is already done." He tilted his head, sadness shimmering in his silver eyes as he watched her gasp for air. "My presence has slowed time. You have but a moment before his soul leaves forever."

  Confused, Viola glanced from the angel to the altered reality around them. "I don't understand."

  She could hardly breathe, hardly think. It was all too fast. How could Ian be gone? Grief and rage boiled inside her. She wanted to scream at her helplessness.

  "You are not helpless, exorcist." Azriel touched her cheek, drawing her attention. His intense stare bore into her and pushed some of the overwhelming sorrow from her mind. "Bid him farewell."

  His last rites.

  The idea appeared in her mind as if the angel had dropped it there. Ian's soul was black, condemned to Hell for all eternity. Stupidly, Viola searched through the crowd for Aaron or a priest to absolve Ian's sins. But that wouldn't work. A priest couldn't forgive him his transgressions, thereby freeing his soul, because the sins weren't his own. They were only tied to him thanks to the blood money. Her husband was going to suffer, suffer for crimes he didn't commit.

  You are not helpless, exorcist. The angel's deep voice echoed through her mind.

  He was right. She had one option left to her. It was known as Sin-eating, and it was forbidden by the church. Completely negating the power of the priest, an exorcist could draw another's sin into their own soul. It would mean excommunication, having her abilities taken away from her…but it was the only way to save her husband's soul.

  Words and visions slammed into her mind. Viola closed her eyes, letting them become a part of her. She felt a strange shift in her body like she was becoming something else. Viola placed her hands gently on Ian's still chest and lowered her face toward his. She expected Azriel to stop this blasphemous act. He only watched, giving his consent, as her words came out in a raspy whisper.

  "For the forgiveness of sins and for life everlasting"—Keeping her eyes closed, she parted her lips above his in a forbidden kiss—"I consume."

  Ian's body jerked. His mouth opened of its own accord and black smoke, speckled with flecks of hellfire, drifted forth. It passed her lips, singed her tongue, and swept into her throat. It didn't stop there. Viola felt the evil filling her, sinking deep—darkening her soul. The energy around Ian's body changed, lightening with each second as the sin passed from him and into her.

  The pressure mounted between them, the black smoke growing tight. It wasn't willing to give up Ian's soul. Viola pressed her fingers into Ian's chest, refusing to fail, and inhaled harder. With a snap, the last of the sin ripped from Ian's mouth. Vi jolted upward, feeling like she might combust as the sin settled into her body and soul. Like a drowning woman, she gasped for fresh air. But the purity was too much. She doubled over and coughed—no, she hacked—from the burning in her throat, lungs, and soul. Ebony soot wafted from Viola's lips, swirling away from her face.

  The angel softly grasped her shoulder and immediately her pain eased. The sins were Vi's forever now, no longer connected to Ian or the blood money. She felt a brief flash of pride. She'd saved him. Smiling, Viola looked at Ian. Heaven help her, she'd honestly expected him to open his eyes and ask her what had happened.

  But he didn't.

  His eyes remained closed, his chest unmoving, and his skin drained of color and warmth. Even his soul was gone now. Sorrow surged inside of her and tears spilled down her cheeks. Feeling her heart break, she covered her mouth against the sobs.

  "Ian, come back to me," she murmured, bringing her head to his chest and pushing a hand to his face. "You promised you wouldn't leave me. You promised."

  Azriel stayed at her side, his heavy hand resting on her shoulder. He didn't speak as she wept, never tried to tell her that Ian was in a better place. The angel just remained there, mourning with her.

  25

  The doctors said it was a brain aneurysm. They'd battered Viola with too much useless medical jargon only to really say that something had ruptured in Ian's brain. He suffered very little, a sudden headache and then…

  That's all it was. A natural, rare occurrence that likely couldn't have been prevented. It wasn't the strigoi that'd killed him, nothing paranormal at all. No rhyme or reason. He was just gone.

  Now, hours and hours later, Viola stood outside the church where she and Ian had been married. Ailbeart was still at the hospital. He would see to the funeral, the house, and any other loose ends that Ian had left behind. Viola didn't fight him on any of this. Ailbeart had lost more than an employer, he'd lost his best friend. What the hell did she know about Ian's last wishes anyway?

  Viola choked down yet another sob. Her eyes were already raw and achy, she couldn't take any more tears. Worse, the sin she'd taken from Ian weighed in her veins like led. It felt awful under her skin as if she needed a bath, but no amount of scrubbing would ever make her clean. Ian was fortunate that he couldn't feel all the sin he'd carried. It made Vi's stomach turn, made her want to vomit…but the grief did that as well.

  Staring at the church, Viola knew she needed to accept the consequences of her actions. She'd done the unspeakable, consumed the sins of another. Now she had to face the church and pray they forgave her. The thought of being excommunicated was unbearable, especially now when she'd already lost the man she loved. She couldn't stand to lose her purpose in life on the same night.

  Viola stepped toward the tall building, but memories of her wedding flashed through her mind. She saw the love in Ian's eyes, felt the warmth in her own heart. Would the priest who married them be the one to perform the excommunication? Another wave of nausea hit her. She couldn't do this. Not yet anyway.

  Her gaze swiveled to the adjacent cemetery. People still walked among the graves, observing and caring for the festive decorations. Hundreds of candles flickered in the night. The sight gave her a strange sort of comfort. How messed up was that? While most people went to church to feel safe and comforted, Viola wanted to sit among the graves. That was where she felt the most at peace, among the dead.

  Making her decision, Vi weaved through the thinning crowd and angled for the graveyard. She would still answer for her blasphemy tonight, of that she was certain, but Viola just wanted some time. To put off the inevitable? Maybe. To say goodbye to the largest part of herself in case the church ripped it from her? Absolutely.

  The sins polluting Viola's soul lifted as she stepped beneath the cemetery arch. She exhaled, pausing to stretch her limbs. Thanks to the sacred ground's entity repelling attributes, Vi was temporarily free of her burden. The relief felt so good, like coming up for air.

  With tourists heading home, the mood on the f
inal night of the festival was more somber than celebratory. Heady incense burned Viola's nose as she followed the line through the graveyard entrance. Hushed conversations and a guitar whispered softly in the near distance. Candlelight flickered over faces, names carved into headstones, and brightly colored floral arrangements. It was beautiful.

  Viola almost wished that Lana was there with her camera, but ultimately the exorcist was glad to be alone. She wanted to mourn without anyone watching and be spared some humiliation when she confessed to the church. Vi snaked a bottle of whiskey from the bounty left for one deceased, José Luis. She gave the gravestone a wink as if he'd actually witnessed her theft.

  Viola sought out a darkened corner of the cemetery; an older section where the ancestors of those buried there no longer remembered their names, and the gravestones were undecorated. The undisturbed dirt smelled sweet and moist from the day's rain. Sliding down to lean against a large headstone, Vi placed the whiskey bottle against her lips. The liquid burned as always, but this time it brought tears to her eyes. She sniffled, wiping her cheeks angrily. Did she have a right to cry? She'd sacrificed her soul to save her husband's, but that wasn't all she did… and that truth was becoming unavoidable.

  The church often forgave her minor transgressions with a slap on the wrist. But with excommunication as the penalty, no exorcist had dared to sin-eat in centuries. No soul was worth the risk of losing the ability to draw power from Heaven, to hunt demons, and to save countless other souls. Viola had made the selfish choice.

  Ian's soul was worth it. She took another swig, this time hardening herself against the burn and constant sorrow. The thought of him writhing in Hell, tortured for all eternity until his humanity was gone—and he became like the miserable creature that Viola had ripped from that little girl in India—was more than she could bear. Vi knew that if she had to do it again, she'd save Ian's soul every time. So, yeah, she was fucking selfish.

  Remorse hit her hard, slamming into her bitterness and beating it into submission. It swelled and filled her to bursting. To muffle her sobs, Viola covered her mouth and dropped her head to her knees. The whiskey bottle dangled precariously from the tips of her fingers. She'd failed so many people. And accepting her decision to sin-eat didn't make that realization any easier.