Shadows and Stars

by Becca Fanning

  “Damn, those are just flashlights.” Disappointed, I turned around, coming nose to nose with Jackson. “Probably the groundskeeper with a security guard, or something. Let’s get out of here.”

  “They’ll get the tag number before we can turn around and drive out of here.” Jackson’s gaze still fixed on the lights over my shoulder, a smile crept across his face. “I have an idea. Trust me?”

  Did I? That was a loaded question. Past experience would tell me nothing good ever followed that question, but we were in this together. Partners, whether I’d wanted one or not. He’d saved my ass in Cathedral, patched me up afterward and stuck around after Big A showed up. So yeah, I guess I did trust him. As much as I trusted anyone.

  I nodded. “Yeah, I trus…”

  Jackson’s lips pressed against mine, cutting my answer short. Shocked, my body went rigid until his arm snaked around my waist, his hand somehow managing to find the one spot on my back exposed between the hem of my coat and waistband of my jeans. Just that small amount of skin on skin was enough to push me off the edge. I gave myself over to the kiss. A battle between my brain and hormones ensued, each side locked in an argument of pleasure over practicality.

  Pleasure won out.

  He nipped at my mouth, teeth grazing my bottom lip. Wrapping an arm around his neck, I pulled him closer, molding myself to him as I gave in and deepened a kiss that was anything but gentle. His mouth worked against mine, driven by a growing attraction that had been ignored too long. There was a flurry of hands, grasping at clothes, anything, in our desperation to feel more skin against skin. He abandoned my mouth, his lips leaving a trail of fire down my neck.

  “Jackson.” Back arched to give him better access to the swell of breast he’d exposed from under my shirt, my head rested against the door. “Oh, god.” Under the right circumstances that would have been a moan.

  But these weren’t the right circumstances, so instead, it was a groan.

  Light from the flashlights found its way through the steam clouding the windows to shine right in my eyes. Lost in the lust I felt for the Sin Eater, I’d forgotten what we were doing in the first place—pretending.

  “I know, I feel it too. Angelica, I never thought…” Saved from the potential embarrassment of whatever he was about to say next by the wrapping of a Mag-light against the window, Jackson froze.

  Neither of us moved, staying perfectly still for about half a second until a flurry of activity erupted inside my car. The Mini Cooper rocked back and forth as I slapped and shoved at Jackson to get him back over on the driver’s side while trying to wiggle back into my seat and fix my clothes at the same time.

  The flashlight tapped against the glass again, a muffled “roll down the window” barely audible from the other side over all the commotion happening inside the car. Jackson turned the key to the auxiliary position and pushed the button to put the passenger window down.

  “Zip it up, Romeo.” The man on my left, presumably a night guard based on his uniform, shifted the direction of his flashlight, shining it in Jackson’s face instead of mine. “The is a cemetery, not lover’s lane. Have some respect for the dead, for christ sake.”

  “Better check the car and trunk just to be sure, Jim.” The groundskeeper, complete with coveralls and rubber boots, came up beside the security guard, shining his light in the backseat. “The way that grave is tore up, the office will have our asses if we don’t.”

  Jackson held up a hand to shield his eyes from the light. “You want to search the car? On whose authority?”

  “Yours.” The guard tilted his head to one side, a cocky smile on his face. “Unless you want to explain all this to the cops. Pretty sure fornicating in a cemetery breaks more than just God’s law, probably a few of man’s laws too.” He flicked his light from Jackson’s face to beneath the driver’s side dash, where the buttons to release the hood or trunk latches typically are. “Now pop the damned trunk so we can get this over with. It’s starting to rain, and I don’t want to stand here dicking around with the two of you.”

  “Just pop the trunk.” We didn’t get what we came for, so I was as eager as the security guard to get the inspection over with.

  Jackson pulled the lever, releasing the latch, and the trunk lid popped up. The groundskeeper walked around to the back of the car, the light from his flashlight disappearing from view as he scanned the trunk, which took less than a minute given my trunk was completely empty. No shovels, no signs of dirt or dead bodies. Not so much as a gym sock or a gum wrapper.

  “There’s nothing in here.” The groundskeeper shouted over the roof of the car to his partner. “Wish my wife kept our trunk that clean. Can’t even fit groceries in ours when we do the shopping on Sundays; gotta load up the back seat.”

  “Well, they sure as hell couldn’t hide any of your tools back there.” Security guard Jim flashed his light on the small backseat of my car before shining it back on the two of us. “Guess you’re just a couple of weirdos who like to do the nasty in a graveyard. Freaks.” He shook his head in disgust.

  “Takes all kinds to make the world go ‘round, Jim.” The groundskeeper clasped a free hand on the security guard’s shoulder. “Come on, we still need to call the cops about that grave.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m right behind you.” Jim shifted his focus from the groundskeeper back to us. “You two get the hell on out of here. There’s plenty of cemeteries in the city for you to desecrate. Don’t let me catch you coming around this one again. You hear me?” He turned to catch up with the groundskeeper, not bothering to wait for an answer.

  “So, this is what public humiliation feels like. Guess I can check that one off my bucket list. I could have gone my entire life without knowing, but now I have you to thank for that experience.” I sat back in my seat in a huff, yanking at my seat belt until the safety lock released and I could pull it out far enough to secure it around myself. “And we missed the necromancer.”

  “First, the necromancer was gone before we got here. There’s no way we could have missed him.” Jackson held up two fingers. “Second, two people hardly accounts for public humiliation.” Starting the car, he shifted into reverse before buckling in. “And I didn’t hear you complaining. Quite the opposite in fact.”

  “Shut. Up.” I pressed my palms against my eyes, rubbing them back and forth. “I need a drink. Probably more than one.”

  “I know just the place.”

  Shifting in my seat, I turned my back to Jackson and rested my head against the window, the cool glass a comfort against the flush from my frustration over the necromancer, and well, other things. I didn’t bother to ask Jackson where we were going. So long as they served alcohol, it didn’t matter.

  TEN

  THEN AGAIN, maybe it did.

  Mount Royal Tavern’s cement steps and brick front loomed before me as the Sin Eater driving my car miraculously found curbside parking. There were only a few places left in the city that served beyond the traditional two o’clock closing call that didn’t also serve breakfast. Mount Royal was one of them. It was also the only bar that catered to our kind—Reapers, Sin Eaters and the higher-ups like angels and demons—so his choice shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

  Still, I’d been hoping for somewhere a little less conspicuous to lick my wounds and drown my embarrassment. Not party to negotiations, most Reapers just came to Mount Royal to drink and possibly get lucky. The dating pool wasn’t very deep, and the pickup lines were tired, so I’d stopped coming to Mount Royal and started drinking alone at home instead. I probably should have explained that to Jackson before letting him choose where we were going.

  We sidled up to the bar, managing to score two vacant stools side by side. The Sin Eater took off his jacket, hanging it on the back of his stool. Catching a glimpse of a tattoo on his forearm, I pushed the sleeve of his black thermal up to his elbow.

  “Sixpence None the Richer? Where have I heard that before?” I snapped my fingers, recalling where I knew it fro
m. “Isn’t that a nineties band? You a big fan or something?”

  “Or something.” Jackson was about to order for us when the bartender slammed two shot glasses in front of us filled to the brim with a light amber-colored alcohol.

  “Four Horsemen and Hell Follows; courtesy of the man in the back.” The bartender pointed out a guy leaning against the back wall of the bar.

  “That’s really what it’s called?” I reached for the bartender, whose name escaped me. I’d only seen him once before. “What’s in it?”

  “You don’t want to know.” The bartender winked, and I caught a flash of the goat slit eyes hidden behind his brown contact lenses. He was the demon on duty. “Now down the hatch.” He tucked the rag he’d used to wipe down the counter into his back pocket and walked toward the opposite end of the bar to take an order, leaving us to our drinks.

  “Are you going to drink that?” I picked up the shot glass, watching the contents begin to separate, then turned to look at Jackson. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Head tilted back, he downed the shot and slammed the empty glass upside down on the counter and stalked off toward the guy in the back. “Hey, where are you going?” Pinching my nose to avoid the throat lock I usually experienced when doing shots, I tipped my head and the shot glass back in one swift movement before sliding off my stool to catch up with the Sin Eater.

  Whatever that concoction was, it hit me before my feet hit the floor. I sucked in a breath, eyes blinking rapidly as if they would somehow stave off the alcohol blazing a trail down to my stomach. Jackson managed to cross the bar and was already engaged in a heated conversation with the guy who purchased our drinks, while I was still trying to combat the effects of the shot.

  “Hells bells, what was in that?” Apparently four different whiskeys and Everclear if I heard the bartender correctly. “Whoever named that shot was spot on. Hell follows, like right after you swallow it. It feels like an apocalypse is happening inside my esophagus right now.” I used the barstool to steady myself for a second before heading over to butt in on Jackson’s conversation.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met.” I held out my hand, expecting Jackson’s acquaintance to shake it, not look at it like he might catch the plague.

  “Just take my advice for once, Jackson.” After giving me the brush off, the guy pushed his way between us and stomped off for the door.

  “Nice friend you have there.” Still feeling the effects of the whiskey and Everclear, I did a slow turn to face Jackson. “What was that all about?” The sour look on his face was proof enough the conversation hadn’t been that friendly and left Jackson in a foul temperament that matched mine.

  “You ready to go?” Jackson dug the car keys out of his pocket, handing them to me. “I’m suddenly not in the mood for Mount Royal.”

  “Sure, whatever.” Pushing the keys back into his hands, I added, “But you’re driving.”

  “Lightweight.” Jackson led the way to the door. “You hungry?”

  “I could eat.” In fact, I was starving. My stomach rumbled at the mere prospect of food. “Breakfast?”

  The neon lights of the all-night diner used to illuminate half the block. Of course, that was before half the lights blew. The owner was too cheap to fix them, so the sign read ‘all di e’. Some kids spray painted the word we on the sign a few months back. I still couldn’t figure out how the hell they got up there. The electric blue irony of the half-lit sign’s message wasn’t lost on me. We all die. That much was true.

  Unless of course, a necromancer got a hold of your corpse.

  My usual booth in the back was open. Without waiting for the hostess to seat us, I grabbed a menu off the checkout counter and escorted my companion to our table.

  “Hey, kid, the usual?” Joan, our waitress, was a staple at the diner, waiting tables for at least a decade.

  Mid to late thirties, she was smart, attractive. The kind of woman who could have been or done anything if she’d wanted to. But she hadn’t. She was doing what she loved, with the hopes, she’d inherit the diner from her grandfather one day. Joan set down two porcelain mugs that years ago had been white rather than the coffee-stain beige they currently were and filled them to the brim with the fresh brew she’d brought with her.

  “Your friend going to need a minute?” She raised a quizzical brow, tilting her head in the Sin Eater’s direction in a subtle cue for an introduction.

  “The name’s Jackson, ma’am.” He closed his menu and handed it to Joan. “I’ll just have what she’s having.”

  “Brought your appetite, I see. Good.” She tucked the menu under her arm and slid her pencil and ticket pad back into her apron pocket. “You know, you’ve been coming here for years, a stack of papers with you. Usually spread all over the table by the time your food gets here. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you bring anybody with you before.” She paused, sizing Jackson up, before finishing her assessment with a “hmph” and a shrug. “First time for everything, I guess. I’ll get your orders in. Just give a wave if you need a warm-up.” Joan nodded toward the mugs on the table and headed off to the kitchen.

  “Well, she seemed less than impressed.” Jackson smiled. “Especially since I’m the first guy you’ve brought with you.”

  “I wouldn’t read too much into it.” Pulling off the paper seal, I unwrapped the silverware rolled up inside the napkin. “Joan’s coming off a bad breakup. I think she was hoping I batted for the other team.”

  Jackson absorbed that while he defiled his cup of coffee with sugar and cream. A plastic cup stuffed with broken crayons propped up the dessert menu on the side of the tabletop jukebox. Without having to look at the music selection, I pushed the button marked C-1 and grabbed half of a red crayon from the little cup. Doodling on my placemat, “House of the Rising Sun” playing in the background, I tried to fit the pieces of the necromancer puzzle together, but kept circling back to my make-out session with Jackson and the feelings he was about to confess before we were interrupted. Were they real or heat of the moment, I wondered, before reminding myself he’d instigated the whole thing as a cover for why we were in the cemetery in the first place.

  “Hello, earth to Angelica.” Jackson snapped his fingers in my face. “Are you even listening to me?”

  “Hmm?” I shook my head as if that would help clear my thoughts and allow me to focus on Jackson when he was what distracted me in the first place. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “Never mind, it wasn’t important.” The hurt expression on his face said otherwise. Whatever Jackson said, it was important, at least to him.

  Pancakes prevented me from pressing the matter and finding out if it had been a repeat performance of whatever he was going to say in the car. Joan emptied her serving tray, setting several plates of food on the table until there wasn’t a bare spot left. Reaching for the syrup, I drowned the tower of hotcakes, still trying to decide if I even wanted to know. Digging my fork in and pulling away the first bite, I decided it was better if I didn’t.

  “This is the usual?” Jackson wide-eyed the assortment of food on the table. Plates of pancakes, scrambled eggs, home fries, sausage, bacon, and toast filled the space between us. “Where do you put it?”

  “I have a high metabolism. Besides, half of it’s yours.” I took a bite of the bacon, savoring the salty, Applewood smoked deliciousness. “So, who was the guy at the bar?”

  “The guy at the bar?” Jackson was still distracted by the amount of food scattered across the table, probably trying to decide where to start first. He opted for the eggs. “Dane. My predecessor.”

  “I thought there was only one Sin Eater in a territory.” I shrugged in response to his quizzical expression. “Just because we aren’t allowed to fraternize with Sin Eaters doesn’t mean I don’t know anything about them.”

  “Point taken.” Jackson washed down a mouthful of home fries with a swig of coffee. “To answer your second question—yes. Traditionally there’s only one Sin Eater to an area to prevent a s
hortage. There’s enough competition for souls without pitting Sin Eaters against each other.” One corner of his mouth upturned in a crooked smile capped off with a small dimple I hadn’t noticed before. “But Dane’s anything if not traditional. He’s not here on business.”

  “Then what’s he here for?” The name Dane sounded familiar, like I knew or should know his story, but I couldn’t place it. Rather than wait for it to come to me at some random hour when I was wide awake thinking about something else entirely, I decided to let Jackson fill in the blanks. “And what does he want with you?”

  “It’s personal. I don’t really know the whole story. Just that he got burned by someone and he can’t or won’t let her go.” Jackson tore off a chunk of pancake, dunking it in a puddle of syrup before shoving it in his mouth. “As for what he wanted with me? To tell me to stay away from you.” Anticipating my question, Jackson continued before I had a chance to ask it. “The devil’s daughter? Apparently, everyone around here knows you.”

  “He’s not my father.”

  “Semantics.” Jackson shrugged. “People see him that way. As your father, I mean.”

  “It’s not semantics. It’s genetics. He. Is. Not. My. Father.” Stomach souring over the direction the conversation had gone, I pushed my plates toward the center of the table. “Is that why he sent over those shots? The four horsemen and hell follows? Because hell follows me around?”

  “I’ve never put much stock in people’s opinions. I prefer to make up my own mind.” He held up his fork, pointing it in my direction. “You should do the same.” Jackson pushed my plates back toward me. “If it makes you feel better, I told him to fuck off. Finish your breakfast. We still have a lot of work ahead of us, and you need your strength.”

  Having lost my appetite, I forced down a few more bites of my pancakes. My coffee and food had gone cold by the time Jackson waved Joan over for the check. She took one look at my unfinished plates and decided Jackson was the root of all my troubles. Scowling, she told me I could do better and slammed the check on the table.