Fallen Redemption (The Trihune Series Book 1)

by Austin, RB

  Cade shared his smile. “Yes, it is.”

  Sarid stayed after Gabriel left, waiting to see if he was needed.

  “I’ll see you at dusk, my ach.” Cade told him.

  Lucas sat in his seat, gaze intent on the empty table in front of him.

  “How was patrol?”

  “Like I said, Unproductive.”

  Cade blinked at the curt response. “How’s the anger?” When no immediate reply came, he continued. “Is it still inside you?”

  Lucas nodded.

  Cade let loose a sigh. With only four in their Sept everyone needed to be in top shape. He’d fooled himself into assuming Lucas was on the mend from the time with Emma—shut it down—the talk in the gym, and the fact that he’d seen Lucas’s tats change from red to pink. Cade believed, wanted to believe, his ach’s condition had improved. A-S-S “Do we need to call Elias?”

  “Not yet,” Lucas reply was immediate. “I can manage it. I believe it’ll be gone soon.”

  Cade’s eyebrow rose. “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  Lucas was lying. That was troubling. The anger was a foreign substance and could be extracted. Lying wasn’t a direct effect of anger. What if the anger caused irrevocable changes inside his ach?

  “I’ll call upon Elias as soon as we find the one who hurt Gabriel.”

  Lucas beamed. “I agree.” He stood, not waiting to be dismissed. “I’ll see you at dusk.”

  Cade eyed the empty doorway. Dread filled the pit of his stomach. Should he wait to bring in Elias? Would waiting cause Lucas further harm? He never used to have to ask himself these questions. As the leader, he’d always known what to do. Lately his ability to make the right decisions failed him.

  Chapter 21

  Emma’s gaze roamed over the stained glass windows as she walked down the aisle. She chose a pew in the back far from the other parishioners. Mass would start in twenty minutes.

  Dropping the kneeler, she knelt, bracing her elbows on the back of the pew in front of her and resting her forehead over her clasped hands. Why was she even bothering with prayer? Emma didn’t have much to say to Him.

  At least one part of her life was noteworthy. The Astoria Art Gallery was exhibiting her pictures. The show was in two weeks. It was still hard to believe. The owner said her work was perfect for the Promise and Hope Presentation. Oh-kay. Art was about interpretation. If he wanted to interpret her pieces into his show she wasn’t going to contradict him.

  Jenny’s voice raised at least one octave since it happened. Sean was equally excited. Unexpectedly he’d asked her out on a date. Emma thought he’d given up on her. Of course now she wanted to stay friends until her life was straightened out. Straightened-out-life equals no more hallucinations or dreams.

  The hallucination part was kicked. Hopefully. He hadn’t appeared in her bedroom again. The brain damage theory was on hold for the moment. It’d probably been from stress.

  A chord on the organ struck making her jump. Emma lifted her head, then stood. The church was half filled. A young family was even sitting next to her. The organ continued to play the entrance song as Father Gregory and three altar servers walked up the aisle.

  Recognizing the music, she began to sing. She’d try paying attention this time. And no swearing. Emma opened the book to follow along with the readings. Flipping through the pages, she stopped at the second Sunday in November. The words underneath the date caught her eye. All Soul’s Day. A day to remember the dearly departed and pray for their eternal rest with the Creator.

  Her mother used to spend an extra hour at church on that day lighting candles and praying for deceased family and friends. Emma’s gaze scrolled down the page. The first reading was the story of Lazarus.

  She read the passage. Her hands began to tremble. Read it a second time.

  When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had been in the tomb for four days. He exclaimed in a loud voice, ‘Lazarus, come out.’ The dead man came out.

  A dead man walking. The lecturer had moved onto the second reading. Emma’s gaze bounced to the window of Jesus lifting a gold chalice over his head.

  Drinking his blood. Raising people from the dead. These phrases hadn’t shocked as a child.

  Father’s voice pulled her from her musing. He stood in the middle of the altar addressing the congregation.

  “Everyone has a soul and our soul lives forever even after the body has died.”

  Those words did little to calm her pounding heart.

  The rest of mass was a blur. Like last time, she stayed in her seat when it was over. What was she supposed to make of today’s signs? Never come here again that was for sure. Her life was inching toward the get-back-on-track lane.

  So why couldn’t she be happy?

  Even without the holy billboards screaming—Error! Error! Turn back now—she felt raw inside. Turmoil had burned holes until she resembled a piece of Swiss cheese. Memories she’d shoved to the back of her mind to never, ever recall were proving difficult to forget.

  She closed her eyes and relived the last time she saw him. It didn’t matter it had been an extremely unhealthy stress induced hallucination. If she held still enough she could remember his cold caress followed by tingling heat as he gently brushed her cheek.

  “Can I help?”

  Emma startled. Father Gregory sat in the pew in front of her. His arm rested on the back of the seat. How had she missed the creak of the old, wooden pew when he sat? She was losing it.

  His kind eyes were waiting for her answer. Emma shook her head.

  “Sometimes we must follow what our eyes see as opposed to what our minds tell us.”

  Emma’s brows furrowed.

  “The Creator’s plans are never revealed to us until the end. Even when we believe to know the purpose of our difficult trial the unexpected happens and we realize we never had a clue to its true reason.” He gave her a small smile. “Your mother was a remarkable woman.”

  Emma’s eyes widened.

  “She had a kind and generous heart.”

  Dropping her gaze, she blinked rapidly.

  “I’m here if you ever need to talk, Emma.”

  When she lifted her head, Father Gregory was halfway down the aisle.

  Father Gregory waited until Emma left before he pushed himself off the kneeler in the front pew. Cade was still here and his eyes had watched more than the mass this past hour.

  The Behn was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, arms folded across his wide chest. His familiar unreadable expression held an uncharacteristic hint of anger. There was a faint green-brown bruise upon his left cheek. “Why did you say that to her?”

  “She was in pain. My job is to help those in need.”

  Cade stalked forward until he loomed over him. “It doesn’t answer my question.”

  Gregory didn’t say anything for a moment, simply studied the expression on his savior and father figure’s face before turning to the door. He sensed rather than heard Cade following. “I’ve an hour before next mass. I need to eat breakfast. Would you care to join me?”

  There was a moment of silence before he heard a gruff, “Yes.”

  Gregory stopped in surprise then quickly started. No more words were exchanged as they walked to the rectory. He unlocked the door and immediately smelled the bacon and eggs his cook left for him. Cade refused to take half of his food but helped himself to a cup of coffee.

  Father ate most of his meal before disrupting the silence. “How do you know Emma?”

  Cade didn’t answer immediately but when he opened his mouth an outpour of words emerged. Father didn’t interrupt once. Ten minutes later Cade finished, his head hung low over his chest.

  “Someone wise once said, you can’t change what’s come to pass. Regr
ets and wishes won’t fix the present. It’s only when one regards the future that real change can occur.”

  Cade gazed at him. The hostility was gone. His unreadable expression back.

  “From love comes remarkable things, most of all experience. How to do it better. How to do it right. How not to do it. How to live with pain. And how to get as close as possible to the same love the Creator has for you.

  “Love was given to you. It was a gift. You can’t return it. You can’t exchange it. You have to accept its consequences with all of its flaws. Emma will heal and will have gained more in her life because of the love you’ve shared. You’ll heal as well.

  “Time is another gift He’s given us. You have more than most. Rejoice for the time you had, for the gifts you were given, and for all you’ve learned. You’ve become a better man because of them and she’s better from knowing you.”

  A sheen entered Cade’s eyes but was quickly gone. Perhaps he’d imagined it.

  “Thank you, Father.” Cade rose and the front door closed before he could respond.

  Gregory sighed heavily. Setting down his fork, he folded his hands in front of his heart. “Creator, help me help others. Heal the broken hearts, guide Cade and Emma as they find their way to Your true path.”

  “Did you see what I meant? Did ya?”

  Vetis rolled his eyes and pushed Kobal away from the door entrance. He just returned from surveying the female, spreading his cold joy along the way. Surprise, surprise. The new interest of the Behnshmas was the bitch from the alley who’d interrupted his fight a month ago. It was her fault the newly turned Fallen was killed. She was the reason his trouble with Sonneillon began.

  It didn’t make sense for the Behnshmas to be watching her. They’d only have to wait a few days after she’d been bitten to learn of any side effects. Like death. The female Follower must be special to them.

  Vetis pulled a wallet from his back pocket before sitting down in his chair.

  “What’s that? Whataya got?” Kobal bounced in front of him.

  Annoying. He stuck his foot out. The stupid fuck fell to the ground, but even that wasn’t very funny anymore.

  Kobal bounced back to his feet, continuing his ants in pants routine well away from Vetis’s feet.

  “The bitch’s wallet.”

  Kobal’s eyes widened. “How did you get it?”

  Yeah, right, like he was going to answer.

  Vetis went back to the alley after he’d recognized the Follower. It didn’t take long to find what he was searching for.

  That night he’d run from the alley, after realizing staying wouldn’t be healthy. From a rooftop he’d watched the Behnshma kill the new recruit. After the bitch fainted—pathetic—the Behnshma carried her a half a block to his car. Vetis went back to pick up the new recruiter’s dagger. He noticed and ignored the stupid bitch’s purse lying in the corner, partially hidden behind the dumpster.

  Thieves already pilfered through the purse, but they’d left behind the one thing he truly wanted. Opening the wallet, he removed a plastic card. It contained two lines of information that was the key to his new promotion. He waved it in front of Kobal. The demon’s eyes shined like a kid with a brand new bicycle.

  “Let’s prepare a room,” Vetis told him. “We’re going to have a guest soon.”

  Chapter 22

  “Do you feel that?” Emma whispered to Jenny.

  They were at the coffee shop stuffing themselves with caffeine and sugar before Emma’s meeting with the gallery owner. She’d finished another canvas last night. Afterwards she was meeting the Van’s Art Supply Store manager to discuss a position in the frame department. It wasn’t the job she’d hoped for but the local schools weren’t hiring now. Plus as Jenny reminded her she’d have an employee discount and her schedule would allow for painting time since she wouldn’t have to grade papers or work on lesson plans.

  Jenny leaned in and whispered back. “What?”

  “Like we’re being watched.”

  Fear passed across her friend’s face, no doubt remembering the creepy guy scare. Jenny scanned the patrons. “I don’t see anyone.”

  Emma already knew creepy guy wasn’t there. But someone’s eyes were burning a hole in the back of her head.

  “Maybe you’re nervous.”

  She shook her head. “I met with George two other times. I’m not nervous.” Maybe if she acted like nothing was wrong it’d make it true? Right and maybe Santa Claus did exist.

  “Maybe it’s from an excessive amount of sugar?” Jenny eyed her empty cinnamon roll plate.

  The roll had been warm, gooey, and absolutely fantastic. Now it was swirling sickeningly in her stomach. Emma sipped her plain decaf. The coffee in no way compared to the tongue-happy-dance peppermint mocha drink. Although that was a good thing. “That’s it, I’m sure.” The haze of panic and fear eased from Jenny’s face. She shouldn’t have said anything. One crazy person at the table was enough.

  “Let’s go. Walking will kill the rest of the time.” Plus it would be easier to spot crazies on the not so crowded street.

  The burning skull sensation diminished greatly when she was outside. Emma cast glances during the two-block walk. Nothing suspicious. The tight grip on her portfolio bag loosened and she allowed excitement for her new painting to leak back in.

  This one was the exact opposite of her parents’ gravestones canvas. In the previous painting a storm brewed, the sun hid underneath clouds. This one carried only one headstone and the plot sat underneath a large willow tree. The sun shone bright, chasing the shadows from the gravestone and under the tree.

  A figure knelt next to the stone. One hand circled a bouquet of flowers she’d just laid on the ground. Her face tilted to the sky as light bathed her in its healing beauty. The girl was motionless, held captive by the peace, warmth, and protection flowing through her.

  During and after its creation hope had bubbled inside of Emma.

  They stepped through the gallery door. She shivered as warm air slid over her cold body.

  “George?”

  “Back here, darling.”

  With Jenny following, she maneuvered through the art sculptures. Halfway to the storage room she stopped abruptly. Jenny plowed into her back. Emma stumbled forward, her gaze never leaving the wall.

  “Whoa,” Jenny grunted, using Emma’s shoulders to right herself. “What’s the . . .”

  Emma managed to set down her portfolio bag. Her whole body shook. She found herself a few inches from the piece not even aware she’d moved. All the breath left the room and her chest ached from lack of oxygen.

  “I’ve two interested parties on this piece already. It’ll sell within the week.” George was by her side.

  “Sell?” She squeaked. Blood drained from her face, leaving her dizzy. Pools of sweat beaded on her forehead and the back of her neck.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Emma’s gaze flashed to Jenny’s. Confusion melted away. “You didn’t throw all of the pieces in the dumpster.” Her voice sounded strange even to her own ears.

  “You’ve other pieces?”

  She faced George. His gaze took in her expression and his excitement faded to concern. Before he could say anything, she spun from George and from him on the wall.

  “Emma.” Jenny’s voice was a soft plea. She put her hand on Emma’s arm.

  Shaking her off, Emma forced herself to step further from the wall. After picking up her portfolio, she swallowed two times and spoke, not even daring to glance over her shoulder. “Should we go in the back?”

  George didn’t answer. She braced herself before turning. Don’t look at the wall. Do not. Her gaze zeroed in on George and didn’t move. By his expression, she hadn’t pulled off the just-fine-nothing-remotely-wrong act. Oh well. Emma head
ed to the storage room. Walk. Don’t run. With shaking hands she unzipped the bag and removed the piece before George arrived.

  He gushed over the painting. It’d be the perfect end in her collection. She was Astoria’s next rising star. Whether it was his excitement over the canvas or the fact she’d acted like a psycho in the show room he didn’t mention the piece on the wall.

  Ten minutes later she left the room. The painting pulled her. It lured her with eyes she knew better than her own. His gaze would sear her soul. Tempt her with promises of things that could never be.

  Sheer determination and her short fingernails digging into her palm allowed her to pass without a glance. Weaving her way to the door, a tidal wave of emotions barreled through her with no end in sight.

  Jenny pulled her to a stop a half a block from the gallery. She’d forgotten about her.

  “Emma,” Jenny said tentatively.

  “I don’t want to hear it,” she snapped.

  “I . . .” Jenny’s voice trembled.

  She continued to walk, not knowing or caring if she headed in the right direction.

  Jenny grabbed her arm again. “Please. Talk to me.”

  “No! You don’t get to be soothed. What you did—” The words choked in her throat. Whirling, she hurried down the street. Emma went a block before she slowed. Thankfully, Jenny hadn’t followed. Plopping down onto a bench, her portfolio bag thudded to the ground.

  It didn’t matter if the pictures were no longer in her closet. It didn’t matter she hadn’t drawn or painted him since that one morning. It didn’t matter her hallucinations had stopped or that she’d managed to force him from every waking thought. It was like she’d accomplished nothing.

  Emma was wrong about her new piece. She’d thought he’d been the one buried. The sun had vanished her darkness. Finally she laid him to rest. It was a mistake. She should tell George. Emma was the one underneath the ground. The light, warmth, peace, and protection the painting radiated wasn’t of hope. It was a representation of what she lost. The cloud wasn’t parting for the sunshine. It was concealing. The painting was of a hopeless future. The figure was to live without light and warmth. Buried beneath the shadow even as she walked among the sun.