Mind Games

by Jana Oliver

  “Oh man, I hadn’t thought of that. Which is it?”

  He shrugged. “Let’s go buy a tree. That much makes sense.”

  Beck finally received a smile from her, and it lit up his heart.

  *~*~*

  As Riley drove them to the Christmas tree farm outside the city, Beck’s phone pinged. He checked it and shook his head. Riley couldn’t help but notice that it didn’t take as long for him to read the messages now. He might not realize it, but he had come a very long way.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” he muttered.

  “Lucifer sending you dirty texts?” she asked.

  “No, it’s Justine.”

  Justine Armando, a.k.a. the Red-Haired Stick Chick, was probably the only woman on the planet who could fire up Riley’s jealousy beast. Even now, it popped open its eyes and began rending the bottom of its cage with its claws, eager to pounce on the reporter and cut her into sushi.

  “What does she want?” Riley asked through clenched teeth.

  “She wants to know what’s goin’ down between the local Guild and National.”

  “How did she even hear about it?”

  “Probably Stewart’s doin’. He’s kept in touch with her since last spring.”

  “Why?” Riley demanded. “He knows what she’s like.”

  “He also knows that if we need someone to get the message out to the everyday folks, it’s Justine. Like her or not, she’s good at what she does.”

  Unfortunately he was correct; Justine, with all her perfectionism and single-minded devotion to her job, was good at uncovering secrets. She dug into stories until they bled, often at the cost of people’s personal lives.

  Like Beck’s.

  “So what are you going to do?” she asked.

  “Not sure. I’ll talk to Stewart and Harper, see what we want to feed to her. Is there some reason yer stranglin’ the steerin’ wheel?”

  Her knuckles were white, but she shot him a glower anyway.

  “You know why.”

  He laughed. “Still jealous? Well, there’s a way to fix that. We just pop down to the courthouse, pick up a marriage license, and get hitched. Done and done.”

  He wasn’t joking. Not in the least.

  “Beck . . . ”

  He looked over at her now, his good humor gone. “Some reason yer not ready to get married?”

  “It’s been kinda busy, you know?”

  “I get that. I also get that both of us are doin’ stuff that could get us killed. Waitin’ is not a good idea. You should know that, Riley.”

  She did, on some basic level. Still, marriage was a huge step, even to a guy she loved more than anything.

  “I’ll work on it.”

  “That’s all I ask.” He leaned over and placed a kiss on her cheek. “Oh, and Justine? Her text said she got married a month ago. Just got back from her honeymoon.”

  Riley blinked. “Really? The She-Barracuda actually settled for one guy?”

  “Yup. Thought you might like to know that, in case you were jealous or anythin’.”

  “Me? No way.”

  He chuckled. “You just keep tellin’ yerself that.”

  *~*~*

  Once they had picked out the perfect tree, Riley paid for it as Beck lined up the truck lights so he could see the victim properly. Then he borrowed an axe and went to work.

  She leaned on the bumper, arms crossed to stay warm, letting this moment burn itself into her memory. Their first tree. Their first Christmas together as a couple. If she agreed, it could be their first holiday as husband and wife.

  Not yet. She wanted it to be perfect. The second time Beck had proposed to her had been that way. She wanted the same for the actual wedding, which meant they needed to wait a few months.

  He’s not going to like that. He was much like her. Once the decision was made, the task got done. Stalling wasn’t normal for her.

  Part of it was her age. She was just eighteen. That wasn’t considered young when her mom had married, but nowadays it was. Didn’t mean the marriage wouldn’t survive, just that her life would change again. She knew it was what she wanted, but it was still a gigantic step.

  Wood chips flew and finally the tree toppled over. Beck straightened up, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He’d ditched his coat partway through, so his T-shirt clung to his muscles now.

  She clapped, appreciating the view.

  “That was work,” he said. “Some reason we couldn’t have just bought one already cut?”

  Riley pushed off the bumper. “And miss my Backwoods Boy going all hunky woodsman with an axe? No way.”

  Beck smirked, then flexed, which caused her to laugh.

  “Not the response I was hopin’ for,” he said.

  “Gotta keep you humble.”

  Riley dropped a kiss onto his sweaty cheek and helped him load their tree into the back of the truck.

  *~*~*

  It was close to ten-thirty by the time the tree had been positioned in the stand. Riley heated up a pizza while Beck swept up all the needles.

  Then he paused and looked at the tree. It was a Scots pine, like the one at the manor, but shorter, just a bit over six feet tall. He took a deep breath, savoring the rich scent. He knew that was one reason Riley liked a fresh tree.

  Her folks used to do that. At least, before Miriam died and it got too expensive for Paul and his daughter to buy a real tree. Instead they’d had a dinky fake one sitting on the kitchen counter.

  Which was more than I had.

  Now he and his pretty lady had one of their own, and he was damned proud of it. Even if it was just a tree.

  When the oven dinged, he put away the cleaning supplies, washed his hands of the tree sap, and joined her at the table.

  “So what should I do about Simon?” she asked, pouring herself a soda.

  Beck had wrestled with that all evening, veering from “Sure, go for it” to “No way, no how.”

  “I’m . . . not comfortable with the idea,” he said, picking up a piece of pizza. It was packed with meat, just the way he liked it.

  “What are your objections?” she asked.

  In the past she would have gotten in his face, demanding to know why he felt he could dictate her life. Now she asked his opinion and then asked him to justify it. In some ways, this was worse.

  “First thing—it spooks the hell out of me. I’ve read about some of the demons you’d be dealin’ with, and they are seriously hardcore.”

  “Hardcore how?”

  “Like, they can tunnel into yer mind like whirlin’ razor blades, and you’ll be lucky to be able to drool when they’re done.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. They don’t just mess with yer head. If they become physical, meanin’ they hop out of whoever they’ve possessed, they can jump into you, tearin’ you apart from the inside.”

  “So, like Olympic-grade Mezmers, then.”

  Beck pondered that as he added hot sauce to his slice of pizza. “Yeah, just like that. It isn’t always Fours, either. Sometimes a Fallen gets bored and comes callin’.”

  “Ewww. I hate those things. So you’re saying you don’t want me to work with Simon?”

  He set down the half-eaten slice and sighed. “You gotta understand, if I could, I’d lock you away in your family’s mausoleum so no demon could ever come near you again. The thought of you out there trappin’ those things scares the livin’ hell out of me.”

  “Same on this side. I worry about you all the time, even though I know you can handle almost anything that comes your way.”

  “Just like you,” he said. “That means I have to suck it up and accept that the woman I love, the woman I will marry someday, has a life of her own, and that life sometimes puts her in serious danger. I really hate it, but there it is.”

>   Riley put her hand on his and gave it a squeeze. “Then I’m going to try one of these exorcism things with Simon, just to get an idea of what it’s like.”

  “What about the Prince?”

  She shrugged. “He’s going to keep messing with me no matter what. At least I’ll be doing what I love and screwing him over at the same time.”

  “That’s not how it sounded to me.”

  “Maybe I am playing into his hands. We’ll find out soon enough.”

  Beck went back to eating, but she must have sensed he was troubled.

  “I’ll be careful,” she said.

  “You have to be. I can’t do my job safely if I’m worryin’ about you all the time.”

  “Understood. So, do we decorate the tree tonight or tomorrow?”

  He thought about that. “Tonight.” He wiped his hands on a paper towel. “You know why.”

  “Because it’s only going to get weirder the next few days?”

  He nodded, rising from his chair. “No other way it can be, not with both the Prince and the National Guild’s dumbass in town.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  When she called Simon and gave him the news the next morning, he told her he already had a job for them. An hour later, he picked her up in a sedan that was probably his parents’. As he drove them north of the city, his stereo played a Christian pop song by Unspoken, one about starting a fire in your heart. His taste in music clearly hadn’t changed.

  “Getting my head in the right place,” he explained, when she asked about the title and artist. He hesitated, then asked, “Did your faith change after you were in Hell?”

  That question caught her off guard. “How did you know I went there?”

  “Father Rosetti told me.”

  Of course he did. After all, Stewart had no choice but to keep the Vatican informed about everything she did, even when it involved an excursion to the fiery pits.

  Her silence seemed to make Simon uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, that was kind of a direct question.”

  “I just didn’t expect it.” Riley gnawed on her lip. “I don’t know if my faith changed, but my perception of the situation did. When I talked to Lucifer in the cemetery, he was a charming trickster. In Hell, he was a total bloodthirsty warlord. He warned Ori that if he tried to overthrow him, both Ori and I would suffer eternal torment. Judging from what Lucifer did to Sartael, he wasn’t lying.”

  “I can’t imagine what it’d be like.”

  “Best you don’t. I’ll do everything I can never to see that place again.”

  “Even if it means sacrificing someone else’s life?”

  It must be the day for deep questions.

  She sighed. “I’d like to think I’d do the right thing, but . . . ” Riley shook her head. “Look, if you’re having second thoughts about me helping you—”

  “I’m not. You answered exactly how I would have. You never know how you’ll react to a situation until you’re in it. That was the problem with me, at least before I almost died. I was too sure of things. Now I know not to be.”

  “I never would have thought I’d sell my soul just to overthrow Sartael. In the end, it was Beck who killed him, not Ori.”

  “Is it true that grand masters go to Hell if they’re wounded when they try to kill a Fallen?”

  Simon had been doing his research. “Yes, but I can’t say much more than that.”

  “I figured that would be the case.”

  “Did you get to meet the pope?”

  Simon smiled now. “I did. We had a special Mass and he blessed us when we graduated. I really like him. He’s kind.”

  “Better be. He’s the leader of how many zillion of you guys?”

  He chuckled. “What’s it like to be engaged to a grand master?”

  “Strange,” she said before she could stop herself. “Cool and strange. Beck is so much stronger now. He knows stuff he can’t tell me about, but he’s doing exactly what he should be.”

  “Bet the Prince loves all these secrets we keep. Helps him in the long run.”

  She looked at her companion. “You know, I was thinking the same thing.”

  *~*~*

  A few minutes later, they pulled into a drive demarcated by a “Sold” sign. The driveway led to a large, two-story brick house set back from the road. The yard was well landscaped, and there was a three-car garage.

  “Nice. So what’s the story here?” she asked as he parked the car.

  “Demonic structure-possession,” he said. “Buyers found out about it the day they took ownership. They could have had the sale voided because that contingency was covered in the contract, but they love the house.”

  “So you’re here to kick the demon to the curb?”

  “That’s it. Ah, here’s the real estate agent,” he said as another car pulled in beside them.

  The agent was an older woman, with silver hair styled as though her life would end if it wasn’t perfect. Maybe in the world of house sellers, it would.

  Simon introduced himself, handing over some official-looking identification card. The agent studied it and handed it back.

  “Are you sure you’re old enough to do this?” the woman said, eyeing him like he was ten.

  Riley barely contained a snort. Usually, that question came her way.

  “I’m certified by the Vatican to deal with the problem,” Simon replied evenly. He gestured. “This is Riley Blackthorne. She’s a journeyman demon trapper and is going to provide support during the exorcism.”

  The agent’s attention moved to Riley.

  Don’t you dare call me a kid.

  After a curt inspection, the woman nodded, and they followed her and her vapor trail of perfume to the porch. She unlocked the door and reset the alarm.

  “I really don’t think this is for real,” the woman said. “The new owners are a bit flighty, you know? Why would a demon inhabit a house in Buckhead? Now, down in some parts of Atlanta, I could see it, but not up here. This is a respectable neighborhood.”

  As if demons only targeted the poor.

  Simon politely didn’t reply, waiting quietly for something to happen. Riley tuned in to the vibes and got nothing, just an empty house. Then something shifted—something cold and dark and evil.

  “It’s here,” Riley said. “I can feel it.”

  Simon raised an eyebrow, but didn’t contradict her.

  The real estate lady gave her a skeptical look. “How do I know this isn’t a scam?”

  A howl cut through the air like a knife through fine silk. It began low, then escalated, rattling the windows. Upstairs, something shattered and rained down onto a wooden floor. A window or a mirror, perhaps.

  Abruptly, the howl cut off, replaced by a truly chilling cackle that raised the hairs on Riley’s neck and made her wish Beck were here.

  The agent’s face went as pale as her coiffure, and she backed away from the door. “Was that—?”

  “Yes,” Simon replied. “Let’s get the paperwork signed, then we’ll take care of it.”

  “Sure. Fine. Whatever you want,” the woman said, hustling away from the house on her high heels.

  “That sounds like a nasty one,” Riley said, trying to curb her nerves.

  “Not as bad as some of them,” he said gravely.

  Ten minutes later, the real estate agent was gone. She’d been so eager to leave that Riley swore she’d probably have given them her ATM card and PIN just to escape.

  “So how does this go?” she asked.

  “We’ll start by anointing ourselves with Holy Water before we enter the house. I usually do a brief prayer, get my head in the right place, because once we’re in there it’s the demon’s reality, not ours.”

  “Serious mind games?”

  He nodded. “You know how that goes.”

>   That was the truth. They’d both been played like pawns by Fallen angels. At least Ori had tried to save her life in his own convoluted way. Sartael had ripped Simon’s faith into shreds. Fortunately, he’d not destroyed it. In fact, it looked to have become stronger than ever, if Simon was facing Hellspawn again.

  He popped open the trunk of his car and pulled out a black suitcase. Inside were a large metal cross, three bottles of Holy Water, and an aspergillum, the device priests used to sprinkle the sacred liquid.

  “That’s it? No super-secret Vatican weaponry or anything?”

  “The weapon is in my faith and the power of God.”

  He checked the label on one of the bottles, then handed it to her.

  “Pour a very small amount into my hand,” he said.

  Riley did as instructed, watching as he intoned a prayer in Latin, then used the Holy Water to draw a cross on his forehead with one finger, his eyes closed.

  She held her silence as he murmured to himself. Once he was done, he opened his eyes and smiled at her. “Your turn.”

  Riley gave him the bottle and he dropped a bit of the liquid into her left palm. The instant it touched Heaven’s mark, it tingled. She stared down as the crown seemed to pulse with white light.

  “That’s amazing,” he said.

  Riley hesitated. She wasn’t Catholic, but she had her own particular sort of faith. It was impossible not to believe, after encountering angels, both good and evil.

  She dipped her finger into the liquid and carried it up to her forehead. A cross? No, she already had Heaven’s mark on her. Instead she drew a heart, for love, because she had found that to be as strong as any weapon a demon could wield.

  Closing her eyes, Riley whispered a prayer for success and protection.

  The tingling in her palm ended and she opened her eyes to find Simon studying her.

  “Father Rosetti said you had your own way of doing things. That was a heart, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. For love. It felt right.”

  “That’s exactly what you need then.” He screwed the lid onto the bottle, replaced it, and closed the suitcase. “You ready?”

  She nodded. Here we go . . .

  Simon pulled the suitcase and his trapping bag out of the trunk, handing her the latter. She knew it’d contain Holy Water, spheres, and a steel pipe.