Mind Games

by Jana Oliver

  Northrup was caught now. He couldn’t dare deny the legitimacy of Rome’s sacred liquid, and he knew it. Instead, he nodded knowingly. “When we’re done showing Lucifer’s brand on you, you’re gone, Blackthorne. No license, you got that?”

  If she wore the Prince’s brand, it wouldn’t just be no job. Her life would be forfeit as well.

  “Come on up here so everyone can see this,” Simon said, beckoning to her.

  Riley handed Beck her sheathed sword, then took a step up to join Simon, her stomach still churning. The fever owned her now, and a fat bead of sweat rolled down her face.

  “Make it quick. I’m not going to be upright for much longer.”

  As the cameraman moved closer, zeroing in on the scene, Simon held up an ornate metal bottle, turning it so the engraved crosses could be seen.

  “This was blessed by His Eminence right before I left Rome.”

  He gestured and Riley held out her right hand. A single drop fell onto her palm. Unlike the time Father Rosetti had tested her all those months ago, this time there was only a pleasant hum through her skin.

  She held up the palm so all could see that Lucifer’s mark wasn’t in residence. In particular, she watched for Northrup’s reaction. His eyes widened in shock.

  He really believes Hell owns my soul.

  “You want them to know?” Simon whispered, gesturing toward her other hand.

  Did she? So far only a very small number of folks were aware of her connection to Heaven. She looked over at Beck, and he gave her a reassuring nod. Then she tipped her head toward Justine.

  He understood immediately. Beck walked down the stairs, whispered something into the reporter’s ear, and Justine had the cameraman cease recording.

  Once the camera’s light went out, Riley turned over her left hand, and another drop of Holy Water fell onto the palm. She inhaled sharply at the sensation, then held up her palm so the others could see the crown, pulsing with white light.

  “What is that thing?” McGuire demanded.

  “That is Heaven’s mark,” Simon explained. “Riley made a deal with one of its angels to keep me from dying after I was injured at the Tabernacle. In return, she owed them a favor. They kept their part of the bargain, and so did she.”

  “But she’s . . . ” Northrup began. “Master Adams told me she was working for Hell. He said he had proof. He swore to me she was dark.”

  “At one time Riley did have Hell’s mark on her right palm. I saw it myself,” Stewart said. “It’s gone now because they have no claim on her soul. I filed a report with ya people that explained all this.”

  Northrup shifted uncomfortably. “I never saw it.”

  “Now you do the same,” Beck said. “Let’s see who you work for.”

  The Guild’s man took a step back, then another.

  “Come on, put it on the line. Riley did. Show us what you’ve got,” Jackson said.

  Northrup looked as if he wanted to bolt, but then he seemed to realize the camera was rolling again. “Okay, let’s get this done, then.”

  The test proved he was his own man, which was actually good news.

  “Then we’re both on the level,” Riley said. “But your Master Adams has been feeding you lies.”

  He nodded grimly.

  “Have the required Holy Water tests been done on a monthly basis to vet the board members?” Stewart asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Who conducts those?”

  “One of our assistants.”

  “Where does that assistant get the Holy Water?”

  “Ah . . . I don’t know.”

  “I bet if you try some of the real thing, the results won’t be the same,” Beck replied.

  Riley watched as the Guild’s man processed that bit of information.

  Yeah, you’ve been had. Riley sighed. If Master Adams had sided with Lucifer, he wouldn’t live to see the new year.

  Abruptly, she swayed on her feet.

  “Time to go,” Beck said quietly. “You’ve done what you needed to do.”

  Not allowing Riley any time to protest, he handed over her sword, then scooped up both their backpacks like they weighed nothing.

  “See you at the next meeting, Blackthorne,” Harper called out.

  She grinned through the pain. “You can count on it, Master Harper.”

  “I’ll text in my vote when the time comes. Just let me know when that is,” Beck called out.

  “We’ll let you know.”

  As Beck escorted her past the rest of the trappers, a couple said, “Good job.” She only had the strength to nod in return.

  Exhausted and sick, she finally reached Beck’s truck. It took a tremendous effort to slide onto the seat. Then she remembered what she’d left behind.

  “Beck? The Archfiend. Can you have someone take care of it? I don’t want it to freak out the church folks.”

  Simon stepped up to the door. “I’ll call Fireman Jack. He said he’d be happy to do a pickup anytime I asked.”

  Riley looked over at him. “Thanks. Have him send the trapping fee to the Atlanta Guild’s benevolent fund.” Because there was no way she’d make money off this fiend’s death, not after learning why the she-demon had come after her.

  “If that’s what you want. When you’re feeling better, give me a call. I’d still like you as my partner on the exorcisms.”

  That made her feel just a bit better. “I’ll be there.”

  Her ex-boyfriend shut the door and headed back toward the church, cell phone in hand to contact the demon trafficker.

  As Beck started the truck, her father’s voice filled her head.

  Well done, Pumpkin. You are truly a Blackthorne.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  It was two days before the demon’s poison finished its rampage through Riley’s body, giving her a fever, a bitchy attitude, and no appetite. She probably would have healed faster if Simon had parted with more of the papal Holy Water, but she didn’t want to ask. He’d need it for the exorcisms.

  She slowly woke to find Beck on the other side of the bed, leaning against the headboard, reading. It was the Percy Jackson book she’d given him for his birthday, and he appeared to be about halfway through the story.

  “What time is it?” she asked, groggy.

  “About seven in the evenin’.” He closed the book. “How you doin’?”

  “I might even live. You don’t have to sit by me all the time. I’m okay.”

  “You did this a couple times for me, so no sweat. Besides, if I’m not in here, your little demon watches over you.”

  She carefully turned her head toward him, not wanting to move her healing shoulder any more than necessary. “What do you mean?”

  “A couple times I found him sittin’ on the nightstand, watchin’ you like a dog would when its owner’s sick. He squeaked at me, but I didn’t understand what he said.”

  She frowned. “It is wacked that one part of Hell wants me dead, and another part worries about me.”

  “‘Wacked’ is only one of the words I’d use.”

  She let out a long sigh. “What got decided at the meeting?”

  “They’re going for a recall vote. Northrup wised up and headed back to D.C. It was either that or get lynched.”

  “What about Adams?”

  “A grand master came down from Canada, tested him. He was one of Lucifer’s,” Beck said solemnly.

  “Oh no. I was hoping he was just being stupid, not that.”

  “He was given a chance to explain things to his family, and then offered a choice between killin’ himself or having the grand master do it for him. Adams chose suicide.”

  “My God. Right before Christmas. His family has to be devastated.”

  “He was divorced, no kids, so that helped a bit, but still . . . �
�

  Silence reigned for the next few minutes. It was hard to feel angry at someone when you knew how easy it was to fall into Hell’s arms.

  Riley’s stomach rumbled. “I think I need food.”

  “Soup and crackers?” She nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

  As Beck left the room, she realized this was going to be their life from now on. One of them would get hurt, and the other would take care of them.

  Which was a far better fate than Adams had received.

  *~*~*

  By Christmas Eve morning, Riley felt human again. As she loaded up on the omelet, bacon, pancakes, and sliced fruit Beck had made for her, he nodded his approval.

  “Yup, yer gonna live.”

  She didn’t reply, too busy eating.

  “You gonna be up to goin’ to Stewart’s tonight?”

  She washed a mouthful of pancake down with a gulp of milk. “Definitely. Will not miss that for anything.”

  “He invited me last year, but it didn’t feel right, me bein’ there.”

  “Why not?”

  Beck shrugged. “Just didn’t.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “Went down to a bar, had a couple of beers, picked up this girl, and we . . . ” He trailed off, perhaps realizing it wasn’t wise to say much more.

  “Ha! Busted. Well, at least you got the girl thing all sorted out this time.”

  “Honest, I don’t even remember what she looked like.”

  “You are a total horndog.”

  “Former horndog.” He pointed at the refrigerator, no doubt trying to change the subject. “That grocery list you had up there? I went out yesterday and got all that stuff. Figured you’d need it for tomorrow.”

  Riley hadn’t realized he’d left the house, but then, she’d been pretty much out of it.

  “No way we’re missin’ our first Christmas dinner together,” he said. “I’ll get yer momma’s roaster pan out of the garage. You remember, the one you had me store when you moved out of the apartment?”

  He’d thought of everything.

  “Dinner it is. So when do we get to open our presents?” she asked.

  “Well, we could open one now I guess.”

  Riley walked over to the tree, still feeling the tightness in her left shoulder. Once it stopped aching, she might have to start using some of Beck’s weights to get back in shape.

  Now that’s a depressing thought.

  She studied the various gifts under the tree. “Which one do you suggest?”

  “The one in the gold paper,” he said. “Just pick out somethin’ for me.”

  She returned with both presents, and they tore eagerly into them. Beck had his unwrapped first and smiled as he held up a bright-blue shirt.

  “Nice. That’ll go really good with my suit.”

  “Or your jeans,” she said.

  When Riley lifted the lid off the top of her present, she gasped; a beautiful red dress sat inside, one made of the softest wool. She held it up in wonder.

  “Wow, Den. It’s gorgeous.”

  “I bought it in Edinburgh. I could just see you in it.”

  “How’d you know my size?”

  “I might have checked the tag in the green dress you wore in Scotland. It fit real fine, so I figured it’d be close with this one.”

  She stood, holding it up against her body. “It’s perfect. I’ll wear it tonight at Stewart’s party.”

  “I’ll do the same with my shirt,” he said, beaming. He looked down the hallway toward the bedroom. “You feelin’ tired?”

  She eyed him, then grinned, knowing what he had in mind. “I could be . . . ”

  Beck scooped her up in his arms before she said another word.

  *~*~*

  He’d made love to her as gently as possible, reaffirming that once again, they’d defied death. As they lay there after the loving, he could see the newly healed scars and knew how close the demon had come to killing her.

  “Riley, about our weddin’ . . . ”

  She turned her head toward him. “Yeah?”

  “You not settin’ a date is drivin’ me crazy.”

  “Why? We’re going to get married.”

  How could he explain this? “Remember when I told you how things weren’t good when I was a kid?” She nodded. “Well, they were worse than I said. And no matter how far I’ve grown away from that, I’m still . . . ” He took another deep breath. “I’m still that little boy, hungry, alone, and sleepin’ on a pile of dirty laundry because I didn’t have a bed, wondering why nobody loved me.” He began to shake from the memories.

  “Oh God, Den,” she said, then carefully scooted over to place her head on his shoulder and her warm hand on his chest. He knew that position had to hurt, but she did it anyway. “I wasn’t stalling because I don’t love you.”

  “I know. It’s not a rational thing when I’m like this.”

  Riley gently kissed his cheek.

  “First, there was this guy named Paul who wouldn’t back off, wouldn’t let me be the loser everyone thought I was. Then there was his daughter, a little girl named Riley with the prettiest eyes I’d ever seen. Then suddenly she wasn’t a kid anymore,” he said, looking over at her. “She’s a beautiful young woman, and now she’s mine. No matter all that, I’ll always be that little kid, fearin’ all the good stuff is gonna end.”

  There was silence from her, and it scared him.

  “What did I say wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing. Do you have any idea how much I admire that little boy, who has turned into such a good man? How I’d marry him tomorrow if only . . . ”

  He rolled toward her now, touching his forehead to hers. “If only?”

  Riley blinked back tears. “I want to marry you. I swear I do. But I want . . . ”

  “A fancy weddin’? You just need time to save money for it?”

  “No, not fancy.”

  He wiped away one of her tears. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll make it happen.”

  “So much of my life I’ve had no control over. Losing my parents, the condo; I almost lost you and my soul. I want our wedding to be a beautiful memory we both can hold in our hearts for the rest of our lives. Because I’m only getting married once, and I want it to be perfect. I want that memory to carry us through the bad times.”

  “So what’s perfect for you?”

  “Sunshine, flowers, the people we love watching us become man and wife.”

  “Sometime in the spring, then,” he said, sighing.

  She nodded.

  “What keeps us from getting a license?” he pushed.

  “They expire, don’t they?”

  “No. Not at all. In Georgia, they’re good forever.”

  She lifted her head to look into his eyes, smiling now. “Then let’s get a license. Let’s let that little boy inside of you know that everything is just fine.”

  He’d take what he could get. “Okay, the license will keep me from freakin’ out for a bit longer, but you have to set the date and tell me what it is sometime before the first day of the year. I want to know when yer goin’ to be my wife.”

  He expected to see panic on her face; instead he saw relief.

  “You got a deal. But you have to do something for me.”

  “Which is?” he asked, wary.

  “Bring your kilt home when you’re done with the grand master training. You’re wearing it at the wedding.”

  “I am?”

  “You are.”

  Before he could protest further, his woman kissed him so passionately that all his arguments were absolutely forgotten.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Stewart’s house, just like the year before, was tastefully decorated for the holidays. Though there were no outdoor Christmas lights, g
reenery cascaded from the porch railings and a massive evergreen wreath with a big red bow hung from the door, welcoming all.

  Stewart met them at the front door. Riley received a careful hug in deference to her healing injuries. Beck, of course, received the obligatory bone-jarring slap on the back.

  “Look at the pair of ya. All decked out right and proper. Merry Christmas!” he boomed.

  “Merry Christmas,” Riley replied. As soon as they were inside and their coats off, she handed him their present, a festive green box containing a bottle of whisky.

  “I hope you don’t have this one,” Beck said. “It’s Penderyn, from Wales. It’s got that peat in it you like.”

  “Wales?” Stewart said. “Peated, ya say? Never had it before. We’ll have ta break it open later this evenin’ and give it a try. How did ya come by it?”

  Beck grinned. “I had some help from MacTavish.”

  “That old reprobate,” Stewart said, laughing. “Come on, there’s family ta meet, lots of fine drink and food. We have much ta celebrate this year.”

  He hadn’t been lying about that family. Some had flown all the way from Scotland or beyond. His children, their spouses, and offspring filled the house with their rich brogues and laughter. Little kids scampered around, issuing squeals of joy.

  As the raucous conversation flowed around them, Riley leaned over to Beck.

  “It’s like we’re part of the family,” she whispered.

  “We are. Have no doubt on that.”

  “Last year it was just Dad and me. I’m so happy they all came this year.”

  Beck looked over at their host—who was regaling one of his daughters-in-law with a tale—and nodded. “So is he.”

  Later, after they’d settled at the long dining room table, Stewart rose, holding up his full glass of whisky. Once conversation died down, he called out, “Merry Christmas to ya all!”

  Shouts of “Merry Christmas!” and “Happy Christmas!” came his way.

  Then Stewart sobered, his eyes on Riley. “Sadly, some of those who should be here with us have been called home before their time. Too many, it seems. It’s been a rough year. So on this night, I send our prayers and love ta those folks, most especially Paul Blackthorne. He was a good man, a good friend, and one helluva demon trapper.”