by Lindsay Mead
"Pizza?" Lana hedged. "With pepperoni?"
He didn't bat an eye. "Will that be all?"
"Mozzarella sticks?" A grin splayed over her face, as she realized that this might be Heaven on earth—so to speak.
"And what to drink?"
She fiddled with one of the feathers in her hair. "What kind of pop do you have?"
"We have every major brand of soda on hand."
"Sweet. Can we eat in the theater?" Lana turned to Vi with wide eyes. "Can you believe they have a theater? All the seats are jumbo and squishy—there's even a curtain!"
"Wow." She wanted to see that but fought the urge.
"I will show you a selection of our movies." Ailbeart gestured for Lana to follow him.
That was when Ian walked into the hall. He looked incredible, though that was no surprise. His black hair was combed back in short dark waves. Thanks to Lana putting the idea in her head, it was hard for Viola not to picture him with a red cape. In actuality, he wore a dark gray suit with a black tie and shirt. Viola would bet her last dollar that all he owned were expertly tailored suits.
"Viola, you are beautiful," he said as he drew near. "I'm so sorry to keep you waiting."
"Not at all." Viola pointed a smile at her assistant. "Lana is always plenty of entertainment."
"It's in the job description. See you later, boss." Lana waved and sauntered alongside Ailbeart. "Can we also have popcorn? …And chocolate cake?"
Viola chuckled. "I think Lana is going to keep your valet very busy."
"It's good for him." Ian winked, then motioned for the door. "Shall we?"
Ian turned out to be a great conversationalist and the trip to the restaurant felt far too short as a result. The Scottish Rose had an awning covered in vines and twinkling lights. Long windows gave a perfect viewing of the patrons inside, already enjoying their food. As Ian helped her out of the car, his phone rang, and he glanced at the caller ID.
"Finally, it's my grandfather. I've been trying to call him all afternoon." He frowned at her. "Do you mind?"
"No, go ahead," she rushed out.
He pushed the answer button and brought the phone to his ear. "Hello, Grandfather."
As the limo driver pulled away from the curb, Ian murmured into his phone for privacy. Viola tapped her fingers on her clutch, letting her eyes roam over the restaurant. An older couple, very finely dressed, approached the awning. Viola smiled at them and moved out of the way. The man nodded curtly while his date scowled at her tattoos, then the whispering started.
"Excuse me," Viola spoke up, irritated for being judged by her appearance for the umpteenth time in her life. "Do you know if the Satan Worshipers Alliance has arrived yet?"
The couple blanched. "Wha—"
"We're supposed to hold our meeting here tonight," she interrupted and wiggled her shoulders with mock excitement. "Big rituals planned!"
The man sputtered as the woman gasped—Viola kept on smiling. Spinning on their heels, they went into the restaurant in a huff. Still grinning, Vi moved away from the front door and peered through one of the large windows. The inside was stunning with high ceilings and crystal chandeliers. As expected, all of the patrons were well groomed.
She watched the older couple being led to their seats. They smiled and waved at several other diners. Viola grimaced as her bubble was suddenly burst. What was she thinking, eating here? She'd be the sideshow, the freak everyone glared at while they ate.
Viola normally slept in shitty motels or rundown apartments. Her life was uncertain and dangerous. It wasn't a bad way to live—Viola helped a lot of people—but it was a hard way to live. Being in Ian's mansion, dressing up, and all of the luxuries had gone to her head. She'd briefly forgotten that life wasn't some fairy tale. Ian wasn't a valiant prince and she wasn't a fair maiden in need of saving—hell, she did the saving.
A waiter crossed the room and placed two plates onto a nearby table. Viola's stomach growled loudly. Leaning, she tried to glimpse the pricey food. Her heart dropped at the sight of the tiny hunks of foodstuffs sprinkled with garnish. It had to be a record for the world's smallest portions. That was the last straw, there was no way she was going in there.
"Grandfather, it's dangerous. Someone nearly died yesterday!" Ian growled into his phone as the prominent lines of his face flexed in anger. "You have to do something—hello? Are you there?"
Ian dropped his hand, the tight grip on his phone turning his knuckles white. He peered toward the night sky and sighed.
"Let me guess." Viola chewed her lip, hoping his mood wasn't ruined. "Your grandpa is too busy to clean up his mess?"
"You could say that." Not looking at her, Ian tapped his phone against his thigh. "He's not an easy person to love."
"Well, he's not the only one. Some of us come with a lot of baggage." Smirking, she put a hand on her hip. "Course, my baggage is way cooler than his. No contest."
Ian glanced at her and teasingly raised an eyebrow. "Did you know that you have an ego problem?"
"Sending demons to Hell does tend to give a gal a big head." Relieved that Ian wasn't the brooding type, Viola playfully nudged his arm. "Come on, let's get out of here. This place is stuffy, and I think you need to have a little fun."
"Are you sure?" Confused, Ian slid his phone into his jacket. "Usually my dates prefer stuffy."
"Guaranteed…I am not like your other dates."
He inhaled and nodded appreciatively. "I think I'm okay with that."
"Good. Now, why don't you hail us a cab?" Viola crossed her arms, eager to show this businessman a proper good time. "I need booze and a lot of greasy food."
7
Grimy bulbs barely illuminated the inside of the pub. A single TV hung over the bar, transfixing the patrons with some sporting event, while music played from a vintage jukebox. For such an obscure place, it was surprisingly crowded. Ian placed a hand on the small of Viola's back and guided her toward an open table.
"Are you sure this is where you want to eat?" he murmured as they sat.
"Notice how everyone is more interested in the game than us?" She waited for him to quickly scan the crowd, confirming her point. "We'd have been the most interesting thing in that other restaurant."
"So, you wanted privacy?" He raised a playful eyebrow.
"And good food." She winked.
"Then you've come to the right place," said the only waitress in the joint. She had brown hair tied into a falling bun and lines around her tired eyes. "What can I get ya?"
"What do you recommend?" Ian asked, sounding far too proper for this place.
"The Corned Beef Sandwich is our best seller." She gave Vi a quick once over. "But it's a big sandwich, too much for most."
"Sounds perfect, actually. I'll take two." Viola smiled at Ian's wide eyes. "I can really pack it away."
Chuckling, he shook his head. "All right then. Three Corned Beef Sandwiches please."
"And to drink?" The waitress wasn't as impressed by this exchange as Ian.
With her eyes, Viola dared him to be shocked. "Whiskey would be perfect."
He met her challenging gaze with a smirk. "Bring us your most expensive bottle and two glasses."
"You got it." The waitress sauntered off, grabbing empty plates from tables as she went.
There was a creak as an old man from the next table pointed to Vi and spoke to Ian, "If you think you can impress this gal with your money, you've got her pegged all wrong. I can promise you that."
Ian kept his attention on Viola. "Is that true?"
She shrugged. "Money is generally not my type."
"What is your type?" Lowering his voice, Ian leaned on the table.
"Oh, I don't think we're quite ready for that conversation." She chuckled as the barmaid returned with their bottle of pricey booze.
In truth, Viola had only been in one real relationship back in high school, but even that had turned out to be a hoax—with such a disastrous ending, she'd sworn off relationships. Sure, there'
d been hook ups. Vi was an exorcist—not a nun. She loved a good scrump as much as the next person…she just didn't stick around for breakfast.
After filling their glasses, the barmaid left the bottle on the table and went to tend to someone else. Ian lifted his glass. "To a successful business partnership."
Vi raised her own. "And to killing demons in the process."
Ian brought the glass to his mouth. Viola did the same, admiring the way the amber liquid tumbled over his smooth lips. Some men were sloppy with a drink in their hand, but Mr. Grave made it look like spy-type shit.
Ian slammed his drink down, his eyes glued to the TV. "Go…Go…Go!"
The atmosphere in the room heightened with electricity. Practically buzzing, everyone shot to the edge of their seats and shouted encouraging words to the unresponsive TV. Viola glanced up in time to see the home team score. The room erupted with roars and applause.
Overtaken by the excitement, Vi raised her arms and shouted, "Next round is on my friend!"
Ian choked on his drink. "Wait, what?"
Preventing her from having to respond, all the patrons turned and cheered. Those nearest shook Ian's hand or slapped him on the shoulder. He accepted their thanks with bafflement. When the enthusiasm started to die, Ian stared at her as though she were some insane wild child.
"You want to have a good time, don't you?" Vi grabbed the whiskey bottle and poured herself some more. "Well, we just made friends with everyone here."
He flicked his glass over to her with bemusement. "That certainly is one way to go about it."
"Plus, I've always wanted to do that." Wiggling her eyebrows, she filled his glass. "But I've never had the money."
Ian lifted his drink for another toast. "I have a feeling tonight is going to be very interesting."
Viola tossed the last of her second sandwich into her mouth and grabbed the sliced pickle that had come on the side. Their cabdriver had been right; the food here was delicious. Absolutely what she'd needed. There was no way that fancy place could've satisfied her. With only crumbs left on her plate, Ian was just finishing the last of his.
"I can't believe you ate all of that so fast!" He gawked at the hunk of meat and bread between his fingers. "These things were huge."
"What can I say?" She shrugged, refusing to feel bad about it. Dainty salad eaters didn't make good exorcists. "My work makes me hungry."
"Hey, no judgment here. I've just never had a date who could eat more than me." Ian popped the last of his sandwich past his lips.
"I told you." She leaned on her elbows. "I'm not like your other dates."
"And I've barely scratched the surface." He sipped his whiskey, washing down his food, and examined her with twinkling blue eyes. "So. Explain to me how you became an exorcist?"
"There's really no way to explain it without sounding cocky…or delusional." She chuckled and soldiered on. "Basically, exorcists are a select few chosen by God to send demons back to Hell."
Instead of teasing her, he tilted his head. "I thought that's what angels did?"
"Yeah, but they're too important for the small shit." Vi rolled her glass on the rim of its base, trying to think of a good explanation. "They're like the Secret Service and we're like the police."
"Have you ever seen an angel?" Crossing his arms, Ian sat forward with interest.
"Sure, but we tend to avoid each other. They're all about Heaven and we're all about Hell." Viola recalled the first angel she'd ever met. Archangel Uriel, the Fire Of God, had appeared at her side and lent her his power to create a sacred relic—a sword forged with the wrath of God. Viola grabbed the strap of her dress and pulled it aside to reveal the handprint Uriel had left on her right shoulder. The skin was charred black, stained like the crosses on her palms. Most people just thought it was another tattoo, but to be marked by an angel was a rare and powerful thing. "My first encounter left me with cool parting gifts and bragging rights."
"Holy shit, is that a real handprint? From an angel?" Ian whispered leaning closer. When Viola grinned, she almost thought he would reach out and touch it. She was a little disappointed when he didn't. Instead, Ian peered around the noisy room and asked, "So, what was it like to be chosen by God?"
Viola let go of her strap, her mind dancing to an early time in her life. "I woke up one night when I was thirteen with visions of demons and feeling like I was surrounded by evil." Vi left out that she'd cowered in the corner of her room until her stepbrother came for her. "Aaron dragged me out of the house and told me we had to go to the church"—She tipped over her hands, flashing the crosses on her palms—"That's when the church gave me these and explained what was happening to me."
"How did Aaron know what to do?"
"When God chooses an exorcist, he also chooses a priest to guide them." Vi couldn't believe she was explaining all of this to someone. People wanted her help, but they rarely wanted specifics. Ignorance was bliss, right? "Usually it's someone close to the exorcist. In my case, it was my stepbrother."
"So, he can really hear God in his head?" Ian half smirked like he expected her to admit that Lana had been messing with him.
"Oh, yeah! It's weird," Vi insisted. "But I'm drawn to demons and all sorts of Hellish things. Like a moth to a flame." She swirled her finger around the mouth of the votive candle flickering on their table. "That's how I find those who need my help."
"That sounds like it could drive a person into the madhouse." There was no hint of a joke behind his tone.
"You're not wrong." Uncomfortable with the sympathy in Ian's gaze, Viola gave an exaggerated shrug and glanced away. "That's what the priest is for. Aaron is there to pull me away from the darkness. He watches over me with God's voice fluttering through his mind."
"Do all priests…hear God?"
"Eh, no." She laughed, thinking of how other priests were so different from Aaron. "The ones in churches are normal people who work on faith alone. Only those tied to an exorcist can hear God."
"Okay, next question." Ian stared at his drink thoughtfully. "How does an exorcist fight a demon?"
Exorcising could get complicated, so she stuck to the basics. "The key is the three gifts given to the Christ child at his birth."
"Gold, frankincense, and myrrh, right?" he asked as she threw back more of her whiskey.
"Right. Gold, like holy water, can burn demons. Frankincense acts like a power conduit, making it easier for me to channel Heavenly power. Myrrh is poisonous to demons but can also treat demonic wounds. And then there are God's words of power spoken in Latin." She watched him refill her glass. "Mostly though, I work on instinct. I've trained and studied most of my life. But when it comes time to put those bastards away, I know what to do because I can feel it deep in my soul."
He looked at her askance. "You feel it?"
"Yeah, it's like a tug deep inside me. Sometimes it's more of a need to do something, or I get visions." Remembering her pickle, she tossed the last of it in her mouth and its sweet juices burst over her tongue. "I don't always understand what I'm doing, but I know it'll get the job done."
Ian fell quiet then, likely thinking up another question. Viola turned her attention to the game. But Ian chuckled, drawing her gaze, and she couldn't help staring at the embarrassed grin curving his cheeks. "Would it be offensive if I assumed that your favorite holiday was Halloween?"
Laughing, Vi shook her head. "Is it terrible that my favorite holiday is Halloween?"
He pretended to wince. "I think that makes you a cliché."
"I can't help it." Viola tossed up her hands in defeat. "My grandparents throw this huge end-of-the-year bash at their farm. Everyone drinks, eats great food, and dances. It's awesome. Then, on Halloween day we all dress up and—" She cut herself off, realizing that she was prattling on a little too excitedly. Vi fought the desire to giggle at herself. She really did love the holiday. "Okay. Just trust me, it's so much fun."
"I believe you." Ian's eyes twinkled and he stared at her with the most enam
ored—and sobering—expression she'd ever seen.
Feeling strangely exposed under that gaze, Vi shrugged. "Unfortunately, I think we'll be skipping it this year." Halloween was only a couple days away and it was looking pretty unlikely that she could wrap this job up in time. "I hate to miss it, but I don't think it's safe to leave you alone in that house of yours."
"Maybe I'll just have to invite myself along." He sipped his drink, his dancing eyes still watching her. "Then you won't have to worry about me being alone in my big ole' house."
Sparing Viola from having to responded, some college guy let out a deafening howl. His companions hooted in response and two actually beat their chests. Word must have gotten out that some rich guy was buying drinks because the bar had filled up with a considerably younger crowd.
The howling guy gave Viola a grin that he likely thought was boyishly cute. "Wanna dance, love?"
No. No, she really did not.
"Actually, she agreed to dance with me," Ian slipped in and pushed to his feet.
College guy shrugged and wobbled off to ask one of his female companions. Vi quickly grabbed her glass and tossed back a swallow. Ian did the same with a grin, then took her hand and dragged her to the limited space by the jukebox. The young crowd had already filled much of the space, but Ian slipped in like a pro.
They stayed for several songs, dancing as if they couldn't stop. The music playing was from groups she'd never heard, but the beats were good and the room's vibe even better. Viola had no problem bouncing to certain songs and swaying her hips to others. Ian moved like a guy who'd probably spent a portion of his young life in dance clubs. He was comfortable, confident, and didn't hesitate to pull her against him when the rhythm called for it.
Frankly, it was sexy as hell. Maybe it was the music, maybe it was the buzz of alcohol, but once their hands were on each other, they never left. Viola shimmied against him, as sweat rolled down her spine. Ian's gaze roamed from the shake of her chest to the roll of her torso, and it sent hot lust surging to her core.
As the music pulsed around them, Ian's body slowed, and his hand touched a bead of sweat along her temple. Viola watched him, enraptured by his gaze on her face. The air was thick between them and they'd stopped dancing without realizing it. His fingertips trailed along her jaw, gently lifting her chin. He was so close, she felt his chest rising against hers.