Reap & Reveal (The Reaper Series Book 3)

by Lisa Medley

  The burn of his tattoos was the first indication that something beyond him was happening. Something magical. His sigils pulsated and flared, as pictures flashed through his mind—more memories that weren’t his. He tried to focus on them, but they rolled by like a cartoon flip reel.

  Maeve’s soul went supernova, filling him with her light as it raced to the surface. Before he realized what was happening, her soul streamed forth, threading between the two of them, tethering them together briefly.

  Maeve’s eyes opened wide and radiated with turquoise light, Nate’s mouth still firmly fixed on hers as her body tried to empty him of his energy and light

  “What the hell?” Deacon bent closer, examining Maeve, but careful not to touch either of them. “Holy shit.”

  When Nate’s breath was completely gone, he broke the hold and abruptly withdrew. Maeve’s soul snapped free from him and dissolved into her limp form. Gulping in a great breath, he fell to his knees beside the bed, completely spent. Several seconds later, Maeve took a gasping breath herself and caught his gaze with her bright green eyes, wide and terrified.

  His heart pounded and he thought he felt the slightest flutter brush inside his chest, but then it was gone.

  “Maeve?”

  She blinked rapidly, turning her head toward him, continuing to drag in shuddering breaths. A tear rolled from her eye and down her cheek. Nate reached to brush it away and the turquoise spark flickered weakly between them as she flinched from his touch.

  “I’ll be damned.” Deacon stood and looked down at them both. “You reinsouled her.”

  Nate passed out.

  Chapter Ten

  Maeve was afraid.

  A quick survey of the tin can-sized bedroom left her with more questions than answers. She didn’t recognize her location. There were two men with her in the room, and while she couldn’t see the face of the one who was lying on the floor, the other, standing over her, looked vaguely familiar. His name eluded her.

  Friend or foe was the next question.

  Sweat broke out across her forehead and began to pool in the small of her back as she clutched the sheets and scooted herself up and back against the headboard, searching with her eyes for a weapon in case these two turned out to be enemies.

  Her mind was a jumble, as if she’d just awoken from a long, long sleep. A Rip Van Winkle sleep. Mentally, she searched her mind and body for traces of the intruder Camael, who had held her hostage. That memory was the freshest. Seconds later, fragmented pieces, shattered memories, photo flashes flooded through her in such a random and chaotic manner she had no context as to sequence or importance.

  It was like watching hundreds of movie trailers haphazardly sliced and diced together. The reel made no sense.

  The man in front of her was speaking in earnest, but she couldn’t process his words. He might as well have been speaking Yiddish from far, far away. She didn’t know Yiddish.

  Pretty sure.

  Her eyes blinked rapidly as she tried to physically stay above the deluge. The tide of thoughts filled her like tsunami waves and she squeezed her eyes shut despite the potential threat before her. If she couldn’t gain control of her mind, her body would be of no use to her.

  Her head twitched and she tried to shake things into place. So not helpful.

  Maeve clasped her hands onto either side of her head and screamed.

  ***

  “Maeve! Maeve! Look at me.” Deacon tried to engage her as he moved around the bed to tend to Nate, but she looked dazed.

  Shock, he thought as he bent to look at Nate.

  Hell, the guy had just recovered from a concussion and now it looked as if he’d hit his head again on the way down. Blood trickled across his face from the fresh wound, just to the left of his previously healed head wound. The man was a hazard to himself.

  Deacon pushed a jolt of green energy into him in an effort to revive him.

  He kept his eyes on Maeve as he tried to process what he’d just witnessed.

  Nate actually managed to reinsoul Maeve.

  To his knowledge, it was a feat that had never been successfully accomplished before. The implications were staggering. It seemed that Nate had developed, practically overnight, into the single most powerful person in their circle. Maybe in the realm.

  Even Grim, who was a seraph now, couldn’t reinsoul.

  He’d certainly never seen or heard any proof of it anyway. Not even a rumor around the reaper water cooler in Purgatory. The power was like the unicorn, elusive and fictional.

  Nate moaned before opening his eyes and immediately slapped a hand to his forehead, which Deacon was sure he’d regret.

  “Again?”

  “Yeah, we need to get you a helmet.”

  Deacon helped him to his feet and watched as Nate’s gaze shifted to Maeve. He lunged toward her, but Deacon took hold of his elbow.

  “You might wanna give her a minute…or sixty. I think she’s a little scrambled.”

  ***

  Nate eased down to sit at the side of the bed, watching Maeve’s bright green eyes, which flashed from terrified to ferocious, then to confused. Without her soul rattling around inside him, continually testing the boundaries of his mind, he felt suddenly vacant. She had filled a void in him that he hadn’t realized existed.

  The slightest caress still brushed against his consciousness, even now, but it was nothing like the full force her soul had been. It was more of a remnant. Maeve’s essence was indeed a force to be reckoned with. He reached out to her, unsure.

  “Maeve?” he called.

  She darted her eyes between him and Deacon like a wounded animal. Her silence was unnerving. He needed some reassurance that she was well and whole.

  “Hmm, I don’t think she’s gotten her sea legs. Maybe more familiar faces would help. I’ll get Olivia. Ruth can’t make it up the trailer steps, but Olivia can.” Deacon made his way to the door, and then looked back at Nate. “And maybe Kylen, too. I think you two have a few things to talk about.”

  Deacon pushed past Bo, leaving the two of them alone.

  “Maeve, please say something. You’re at Ruth’s place. In my trailer. What can I do for you? What do you need?” He brushed his hand against hers, wanting to hold it, but desperate not to frighten her. Her savage gaze spooked him more than any of the demons they’d faced.

  Maeve looked down at his hand and her eyes grew round and large as turquoise blue energy sparked between them. She clasped hold of his hand and the sharp jolt made him jerk free of her grasp.

  “Sorry. Still not used to that.” Nate reached for her again, but she retreated, the moment gone. “Do you know me? Do you remember what happened to you?”

  She stared at him, her face unanimated now, giving away nothing for the longest time before she whispered, “Camael.”

  “Yes, Camael. He’s gone.”

  “Destroyed?”

  “Detoured. We have no idea how to destroy him. He’ll be back. But you can be damned sure he won’t be back in you.”

  Maeve recoiled into the bed once again. He couldn’t blame her, but he wanted her to know she was safe here.

  “Please let me help you, Maeve. How can I help you?”

  Her eyes filled with tears as she visibly struggled for her words.

  “Who are you?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Olivia spent an hour with Maeve while Nate sat on the couch at the opposite end of trailer like a nervous parent, memorizing the lines on his hands. Deacon sat beside him while the other reapers milled around outside waiting for a report. While she seemed more sedate now that Olivia was around, Maeve still hadn’t said another word since their initial conversation. She seemed to understand their communications, answering their questions with a nod or shake of the head, but it was clear that not all of her cylinders were firing. Nate prayed it wasn’t a permanent condition. Seeing her like this, scared and helpless, was torture. The fire still burned inside her—he could see it in her eyes—but she was not
the reaper he’d seen in action before the possession.

  Take me home.

  Did she even know her family was gone? Hell, this was her home now. He could be her home. Of course, she had no idea who the hell he was anymore.…

  Whatever it took, he would make sure she had everything she needed to make a full recovery. Then she would have to decide on her own whether she wanted to stay or go.

  Screw Camael and the demons. Deacon and the rest of the Authority had that shit covered. Besides, he had no doubt there would be plenty of reaper drama to go around when Maeve was ready for action again.

  A knock came on the trailer door, and when Deacon went to answer it, Kylen pushed his head inside.

  “Let’s go for a walk, Nate,” Kylen said.

  A walk was the last thing Nate wanted. What he wanted was to sit vigil until Maeve snapped out of it and was back on track.

  When he didn’t respond, Deacon nudged him. “Go. She’s in good hands. I’ll get you if anything changes.”

  Reluctantly, Nate grabbed his jacket and stepped out of the trailer, shoving his hands in his coat pockets in defense against the cold. With her soul safely reinstalled, he no longer feared Maeve might be taken away from him. Now he worried she’d leave on her own, driven by fear and uncertainty. He could still lose her if he wasn’t careful. Still, he followed Kylen without complaint as his friend led him to the trailer he and Olivia shared.

  “Come on in.”

  Nate followed Kylen into the trailer. The setup, if not the décor, was a mirror image of his own home.

  Kylen pointed to the small banquet table and opened the fridge to pull out two beers. “Sit.”

  Nate sat. Kylen opened a bottle and pushed it to him. “Drink.”

  Nate rolled his head from side to side, contemplating the medical prudence of drinking after cracking his skull. Again.

  Screw it.

  He sucked down a long pull, and then another, downing two-thirds of the bottle as Kylen waited, watching him from across the table.

  “So. Big day for you. What with the whole reinsouling and all.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Deacon asked me to have a word with you. As a former demon host myself, he thought maybe I could impart some wisdom to you or some shit. I don’t know about that. But I can tell you a few things about how it feels to be possessed. Before and after. There aren’t very many of us who have lived to tell the tale.”

  Nate took another pull and killed his beer, then stared at his hands. “What can I do for her, Kylen?”

  “First off, give her time. Maeve had the added bonus of losing her soul in this mess. And now, it seems, getting it back. That should put a whole new fucked-up spin to things. I never lost my soul, so I don’t know what that might do to her. But I can tell you one thing—she’s going to feel like hell for a few days. I had a lot of really bad memories to sort through, some mine, some my demon’s. Most of them were things the bastard had done while riding me. I wasn’t in control, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t any guilty for what my body had done. I had a front row seat to every goddamn crime the demon committed. Every person who was killed. Every soul that was stolen. And that was the easy stuff.”

  Kylen rolled his beer bottle between his hands, picking at the label. “You got a taste of it when you went to Hell. And everything you witnessed was from the cheap seats. Be glad you weren’t a VIP. My demon was high in command, which meant he had full access, but his power was nowhere near Camael’s. Maeve is a tough girl, but the stuff she’s likely seen? Done? That’s the shit that breaks a person.”

  “You survived it.”

  “I didn’t want to. I wanted to die. You bastards just wouldn’t let me. First that bullshit about saving Deacon. Then Olivia? If you want Maeve to make it, you’re going to have to be a pit bull of patience and persistence just like you all were with me. And when she’s ready to talk, I’ll be here. For her and for you.”

  Deacon pulled open the door without knocking. “Getting dark. We need to go out. Those demons aren’t going to slay themselves.”

  “I’m staying,” Nate said.

  “No. You’re going. Olivia can tend to Maeve. She’s not in any danger, and she needs time to work out her shit. Nothing you can do moping around here, pressuring her for answers she’s not ready to give. We’ll grill her plenty, don’t worry, but it can wait a few more hours. Maybe it’ll help her get her head back together.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Phil. You’re a real sage,” Kylen said.

  “Whatever. We need Nate downtown. Now that you’re unencumbered, Zak can juice you up before we go. Besides, you need to get out of here for a while. And with this latest development, well…you’ll be all the more valuable out in the field.”

  Nate was conflicted. He knew Maeve needed time. After a brief physical exam, he was confident she wasn’t in any immediate physical danger. It was her psyche he feared for now. What he hated most was that Deacon was right—he wasn’t needed in the trailer, but the desire to stay put was overwhelming. He had the binding spell in place. She couldn’t leave the trailer and that should be more than enough to keep her from running if she were so inclined. He should probably tell Olivia about it, although he doubted Maeve was in any condition yet to test her newest boundaries.

  Of course, she’d surprised him before.

  Debating the pros and cons, a plan began to form in his mind.

  “I want to go to Purgatory. I need to talk with Rashnu.”

  “I’d say Rashnu will be expecting you,” Deacon said.

  “Will you take me?”

  “You don’t need me. You’re welcome just like the rest of us. Especially now. But it can wait until we’ve cleared a few more demons. ”

  Nate nodded. He knew he could travel there himself. He was just trying to follow protocol. Rashnu probably had the answers he needed. The problem would be getting them out of the asshole.

  “Go get your weapons, Nate. Let’s roll some demons,” Kylen said.

  ***

  Maeve wanted sleep more than anything else in the world. To close her eyes and be alone, truly alone, would be a miracle. But these people? At this rate, she didn’t think she’d ever be alone again. She could sense their sincerity, but the intense way the one called Nate kept looking at her was unnerving. The woman, Olivia, was human, but all the others she’d seen were reapers. Still, she couldn’t figure out for the life of her why they were all living here together. This was not the reaper training compound. At least, not the one where she’d grown up.

  She remembered everything right up to the night she’d first set foot in Meridian as a temporary replacement reaper. Then there was the night in St. Mary’s Hospital when Camael had blackmailed her into accepting his possession. Two interesting problems remained. For one, all of her memories before the possession were in a completely random order. The sequence evaded her, like her deck had been shuffled. Names, faces, events, reapings…all blurred into a This Is Your Life episode set on jumble.

  Secondly, everything during and after the possession was like a dream, not quite remembered, but buried somewhere in the back of the brain. The harder she tried to pull those memories to the surface, the farther they slipped from her mental grasp. It was infuriating. Worse, it was painful. Her head ached from the effort. Whatever had happened to her during those few lost months under Camael’s spell was important to remember. Imperative even. She just couldn’t reach it.

  Olivia had put names to the faces of the two men hovering nearby—Nate and Deacon—but she couldn’t call up any memories to go with them. Olivia assured her there were memories of them, which was unsettling, and the girl did look vaguely familiar with her stark white hair. Still, nothing gelled in Maeve’s consciousness, no matter how hard she reached for her past.

  She needed time and maybe more familiar surroundings to try and put things into place. Panic built inside her, spreading through her chest like the burn of hard liquor. Time was running out. She didn’t know what it meant,
but she knew that much.

  After a while, the two reapers left and Olivia went to prepare some food for her, promising a quick return. The short reprieve was a relief. Maeve stretched out her limbs, testing them for strength and durability. She was thinner. That much she knew.

  Right now, her most pressing desire, other than recovering her memories, was to be clean. Besides sleep, a shower was about to become her next big adventure. Sliding her legs out from under the covers, she lowered them to the floor and rotated herself upright. After several seconds of inner debate as to whether or not hurling was on the agenda, her swimmy head and stomach settled and she reached for the wall to steady herself.

  Vertical. It was a thing now.

  At least her motor skills hadn’t taken a complete vacation. She’d reaped enough brain-injured victims through the years to know it didn’t take much to upset the mental applecart. Maeve was pretty sure all her pieces were present and accounted for. She just needed to rework the puzzle.

  She eased around the edge of the wall to the bathroom door. Bathroom was a generous word to describe the tiny enclosure. It was definitely a one-person proposition. As thin as she was, she wondered if her body would even fit inside the minuscule shower enclosure. By God, she was going to try.

  She shimmied out of the nightgown, trying not to think too hard about who had dressed her in it. Pulling the door shut behind her, she pulled the shower curtain shut and turned on the water, letting the hot steam fill the room.

  Standing naked outside the shower door, she fingered the thin rope bracelet around her wrist and puzzled at it.

  Where the hell had that come from?

  One thing she was sure of: she didn’t wear jewelry, and if she did, it wouldn’t be hippy, hemp friendship bands. Briefly she picked at one of the knots. When it didn’t give, she abandoned the effort. She’d cut it off later.

  Avoiding the very small mirror over the equally miniature vanity was easy enough since it had already fogged over. She was glad she couldn’t see her reflection. At this point, she had no desire to obsess on the before…all she was interested in was the after.