Reap & Reveal (The Reaper Series Book 3)

by Lisa Medley

  “I don’t know. I’ve never searched for a nephilim before. We have people who do that.”

  “You mean bounty hunters.”

  “Yes. And they are much more adept at such things.”

  “Then find us a bounty hunter, angel, before I come unhinged,” Deacon said.

  “You had one, but she was sent away.”

  “What are you talking about now? For the love of…” Nate said.

  “Did we not have this talk already? Watch your words, reaper. Temperance is more than a guardian angel. She’s also one of our best hunters. Unfortunately, we’ve never had to track an angel/reaper offspring before.”

  “Why was Temperance sent to guard my child in the first place? To kill it when it was born?” Deacon asked, his eyes blazing with rage.

  “Hardly. The goal was to keep it alive. That child is the one being that can undo us all.”

  “How?”

  “The child is the sacrifice Camael needs to hold open the portal to Hell.”

  Nate rose to his feet. “It’s about damned time you started talking some sense. Where would he open this portal?”

  “He could open it anywhere. Meridian is the center of a great flow of energy, but he can’t open the main portal there without taking a chance of shorting it out completely. Lucifer will want to control that flow of energy, not destroy it. The permanent portal will be opened nearby, but not inside the city. Somewhere close that he would still consider holy in his irrational way.”

  Maeve’s clutched at Nate’s sleeve. “Bolton Cemetery.”

  ***

  Ruth was freezing. She was so cold she was beyond shivering, which she was pretty sure was what happened right before folks who were freezing to death started shedding their clothing and bathing in non-existent sunlight. Her body was so weak that her window of opportunity for flashing had passed even if she were willing to try. She’d never survive the trip.

  She knew it.

  If she spent much longer in this crypt, she wouldn’t have to beat herself up over her indecision any more. She listened hard for any movement in the graveyard outside, wondering if Camael had perhaps left a human or demon guard.

  After being locked inside, she’d sat quietly, waiting and listening for the others to leave, then she’d called out for a good half hour, begging, bargaining and threatening just in case anyone was out there to hear her.

  She’d gotten no answer and was now convinced she was well and truly alone. Deacon would never find her here. And even if he did, she feared it would be too late. Whatever Camael had in mind for her would most certainly be fatal. As in permanently fatal. He hadn’t put her here just to keep her out of the way or as bait. He’d put her into cold storage.

  Ruth lost track of the time after a while, since the crypt was pitch black inside, another aspect of this situation that was steadily picking away at her good reason and sanity. Her only consolation was that if she’d been merely human, she’d most likely be dead already.

  Lucky her.

  Over the past several months, she’d gained a wonderful man, a future child and, only hours ago, a brother and a mother. Now she was on the verge of losing them all. Not to mention the end of humanity.

  There was that.

  She’d spent her time in captivity trying to piece together all the little bits of evidence they’d gathered regarding her mother. Their mother. The revelation that Nate was her brother explained so many of the feelings she’d formed for him.

  Their relationship had always been special, with both of them sharing more with the other than with friends of longer standing. And then there was the time when Nate had sickened because of the complications with her pregnancy.

  Now she understood why the bond between them was so strong. They were twins. Ruth had read stories of people experiencing sympathetic responses to their twin during times of stress or even happiness. Strong emotions often conjured strong responses.

  That was exactly what had happened with Nate.

  And now? Would he feel her stress? Her fear? Her discomfort? Even if he did, could he find her here, hidden inside a crypt miles away from home?

  She wouldn’t hold her breath.

  She worried about Deacon the most. He’d transformed since they first met. Physically and emotionally. With so much on his plate, he’d already managed to give her more life in a few months than she’d experienced in the twenty-seven years before she met him. He was a gift.

  Seeing how devastated Kylen had been to lose Kara made her fearful for how Deacon would react to losing her. And their child. In her heart, she prayed his friends and the Authority could hold him together when she and the baby were gone. She prayed he didn’t do anything drastic. She loved him. If Kylen could find love again after his terrible ordeal, then Deacon could, too.

  He’d just have to open his heart to the possibilities.

  Ruth closed her eyes and leaned back against the cold concrete blocks, trying to imagine the crypt as an igloo instead of the tomb it was. She clicked through her mental sticky notes, rearranging all of the leads and facts she’d collected on her mother, and the horrific possibility that Camael might be her father. She could feel her synapses slowing down, and she was desperate to keep awake and alert.

  Ironic that she might be dead before Camael even returned to exact his revenge.

  And what exactly was the purpose of his madness? It was bad enough fighting against him when she’d thought he was just evil incarnate, but now…Well, it would be nice to know his motive. He had to have one, after all. Was any creature born purely evil? Okay, maybe demons. And imps.

  Definitely them.

  Slimy bastards.

  But Camael had been an angel once. She tried to imagine the circumstances that could have led him to her mother in the first place. And why had he abandoned his family? Or perhaps Elaina had kept the information about the twins from him. If so, why? To protect herself? Only one thing was clear to her: it was unthinkable for an angel to have chosen Hell over Heaven unless something drastic had happened.

  Only two emotions could drive a creature of the light to such an extreme: love or hate.

  What on Earth could have made him want to fall?

  She wondered if he’d lost his soul when he joined ranks with Lucifer. What other explanation could he have for his behavior?

  Would it make any difference to him if he knew she and Nate were his children?

  Ruth lost consciousness while praying for Temperance to return to protect her. She wasn’t even ashamed when the praying turned to begging.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “What about Bolton Cemetery?” Nate helped Maeve sit upright on the couch, her weakness apparent.

  “I think it’s where Ruth might be.” Maeve wiped her palm across her eye and face, and then looked around the room. “Where are we now?”

  “Reaper lounge. Purgatory. Welcome.” Rashnu offered from behind the bar.

  “Why do you think Ruth is at Bolton Cemetery?” Deacon asked.

  “Rashnu said it would have to be somewhere Camael considered holy. He held that cemetery in reverence. I don’t know why.”

  “Ah, yes,” Rashnu said. “Well, that could be because someone he once cared about is buried there. Or at least her marker.”

  The one common link for them all—Ruth, Camael, Nate and the Coven—was the cemetery where Elaina Carter’s headstone stood. And as he allowed his memory to replay through his mind, he finally allowed all the details he’d repressed in the past to click into place.

  The first place he’d flashed to as a child.

  His reaper mother’s fake burial place.

  The cemetery where Rosemary had discovered them.

  Where Ruth might be held captive.

  Where Camael could open a permanent Hell portal.

  “Say what you mean, Rashnu.” Nate’s mustard aura boiled forth in anticipation of the answer he already knew.

  “Camael is your father.”

  All of the air ex
ited Nate’s body and the room began to swim in waves before him. The angel’s confirmation was too much to bear.

  “How could it be true?” Nate whispered, his last defense against the truth. Deacon grabbed both of Nate’s arms, restraining him before he could act on the rage and disappointment boiling up inside of him. Rashnu got his glow on and stretched his wings out behind him across the back wall, at the ready in case Nate chose to act upon the violent emotions swirling within him.

  “Just because you do not want to hear a thing, does not make it untrue. I warned you that you might regret knowing some of the answers you sought. As to the how? You’ll have to get those answers from Camael himself.”

  Maeve’s hand on the side of his face brought his attention back to her. “It’s true, Nate. Camael’s memories make sense to me now. Your drawings? What you told me of Rashnu’s two paths? Everything points to the truth that you know here.…” Maeve stepped in front of him and pressed her hand flat over his heart chakra, pushing her turquoise light into him.

  The warmth of Maeve’s energy spread across his chest and along his meridian, filling each chakra before returning to her to complete the circle. Images flashed through his mind—Maeve’s memories from her time with Camael and his own recollections, rearranging the pieces until the picture that fell into place was irrefutable.

  After all these long years, he’d found his biological father.

  And now he had to kill him.

  ***

  Camael gathered Elaina into his arms and carried her from the bed, dragging the quilt as he crossed the room to the bank of windows. Even with the heavy quilt still wrapped around her, pulling her down, she weighed next to nothing. He could feel every bone as he cradled her and stared out into the growing light of dawn.

  What he held was her husk.

  Even if she could open her eyes and see him, would she know him in his borrowed shell? Without his angel form, would she—could she—recognize his ruined soul? The pain burning through his chest said otherwise. His soul was damaged beyond redemption, beyond recognition.

  He hoped she would never find out what he had done.

  His mind raced through all the possible options. His plan, so imperative an hour ago, was now diminished and irrelevant. The discovery of Elaina changed everything.

  There would be hell to pay for any delay. Everything was set.

  All he had to do was open the damned portal, make the sacrifice and watch hell break loose from his front row seat. But what would he do with Elaina if he continued with his course of action?

  He couldn’t leave her here, at the mercy of the monstrosities he had already unleashed. He wouldn’t.

  Obviously this was—had been—a safe place for her for all these years. She still lived. Or at least her body did. And if there was any way to reinsoul her, to bring her back to him, he would move Heaven and Hell to do it.

  He longed for his wings. What would he give for the chance to wrap his healing light around her?

  Everything.

  But after she died—or so he’d thought—Camael sacrificed all the good he’d ever had to offer. How was it that her body continued to live even now? What if he’d found her sooner? So many questions ran through his brain. None of which mattered now. He had no hope of a Heavenly intervention on his behalf. He’d burned that bridge long ago.

  Without her, he had wanted no part of Heaven’s pitiful hope and lavish promises. Heaven was dead to him. He’d begged at the gates once before. Never. Again.

  Inside this house, everything fell away. He watched out the window as snow began to fall through the slight moonlight, curling in the wind in hypnotic swirls so surreal his eyes began to burn with the beauty of it. The pendulum wall clock to his right swung back and forth, registering the slightest click with each swipe. The tick then tock was a physical reminder that his time was running out.

  That time was running out for all of them.

  Could he put a stop to what had been set into motion? What difference would it make for his Elaina now? And his children? Surely Rashnu was wrong; surely they’d been taken by the bounty hunter. Destroyed.

  The slightest flicker began to grow inside him like a cancer. Because that’s all hope was—a cancer—a caustic weakness that would eventually kill you regardless of the pretty package in which it arrived. He snuffed it out, refusing to allow it to grow.

  He couldn’t take her to his quarters in Hell. Not like this. Her soul was still untarnished inside the beautiful prison which held it. He’d used the last of his angel magic to forge the impenetrable hourglass from meteoric diamonds, but her husk would never survive the trip through the portal.

  Realizing he had no allies left, no safe place, not even in his own heart, he carried her back to the bed and laid her down on it, arranging her with gentle care into what he hoped was a comfortable position before smoothing the quilt over her. Picking up the brush from the nightstand beside her bed, he sat on the edge of the mattress beside her, then slid his arm beneath her shoulders to bring her into a sitting position so he could brush out her hair.

  Careful not to pull at the slight tangles he’d created by moving her, he drew the brush down her raven locks, over and over until it was smooth and silky. He eased her back down, fanning her hair out beside her head with his fingers.

  Despite everything, she was still beautiful. His beautiful Elaina.

  The sound of breaking glass snapped him from his spell, reminding him of what he had wrought upon this place. Leaning down, Camael pressed his lips against his love’s cold forehead, breathing in her scent, recommitting to memory the feel of her flesh.

  He rose and made his way back through the hallway to the formal living area to find the old woman waiting for him.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked, maintaining a steady rocking rhythm in the antique chair.

  “More than I’d expected.”

  “And what now? Will you kill me? Kill us all?”

  “Have you cared for her this whole time?”

  “Yes. Since the day she arrived.”

  His reply stuck in his throat. “Thank you.”

  “Action is worth much more than words, don’t you agree?”

  He walked to the door and pulled it open. Stepping out onto the porch, he surveyed the carnage he’d unleashed. A home down the street went up in flames as its residents fled. A man and a woman with children in their arms ran toward the woods pursued by two imps, who spurred their pray onward by snapping razor teeth at their heels.

  Camael had a good idea what awaited them there.

  “I would suggest you replace your circle of protection after we leave. You’re going to need it.”

  He walked with purpose down the street he now noticed was named Samhain.

  An entire town of witches. Hidden in this forest all along.

  Hundreds of them had protected his Elaina all this time. Even now, seeing it with his own eyes, he could barely comprehend it.

  Camael spread his arms wide as he continued toward the bus and summoned his minions back to him: demons, imps, men. Plenty of damage had already been done to the town. Well, he couldn’t turn back time, but he could cauterize the wound he’d inflicted and stop the hemorrhaging while he decided what he wanted to do.

  He still had time. A few hours if he was to open the portal on Christmas as Lucifer had requested—demanded.

  Splitting the earth in front of him, he opened a crack through the bedrock, penetrating to the core of Hell. “Demons and imps all, return to Hell and await my call.”

  Without hesitation, they stepped off into the abyss and vanished.

  The remaining humans stood by silent and afraid.

  Camael closed the chasm. “You’ll return to Bolton Cemetery and await further instructions. Do you understand?”

  Several of them nodded, but he could sense their feelings of betrayal. After all, he inhabited Little Stevie’s body now. None of them would be at Bolton when he arrived because none wou
ld want to be next. As it turned out, he didn’t even care. They’d exceeded their usefulness. An hour ago he would have shoved them down the chasm himself, but his heart just wasn’t in it anymore.

  He needed to think.

  And the only place he could do that was in Hell.

  Clearly his judgment was clouded here.

  He waited until the bus disappeared into the sunrise. The horizon was filled with streaks of pink as the snow continued to drift over him, beginning to accumulate.

  Perhaps there would be a white Christmas after all.

  Such a human thing to wish for.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Ruth heard footsteps outside the crypt. She tried to scoot herself up into a sitting position, but her limbs were too cold to cooperate anymore. Instead, she huddled into the sweatshirt, locked in a fetal position around her own fetus.

  The sound of rattling at the door snapped her eyes open. Was this it? Was Camael coming for her?

  “Hey, you in there?” a man’s voice asked.

  “Who’s there? Help me! Can you get me out of here?”

  “I dunno. There’s a palawk on it.”

  Ruth tried to translate in her head. “A padlock?”

  “Yeah.”

  She scrambled. If she had a willing rescuer, surely he could come up with some way to help her to escape. “Can you find a big rock or…a headstone to break the lock?”

  “I kin try.”

  “Please! Hurry!”

  Silence filled the crypt again and several long minutes passed. The wait was so long that she was sure he’d lost his nerve and left. A crack echoed through the concrete tomb and she nearly jumped out of her frozen skin. She was surprised she didn’t crack into two herself with the unexpected jolt.

  After several more strikes, he seemed to find a rhythm. How long would it take? They were so far away from anywhere. No one would hear the noise he was making unless Camael came back before he accomplished his task. Helpless to do anything to advance her own rescue, she offered words of encouragement to her unseen rescuer.

  “I know you’re close! Keep trying! You can do it!”