Of course I heard nothing, not even a soft sighing of the breeze that I could pretend was Him saying, Believe.…
Luke’s absence from the house felt like a hole in the world. Unshed tears formed a hard, burning knot in my chest, just above my solar plexus. I fought them back, though; the last thing I needed was for the glossy Ms. Wilkerson to come through the door and find me crying my eyes out in the middle of the living room.
I’d already thought up the excuses for leaving without taking a flyer. It’s a little too much space…it’s too far for me to drive to work…I don’t care for the paint color in the dining room. Whatever it took to get me out of there with my dignity relatively unscathed.
I knew it was far too late for my sanity.
Jaw clenched, I made my way back to the kitchen. I figured it was safest to let myself out the way I had come in. For all I knew, the real estate agent had installed the lockbox on the front door while I was still roaming disconsolately through the downstairs rooms. I opened the French doors and stepped outside.
A shadow at the far edge of the garden caught my attention. I turned, and saw Luke standing there, watching me. For the longest moment I couldn’t do anything but remain frozen on the top step, as his eyes met mine and an odd little wind blew a flurry of leaves past my feet.
He spoke first. “I knew you’d be here.”
I found my voice. “I hoped you’d be here.”
Another one of those uncomfortable pauses. After not seeing him for so many days, I found myself wanting to stare at him, at the heavy dark hair and long nose, the piercing blue eyes and thin but somehow sensual mouth. Actually, what I really wanted to do was run down the steps and throw myself into his arms, but my fragile self-control just barely managed to keep me from doing something so foolish.
“Someone told me that I was being a bull-headed fool,” Luke said. “And that I should talk to you again before giving up entirely.”
Sometimes divine intervention can come in really handy. “I think I know who you’re talking about,” I replied. “Elderly gentleman, favors tweed?”
Luke raised an eyebrow. “You, too?”
I shrugged. “Who knew that God liked to hang around in the produce section of the supermarket?”
To my surprise, he actually smiled. “He does have a way of turning up in strange places.”
Feeling a little more brave, I made my way down the stairs and took a few hesitant steps in his direction. He watched me carefully, but he had his poker face on; I found it impossible to guess what he might be thinking. Was he just here because God had told him to come? Or had he gotten the benefit of a little divine advice as well?
Whatever Luke might or might not have going through his mind, I knew I had to say what was on mine. If God thought I’d let pride get the better of me, then I’d be humble. Apologies didn’t come easily to me, but I had an idea they were even more difficult for Luke. Maybe if I showed him the way, we could get past what had been, in the final analysis, really a rather silly quarrel.
“I’m sorry,” I said simply.
“You’re sorry?” he asked. “For what?”
“For misunderstanding you,” I replied. “For not stopping to think about what you’d tried to do.” I hesitated, then added, “For running off like that and not even giving you a chance to explain.”
“Accepted,” Luke said, and a wry smile twisted his mouth. “Even though I’m probably the one who should have apologized first.” He shot me one of those sideways glances I remembered so well. “You’re not the only one who got a lecture on the sin of pride, although I have a feeling mine was considerably lengthier than yours.”
A feeling of cautious joy began to spread through me. If Luke really had meant to send me packing, I doubted he’d be admitting that God had apparently given him what amounted to a good scolding. Maybe I’d have the strength to tell him how I really felt.
“So,” he went on, and paused. The breeze caught his wavy hair and blew it back from his forehead, and I had to cross my arms and clench my hands at my sides to stave off the impulse to run my fingers through the heavy, rumpled locks. He shook his head. “I should have stopped to think about how you might receive such a gift. You’ll forgive me if I tell you that in the past I’ve usually had to deal with people who possessed rather less…integrity.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that — ” I began, feeling a flush spread across my cheeks. I didn’t think I’d ever had anyone tell me I had integrity before. Then again, it wasn’t the sort of thing that usually came up in day-to-day conversation.
“Well, I do,” Luke said firmly, in a tone that allowed no argument. “You are an — unexpected person, Christa Simms. I went into this thinking I knew all the answers, and I have discovered that I know nothing at all.”
Into what? I wanted to ask, but somehow I knew I shouldn’t interrupt him, that I should just let him continue in this rare confessional mood.
“You’ve spoken to God,” he remarked, and I thought I saw that little glint come and go in his eyes. “A rare gift, and not one that should be taken lightly, as you may well imagine. I hope, however, that you understand this is not something to be spoken of to anyone else.”
“Who would believe me?” I asked logically, and he smiled.
“True. These days those who have actually had communication with God tend to be treated as madmen instead of visionaries.” Luke’s expression darkened, and he looked away from me, up into the dappled sky. At that moment another cloud passed across the sun, and he frowned. “And since I have spoken with Him as well, I know He has given me permission to speak frankly with you. In fact, He insisted on it. Pulled up the usual quotes…‘the truth shall set you free,’ and so on.”
“Did it?” I asked, so softly I wasn’t sure he could hear me.
But apparently he did, because he said, “That remains to be seen. You see, I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
My heart seemed to miss a beat. “What do you mean?”
“During our first meal, you accused me of having an ulterior motive for seeking you out, and I believe I brushed off that comment. In fact, you were speaking the truth.”
Here it comes, I thought. So what is it, really? My immortal soul? Playing Mary for his unholy son…although this one certainly wouldn’t be a virgin birth. I swallowed, and somewhere in the back of my mind I finally heard God’s voice.
Believe.…
“So what is the truth?” I asked, and Luke smiled grimly.
“Another man asked that same question more than two thousand years ago. But he would not stay to hear the answer.” The blue eyes caught mine, and held. I felt as if I couldn’t have looked away, even if I’d wanted to. “I’d grown weary of Hell, Christa. Weary of the charge God had given me so many years ago. I asked for release, and He made a bargain with me.”
I said nothing, but merely waited for him to go on.
“If I could love someone, and have them love me, then I would be free. I could live a mortal life, and pass into Heaven when my span of days on this earth was ended. That someone was you, of course.”
At first I couldn’t quite wrap my brain around the concept. How could the Devil not be the Devil anymore? Weren’t there rules about that sort of thing? I realized then that of course God made the rules, and if He wanted to shatter them irrevocably, I supposed that was His prerogative. Still, I couldn’t manage much more than a gasp of, “Me?”
Luke smiled. “You, Christa. God chose you, for reasons He of course kept to himself. Someone who on the surface seemed quite ordinary.”
At first I felt a little offended — after all, who likes being called “ordinary”? — but then I realized he had said “on the surface.” So I bit my lip and waited to see what he would say next.
“But God, being who He is, of course understood that you were far from ordinary, that you were in fact the one woman who could allow me to understand human love.”
If the garden had seemed quiet before, no
w it sounded positively hushed. Even the birds had stopped their chatter in the trees. It was as if Luke and I were the only two beings in the entire world. Maybe for those few seconds we were.
He seemed not to notice the unnatural stillness, but continued, “The pain I experienced after you left the restaurant that night was unlike anything I had ever felt. At first I thought it was simply because I had seen my hopes of attaining Heaven dashed, and I was angry — angry that you, a mortal, had thwarted me so neatly. I went to confront God, to tell Him He had made a mistake and that love was an impossibility. To which He replied that of course it was, and that was what made it so perfect. I didn’t want to listen to Him…and it took quite some time for me to understand what He’d been trying to tell me.”
“Which was?” I asked.
“That I wasn’t in pain because you’d taken away my dream of returning to Heaven,” he replied. “I was in pain because I had lost you. Love is sometimes difficult to recognize when you have no frame of reference.”
I waited, holding myself as still as the quiet garden that surrounded us. I was afraid to say or do anything to break the fragile thread his words had somehow woven between us two.
“What I want to say, Christa, is this…I love you.”
The faint tingle that had passed through me after God touched my forehead was nothing to the wave of warmth that washed over me after I heard him say those words. I had hoped — I had dreamed — but I hadn’t been sure. Not until now.
Believe, God had told me. Well, I certainly believed now.
I looked up at him, at the man I had come to love. If God had made a bargain with the Devil, then it was time I sealed it.
“I love you,” I replied.
A tremor shook the ground beneath our feet. Luke reached out and drew me close against him, and I could hear his heart pounding beneath my ear. Several crows, possibly unnerved by the faint earthquake, exploded out of the trees above our heads, scolding and cackling at each other. The breeze picked up again, bringing with it the smell of the ocean and rain, even though the day was still dappled dark and light.
“What happened?” I asked at last.
“I’m free,” Luke said in wondering tones. “I can feel it — I’m as mortal as you are.”
“You don’t seem any different,” I replied, and he didn’t. It was the same Luke who held me, whose heart beat against my cheek. The same man I had fallen in love with.
A semi-familiar voice intruded on the scene. “Did you feel that?”
I lifted my head to see Janice Wilkerson come striding into the garden in her high-heeled boots. She came to a dead stop as she saw me standing there in Luke’s arms.
“Mr. Nicolini?” she asked. The last syllable came out as a sort of undignified squeak. Then again, probably the last thing she had expected to see was me in the arms of the man whose house she was trying to sell.
Somehow he managed to disentangle himself from me and shoot her a slightly apologetic smile. “Hello, Janice. It appears I won’t be selling the house after all.”
“You — what?” She looked from Luke to me and then back again, jaw waggling a bit. Probably she’d seen a lot in her real estate career, but it appeared this was a new twist even for her.
“I’ve decided to hold onto it,” he replied. “I do regret wasting any of your time, though, so perhaps a compensation of half your usual broker’s fee would help remedy the situation?”
On a place like this, that amount was probably double my annual salary. Not bad for about eighteen hours of work, a fact of which Ms. Wilkerson seemed immediately aware. The real estate agent smile snapped back into place, and she said, “Oh, of course, Mr. Nicolini. That’s very generous of you.”
“If I might have the key, then?” he inquired, extending a hand.
“Oh — certainly.” She fished in her briefcase for something, then drew out a plain white envelope. With a nervous little laugh, she said, “I’m just glad I decided to put off the lockbox until last.”
“Very fortunate,” Luke agreed, and opened the envelope and withdrew the brass key it held. “Thank you, Janice, and enjoy the rest of your Saturday.”
The dismissal was clear. She nodded, flashed a confused smile at me, and then fled. Probably she had left the stack of flyers in the kitchen, but they weren’t good for much of anything except recycling at that point anyway.
“Now then,” he said, and bent and kissed me.
This time I knew it was exactly right. I couldn’t imagine feeling anyone else’s lips touching mine ever again. How could I have been so stupid as to think Brad could ever replace Luke?
He pulled away then, and smiled wickedly. “I suppose I must forgive you that small indiscretion…especially since the poor man is feeling rather crushed at the moment.”
“If I were a better person, I suppose I’d feel guilty,” I remarked. “But as they say, karma’s a bitch.”
“Yes, she is,” Luke agreed, and buried my mouth under his again.
We came up for air a few minutes later. All of my nerve endings were on fire, and I began to wonder if we’d be able to make it inside before we started tearing each other’s clothes off. I for one was definitely ready to start making up for lost time. Still, I thought I’d better attempt to act like a rational human being.
“Can you afford that?” I asked, since I didn’t know what else to say.
“Afford what?”
“Janice Wilkerson’s fee.”
He gave me a somewhat indulgent smile. “Of course. Let’s just say that God has given me the ultimate golden handshake. You certainly don’t need to worry about that sort of thing anymore.”
I supposed an eternity of retirement benefits could start to add up, even though it was a little disconcerting to think that money would never be an issue again. “Oh,” I said, since I couldn’t come up with anything better.
“Let’s go in, shall we?” Luke looked up toward the heavens; the blue overhead was being rapidly replaced by gray storm clouds.
I found I didn’t mind — we could go into the house we would now share and spend the afternoon together…and all the days afterward.
Luke’s fingers wrapped around mine. Warm, strong…human.
“So what happens next?” I asked.
His eyes were an echo of that last bit of blue sky. He smiled.
“The rest of our lives,” he said.
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More Paranormal Romances by Christine Pope
THE WITCHES OF CLEOPATRA HILL
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The first three books of this series are also available in an omnibus edition at a special low price!
THE DJINN WARS
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Forsaken (July 2016)
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The first three books of this series are also available in an omnibus edition at a special low price!
About the Author
Christine Pope has been writing stories ever since she commandeered her family’s Smith-Corona typewriter back in the sixth grade. Her work includes paranormal romance, and fantasy and science fiction/space opera romance. She now works as a freelance editor and graphic designer in addition to writing fiction. She fell in love with Sedona, Arizona, while researching the Sedona Trilogy and now makes her home there, surrounded by the red rocks. No alien sightings, though...not yet, anyway!
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Sympathy for the Devil Page 32