"What else would it have been doing?"
She said nothing, but the way she looked at me, I got the feeling she thought something more was going on. I looked from her to Callum and saw the same look on both faces. Both looked guilty, and both seemed to gain just a little bit too much color.
When I tried to hold Callum's gaze, he looked away from me.
"Don't ask about the dreams," he said. "I'm not telling you."
Then I understood. The incubus had lulled him with the same kind of intoxicating dreams it had used on me. I wondered whose face the incubus wore for him and a sting of envy for that nameless woman itched up my spine. No doubt he couldn't look at me knowing I had got hurt trying to lure that thing away from him while he'd been dreaming of some curvy nurse with perfect lips.
I felt something burn in my chest, and my stomach felt as though someone had dropped a rock into it. All that time he'd been teasing me, acting as though he actually wanted to get in to bed with me, he really had just been looking for a soft mattress. I wasn't sure why it made me so upset but it did.
It should have been enough for me to know he was unhurt but it wasn't. I found myself stomping out of the room to find Gramp. I'd get patched up and sleep on the sofa. I didn't care what Callum or Sarah did.
We spent the rest of the night sitting across from each other in the living room, saying nothing. Whether it was shock or exhaustion, no one dared to broach the subject. Once or twice, I stole a look at Callum and while I couldn't make out any outward manifestations of injury, there was a haunted look in his eyes. He avoided my gaze almost as much as I avoided his, and I started to feel guilty for being so angry with him for something he couldn't help.
I poked at my wound for what seemed the dozenth time as I sat on the sofa. While my wound was at least three inches long, it wasn't deep and Gramp figured I had been just out of reach when it struck out at me. He'd taped plastic stitches over it and bandaged it and we told each other with our eyes we could forget about it for now.
Sometime between Sarah declaring she was hungry and going to the kitchen and Gramp coughing up a lung, Callum's gaze landed on my neck.
"I guess maybe we tempted it too much," he said with a tired smile.
The way he looked so vulnerable in that moment, with a little bit of stubble on his jawline and the weary way he ran his hand through his hair, I felt as though my throat had suddenly clogged up. I wanted to say something clever, but all reason abandoned me in that green-eyed gaze.
Thankfully, Sarah returned with an aromatic pot of coffee and set it on the coffee table. She plopped down the mugs that dangled from her fingers next to it.
While everyone reached for a mug, Gramp merely pushed himself back into his La-Z-Boy chair. I noticed he didn't reach for a mug at all. His gaze was pinned to my neck as his fingers clutched the arms of his chair. For a moment, I thought he might reach for the mug I passed him, but instead he pushed himself from his chair and without a word headed to the door. I got up to follow him and watched as he shoved on his Birkenstocks over top of his wool socks and pushed open to the back porch.
I was aware that the others were hovering behind me, anxious and waiting to see what he would do. It was almost surprising to see the sun had already risen and we trooped out onto the porch and watched as he headed for his garden shed.
Sun was filtering through the branches of the gnarled oak tree and painting glittering light onto the grass. Something caught in my throat as I watched the way it pushed back the shadows. Clattering noises came from the shed: a few thuds and thumps of things falling as though from a great height. Then Gramp reappeared at the door carrying a jug of gasoline. He hefted it once as though testing its weight then strode toward his garden.
Callum bolted past me down the steps.
"What are you doing?" he said.
"Good old-fashioned grass fire," Gramp said. "We burn the lawn to ash. Purge the place. The grounds. Everything." He was driving with purpose toward the edge of the property where the fence blocked off view of the street. He stood for a moment with his head swivelling back and forth as though trying to find just the right place to begin, and I was sure he was going to upend the can right where he stood but Callum finally reached him and put his hand on Gramp's.
He said nothing but looked at Gramp for a long moment. With what looked like a racking sigh, Gramp relinquished the can and then wobbled toward the edge of his garden where he had planted two wicker chairs for the afternoons when he wanted to survey his work with a quiet glass of lemonade. He sank wearily down on the nearest wicker chair and buried his face in his hands and I watched as his shoulders shook.
My heart ached for him. I knew he was struggling with it all. Callum looked at me with an expression of helplessness. My annoyance at him dissipated like steam.
I couldn't stand it any longer. I couldn't just let Gramp sit there agonizing over it all when I knew most of it was my fault anyway. There was only one real explanation after all. None of this had happened before. The worst I had made him suffer was a few police visits and phone calls from the neighbours. If his house was safe before I came, and safe in the first few years I was here, there was only one thing that could be to blame and it had everything to do with my trespassing into an abandoned gothic cathedral in the wee hours of a night.
As bad as it might've been to confess the things that had happened to me in the cathedral, this was far worse. I found myself crossing the lawn and kneeling in front of him.
"Stop, Gramp," I murmured. My hand went to the back of his head and I smoothed down his hair.
He looked up with agony written in his eyes.
It was disconcerting enough to think that the town was filled with supernatural entities attracted to a power in the earth that was created when a host of angels fell, bad enough to know that my grandfather was a druid and my foster sister and best friend was a necromancer. I had wanted to spare him the thought that I might be something equally nasty as the things that he was trying to protect the house from.
"There's something you don't know about the night that night the cathedral caught fire," I said.
I caught the stink of gasoline and realized Callum was standing close to me. His presence so nearby buoyed me. As tough as it was to have the words sitting there on my tongue, it was entirely a different thing to think that I would actually have to speak them. I stole a look at the porch and saw Sarah there, her hands wringing together. They knew all about Azrael. They knew all about the church. It was time my grandfather knew as well.
I sucked in a breath and leaned back on my heels. "That night in the church I met the Angel of Death."
I watched his Adam's apple bob up and down, but to his credit he said nothing. He settled back into the wicker chair. The way he looked at me, with a sort of shocked disbelief pulled over a stubborn determination not to react made me think I had finally pushed him too far. He'd put up with a lot from me. But I couldn't turn back now. He had to know.
"Something attacked me there," I said, reaching out to take his hand. It felt cool in mine, almost as though the blood had drained from it.
"I thought it was a maniac," I said, "and I tried to get away." It was all there right then, rushing to my tongue, trying to escape me as though I was being exorcised from within. "He set the place on fire trying to kill me."
Sarah gasped from behind me and I gave her a sidelong look. I just realized at that moment that I hadn't told her the full story either. Callum didn't know it. No one actually knew the whole of it. It had been something terrifying and traumatic, and I didn't want to remember it let alone recount it.
I looked from one to the other of them as I recounted how I had showed up in response to Sarah's text only to discover that a maniac was in the building waiting for me. Sent by the Angel of Death, so I found out later.
"That manic was a fallen one," I said. "Trying to reap me as his last fare so he could reclaim his wings and return home." I coughed to clear my throat of a sudden bit of bloc
kage. "Apparently, I'm some sort of fallen angel," I said. "At least according to Azrael."
I said his name with a sort of wonder that bordered on anger. None of this stuff was my fault at all, I realized. It was his. All his fault. I should be blaming him. I should be summoning him and putting the screws to him, making him fix this mess.
Gramp looked like he wanted to speak, but he pressed his lips together tightly so nothing came out. I glanced from Callum to Sarah who had moved from the porch and now stood hovering near the garden. Callum still held on to the gas can and Sarah was kicking at the ground. No doubt this was all a shock to them. Maybe it was too much. But I certainly felt better. I felt as though I was no longer alone in at all.
"It's a strange little complex tale," I said. "But the gist of it is that as a fallen angel, I've spent hundreds of incarnations being human and this is my opportunity to win my wings back. I have to collect supernatural creatures in order to do so. If I don't –"
"If you don't?" Gramp said, his head snapping up. "What, Ayla? What could possibly happen that's worse than what's happening now?"
He didn't say he didn't believe me. He didn't argue the existence of angels or reapers. His concern was for me and how bad it could get. Not for the first time, I realized how lucky I was to have him. I didn't want him to be more worried for me than he already was. He still felt as though this was all his fault, and I had to impress upon him that it wasn't. That it had everything to do with me and not him.
"If I don't, I won't see another incarnation. This will be my last."
I left out the distasteful fact that I would end up swirling around in the top of the Angel of Death's cane for all eternity. I also left out the fact that the reaper who had tried to claim me was covered in tattoos. So far, Gramp hadn't seen any of the ones that had branded me, and I wanted to keep them hidden for just a while longer. I had hoped never to claim another one, but I knew it wasn't possible now. I didn't care whether I had another incarnation or not. I just wanted to keep my family safe.
"So you see," I said. "I think that incubus is attracted to me for a reason. It's my fault it's here. Not yours."
"Or mine," Sarah said, piping up from the corner of the garden. "It could have been attracted to my power." She ran her hand through her black dye job, braiding her hair absently as she stood there. I could have hugged her for her willingness to take the blame.
Gramp looked at Callum as though he expected him to confess something as well.
"Collateral damage," Callum said with shrug.
Gramp gripped the arms of the chair with both hands and let go a heavy sigh. I had the feeling that whatever stoic face he was showing me now, he still had plenty of reflection to go through and he wouldn't want me to know how much it was bothering him.
"No one is to blame," he said and scanned the yard, facing one direction and then the other as though he thought a single survey could unearth its secrets.
At least he didn't look so haggard and helpless. It was almost as though looking over his yard and all the things he had planted in his lifetime, he was able to gain some sense of power. As though some miracle might present itself because he decided it would.
Then, as though a miracle could be drummed up with a simple look, Sarah kicked at the earth again and let go a burbling eruption of laughter.
She looked at me with a sense of disbelief riding her expression. A jar lid. Right at her feet, hidden by the leaf detritus and peeking from the ground as though to taunt us with how close it had been to the original all along.
"That can't be good." Callum shook his head, and I tended to agree.
CHAPTER 10:
By the time we dug into the garden far enough to reveal the lid, we could already see the rounded side of a second one snuggled beside it, partnered together like lovers.
My heart was in my throat as Callum pulled them from the ground and brushed the mud away. I'd already convinced myself that the first jar was nothing but a one-off. Now I couldn't pretend anymore.
The faint aroma of old dirt and decaying vegetation wafted up from the empty hole. My gaze flicked to Callum and I noticed that even as he crouched on the other side of the excavation, he seemed to be leaning away from the containers. I couldn't stop my hand reaching out to them, smoothing them over the surface and tilting the jugs onto their side. The first one had a marking like my own, and I needed to know if these did too.
There, as I'd expected, stamped onto the bottom was a mark similar to the one on my foot. I didn't need to look at the other to know it also had a stamp on the bottom, but I did. I just didn't recognize it.
I caught Sarah's eye. She had seen it too. I could tell by the way she was clenching her fists as they hung over her knees. I caught her eye and gave her a short shake of my head. I didn't want her to mention it out loud. It was enough for Gramp to take in already. There was no need for him to think the containers had any more connection to me then he already did. I could worry about that enough for the both of us.
I was relieved when she pressed her lips together in agreement. If Callum had seen it, he didn't react. In fact, he seemed pretty stoic except for the way he stood up and took a step backward. He brushed his hands together, letting the dirt cascade from his palms.
I couldn't stand the suspense. Whatever was inside, it couldn't be as bad as the sense of foreboding hanging in the air. I had the feeling that if I could just get them open, we'd be halfway to returning to normal. No sooner did I have my hands on the lashings, trying to twist one open when I felt Sarah's hand on mine and then Gramp's hand on my shoulder both at the same time.
I looked from one to the other as I squatted on the lawn.
"Don't you want to see what's in them?" I asked. I couldn't believe they weren't as curious as I was.
Gramp gave a short shake of his head. A bit of breeze caught wispy here at the top of his head.
"Best not," he said.
The dew wet my knees as I dropped onto the grass. I eyed Sarah whose fingers had tightened around mine almost as though she thought I was still planning to rip the lashes free.
"Your grandfather is right," she said.
Seriously. This couldn't be coincidence and no one wanted to rip one open?
"But we opened the first one," I said.
She gave me a reproachful look and I turned from her to Callum, expecting support. His jaw was set in the same stubborn expression as Gramp's. I imagined that's what he would look like in his old age, stubborn and resolute.
"Fine," I said. "But at least tell me why."
Sarah moved the vessel closest to her out of my reach and shook her hands free of the dirt. She gave it a quick nudge with her toe, and I had the horrible feeling she would stomp down on it and break it to shards. Without thinking, I made a grab for the other one and held it against my chest. I dared them all with a scowl. Sarah sighed heavily as though she couldn't believe how ridiculous I was being.
"Opening the first one was a mistake. We should have waited. I should have waited," she said. "I should have known better. But now that we know something is wrong, we can't just go opening these willy-nilly. These have to be connected to the attacks somehow."
I leaned back on my haunches and let go of the jug. It rolled onto its side and fell between the sage bush and fronds of oregano. I peered up at Callum. He looked distinctly pale and pasty, not like himself at all. Left over effects of the incubus, I supposed. I wondered if I looked the same way.
My fingers trailed to my collarbone, recalling the feel of burning as those talons had dug into my skin. There was something wrong about what had happened but I just couldn't place it. I had never felt fear in all the nights I'd had those dreams. I might have ended up looking drained and tired, but not pasty looking as Callum did.
"What do you think?" I asked him.
"They're right," he said. "We can't know what's inside of those things or what they're doing there, what purpose they even have..."
He let his voice trail off as he turne
d to look towards the oak tree. I had a feeling I knew what he was thinking. He had stayed with me because we thought him being there would prevent the incubus from bothering me, but all we had done was infuriate it.
I sighed heavily. I knew they were right, but I'd never been one to wait on a surprise. I was a head-first kind of girl. Ask questions later. Regret it all long after that. The truth was, I didn't want to wait. I didn't want to hesitate. Right or not, I was dying to know what horrible or incredible things cringed down at the bottom of those containers.
I eyed the jug I'd released into the grass. It had ended up in a bed of oak leaves that were curling at the edges as they dried. I could smell the sage from the jar falling against it and releasing its essential oils to the air. Even the oregano seemed heady and over-strong in the cold air. I reached for it, thinking to pull off the lashings right there when the shriek of a bird tore through the air and I startled enough to drop the jug again. It rolled away from me and nudged up next to Callum's foot.
I stole a look at him and noticed his shoulders had tensed too then sagged when the vulture from the day before landed on the other side of the garden. I rolled my head back on my neck, laughing like a fool as the bird picked around the edge of the property and gave us hateful looks for invading its territory.
"Thought I was going to have to kick some ass for a second," Callum said with a sheepish grin. His eyes so normally clear and green looked cloudy.
"Or lose your shit," Sarah said with a chuckle, but I could see her face had drained of color too. We were all anxious.
The breeze felt cold against my cheek and I knew they would be flaming. The tip of my nose would be screaming an angry red. I tucked my hair behind my ear as it blew across my face and obliterated Callum and Sarah as they sat looking at me. Gramp's red wool socks shoved into his Birkenstocks were just on the periphery of my vision.
They all seemed to be waiting for me to make a decision, and I suspected they thought I had some sort of knowledge they didn't. That my relationship with the Angel of Death, gave me a comprehension of things that they didn't know. It was far from the truth.
Dire (Reaper's Redemption Book 2) Page 9