Grave Matters

by Jana Oliver

  Riley’s were riveted on the blade now, her hands burning at the effort to keep it away from her. Even as she fought it, it slipped closer. If she gave in to the spell, it would be one hard thrust, a quick death.

  “Let it go, child,” Fayne urged. “Don’t fight it. You know you want to. For once in your life you’ll have peace.”

  Peace? No way.

  Despite the spell, Riley’s mind delivered a clear image of the blade slashing into her neck, slicing across, severing the arteries. Her life blood pumping onto the ground while Beck watched her die in helpless fury.

  “Quick or slow, it doesn’t matter to me,” Fayne said, her hands glowing like sparkling fireflies. “It will happen either way.”

  “Riley, please. Don’t let her do this to ya,” Beck called out. He’d shifted to a position where she could see him out of the corner of her eye. As long as he didn’t move any closer, the nearest ghosts held their position. She could see the agony on his face, the realization that he had no way to prevent her death.

  “I can’t...” Riley said, tears rolling down her cheeks. “She’s too strong.”

  The moment the words were out, the knife shot closer, within inches of her throat.

  “Weakness will kill ya,” MacTavish called out. “Be stronger than her.”

  “I—”

  “Ya were stronger than Hell. Ya outwitted Lucifer himself. This is only a damned necromancer, a pale imitation of that evil. Fight her!” MacTavish roared.

  You can do this, her father’s voice said. You have too much to live for.

  Tears were on Beck’s face now, coursing down his reddened cheeks, his body quaking. “Riley, I love ya. I need ya, girl. Don’t let her kill us both.”

  The blade slid closer again, pausing only an inch from her skin. She swore she could feel her blood being lured toward the sharp edge as the spell kept urging her to give in, to accept her fate.

  If you do, Beck and the others are dead, her father warned. She will leave no witnesses.

  Her eyes sought Beck’s. I love you.

  “Riley,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Please...”

  She locked onto his face, feeling the end was near. The muscles in her arms and neck were burning in agony now, her heart beating so fast she could barely catch her breath. Shadows began to form at the edges of her vision, the beginnings of a panic attack.

  “Riley? Ya see that ring on yer right hand? My grandmamma’s ring? That’s our future, girl. That’s us together, havin’ our own home. Maybe, when yer older, someday havin’ kids.” He sucked in a deep breath. “We lose it all if ya let this bitch win.”

  Fayne issued a throaty laugh. “You really can’t believe that will work, do you?”

  Beck’s anger exploded and he took a few steps forward. “Nothin’ is worth her life. Use my blood, dammit. Hell wants a piece of me.”

  “Or what, little grand master? You have no power here. Once I command a Fallen angel, I can do whatever I want.”

  With a roar, Beck charged the closest ghost, hacking at it with his sword. Brennan engaged another one of the dead clansman, slicing at him, trying to break through. MacTavish joined them, but they were badly outnumbered.

  In an instant, Beck was down, dazed by a blow. As he tried to regain his feet, Brennan stepped in front of him, holding the specter back. The ghost’s blade caught him high on the shoulder and he shrieked in pain and fell. Beck came to his feet, his fierce blows raining down the ghost, pushing it back to allow Brennan cover.

  Riley felt the compulsion spell weaken as Fayne’s concentration lessened.

  Now! her father called out.

  Perspiration beading on her forehead, Riley gritted her teeth and pulled back on the blade. To her surprise, it retreated by an inch or so. Fortunately, Fayne didn’t notice, too busy savoring the battle.

  A little more. I can do this. I will do this.

  Sweating like it was mid-summer in Atlanta, her hands throbbing as if she was holding molten metal, Riley yanked the blade away from her throat. On instinct, she rammed the knife hilt deep into Scottish soil, grounding the magic before Fayne could react.

  To Riley’s astonishment, the compulsion spell blew apart, the power released rolling across the open ground like a magical tsunami. It cracked against the protective circle and shattered it like fragile glass. Fayne shrieked as she rocketed backward in the air and landed in a tangled heap.

  There were shouts from both Beck and MacTavish as the magic struck them as well. Then silence fell. Riley’s heart continued to pound and she forced herself to take one slow breath after another.

  When she finally opened her eyes, her hands were still knotted around the handle of the blade, but none of her blood had been spilt.

  Well done, her father murmured. I knew you could do it.

  “Thanks, Dad,” she murmured.

  Riley slowly raised her head. A quick glance proved that Beck and MacTavish were unhurt and slowly rising to their feet. Unnervingly, the nine warriors were ranged in a semi-circle around her now, all down on one knee, their heads bowed.

  “What have you done?” Fayne cried. Magic burst from her fingers, but fizzled away. “They are mine!” she said and tried again, as her nose continued to bleed.

  The deep voice of the lead warrior broke the night, thick with an old Scottish brogue which should have been barely recognizable to Riley’s modern mind. Still she understood his words.

  “What would ya have us do, mistress?” he asked.

  “I would...” Riley swallowed to a dry throat. “I would have you ... go to your graves and rest in peace, never to rise again.”

  The man inclined his head, and when he straightened up she saw gratitude in his eyes. “As ya command, mistress.”

  One by one, the ghosts silently filed back to their individual graves and sank deep into the ground, sealing them into the earth like the day they’d been buried centuries before.

  Fayne was moaning now, blood streaming from her nose, the spell’s rebound having taken its toll.

  Riley blinked her eyes, trying to clear her vision, but it didn’t work. Through the fog she could see Beck and MacTavish regain their feet. Neither of them appeared hurt, though Brennan was, his side covered in blood.

  She held her hands out in front of her, watching the purple energy dance across her fingers.

  That’s so cool. It reminded her of how her body had glowed after the cemetery battle in Atlanta, after she’d stood her ground between the forces of Heaven and Hell.

  She placed her palms flat on the ground and let the magic course out of her. As it flowed away, like a river, her vision cleared. When it was done, she flopped on her back, staring up at the stars like when she was a kid. The night was clearer now, fewer clouds, and she swore she could see infinity.

  “Now ya can go ta her,” MacTavish said.

  Beck pounded across the open space and then fell at her side, heedless of the stones that dug into his bare knees.

  “Riley?” he asked, peering down at her, a smear of blood on his cheek.

  She pointed upward like a small child would, a faint remnant of magic playing along her knuckles. “The stars. They’re so big here. Too much light at home. Never see them that well.”

  “Riley?” he said, again, more urgently now. “Are ya okay?”

  A meteor shot across the black sky and she made a wish. If she was lucky, it just might come true. When it faded from view she looked over at Beck. “Wow. We’re still alive. How about that?” she said.

  A grin slowly formed on his handsome face. “Yer awesome, girl. And yer mine. Always will be. And I will rain Hell on anyone who thinks different.”

  Then my wish has already come true.

  Chapter Twelve

  After giving Riley his jacket, Beck had no choice but to help Brennan, whose shoulder wound was bleeding heavily. While MacTavish kept a stern eye on the necromancer, Beck stripped off his waistcoat and shirt. The wind immediately bit at him, making him shiver. He slipped b
ack on the waistcoat, though it was next to useless in terms of warmth.

  “This is gonna hurt,” Beck said, then pressed the shirt into Brennan’s shoulder wound to slow the bleeding. His anger found its focus. “Ya know, I should let you bleed out for what you did to Riley.”

  Brennan moaned in response, his face ashen. “I never meant ... to hurt her.”

  “The hell ya didn’t. Ya ... you knew Fayne was batshit crazy.”

  “I thought...” Brennan shook his head. “Wanted to be ... like you,” he continued, his voice fainter now. “A grand master.”

  “Why?”

  “I just wanted ... to matter. You know? Not be a loser.”

  Beck reared back, wincing as a flash of memory hit close to home. Ever since he was a kid, he’d wanted the same thing, to matter in this life. Not to be a total loser. Only fate, and Riley’s love, had given him that chance.

  Oh, shit...

  He and Brennan’s eyes met. He could continue to hate on this guy or ... understand him. Beck cleared his throat. “I kinda know how that goes. You just took it too far.”

  “I know,” Brennan whispered. “Tell her I’m sorry. Please?”

  “You can tell her yerself. Just hang in there.”

  “No, you’ll have to tell her. I betrayed the grand masters. I’m a dead man. You know it too.”

  Beck grimaced. “We’ll see,” was the best he could offer.

  Riley’s head spun, then righted as she kept taking deep breaths. She watched as a trio of police officers hurried across the crown of the hill, as well as emergency personnel. She guessed that Kepler had summoned them. Given Brennan’s injury, it was a wise move.

  MacTavish gave the officers a quick summary of the night’s drama, but to Riley’s surprise he wasn’t completely forthcoming. Somehow he didn’t mention that Brennan had been armed when he’d kidnapped Riley, only that the man had forced her to come to the necromancer. That once he had been treated, he was to be returned to the grand masters. But how would they handle Brennan’s crimes? She feared the answer.

  Once the wounded man was being treated by the paramedics, Beck returned to her side, his hands bloody. He looked exhausted.

  “How’s Brennan?” she asked.

  “Hurt pretty bad.” Another round of shivering ensued, though he tried to suppress it.

  Riley pulled off his jacket and offered it to him.

  “No, I’m good. Besides, I thought you liked it when I don’t wear a shirt.”

  She groaned, once again amazed how guys could be so weird. “I do like you without shirt — when it’s not twenty below zero.”

  “You need it more than I do.”

  Riley shoved the jacket into his hands and watched him work through his conflicting emotions. “Just take it, okay? Stop being so stubborn.”

  He blinked at her, then apparently realized now was not the time to challenge her. “Thanks.” He slipped on the jacket.

  She looked toward paramedics and their patient. “Brennan saved your life.”

  “Yeah,” Beck replied, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m not sure if that is going to help him much in the long run.”

  Riley rose on her own, though he tried to help her. She glanced toward the necromancer, and, without a word of warning to Beck, headed that direction before he could protest. He fell in step next to her, his arm around her waist for support.

  Riley halted at the edge of the now defunct circle, her body still tingling from the magic. Her enemy stared up at her, Fayne’s chin and chest covered in drying blood. MacTavish stood nearby.

  “You blew my compulsion spell apart like it was nothing,” Fayne rasped. “No trapper could have done that. What the hell are you?“

  Riley chose to ignore the question, mostly because she had no answer.

  “Remove the spell from Bess’s daughter,” she ordered.

  “Why should I?”

  MacTavish lined up his sword under the necromancer’s throat. “Because if ya don’t, ya die right here. One way or another, that spell is gone, ya ken?”

  “Sir?” one of the cops said, taking a cautious step forward. “I don’t that’s a good idea.”

  “This is grand master business, lad, not yers,” MacTavish warned, his tone as sharp as his steel. “Best not ta get involved.”

  One of the other officers whispered something to the first one and they stepped back, clearly nervous. That told Riley everything she needed to know about how much power the grand masters wielded.

  “So what will it be, Fayne?” MacTavish asked, his sword never wavering.

  After a furious glare at him, the necromancer gave a sharp nod. “Once I’ve rested, I’ll reverse the spell.”

  The journey down the hill felt surreal. Riley was warmer now, wrapped in a blanket, courtesy of one of the cops. Beck walked beside her with sure footsteps, the kilt swaying with each step, his sword resting on his right shoulder like a warrior from another century.

  You belong here. This is your home as much as it is Stewart’s.

  He caught her looking at him. “I screwed up everything. I’m sorry I didn’t keep ya safe,” he began, his voice quavering. “I should have seen this comin’.”

  She could argue that no one had, not even MacTavish, but Beck would never listen. He was all about protecting her, just as she was about him.

  That’s our greatest strength ... and our greatest weakness.

  As she made her way toward the manor house, Riley had the profound sense that her life had changed, again. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

  “What will they do with Fayne?” she asked.

  “Something damned permanent, I hope,” Beck replied. “If not, I’ll make sure she doesn’t pull this kind of shit again.”

  Something Stewart said came back to her, how some parts of his job as a grand master were very painful.

  “What happens if one of you guys goes dark, starts working with Hell?”

  Beck took a quick intake of breath as if she’d struck a nerve. “That person dies.” He hesitated, then added, “Same thing if it’s a master trapper.”

  His tone chilled her. “You mean Stewart would have had to kill my dad if he’d really been working for Hell?”

  “Yes,” Beck said solemnly. “It’s no comfort, but Paul would have wanted it that way.”

  The full reality of what he’d said rolled out in front of her “You’d have to do that, I mean if... ?”

  “It’s how it works. It’s how we keep the balance between good and evil.”

  And if I went dark?

  Beck looked over at her, as if he’d heard her. “If you become a master demon trapper and you ... start workin’ for Hell, one of us will come for you.”

  Riley stumbled to a halt. “And you’d let them do that?” she asked, fearing the answer.

  “No. I’d do anything; I can to protect you. I could never let them hurt you.”

  “But that would put you against your own people. Make you just as bad as I would be.”

  His eyes met hers and she saw the raw pain in them now. “If that’s what it takes.”

  My God...

  She took hold of his chilly hand. “No. If I ever go dark ... let them do what they have to do.”

  He looked away, unable to speak.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure I never go there.”

  “Sometimes that’s a hard promise to keep. You know how Hell works.”

  “I know, but I won’t do anything that puts your life on the line.”

  Because she knew if he tried to save her, his people would kill them both.

  Nothing Hell has to offer is worth that sacrifice.

  There’d been no more conversation until they’d reached their room, and in some ways, Beck was good with that. He’d been meaning to tell her more about a grand master’s duties, but she’d already worked it out in her head.

  Now she knows. At least that part. There was more, a lot more, but now was not the time.

  ~ - ~ - ~
/>   Riley had insisted she didn’t want a shower, even when he offered to help her. Instead, she chucked off her outer clothes and he tucked her in bed. As it was so often in their past, they were just going through the motions, trying to act like nothing horrible had happened.

  She had scared the living hell out of him tonight. Seeing that blade pointed at her throat had driven home how much he loved her, how much he had to lose if she wasn’t be his side. Even now, Beck wanted to shake her, insist that she couldn’t run from her magical abilities any longer, not when she’d just blown a spell back on a midlevel summoner. Once word of that got out it’d play one of two ways: most folks would respect her and back off. Others would take it as a challenge and come after Riley, just to up their mojo.

  Now, curled up in bed, she seemed so frail, so vulnerable.

  “I love you,” she said simply.

  “Right back at you,” he whispered.

  Riley closed her eyes and fell into an uneasy sleep.

  Beck sat with her for a time, watching each gentle breath, his emotions as sharp as acid dripping onto his flesh. Most of it was anger and fear at how close he’d come to losing her.

  Would the night’s horrors bring them closer together, or would she back off, not want anything to do with him now that she knew what he faced as a grand master? He shook his head, not wanting to consider a future without her.

  After a trip to the bathroom to wash off Brennan’s blood, he pulled on a pair of jeans and a heavy sweatshirt, relishing the warmth. He placed a kiss on Riley’s forehead, then quietly left the room.

  He found MacTavish and Kepler talking in the front hallway, the cops gone and the house quiet. As Beck approached, they turned toward him.

  “How’s she doin’?” MacTavish asked.

  “She’s asleep. Totally worn out.”

  “She threw off a strong spell, she’ll probably sleep for some time,” Kepler advised.

  “What about Brennan?”

  “He’s in hospital. They think they can save his arm,” Kepler replied

  “Thank God. He said he did it just because he wanted to be like us,” Beck said. Like me.