“What the hell?” Vivian asked, gingerly cradling the back of her head, wincing as pain shot through her arm.
“Mortal, you must take care!”
The note of concern in Wallace’s voice surprised her more than his sudden appearance at her side. She didn’t know for sure, but she thought most of her dizziness and disorientation had come from Wallace’s touch rather than her fall. Contact with Ezra, Jeanne, and a few other guardians she’d worked with always warmed her.
Wallace didn’t just warm. He blazed.
All of a sudden, a new voice echoed around them. “Halt!”
Vivian, Mrs. Martin, and the guardians all turned to face the bearer of the last voice who had suddenly materialized and held Wallace in stasis with his light.
The new entity stood about five-three and wore an immaculate suit. She’d never seen someone so short or so put together in the wardrobe department, not to mention grooming. Kind of like a GQ hobbit. She didn’t dare give that thought voice, since this spirit clearly held a great deal of power.
With his commanding stare and even more commanding presence, he held them all captive in a state of wonder and awe. “Now that I have everyone’s attention, here is what’s going to happen. Wallace, you are dismissed. I believe you have other, more pressing matters to attend to?”
He dropped Wallace, who looked visibly shaken. After he regained his composure, Wallace bowed and said, “Yes, Uriel.”
Then he vanished.
“Ah, Jeanne,” Uriel said, turning to the young guardian and giving her a tender smile. “What a pleasure to see you again. I hear you’re doing quite well.”
“Thank you, Uriel,” Jeanne muttered as she bowed, looking as though she’d just met a king or a rock star.
Uriel beamed at her, his approval of the gung-ho guardian evident. Good for her. Jeanne deserved a pat on the back, and Vivian was pretty sure those were few and far between with a partner like Wallace.
“Not at all, my dear,” Uriel said, taking her hand and bidding her rise. “I would like for you to personally escort Mrs. Martin to our realm so we can begin her processing.”
“Processing? What the hell? Am I being deported?” Seemed like Mrs. Martin had found her voice again, not to mention her attitude.
“Oh, my dear, not at all,” Uriel said, taking Mrs. Martin by the hand and pulling her down to sit next to him on the stairwell. “I do apologize for this misunderstanding. Most crossings are conducted in a more peaceful and professional manner. We’ve had some rather unusual circumstances of late.”
He looked at Vivian, and she felt as though his eyes peered through to her very soul. The only other times she’d felt a similar vibe involved Darkmore, so she figured this guy was pretty ancient and powerful. He smiled as he looked at her, but a sense of unease crept up her spine under his scrutiny.
Uriel turned back to Mrs. Martin and turned on the charm. “Do you think you could find it in your heart to forgive us?” He bent his head and brushed a kiss over her knuckles.
“I suppose I could,” Mrs. Martin stuttered, clearly affected by the charms of the powerful guardian.
“Well, that is certainly a relief!” he exclaimed. “Now then, I believe Ms. Bedford has some assurances to, ah, deliver to you in regard to your loved ones. I’ll leave you to it. Jeanne, once you’ve wrapped things up here, kindly escort Ms. Bedford back to my office before you proceed with Mrs. Martin.”
“Yes, sir, of course,” Jeanne said, beaming.
Once Uriel disappeared, Jeanne turned to Elly Sue and said, “Don’t be afraid. Vivian is going to share some of the thoughts and feelings that she collected from your family.”
“You mean she’s going to do that crazy thing with the light?” Elly Sue scooted into the corner of the stairwell, putting a little more space between herself and Vivian.
“Yes, but it won’t hurt a bit and it will make you feel more at ease, trust me.”
Jeanne gave Vivian the nod, so she turned to the spirit of Mrs. Martin and released some of the energy she’d collected from her family. With considerable practice, Vivian had worked out how to separate the sorrow from the underlying bonds of love. She shared those bonds with Elly Sue, who smiled as she took in the light of her family’s devotion.
Vivian slumped after releasing the light, weary from channeling spirit energy and achy from the blow delivered by Wallace. To her credit, Jeanne let Vivian rest a few moments before asking, “Are you about ready to go?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” Mrs. Martin said, sass clearly intact even after tasting her family’s emotions. “What the hell happened with Wallace, though? And who’s the honcho?”
“Uriel? Oh my, he’s from the council and very powerful,” Jeanne replied. “They very rarely visit the realm of the living nowadays, but when one of the council of the seven is needed, they usually send Uriel. He is the messenger, the light, the wind of the south.”
“Speak English,” Vivian said, head spinning. “I need to know who I’m dealing with and what he wants.”
Jeanne looked at her in disbelief but quickly shook it off. With a deep breath, she said, “You probably know him as one of the archangels.”
Well that was unexpected. “Archangel? Really? I thought they went by Gabriel or Michael?”
“Those two serve a different purpose,” Jeanne replied.
Though she didn’t buy into most of Judeo-Christian mythology of her childhood, Vivian knew enough now about the world of the dead to keep an open mind. She also knew enough to have a healthy sense of caution, since these so-called good guys didn’t always act like angels.
“So am I in trouble?” Vivian asked.
“Oh don’t be silly,” Jeanne said, then paused, studying her. After a moment, she nodded and gave Vivian a look that was probably meant to be encouraging.
It did anything but.
Jeanne leaned in and said, “Just be respectful and try your best to watch your mouth, okay?”
Yup, I’m definitely in trouble.
***
Uriel apparently borrowed his “office” from one of unoccupied rooms in the hospital. For Vivian’s meeting, he’d chosen a rather large and impressive administrative office, well-lit and furnished in dark woods. After Jeanne left to attend to Mrs. Martin, Uriel bid Vivian to sit in one of the fancy chairs on the opposite side of the desk.
“Let me start by offering an apology on behalf of Wallace. He is terribly sorry for the discomfort you experienced and your fall.”
When Vivian didn’t answer right away, Uriel continued. “He also apologizes for his earlier treatment of you. Apparently you’ve earned his respect. You must have handled this crossing quite well.”
Vivian let out the breath she’d been holding, but remained on her guard. “In that case, apology accepted. Now why else am I here?”
He gave her another one of his intense stares, and it took all of Vivian’s will to return his gaze. After a while, he reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a manila folder and began to thumb through the pages as he spoke. “Naturally I am familiar with your activities over the past year, including those that brought you into our service, but perhaps it would be best to begin with a review. Let’s see…you were scheduled for a crossing last year, but received a reprieve from Ezra.”
Flipping a few more pages, he continued. “You also assisted with the liberation of souls in Limbo along with your sister and her impressive repository of energy. Interesting. Very interesting.”
Vivian took Jeanne’s advice to heart and chose to remain silent.
“You do realize, of course, that such a reprieve is very rare,” he said, glancing up from the pages.
“So I’m told,” she replied. “Why did I get one?”
“Let’s just say that Ezra has proven himself rather useful and productive over the years. He moved up in our ranks quickly by participating in some special assignments. That gets him a bit of latitude.”
“I see,” she said, leaning forward. T
his was getting interesting.
He dropped the file folder and it landed on the desk with a slap that echoed through the nearly empty office. “No, you don’t, but allow me to enlighten you. While we are willing to grant Ezra a bit of latitude, that latitude does not necessarily extend to you. You’ve taken it upon yourself to use your powers for unauthorized assignments, I hear.”
She balked. “As far as I understood, my freelance work was my business. Those were authorized by Ezra.” That was mostly true. Aside from relieving the emotional burdens of people she encountered in the course of her work with the guardians, however, she also collected burdens from close friends, acquaintances, clients, and people she encountered in her daily life.
When the negative energy weighed her down, she fed it to the reaper. It was an efficient operation, allowing her to use her powers for good while keeping the reaper out of trouble—or at the very least it kept the reaper from targeting as many human souls for misery.
“Your talents are useful, Ms. Bedford, but they are by no means indispensable.”
Before her earlier conversation with Jeanne, she would’ve argued. She’d thought herself unique, but apparently there were others like her. There were more living soul brokers caught between this world and the afterlife, and she’d bet her bank account that, like her, they worked under the supervision of guardian spirits—probably against their will.
“Is that a threat?” she asked, knowing full well it was.
Uriel offered her smile meant to charm and said, “It is fact. You are on borrowed time, dear lady. Do not forget that.”
“I haven’t. So does this mean you want me to ignore all of those other suffering souls out there like you have?” As far as she could tell, the living were on their own as far as guardians were concerned. With the exception of Jeanne and Ezra, she’d yet to see a guardian take an active interest in comforting souls who weren’t yet slated for crossing.
That was apparently her job.
“We aren’t ignoring them, Ms. Bedford, but we do have our priorities,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “And the operation has grown considerably. Still, there are those of our kind who prefer to operate alone or remain unaffiliated. While we’ve been tolerant of late, I believe it is time to establish some firmer standard operating procedures for crossings, visitations, energy management, that sort of thing. I won’t bore you with the details. I simply want to make you aware of upcoming changes. You are being watched, and not just by this rogue guardian.”
Her chest went tight with an unpleasant mixture of fear and anger, but she fought to keep her cool in the face of the archangel. “Good to know. Now what does that mean for my work?”
“Follow your assignments and report all extra work to Ezra.”
Not likely. She’d have to be more careful, more discreet with her burden collection and meetings with Darkmore. He could help. The reaper was as clever as he was charming, charismatic, and frightening. He’d want to keep his meal ticket.
She was glad he was on her side now, and she intended to keep him there—at arm’s length, of course, but on her side.
Striving for casual, she nodded and said, “Fair enough. Anything else?”
“I do wonder,” he said, his hands steepled below his chin, “why we haven’t been getting more energy out of you.”
Her insides turned to ice at the question.
Does he know about Darkmore?
She didn’t think Uriel could be easily fooled by an outright lie, and she wasn’t foolish enough to try. Mustering her best poker face, she shrugged and replied, “You’ll have to ask Ezra about that.”
“I plan on it. You may go now.”
Vivian wasted no time with her exit.
CHAPTER 8
Vivian paced the floor of her home, anxiety from her encounter with the archangel compounded by worry for the man in her life. The very mortal man who could and probably would be used as leverage by the higher-ups in afterlife management to ensure her compliance.
Her ties to the world of the living represented a liability, one she hadn’t considered when she’d become a soul broker. If guardian spirits couldn’t ensure her cooperation by persuasion or her sense of duty, she had no doubt they’d use the people she loved as leverage to get what they wanted.
Including Jace Blakemore.
Jace never showed up anywhere late. Vivian once joked that they must set the atomic clock by his internal chronometer. Had it been anyone else, she would have thought nothing of the fifteen minutes that had crept by while she wore a hole in her carpet pacing. After what had happened to the padre, though, she assumed that those closest to her were apt to be targets for the rogue guardian, not to mention the powerful archangel.
She dialed his mobile and got no answer.
Where the hell is he?
On the verge of panic, Vivian summoned Jeanne, who materialized a few minutes later. She rushed over to Vivian and proceeded to poke, prod, and examine her thoroughly and with the same alarming zeal she applied to her work as a guardian spirit.
“Honey, are you okay? Where is he? Just wait until I get my hands on him!”
“Get off!” Vivian grumbled from underneath Jeanne’s arm. “It’s not me. I’m worried about my boyfriend!”
Releasing her, Jeanne gave her a confused look, the kind only a natural blonde could pull off. She assumed the perky and overzealous new guardian had indeed been a natural blonde in life.
“Well, what happened?” Jeanne asked.
Vivian softened a little. At least Jeanne was genuinely concerned, and punctual. “He’s late,” she stammered, glancing up at her kitchen clock. “At least thirty minutes late. That’s not like Jace. I’m getting a little anxious.”
“I’ll go check things out in the neighborhood,” Jeanne said, patting her arm. “You stay put and keep an eye out for him.”
“Wait,” Vivian said before Jeanne could dematerialize. “Shouldn’t I go, too? What if you need backup?”
“Honey, I know you hate to wait,” Jeanne replied patiently. Apparently Vivian’s reputation had gotten around. “But you need to stay here in case he shows up hurt. So sit tight. I’m off!”
Damned cheerleader. Shit, shit, shit!
She considered calling Ezra, too, but that wouldn’t get her anywhere either. He’d just join Jeanne on the hunt and leave her behind.
Helpless and angry, she kept an eye on the clock, watching the seconds tick by slower than molasses in January. Just when she thought her heart might explode, Vivian heard his car pulling in her driveway. She sprinted out the door and flew into his arms. And what arms they were. Jace was a big guy with strong arms, a strong back, and a tight ass.
She’d very much enjoyed fondling, playfully smacking, and gripping said ass, which she hoped to do later that evening. After her tussle with Uriel, she really just wanted to settle down and enjoy some more basic, physical tussling with Jace. More than that, the anxiety she’d faced during the past hours had opened her eyes and her heart.
They had a good thing going, she and Jace. Why hadn’t she seen that before?
She’d been so caught up in grief and angst, she hadn’t taken the time to appreciate Jace and the small, precious slice of normal life he represented. He’d been her rock, her balm, a friend, lover, and ardent supporter. She vowed to keep him safe from any otherworldly threats while giving their relationship a chance to grow.
“Easy now, gal,” he said, pulling away from her. “You’re liable to break my back doing that.”
“You’ve never complained about my attempts to break your back before,” she said with a bright smile, relief and happiness flooding her. “You’re late. I was worried. You’re never late. What gives?”
He lowered his gaze and ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, I’m sorry. Stuff came up.”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re here now. Let’s get you inside and we’ll have a beer. I’ve got some stuff I need to tell you.”
He followed her in and took hi
s favorite seat on her couch. Vivian went to the kitchen to grab a couple of beers and steel her nerves. She handed him one, took a long draw from hers, and decided to dive right in.
She was interrupted by his sultry voice and the shock of the words he uttered.
“Vivian, I think we should see other people,” he said. At least he had the decency to look her in the eyes.
Too floored to say anything else, she stared at him and said, “What?”
He got up and started pacing, rambling as he went. “Baby, we’ve been going out for a while now, and it’s been great…really great. But where’s it going? I’ve been thinking a lot about the future lately, and I just don’t see one for us.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, coming back to herself. Then cold fury began to seep through her as realization dawned. How had she missed the signs? The growing distance between them, his disinterest in her work, and the shift in their patterns of lovemaking—fierce and desperate couplings followed by long dry spells. She’d been frustrated.
He hadn’t.
“Been thinking there’s no future with me lately, huh? Tell me, were you thinking about that when you happily enjoyed me sucking your dick last week?”
Their last encounter had been pretty good, as far as Vivian was concerned, and judging from his enthusiasm, it had appeared that Jace enjoyed it, too. That thought hit her like a slap across the face, and was just as humiliating.
He didn’t lash back out at her. He just kept talking. Probably had rehearsed this speech a few times. “Sex isn’t the problem. Sex was never a problem with us. You’re a fine woman, in every sense of the word. But I’m never going be first with you. It’s work and whatever it is that you do in the way of volunteering.” The way he said volunteering gave her pause.
“Wait, you think I’m cheating on you?”
“Not with another man, no. But you have other priorities.”
“Oh and you don’t?”
“Yeah, I’ll admit that I do. I’m working my ass off so I can settle down, start a family, live the dream, you know? I’m not sure that’s what you want, or something you even can do, Vivian. And I’m getting too old to wait much longer,” he said flatly.
Raising the Dead Page 8
