The cops would think the inmates were literally running the asylum.
Darkmore moved ahead of her.
“What?” She looked up and down the corridor, trying to spot the danger he saw.
“Your guardian friends are still in parlay with the sentinels who claimed the lost souls. We must proceed with caution.”
She hadn’t thought it possible with all of the commotion going on outside, not to mention the energy surge they’d produced while ferrying souls to the next realms. Jeanne and Zeke were good. Of course, Zeke was a smooth talker. The thought was like a knife through her heart. She’d fallen under his spell, much as his wife did long ago, before he’d passed. The magic broke shortly after with his wife.
It hadn’t ended for Vivian, even after she’d let him go. God, even after he’d come back to her and she found out where he’d been.
No time to deal with it now.
“Maria,” Vivian said. “Hold. We’ve got to get a message to Zeke, Jeanne, and the rest of the teams before we pull out. Exit strategy?”
“Already on it, Red.”
B came up beside her, grinning as he tapped his mic. Good. He’d been in touch with the other teams. Briggs was going to go apeshit. Probably try to blast them all into the afterlife for the stunt they’d pulled. Showing up with energy and allies might save their skins and the rebellion.
“Recon?”
It was Maria who brought up the subject they’d been avoiding. They might pull this mission off, but it would be for nothing if they couldn’t find the traitor in their midst.
“We got nothing,” B said.
If it was Chet, he hadn’t yet made his move. None of the other team leaders had behaved out of the ordinary. It was possible he or she was waiting until they got the energy payload back to base. On the one hand, the chaos and confusion of the raid could provide an opportunity to extract the spirit energy and slip away under the guise of taking it back to base. That had been one of the reasons Vivian and her team broke with protocol to safeguard the imprisoned souls and their energy.
On the other hand, the traitor might volunteer for guard duty back at base, taking advantage of post battle euphoria and exhaustion to make off with the cache of spirit energy. It made sense if the traitor was playing the long game, biding time and making sure the mission was a success. Why out yourself on a failed mission and throw away the opportunity for another chance on the next raid?
Shit.
B shrugged. “We can’t wait any longer. Let’s get our allies and get the hell out of here. The rest can wait.”
“Pardon me, young man, but how will you ensure our captors won’t follow and recapture us?” The doctor had dematerialized and reappeared beside B. To his credit, the ex-cop didn’t flinch, but his veins pulsed hard at his temple and neck, and if he clenched his jaw any tighter, he’s likely crack his back molars.
“We’re going to use some of the energy y’all gave us to blast them out of this plane of existence.”
“You and Gutierrez take the doc, the inmates, and the reaper back to base,” Vivian said. “Tell the others to blast as many sentinels as they can. I’m guessing Marguerite took out the strongest, but we don’t know how many there are. Be careful.”
“And where will you be?”
Darkmore’s voice was low, calm, and it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. God, she’d hoped he’d have enough of his reaper sense left to rise above petty jealousy, but no such luck. She turned to face him, meeting his icy gaze and refusing to look away—no small feat, since he infused as much darkness and otherness as he could muster into that gaze.
Then, for just an instant, she caught a flash of something else, something so heartbreakingly human that it made her drop her gaze and blink back unshed tears.
“I’m going to get Jeanne and Zeke out.”
Meeting his gaze again, which had returned to its usual unreadable state, she spoke again. “We have unfinished business, Zeke and I. I have unfinished business with you, too, but this isn’t about us. I need you to take care of my team. I need to you look out for the doctor, these damaged souls, and Briggs, and everyone else. Can you do that for me, Lazarus? Please.”
After a long moment, he offered her a small, sad smile and nodded. “I can refuse you nothing, Vivian Bedford. I never could. You might ask me for the moon and stars, and I would pluck them out of the sky for you.”
Her tears fell freely then, cheeks heating under the scrutiny of her team and the ghosts in their midst. “I’d never ask for the moon and stars.”
“No,” he agreed. “Too mundane. You ask for things that are far more ordinary. And precious. Go.”
Throwing caution to the wind, she threw her arms around him, kissed him hard, and headed down the corridor to the mess waiting for her on the other side.
Chapter Twenty-Five
She didn’t bother masking her presence with spirit energy. The guardians would see through her concealment, both allies and enemies. Still, she used the shadow of the building and the trees and bushes on the grounds as cover. Sirens sounded in the distance. Not good. The air hung thick with smoke from the rooftop fires Marguerite had ignited, several still burning in spite of efforts by the human firefighters on site.
A blazing hot sentinel in corporeal form stood between two of the firefighters, barking orders. It confirmed that the humans working in the asylum were under the control of sentinels. Guardian spirits unaffiliated with the Archangel Council or the official guardian spirit operation, but just as dangerous as their sanctioned counterparts. The whole corrupt afterlife management system was on the verge of collapse. Good riddance, as far as Vivian was concerned, but without some form of order, operations like this would keep cropping up. The existing high-level guardians would splinter and split power, amassing as many allies and as much spirit energy as they could harvest ethically, steal, or extort from unsuspecting souls.
It would be chaos of the worst kind.
Damn it, she’d signed on to work locally, helping the spirits she could and doing the right thing within the guardian spirit system, operating under the radar. How had she been sucked into a rebellion that was quickly escalating into a war? And how was she expected to rebuild a new system that would better serve the needs of the souls she served?
“No, think about that later.”
The whispered thought was as much a plea to herself as a command.
Spotting Zeke and Jeanne, she came as close as she dared, concerned by the way the sentinels surrounding them seemed to be closing in. Should she go in with hands blazing or wait for some signal? Surely Jeanne had an escape plan. Jeanne had been uber organized in life, and she’d proven herself an outstanding, capable, and competent guardian spirit for one so young. Zeke could and would fight dirty, a strategy she approved of since it was her style as well.
In the distance, she spotted Chet’s team falling back, melting into shadow and retreating to their planned escape route. Apparently, they’d found some other lost and lonely souls and helped them cross. Vivian detected the spike in energy emanating from the living soul brokers.
And…so had the sentinels.
Time to act.
The lead sentinel held up her hand and shot a blast of energy into the air, two short bursts of light followed by three. Responding to the signal, the sentinels and humans occupied with firefighting and in pursuit of Marguerite abandoned their posts and flocked to the circle of guardians, now splitting into two groups. One pursued the retreating rebel teams and the rest closed in on Jeanne and Zeke.
Vivian took a deep breath, then another, bringing up the horrifying memories she’d collected from the souls imprisoned on these grounds. The energy was dark, thick and viscous, like oil or tar, clinging to her psyche and soul—unclean, profane, a stain that no amount of time or penance could wash away. The cruelty and degradation forged into spirit energy could only be cleansed by fire.
With a cry of grief and rage and madness, she launched her
self at the circle of sentinels, unleashing energy darker than any she’d yet channeled, so dark red it appeared black and shiny in the night. Dark as fresh blood in the moonlight, it hit the first sentinel and set his corporeal body on fire. He collapsed into a heap of dust, shaking off the burning remnants of the body he’d constructed, and yet the fire still burned bright enough to light the night sky.
How was such a thing possible? Never had she seen any spirit, guardian, reaper, or lost and lonely soul, burn like that. Non-corporeal manifestations shouldn’t be able to burn, but the soul that had strength and energy enough to construct a convincing facsimile of a human body now flickered before her inside unearthly flames, his screams echoing even after he flashed out of existence.
Wasting no time, Zeke and Jeanne turned their own spirit light on two of the other sentinels who’d been distracted by Vivian’s deadly show of force. Three others rushed Vivian, hitting her with painful blasts strong enough to knock her body against a brick wall. Damn it, Bedford, get your head in the game!
Shaking off pain and brick dust, Vivian sent an enormous blast of energy that split into three distinct streams, one for each sentinel. Again, both corporeal body and spirit within burned out of existence as she stumbled past, back stooped against injuries she’d sustained upon impact.
Stupid. Stupid of her to let her guard down and stupid to get caught up in the spirit light show.
Healing from the injuries she’d sustained was going to be a bitch.
Zeke and Jeanne had disabled their two sentinels and were working together on a third, which left the leader to Vivian. This sentinel looked about fourteen, moved like she was a twenty-something triathlete, and had the burning, fathomless gaze of the reaper. Old. Powerful. Deadly.
And was heading directly toward Vivian in a whirlwind of spirit light and power.
Vivian stood straight and held up her hands, dizzy from excruciating pain shooting through her back. Her breath rushed out as spots danced before her eyes. Unable to draw a breath on account of the pain, she couldn’t fire. The powerful sentinel spirit was on her in a flash, fashioning spirit energy into sharp blades that sliced and burned into flesh and spirit.
Her jaw twisted in a silent scream.
She was going to die, here and now, and become the slave of this sentinel, this evil rogue guardian spirit, for eternity, or worse. The price her soul would fetch might make it worth turning her over to the Archangels for a bounty of energy. Either way, she was done.
But the souls were safe, Jeanne and Zeke were safe, and the reaper was safe. The rebellion would live on, and maybe someday they could liberate her soul.
It was a small price to pay.
With her last, gasping breath, she mustered the worst of the memories staining and tainting the unholy ground upon which she’d die. She couldn’t fire, but let it seep into her spirit, her body, and her blood. Blood was good. It flowed freely from the slashes and stab wounds and coated the crazed sentinel on top of her. Flames burned her from within as they spilled out of those wounds and wicked up over the sentinel’s body, which was gone in a flash. The last thing she saw before darkness overtook her was the explosion of light and fire as she sent the spirit into oblivion with a scream of pure terror.
Chapter Twenty-Six
She awoke with a start but didn’t dare open her eyes. Wherever she’d landed in the afterlife, it couldn’t be good, assuming one of the evil sentinels had claimed her soul after she destroyed their leader in a blaze of glory. Maybe Jeanne or Zeke had helped her cross.
Zeke. Something about the scent tickling her nose reminded her of Zeke.
Coffee? Yes, she smelled coffee, and eggs, bacon, and the yeasty aroma of fresh pancakes.
Opening her eyes, she saw an unfamiliar wooden ceiling. Her gaze traveled along the walls of what appeared to be a log cabin, fire roaring in an oversized fireplace, its blaze small and weak compared to the spirit fire she’d unleashed…when? How long had she been out?
She was breathing without pain. Pushing away the thick down comforter that someone had draped over her, she looked down the length of her body. No blood, no aches or pains, and to her surprise and relief, she was able to sit up without pain. Guess she’d been out long enough to heal her jacked up back. Tiny red scars covered her arms, and her torso, as she discovered when she lifted the bottom of a soft tank top.
Someone had cleaned her up, changed her, and taken her away to rest and heal.
But they hadn’t taken her back to Briggs’ compound.
“Don’t get up too fast. You’ll get dizzy.”
She laughed and it made her dizzy. Talk about déjà vu. Zeke’s disembodied voice had been the first thing she heard after waking up from a trip to the reaper’s realm long ago. Wait, not so long ago. The past few years seemed like an eternity. Her guardian spirit had saved her then—from her darkness, from the reaper, from herself?
Reaper. Darkness. Briggs.
“What happened?” She tried to yell, but it came out as a hoarse croak. Damn her raw and raspy throat. She must’ve been screaming. When she rose from the tangle of sheets, she stumbled, tripping over sore limbs and amazed she could even walk. By all rights, her soul should have blinked out of existence after the spirit light blast destroyed her fragile, mortal body.
“Sit down first and eat,” Zeke said. He stood in the cabin’s kitchen, back to her as he cooked.
Wearing jeans and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he looked good. His mortal form was the same as she remembered with heartbreaking clarity. Part of her wanted to fall into his arms and never let go. Another part wanted to rage and scream at him for staying on this plane rather than taking the path to peace she’d opened for him with blood, pain, and pieces of her humanity and soul.
Instead, she sat at the table and filled her plate with bacon, eggs, and fluffy pancakes. Delicious, of course—the man could cook. Surprisingly, not only could she eat, she devoured two helpings, two cups of coffee, and thought about getting another serving.
Zeke picked at his food and watched her eat, a small, sad smile on his face.
“What?” she asked, dreading the answer.
“We need to talk.”
They did, but that didn’t make it easier to swallow past the lump that suddenly appeared in her throat.
“We do,” she said. “But first I need to know what happened back at the asylum. Are the souls safe?”
“Yes, and before you ask, your reaper got out, too. He’s on a recon mission right now. I’ll tell you the rest after you listen to me.”
The note of jealousy in his voice set her off. She stood and started gathering plates, her movements controlled. Breaking someone else’s dishes, cathartic as that might be, would be rude. Silverware was fair game, though, and she enjoyed the clank of metal against metal as she tossed them into the sink.
Zeke didn’t even flinch, which pissed her off even more.
“So talk.” She didn’t stop her vicious cleaning. “I’ll clean while you do it. It will be better than blasting you across the room.”
He sighed deeply and ran a hand through his dark hair, green eyes glittering with barely suppressed rage. She looked away. He had no right to be angrier than she did. Or maybe he did, but she wasn’t in the mood to be the bigger person.
“What I did was wrong. With Jen. I haven’t done right by her on either side of the grave, but I wanted her to be happy, so I did the only thing I could for her. She deserved to move on with her life.”
He didn’t say the name of the new man in his wife’s life. Not that she blamed him. Beneath the anger boiling to the depths of her soul, she had been jealous and hurt when she found out Zeke had inhabited the body of his mortal wife’s new lover. She’d thought it was out of loneliness, something she understood all too well. Or worse, she’d wondered if Zeke had been getting back at her for what he perceived as rejection. But maybe she’d been wrong.
“I had to protect my children. I didn’t do it while I was alive,
but I could make sure no one from the afterlife went after my son.”
Zeb. The beautiful boy with his father’s green eyes and dark hair held an abundance of spirit light. Autism robbed him of many things in his early life—speech, engagement with the outside world, and engagement with the people who loved him. Zeke hadn’t been a good man in that part of his life, perhaps all of his life. Vivian had never asked about it other than the events leading to his untimely death. Forced to marry Jen when she got pregnant, he’d lost his freedom. And when Zeb had been diagnosed with autism, he’d lost even more. He’d turned back to his old habits, cheating on Jen and neglecting her and his son.
Oh, he’d tried to make amends after a few years, becoming a devoted husband and father. Then Jen got pregnant again, and early signs indicated that the daughter she carried might not be whole and healthy.
He’d been resentful. What was worse, Vivian understood, having experienced the same resentment over Mae. Caregiver fatigue. But Zeke had taken it to extreme. After finding out about the baby, he’d lost it, taking his anger out on Jen before cleaning out their bank account and hitting the road.
He hadn’t made it far. Vivian had only seen him once when he was still alive. She’d watched him die after the car crash that was supposed to take her life as well. Zeke had been destined for the reaper’s domain. Vivian, for her sins, had been destined to serve the guardian spirits. She hadn’t run out on Mae, but she’d contemplated suicide, which apparently constituted the lesser of the evils as far as afterlife management was concerned. So Ezra, the guardian sent to claim her, had taken Zeke instead, robbing the reaper of his prize and getting revenge on Darkmore for a past encounter.
It had left Vivian trapped in the middle with Mae’s soul in play. Both sides wanted Mae for her spirit light. But Darkmore had wanted more. He’d wanted Vivian for her own sake.
Okay, that was romanticizing it. The reaper had coveted her power, and she intrigued him. It hadn’t been love, at least…not at first? But now, having been cast together as living soul broker and as close to mortal man as the reaper could get, was it love?
The Quick and the Dead Page 23
