Dream Breakers, Oath Takers

by Jacqueline Jayne

  The chancellor snorted. “Patience has never been the American way.”

  “Granted, we could all use a little more patience,” Jack sighed, slanting his gaze at Prudence. “Especially my daughter. She jumped the gun, but she’s right. Inactivity is what Baalberith wants, whether he’s blocking the oracles or not. He wants us worried and scared and at odds with each other. We can’t give him that.” He cleared his throat and nodded toward Jesse. “Last night they approached me with a plan. We should hear it out.”

  Vipond raised both bushy gray eyebrows.

  “Oh, come on, Maurice. What else do we have?”

  Vipond’s gaze roamed over all ten members of the French council. All, save Savard, nodded in succession. “Fine. You may proceed.”

  Jesse pursed his lips into a thin smile. “Thank you, Chancellor. Members of the Council.” He got to his feet, standing fence-post straight, his white dress shirt tucked into a pair of dark blue jeans, plain navy blue tie like the chancellor’s. The same get-up he wore to marry the boss’s daughter. Without hesitation or a noticeable case of nerves, he began. “Over the past couple of years, Swift has developed a deep friendship with a shade.”

  “You are referring to the former I.R.A. operative, Niall Donoghue.” Savard rocked back in his chair again. “Hardly an appropriate friend. Even you don’t trust him.”

  “That used to be true, I won’t lie about it. But in time, he has proven to be a worthy ally to all Hell Runners, not just Swift.”

  “And how is that, Mr. Thorne?” His close-set eyes narrowed on Jesse as if he had the crosshairs of a scope aimed at his chest.

  “Niall is truly sorry for his violent participation with the I.R.A. He repented shortly before he died. Even before his wife perished in his arms. But his sins were too great for Heaven. He was banished to Purgatory until he was deemed Heaven material.”

  “Then how did he end up in Hell?” Curious, Vipond moved forward in his seat.

  “Us.” Jesse grinned. Authority didn’t put him off in the slightest. “Specifically, me and Swift. Somehow our reputation spread through the underground grapevine all the way into Purgatory. Niall took it upon himself to create his own, faster form of redemption. He chose to reside in Hell over easier time in Purgatory in order to help us save souls. On our behalf, he’s applied his earthly skills as a spy, a double agent, a lookout, and a lackey, often throwing himself in the line of danger to save a Hell Runner.” He glanced over at his wife. “He saved Prudence on more than one occasion.”

  “And you think he can help you now?”

  “Absolutely. Niall has a special connection with Swift. I believe if we could get to him, he might be able to tell us Baalberith’s location, or at least his last seen location. He’s the closest thing we have to an oracle right now.”

  “But how will you find him?”

  “I’ve also forged a unique connection with him. All I have to do is cross through the Gate, and he will appear.”

  “You mean, he used to. Before you closed the First Ring.” Savard sneered. “He could be back in Purgatory by now, and as you know, we don’t cross that line.”

  “Doubt it. He’s too dedicated to the cause.” Prudence shook her head and got out of her chair to stand beside Jesse. “But we won’t know unless we try. If Niall can’t show up, I can still navigate Hell with very little danger. As you recall from our debriefing, my body converts holy water into sweat that burns demons.”

  “But Mr. Thorne’s body does not,” Vipond pointed out, his tone cold. “And since Mr. Thorne has been stripped clean of his demon mark, he is far more susceptible to being tracked. I’d go so far as to say he will be hunted by demons for his years of soul carrying.”

  The time was finally right. Zane rolled back his chair and stood before Jesse gave him the go-ahead. “That’s where I come in. Boone too.”

  “Mr. Gideon, this council is not inclined to send all of its most skilled into the unknown, if any at all. Now, please take your seat.”

  “Whether I’m allowed to join the search party or not, I can assist.” He chucked the duffel bag onto the table. The heavy clunk had everyone’s eyes on him. “I’ve invented a brand of help that should become a soul saver’s standard issue.”

  He ripped the zipper until the bag gapped open and then reached inside and pulled out a revolver. The French end of the table pushed their chairs back.

  “Mr. Gideon!”

  “Relax, Mr. Vipond. I would never endanger anyone.” He flicked the chamber open. “No bullets, see?” Diving into the bag again, he took out a square box, flipped the lid, and removed one of the small cylinders. He balanced it head-to-butt between his index finger and thumb. Holding it up for all to see, they pushed away even farther.

  “That is a bullet, Mr. Gideon.”

  “But a special kind of bullet. Safe for humans, deadly to demons.” He dropped it into the chamber, flicked the gun to lock it into place, and aimed at the thick glass window behind the Chancellor’s head. He pulled off the round before anyone could gasp for him to stop.

  The bullet hit with a resounding smack, and the contents splattered. A big yellow stain dripped down the glass.

  “That, my fellow soul savers, is holy water encased in hard rubber. I added color so you could see the results. When this bullet smacks into a pursuing demon, it explodes, much like a paintball, only without the color. The demon goes poof, and in the heat of the explosion, so does the hard rubber casing. No demon and no evidence.”

  By now, Vipond had retrieved the shredded casing and was rubbing it between his fingers. “And how did you come up with this idea, Mr. Gideon?”

  “I’ve been working on it for the past few months, ever since I learned that Prudence could convert holy water. Years ago, my father told me about the first group of Runners, the ones that used to carry glass bottles of holy water with them on missions. In order to use the water for protection, they’d have to stop and remove the cork or unscrew a cap. Not efficient during a moment of peril, plus refillable bottles tend to leak. Drips of holy water in Hell are like blood in the ocean. Predators zone in faster than a Runner realizes.

  “Those poor first soul savers had no idea what they were doing. They left a trail the demons could follow and were chased all the way from the Paris Gate to Philly. Since the beast accompanied gifted humans, it was able to pass through the Gate with them. Fortunately, it was quickly subdued and destroyed, but that one impetuous adventure,” he glanced at Prudence and Jesse for dramatic effect, “almost cost the existence of Hell Runners altogether. Both Gates were shut down for a year so the demons would lose the scent. And emergency holy water has been forbidden ever since.” He scooped up another slug and held it up as before. “This specially designed bullet is the answer we need.” Zane watched Savard seethe and continued before the irritated councilman could jump in.

  “I know the rules are in place for a reason, but times evolve. We evolve. And for the greater good. I believe we can push the rules, exchange them for better ones, yet still keep order intact. Without shutting down. Remember, there are thousands of dire souls in need of rescue. And I swore by my oath to save them, put them first. I intend to keep that promise.”

  Zane smacked the table with the side of his fist. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt empowered. Justified.

  “But what if there are too many demons to shoot?” Savard jumped in at last. “The gun would be rendered useless.”

  “The same damn thing we always do.” Boone had slipped in behind him during his speech. “We run like mother—”

  “Boone,” Jack cut him off and admonished him with a stern eye.

  As always, his brother shrugged off authority. “Look, First Ring, Third Ring.” He settled down in Zane’s seat and rocked back to prop the bottom of one sneaker against the edge of the table. “Ninth Ring. It’s all the same. Protect your ass, and you keep your head. Save the soul and run as fast as you can. I don’t see what the big stink is about.”


  “The big stink,” Savard bolted to his feet and anchored his palms flat on the table, arching over the table like a vulture, “is that we can’t afford any more mistakes. Mistakes cost lives. I, for one, don’t want to lose mine.”

  “When was the last time a council member risked his sorry ass going through the Gate?”

  “Boone!” Jack warned again.

  “Just telling it like it is, boss.” Never saddled with ambition or diplomacy, Boone didn’t hold back. “These folks need to understand—”

  “Bro.” Zane booted his brother’s shoe off the edge of the table and seared a glare into his cocky face. “Maybe this will make you feel more confident.” Zane extracted one more item from the duffel. He placed a grenade on the table in front of him.

  Every French council member got to his feet. Savard hustled for the door, hand on the knob and his sights on the grenade.

  “I stand corrected, bro,” Boone quipped. “They do know how to haul ass.”

  “Please, Mr. Gideon.” Sweat had broken out on Vipond’s forehead. “Don’t pull the pin. He met Zane eye-for-eye and stroked the lapel of his expensive jacket. “If you destroy this suit, my wife will kill me.” He smiled, eliciting sniggers from everyone except Savard.

  The air in the room lost most of its tension. The chancellor approached him and turned his palm up. Zane passed him the grenade.

  “Lighter than I thought.” Vipond bounced it in his hand. “A runner could easily carry more than one.” A grin played at his mouth. “How many demons can this take out at a time?”

  Heat rose to Zane’s face. The pitch just got harder. “I don’t know, sir. It hasn’t been tested.”

  “Not tested?” Vipond raised his bushy eyebrows again. “And the gun?”

  He shook his head and prayed for the right words to pour from his mouth. “We’d just finished both prototypes. Thought I’d get to test before presenting them, but since we can’t go through the Gate and—”

  The door opened, and for a moment he thought Savard had walked out. Vipond’s gaze drifted over Zane’s shoulder, and he frowned deeply. He spoke in his native tongue, irritated and sharp.

  An older woman bussed Zane’s sleeve as she reached past him to hand the chancellor a folded sheet. Her face was placid, unaffected by the scolding. She replied, and though Zane didn’t understand most of what she said, one word stood out. “Importanaté.”

  Removing his wire-rimmed glasses from his jacket pocket, Vipond put them on and proceeded to read the note. His mouth drew up small, and Zane’s already tight stomach clenched.

  “This meeting is adjourned,” he said without looking up. He folded the paper so Zane couldn’t read it. The chancellor’s sights swung to the other side of the room. “Jacques. My office.”

  Heavy-hearted, Zane carefully placed the grenade and revolver in the bag along with his high hopes while the rank and file exited.

  A hand pulled him back by the arm, and he turned to meet Vipond’s solemn face. “Hold onto your bag of toys, Mr. Gideon. You may get your chance to test them sooner than you think.”

  Chapter Eight

  Since they had a lot of ground to cover and Zane stared more at her face than The Spirit of Eternal Repose, Delphine waved him toward what she lovingly dubbed Hero’s Forest. In the shadows of the small woodland, Cowboy couldn’t caress her body with his gaze quite so easily.

  And she might hide her blush at the thought of his strong hands keeping the promises in his searing stare. Better still, she might manage to steal a few admiring glances of his extraordinary body without him noticing.

  She turned her back to man and dog and headed into the copse of trees. “Come on, slowpoke,” she called over her shoulder.

  Used to hearing that phrase, Henri yipped.

  “You’re not living up to your reputation as expert docent, Cutoffs. Appreciation of art can’t be hurried.” Zane’s voice surrounded her like a wind in a storm. Wild and warm and unsettling.

  “True,” she replied, keeping her focus forward. “But we need to view the statues displayed in the woods before it gets too dark.”

  He caught up quickly. His bare arm brushed against hers, sending a flirty thrill on a dangerous joyride through her body.

  “Dark doesn’t bother me, and cities never go all the way black. In fact, I rather like it. It gets quiet when it’s dark. Everything becomes easier. The brain calms. The heart steadies.” He skimmed the exposed skin of her arm with rough fingertips, and another dose of heady pleasure zipped through her. “Don’t you think?”

  No. Delphine thought just the opposite. She stopped walking to put distance between them, but the imprint of his gentle touch lingered with the intensity of a bee sting.

  Zane twisted to look at her. One corner of his mouth lifted, and a single, deep dimple winked at her. “You afraid of me or the dark, Cutoffs?”

  Both. Danger lurked in the dark and in his sweet blue eyes. But she couldn’t tell him that.

  “You’ve no reason to be afraid of me. Right, Henri?”

  The dog barked and dutifully sat his butt down at Zane’s heel.

  “See? And he’s the best judge of character you know. If it’s the dark that scares you…” He extended his leash-free hand to her. “Tonight you have me. I’m a walkin’-talkin’-fear-free zone. Nobody messes with a Gideon. Not man or ghost.”

  Ghost. He’d said it like he knew about her nightmares. Her pulse froze. Every cell in her wanted to latch on to his offered hand, to tap into his strength, meld into his warmth, allow the desire swirling inside her to grow.

  But she should not and would not succumb to his charms.

  Or his dimples.

  Or the broad, muscular shoulders so well defined by the thin fabric of his simple front-snap shirt.

  Or his sexy, sinuous legs where toned calves flexed beneath a light coating of fine blond hairs.

  She nipped her bottom lip and considered how safe she’d feel, walking hand in hand. She might even sleep nightmare-free if she gave in and spent the night in his hotel. Heaven knew the man was six and a half feet of perfect distraction.

  But one-offs didn’t suit Delphine. Never had. How many one-night stands left her mother crying all the following week? She’d not turn out like her mother. Not in any way. She’d protect her heart no matter how much she longed for him to lean close. To cradle her head in his big, rugged hands. Press his sensual mouth against hers until her breath stopped and her head spun.

  Instincts kicked in, and she stomped past him into the woods. “We’d better get going.”

  “You trying to ditch me?”

  “No. We have a deal.”

  “Not a deal. A date.” He caught up to her in no time.

  “A pointless date.”

  Unexpectedly, his fingers closed around her arm just above her elbow.

  She froze in place. The firmness of his palm against her skin. The way his thumb stroked over her muscle. In an instant, she became acutely aware of every cell where her skin met his. The longing he triggered intensified even as she fought it.

  Slowly, he walked around to face her. His gaze with those eyes, so expressive and vibrant blue, searched her face.

  A shiver skittered under her skin when he moved in closer and lowered his head, so the brim of his hat skimmed her hair.

  “Pointless?” His low drawl dropped a half register, oozing temptation. “What makes you think this is pointless?”

  Stopped in the shade of the tree line with the evening sun burnishing the colors from bright green to intense gemstones, she gazed into his earnest face. The romanticism of the moment almost overtook her. Her heart ached for her to lean in rather than arch back. Common sense and old-fashioned control kept her guarded. She spoke honestly and unabashed. “You have one foot here and one foot on an airplane, Mr. Gideon.”

  “First off, I like it better when you call me Cowboy, Cutoffs.”

  Heat flooded her cheeks at the use of the nickname he’d given her.

  “Delph
ine. Please, don’t call me Cutoffs.” She raised an eyebrow and purposefully used his given first name. “Zane.”

  “Why not? It’s sexy and suits you.”

  “I don’t like it,” she lied. The flirtatious undertone to everything he said lit her up inside. For the first time in forever, she felt like a desirable woman, and she hated denying the pleasure. “And at your suggestion, we began from the farthest point on the grounds with the intent to work our way back to the Hotel Biron. The sun will set quickly. There is the Marble Gallery before we even enter the museum. It could take the better part of a week to do it justice.”

  “I’m all about justice.” His eyes seemed to twinkle like blue stars. He grinned, flashing her those matching dimples that appeared deeper than ever in the shade of his hat’s brim. “The deal, as you say, was to show me around, then I’d take you to supper. If we need more than one day, I can arrange it if you can.” His gaze rested on hers, soft and inquisitive. “I hope by the end of tonight you’ll want to.”

  She opened her mouth to counter, unsure of her reply. In her hesitation, he replied for her.

  “You can decide later. And you’re right about the sun.”

  She’d half expected him to take her hand or drape a lazy arm across her shoulders. Instead, he walked on ahead, slowly until she caught up. A pang of disappointment punched her heart when she should have been relieved. Side by side, they entered her favorite part of the grounds, Henri trotting along between them.

  “You said you were going to train Henri, but he’s obeyed your commands ever since you took the leash. I don’t get it. He’s usually a scoundrel.”

  “He needs discipline more than training. The key is, I don’t acknowledge him trying to pull away. I don’t take no for an answer, so he does what I want. You, on the other hand, need—”

  “Don’t you dare say training.”

  “Confidence. Be calm. Be self-assured. Be in charge. It’s as simple as that. Same goes for your grandmother.”

  “You think I should treat Mamie like the dog?” She cocked an eyebrow at him.

  “No.” His laugh matched the rustle of the leaves. “I mean she needs to do the same thing. Henri’s not a baby, so she shouldn’t treat him like one.”