His brother plopped into the seat beside him and raised both eyebrows.
“Well, well, well. Has Saint Zane traded his halo for horns? And by horns, I mean horny.” He chuckled and sipped from a to-go cup.
“So crass.” He shifted in his seat, adjusting his jeans to accommodate the raging hard-on he was packing. “But true.” He smiled a little sheepishly. “And keep your voice down. It’s not definite, but I didn’t want to wait until—”
“Say no more.” His brother waved him off and winked. “I saw you with that smokin’ hot Frenchie yesterday. It’s definite.”
Zane’s heart lurched with hope, and his groin took the aftershock. If there was one thing Boone knew besides demon-busting, it was seducing women.
His brother leaned closer and whispered, “Condoms are in the top drawer of my nightstand.”
“You have condoms?”
“First thing I bought when I got here. There are all different colors and textures and lubes. The French know how to enjoy sex. And Boy Scouts taught me to be prepared.” A salacious grin in place, he dropped a napkin with a cruller onto the conference table. “And nice to old ladies.”
“You’re nice to all the ladies, no matter how old. A little too nice sometimes.”
“Hence the condoms. You’re welcome.”
Boone picked up the cruller and shoved half of it into his mouth before biting it off. He chewed three times and then spoke around the mouthful. “Toys are in the second drawer down.”
“Toys?”
“Man. You’ve never used—ya know—little pleasure boosters? You gotta step up your game, dude. Girls these days expect the unexpected.”
“If they expect it, then it’s not unexpected.”
“You know what I mean. They expect something, just don’t know what. Sometimes I blindfold them and let them chose at random.”
Zane shook his head. Somehow he didn’t anticipate heading down that road with Delphine. “TMI. Even for a bro.” He clapped Boone’s shoulder and checked his watch. “Where the hell is Vipond and Jack? We should have started half an hour ago.”
“Don’t know and don’t give a shit. I’d be happy to hop the red-eye for home.” He sipped his coffee and then spoke clearer. “Home-home, not Philly-home. I love the Crow Fair and Rodeo. Was even gonna ride this year.”
“Shit. When was the last time you even sat on a horse, let alone a bronco? You’d get pounded into an Oompa-Loompa. Not that you’ve got that far to go.”
“Hey. I’m a solid six feet—”
Zane snorted.
“Almost. That’s just right for most women. You, on the other hand,” he shoved a finger into Zane’s chest, “are a fucking mutant—”
The door burst open, and Vipond marched in but did not take his seat. Every gaze whipped to his grim face. Even Boone had the sense to shut his pie-hole.
“Good afternoon. I’m sorry that we are running late, but due to recent developments, we will have much to discuss. It will be a very long day and night. I have taken the liberty of having my secretary order dinner.”
Zane’s heart dropped. Sonofabitch. This job was bent on ruining his life.
Jack snuck in around Vipond, circling to Zane. He pulled up a chair, sitting uncomfortably close. “You wanted a chance to prove you’re worthy of being on the Council,” he whispered in a low rasp. “Well, you’re about to get it, son.”
“What?” He turned and looked into his boss’s face.
Jaw set tight, Jack gave him the nod, the one reserved for burn directives. “I’m sorry. This is the toughest assignment I’ve ever given.”
“I’d like to begin by congratulating Mr. Gideon.” Vipond moved to stand in front of his usual seat, and all eyes followed. “He will be spearheading the next segment of operations.”
The holy water guns. He’d hoped they would save all their careers, but to push him forward had been too much to expect. He sat up straighter and nodded at Jack. “I’m up to it.”
Though disappointed he wouldn’t be spending the evening with Delphine, he couldn’t deny the measure of hope growing in his chest. Hell Runners aimed to get back on track. With his help.
He’d explain what he could to her—promise to make it up with a spectacular evening somewhere really special.
“Our American guests should plan on extending their stay as well.”
“For how long?” Jesse spoke first, his voice light with anticipation. “I take it one of the oracles located Swift.”
“Not exactly, Mr. Thorne.” Heavily accented, the familiar voice spoke from the open door behind them. “And how long you stay will depend on how persuasive Mr. Gideon can be.”
Solange Claudel filled the doorway. Her diminutive body leaned more on her cane than she did the first time Zane met her.
Nerves gripped his insides more intensely than the first time he saddled a bronco. Claudel. Why had he dismissed the possibility they belonged to Hell Runners? Camille Claudel left no direct lineage, but she had family. Save a few dozen exceptions, most gifts are hereditary. He braced, expecting to see Delphine walk through the door and assume a position beside her grandmother, a position of authority because of her birthright.
When she did not, dread, not confusion, compounded his trepidation.
Delphine’s Mamie trapped him in her stony gaze. What message was she trying to convey? She swayed.
In a second, he bolted out of his chair, motioning for Prudence and Jesse to scoot down.
“Mrs. Claudel,” He pushed a wheeled conference chair behind her, and she sat. “What’s going on? Why—”
“Thank you, Zane.” She patted his arm, her haunting, deep-set eyes never leaving his face. “I know you have many questions. Some I will answer. Some belong to Delphine.”
Jack relinquished his chair so Zane could sit beside Solange. “Where is Delphine?” His heart pounded hard, an instinctual response to his thousand suppositions.
“Waiting for you at Le Mirabelle. As you asked last night.”
“ Is Delphine a Hell Runner? Why didn’t she tell me before? Surely you knew I was with the Society. You saw my ID.”
“But she did not. Until today, she knew nothing of Hell Runners. Or your position. Or—”
“I should go to her.” He stood, and she grabbed his arm. Strong for a little old lady.
“Not yet. A man does not attempt battle unarmed.”
“Battle?” Yet even as he questioned it, he sensed Delphine posed a problem. He eased down to the edge of the chair.
“Yes. You see, I made the same mistake as Mr. Luckett.” She glanced at Jack. “I fought for you. That is why you still have your chancellor seat,” she told him. Solange gripped Zane’s hand in her small one and then rested their union on the table. “I thought I was being a good mother, protecting my daughter. But there is no such thing as protection from evil. There is only fighting it head-on.”
She swiveled to face Zane. “I thought I had gotten off easy. My daughter did not have the gift that my husband had. Then she became pregnant with Delphine. The visions followed. Ugly, violent, and frightening, especially to a young pregnant woman. They were so bad that at one point, I thought she would miscarry. But my little Delphine hung on. Unfortunately, the experience broke my daughter. It broke her because she was not the one with the gift.”
“I don’t understand,” Zane said. Tension pulled his nerves as tight as dried leather. “She had the visions?”
“The visions never belonged to my daughter. They always belonged to Delphine, even from the womb. She is the oracle you seek. Untrained and untainted.” She sighed. “I believe that is why all the other oracles have lost their sight. Connected to Hell for so long, Baalberith easily corrupted their special sight.”
He nodded agreement as his heart ached anew. Poor Delphine. He remembered his first vision. The pure terror threatening to tear his heart from his chest. The scream too big for his lungs to sustain. How long had she suffered alone and afraid?
“She ne
eds someone that’s been through the same thing,” he said. “I know I can help her.”
Solange held him with her stare.
He longed to take his leave and run to Cutoffs, yet his intuition sensed Solange—no the Council—intended a greater purpose. He tensed. No question. The special bond he forged with Delphine would be subverted for the greater good. With a heavy heart, he assumed his role as head Soul Saver. “What do you need me to do? You said everything depended on how persuasive I can be.”
“You are a man of reliable character with a history of occasional visions yourself.” She cocked her head. “Which you eliminated courtesy of some peyote and your Native American godfather?”
“Not peyote, ma’am, more like strong tea.”
“Good to know. Delphine despises smoke of any kind. Very un-French of her.” Her eyes turned dark. “You’ve already established a relationship with Delphine, so at my suggestion, you have been chosen to train her.”
Any time spent with Cutoffs pleased him. “Of course. We can start tomorrow—”
“No. You will start tonight.” Snippy, she seemed to surprise herself at her forceful answer. Without apology, she continued. “You will use every bit of your cowboy common sense and,” she paused and allowed a little grin, “swagger to win her over.”
“What do you mean win her over?” The knot in his gut refused to release.
She let go of his hand only to grip both sides of his face with cold fingers and beseech him with tear-filled eyes.
“Delphine never turned her back on her ill mother and jumped a plane the moment I requested her assistance. But she is refusing to help Hell Runners. You must convince her otherwise.”
Stunned, he slumped back in his chair, her fingertips sliding off his cheeks.
Refusing? His heart broke apart and then flamed with anger.
How could she refuse to help? A man’s life depended on her using her gift. A gift intended for charity and only given to those worthy of humbling before the needs of others.
Refusing meant her heart didn’t beat, didn’t feel, didn’t love.
Had he been wrong about her? Believed in a connection that didn’t exist?
Yes. It was possible he’d been wrong.
Zane sprang to his feet and rushed toward the door. His boot heels clacked hard against the marble floor, and he remembered plowing into her that first morning in Paris.
He didn’t know what he’d say yet. Didn’t know how he’d react when he did see her.
But he wasn’t giving up on Delphine Claudel.
No matter how hard she fought him.
Chapter Thirteen
Delphine gripped her wine glass a little harder and stared up the street, watching for Zane’s arrival. Maybe it would have been smarter to hash this out back at the museum rather than keep their date. But she didn’t want any interference, and part of her hoped against hope that he’d understand her point of view.
Then let her go.
He rounded a corner, sauntering as if his boots dragged spurs, and lifted his chin when he spied her sitting at the outdoor table for two. He didn’t hurry over to greet her, his steps as measured as the thoughts that must be going through his mind.
How could he have made a date with a total a freak? A total, scared freak. An aberration wrought of either Heaven or Hell, the line too thin to tell which side owned her soul.
“I was worried you wouldn’t wait for me.” He smiled just enough for his dimples to pucker. Did he do that on purpose? Practice it in front of a mirror? “Thought I might have to track you all over Paris.”
“If I make a promise, I keep it.”
He nodded once. “Me, too.”
The waiter appeared and held out the other small wooden chair for Zane.
He sat, without the easy roll she’d become accustomed to seeing. “You look a little pale,” he said. “Drink some of your wine, and I’ll get us started on an appetizer?”
A once-over of his tense body and placid face told her what she didn’t want to know—he belonged to the world that wanted to abuse her gift. Though his smile was in place, his eyes refused to meet hers. Distress stronger than her fear, the thought of food curdled her stomach.
He ordered a plate of fruit, nuts, and cheeses with a full bottle of pinot noir.
“We are changed.” She took a breadstick from the basket in the middle of the table, broke it in two, considered taking a bite, and then simply dropped it onto her little plate.
“Some. Yeah.” With a nod, he took her hand across the small tabletop and met her gaze. “I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty bummed. I had wanted tonight to be special.” The blue of his eyes deepened to match the sky surrounding them. She saw honesty there and felt a modicum of relief. “I wanted our dinner to be romantic.” He stroked the top of her hand with his thumb, the sensitive skin delighting in the intimacy. “Lengthy.” His warm smile and smoldering eyes showed her just how much she was going to lose. “Fun. Like yesterday. I hadn’t wanted it to end.”
“It could still be fun. You can chose to forget everything Mamie told you.”
He pursed his lips and leaned his elbows on the table. “Can you? Really?”
The ache inside her deepened, and she slid her fingers out of his warm palm. “No. No more fun.”
“If I were my brother Boone, I’d tell you fun is exactly what was in store. I’d try and convince you that soul searching, and demon blasting were a hoot-n-a-half and that sex after a mission could be the greatest high you’d ever experience.”
“But you won’t lie to me. Will you?”
“Hmm. Boone isn’t lying. All those things are true—if you’re Boone. And for a lot of the other Hell Runners too.” He paused. “But you’re not wired to be a badass. You’re serious. And I like that about you. Your beautiful face caught my eye—”
“I don’t think it was my face you saw first.” She offered a wry grin, wanting to hang onto what they’d had as long as possible.
His gaze turned a little sheepish. “No. But you are the whole package. After yesterday…” His mouth crooked up on one side and his eyes searched hers. “Well, I wasn’t sure it was smart or fair to see you again, but I couldn’t resist being with you one more time, if only to talk.”
The blush raced to her cheeks, and her heart palpitated with girlish anticipation. An expectation that she knew—by the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice—would never be realized.
The waiter brought the appetizer and wine. He set the platter on the table and poured them each a generous glass. “Are you ready to order?”
“No.” She shook her head.
The boy glanced at Zane, who was polishing off the wine like it was ice water. He shook his head through the last drop and the boy took off.
When he’d finished, he forced out a long breath and reached for the wine bottle. “Talk is what we must do.”
“Business talk.” She pulled her hands onto her lap, her heart aching with despair.
He filled his glass to the brim. “How about we share war stories, and then we’ll see what comes after.”
“I don’t want to share. I don’t even want to think about the nightmares if I don’t have to.”
“Then I’ll start.”
“Start? From what I understand, you are not an oracle. You didn’t have nightmares.”
“Au contraire. Most of us start out with the nightmares, oracles or not. And I won’t lie to you, I was a kid and scared shitless of my visions. But unlike you, I knew what they were, where they originated, and why. I come from a long line of Soul Savers.” He tossed back a throat full of pinot. “Boone had them. At the time, we made a pact to ignore them. We wanted to be regular teenagers for as long as time allowed. It was close to a year before I broke down and told my dad. Boone was really pissed at me. We’d hoped to get out of high school before committing.”
“But you weren’t. And you committed without question?”
He nodded. “Yep. Everyone is blessed with som
e sort of gift, supernatural or not. Some folks have to figure out what theirs are and decide how to apply them. We’re lucky, actually. Ours are more unique and, therefore, more obvious.”
“Lucky? I’ve never been so scared in all my life. This is not luck. This is punishment. For all of eternity. This is the consequence of an arrogant man only too willing to destroy the life of a girl infatuated with his talent. For all your years in this Society, have they ever told you the truth?”
He sighed, his mouth flattened into a line. “Can’t say I’ve been outright lied to. I’m sure there have been omissions. But as one of the Society’s historians, I know more than others.”
“Do you know how your secret little Society started?”
“Yes. Though it’s not commonly disclosed to all Hell Runners, Rodin left a journal. I’ve read it more than a few times.”
“Of course. You like history.”
“Only way to navigate the future is to study the past.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, the poet, Rainer Rilke, was living at the Hotel Biron, as did a lot of other artists in that day. He invited Rodin to join them.”
“Common knowledge. It’s in every guidebook in Paris.”
“Not the next part. Rilke had discovered a sort of mirage in the overgrown gardens. Because of Rodin’s interest in all things religious and otherworldly, Rilke wanted to show it to him. Rodin immediately recognized it as a fissure between worlds and passed through without a problem. Once on the other side, Rodin realized he was in Hell. Instead of leaving he started wandering through the First Ring and chanced on a trapped soul hiding from demons. The soul explained how he’d lived a good life, died, and then saw his home again beyond a light. He thought it was Heaven and walked in. The poor bastard had been trapped in Hell ever since.
“The story broke Rodin’s heart, and the soul could see into him. Could see the rest of his gift. He explained to Rodin that a demon once told him the only way out was for a human of pure intentions to absorb his soul and sneak him out. Until that moment, he’d believed it an impossibility since humans couldn’t breach the barrier of the afterworld. But Rodin had done it. Without hesitation, Rodin accepted the tortured soul, and the rest they say is history.”
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