by Lindsay Mead
Her gaze rolled from the starry sky to the wide headstone before her. On the arch of the gravestone was a glass of whiskey and a second lit cigarette balanced precariously on the edge. Engraved in the stone were the words, "Tennessee 'Big Man' Taylor—Society's criminal, our hero." Viola's parents had paid for the stone and burial since Tennessee didn't have any known family. She imagined him, leaning on the headstone, watching her with protective eyes and a teasing grin spread across his fat lips.
"God, Big Man, I miss you so much." She clinked her ring on the rim of her glass.
"How did you know him?" Ian asked softly, coming to stand at her side with his hat in hand.
A tear tumbled from her lashes. Viola wiped it away with her knuckle, pretending to waft at the cigarette smoke. She swigged her drink before responding, "They didn't tell you?"
"Uh, I asked Lana, but she said he died before she met you. Aaron is off"—He glanced around Viola and raised an eyebrow—"talking to tombstones?"
Viola followed his gaze and found her stepbrother appearing to do exactly that. Aaron wandered through the dark rows, flashing his light over the names. All the while his lips moved, his tenor voice carrying softly on the breeze. He bent down and used his sleeve to polish someone's nameplate.
"Yeah, that's the sort of thing he'd do." Twisting, she saw Lana sprawled on a patch of grass. She wore her headphones and bobbed to the music as she read a book. Viola's attention returned to Ian. He stared at Tennessee's tombstone thoughtfully, and she answered, "After what Billy and his friends did, our local church thought I needed a bodyguard."
"Wow, they paid for that? Bodyguards are expensive."
"They are, but he was free. Tennessee had been a convict after doing some bad shit for his motorcycle gang." Viola traced the filter of her cigarette on her lower lip but didn't inhale. "The church helped get him out on good behavior in exchange for his services."
Ian looked sideways at her. "They got a gang member to be your bodyguard? Seems a little counterproductive."
"Nah, he was a good guy. Rough around the edges and in need of a fresh start, but his soul was good." Viola smiled, thinking of his dark curly hair and scruffy face. To most people Tennessee was unfriendly but with Vi, he was always soft. He taught her how to gamble, drink, ride a motorcycle, and smoke cigars. Besides Aaron, Big Man had been her first real friend. "He made me feel safe, made sure I was safe, and taught me a lot about holding my own."
"Was it a demon that got him?" Ian murmured.
"Nope. Mother fucken bullet did." Flicking the ashes off her cigarette, she sipped her alcohol. "We were leaving a New Orleans cemetery when a guy tried to rob us…and an awful day turned to utter shit."
"I'm so sorry, Vi." He shook his head and ran a hand through his silky hair.
"That's why Aaron carries a gun. Without Big Man around, he felt he needed to step up."
"Why didn't the church hire someone else?" Swatting at a mosquito, Ian peered into the blackness behind them.
"Big Man was special; not many reformed convicts out there like him." Vi ignored his unease. Graveyards made other people uncomfortable. Though, if a person was hiding from something demonic, sacred ground was the best place to be. "Besides, by then, I was older and more capable of defending myself. I met Lana soon after."
"I'm glad you did. She's a cool kid."
"Yeah, she's got a secret, though. There's something different about her"—Peering at the young girl curiously, Vi dropped her cigarette into the grass and smashed it out—"something that is also the reason she wants to be here with us. I hope she tells me what it is someday."
"Why do you smoke?" Ian asked abruptly, apparently getting used to Viola's weird statements. When she glowered at him, he lifted his hands defensively. "Don't worry, I'm not going to lecture you. You can make your own bad life choices. I was just wondering."
"We all have our vices that we use to deal with the bad shit in our lives." She finished off her drink and put out Big Man's bud. "My bad shit is extreme, so I guess my vices needed to be too."
"I thought maybe you had a death wish," he commented with a smirk.
"No death wish, just a short life expectancy." Vi shrugged. "Unfortunately."
Pain lashed from the fresh wounds on her shoulder and neck, causing her to flinch and hiss. Guess the alcohol hadn't kicked in yet. Ian turned her about and clicked on his flashlight.
"This is bad," he said loudly, and she could practically hear the color draining from his face.
"No, it's not." Viola knew what bad felt like. "But it does need to be treated. Hey, Aaron!"
Seeing Vi wave him over, Aaron left the grave he was praying at.
"You don't think this is bad?" Pointing his flashlight at his hand, Ian splayed the red-painted fingers before her.
"Really, it's no big deal. Aaron can handle a needle." Emergency medical care wasn't always available in the places where they went. "Would you get Lana for me, please?"
Ian frowned, doing as she asked.
As Aaron took his place, Vi picked up the glass from Tennessee's headstone and poured it onto his grave. "I'll see you soon, Big Man."
"Sleep well, Tennessee." Aaron formed the sign of the cross over his torso.
"Isn't there a church nearby?" She glanced at the sky as thunderclouds appeared in the distance, announcing their arrival with rolling growls.
"Yeah, an old family church beyond those trees." The priest pointed the way. "It'll start raining before we get there, though."
"Let's get moving then." Snatching the whiskey bottle, Viola headed in the direction Aaron indicated. "I want you to patch me up before we go home."
"Agreed. No need to worry, Mom."
The other two quickly caught up, Ian graciously carrying the duffel, and the group jogged together through the graveyard as it started to rain. The large drops coldly splashed against Viola's hot skin. Hurrying over two hills and through a thicket of trees, she was soaked by the time they climbed the church steps.
The building was old, small compared to the large city cathedrals. It was made of cobblestones that led to a single steeple above. There was one light outside, illuminating the worn front steps. Aaron pounded on the large wooden door. He'd been about to knock again when the thing creaked open.
"Do you know what time it is?" A young pastor, who couldn't have been much older than Aaron, popped his head out. "I'm sorry, but I've closed—"
Huddled against the rain, Viola displayed her hand. The priest blinked at the ashen cross tinted into her palm. From it, he gawked at her, then at Aaron's white collar, and at Vi again. "My God, you're an exorcist."
"We need temporary sanctuary, Father," Aaron said, ignoring the dumbfounded expression on the man's face.
Mystified, he stared at Viola a bit longer before remembering himself and pulled open the door. "Of course. Stay as long as you need."
Aaron let Viola go first. The open room was warm, especially after being exposed to the cold Autumn night for hours. The church had around ten rows, not big enough for a huge congregation. Two iron caged lights hung from the ceiling, causing light to glimmer in the stained-glass windows.
"Thank you for your kindness, Father," Viola said. She dipped her fingers in a stone basin by the door, coating her skin in holy water, and made the sign of the cross. "We were tracking a strigoi demon when we came upon your church."
"A strigoi? My goodness." The priest gaped, offering to shake Viola's hand with wonderment. "It's truly an honor to meet you."
"Father, my exorcist has an injury that needs treating. Could we use your supplies?" Aaron interjected before the young pastor could begin peppering Viola with questions. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence with inexperienced clergy. "We have our own but—"
"No, no. Save your supplies. The church keeps us well stocked—I never thought there'd be an occasion to use them!" He hurried off eagerly, leaving them to settle in.
Ian shook the water from his cowboy hat and watched the priest go. "How did you
know he'd have supplies? Or that he'd help us?"
"It's a requirement of all parishes." Viola walked toward the front pew. She stopped briefly to kneel and formed the sign of the cross over her chest a second time, her movements making the bench creak loudly. "Asking for sanctuary has saved us more times than I'd care to count."
"I bet the pastor never thought he'd meet a real-life exorcist." Lana snatched the duffel out of Ian's hand, slung it over her shoulder like a champ, and followed after the priest. "I'm gonna find our host and see about resupplying the bag, maybe check out what kind of records archive this place might have."
Aaron knelt just as Viola had, then together they sat before a giant crucifix. He helped her peel off her punctured jacket and lift the back of her shirt. As Aaron gently prodded her new and…less new…wounds, Viola watched Ian stare awkwardly around the quiet place.
The priest returned with towels, bandages, and other materials. Though, he didn't stay. He took one look at her bloodied back, paled, and excused himself. Not that Vi minded, she really didn't need an audience for this.
"You ready for the alcohol?" Aaron asked.
Steeling herself, Viola pursed her lips. "Yup."
Aaron splashed the alcohol onto the injury. The pain was instant and sharp. Vi gnashed her teeth against the burn, breathing hard through her nostrils. The pew groaned as Ian sat next to her. He met her hardened eyes and slipped his hand into her own. Knowing that the worst was still to come, she didn't refuse his silent offer of support.
There was the sound of Aaron unscrewing a metal cap. "Okay, now for the painful part."
"Wait," Viola rushed out. She scooted closer to Ian and gripped her jacket between her teeth. Through the leather, she mumbled, "Ready."
The next liquid to hit her punctures forced Vi to cry out. The pain was like white fire, eating her flesh. Stars exploded in her eyes and, for a moment, she expected to blackout. When the pain finally receded, Viola realized that she'd dropped her forehead against Ian's shoulder.
"What the fuck was that?" Ian asked, rubbing her arm.
"Liquid myrrh," Aaron answered. "Bites and cuts from demons can have unknown and awful side effects. Liquid myrrh is the only way to prevent that."
Panting, Vi spit out her jacket. "Unfortunately, it hurts like a bitch."
Viola considered that maybe she should shift away from Ian now, create some distance between them, but his nearness was comforting, and the smell of his cologne calmed her. Aaron continued working, cleaning and sealing her wounds. Thankfully, after the initial pain, the myrrh had a wonderful numbing effect.
"You know what I don't get?" Ian pushed Viola's hair behind her ear, setting off those alarm bells in her head. "If those vampire demons are attracted to all of this sin that I'm carrying, why did they only attack now?"
"The blood money acted like a dark cloud over your house. It hid you." Collecting herself, Vi attempted to casually withdraw her hand from Ian's. "You've basically been out from under the evil umbrella long enough for the strigoi to sense you and come looking."
"So, I stay in my house and the blood money slowly kills me"—Ian's gaze swept smoothly away from Viola's extracted hand, and he clasped his fingers in his lap—"or I leave, and demons try to kill me?"
She smiled sympathetically. "That's why you hired me."
"All set, Vi. The injury wasn't the worst you've had." Aaron grabbed one of the towels and wiped his hands. "Ian, could you put the bandages on? I'd like to check on the father."
"Sure, go ahead," Ian agreed.
As Ian took his seat, Aaron headed into one of the side offices and left them alone in the big room. Ian's fingers fell on her back and Viola felt him gently tracing her contours. Her breathing slowed as she became mesmerized by his soft touches.
"Cuts from being thrown into my mirror and gashes from a demon bite," he mumbled after sitting silently for some time. "Your life doesn't have to be like this, you know?"
Viola lowered her eyes to the floor, wishing he wasn't so bothered by what she did—what she was. "I'm an exorcist, Ian. Not a princess."
"What?" The confusion in his voice caused her to turn and face him.
"I don't need to be saved," Viola said. Her heart twisted at the sadness she discovered in his eyes. It occurred to her that Ian might very well be the greatest love she would never get to have. With a sigh, she touched his cheek. "Even if you are my Prince Charming."
"I know you're strong and brave but seeing you like this"—He grabbed her hand, letting his desperation bleed into his voice—"Maybe I need to be your prince."
Hating this, Vi frowned. "I know you want to be—"
"So, why don't you let me?" Ian took hold of her face and pulled her to him.
Viola didn't resist as their mouths connected. His lips moved gently, telling her through touch how much he cared about her. With a firm grasp on her face, Ian's hands were a message of urgency and heartfelt agony. Viola kissed him back, wanting his emotions to seep into her and for him to feel hers in response. And God forgive her…
Maybe part of her did want to be saved.
20
Viola could taste the rain on Ian's lips. Oh, his kisses felt wonderful. Her hand fell to his hip and she scooted closer while his fingers slid along her temple, entangling with her wet locks.
She slipped her tongue into his mouth, and Ian moaned against her. It was low, rumbling, and ignited something at her core. The need surged hard, forcing Viola to grip his pant leg. In response, Ian's hand trailed up her back and his fingers brushed her cuts.
Sharp pain sliced through her skin, dousing her arousal like a cold bucket of water. Vi's head instantly cleared. What the hell was wrong with her? Viola wasn't a victim, she didn't need to be saved. Letting her feelings for Ian convince her of otherwise was utter bullshit—and she was better than that.
"Stop. We can't do this." Vi jerked away, inwardly cursing herself.
Ian blinked at her sudden retreat. "What? Why not?"
"Well, for one, I don't fool around in churches." She snorted, her mind quickly replaying every raunchy thing she'd ever done. "I mean, I've done some dumb shit, but I draw the line there."
"Is that all?" His face scrunched in disbelief.
"No." The church suddenly felt drafty and Vi pulled down her shirt. "I don't think screwing around with a client is a great idea anymore."
Glowering, Ian leaned on his knee. "I'm not interested in screwing around."
"And there's the problem." Viola pushed to her feet, desperate to put physical distance between them. "There's something about the two of us together. It's like we can't stop ourselves from letting this become more."
"Why should we?" He stood, throwing his arms out. "I mean, you admit that you do have feelings for me?"
"I'm not saying that." Though, it was getting harder to deny that maybe she did. Shaking her head violently, Viola grabbed her jacket and started for the door. A cigarette in the rain seemed like a great fucking idea right then. "If we pursue this, it can only end badly. My relationships always do."
He snagged her arm. "Viola, I would never—ever hurt you."
Despite the intensity in his voice and eyes, despite the tight grip of his hand, those words rang hollow to Viola. She'd heard them before. First from Billy Johnson and then from other brief flings. Feeling those lies as if they'd just happened, she snarled, "Yup, they'll never hurt me and never leave me, but somehow they always do."
"I'm not like the others, Vi," he whispered, his grip softening to match his tone.
She glanced at him with sympathy; it's like he had no idea what a cliché he was. "They always say that, too."
Footsteps sounded as Lana and Aaron returned. Viola discreetly tugged her arm free. "How's Father?"
"Put him to bed," Aaron answered. "This was all a bit much for him."
"Understandably." Vi turned to Lana, glad to be putting her attention on someone other than Ian. "How did you fare?"
"Great." She smiled and patted the d
uffel. "We're all restocked and I'm borrowing some of the record books."
"That was nice of the priest to let you." Viola smirked skeptically.
"Nice…unaware…" Lana flipped her hand back and forth. "Could go either way."
Aaron's eyes widened, and he whispered forcefully, "Please tell me you did not steal from a priest."
"Steal…borrowed without permission…" Her eyes tilted innocently upward as she absently fiddled with one of the pink feathers in her hair. "Could go either way."
"Ugh, I'm not hearing this." He rubbed his forehead.
"That's for the best." Lana winked at Viola.
"I sent a text to Ailbeart," Ian interrupted, not looking at Vi. "He's bringing the car."
Viola nodded as relief hit her. "Good, I didn't want to walk home with that strigoi out there."
"Can't you sense demons when they're near?" Ian leaned against a pew and crossed his arms.
"Yes, but things can still go bad fast." Cringing at the shifting wounds on her back, she slowly dragged her jacket on. "I'm not willing to take that risk with your life."
"I'm learning that you're not much of a risk taker." There was no mistaking the edge to his tone.
Vi studied the hardness in his eyes. Ian was pissed, and she wasn't going to apologize. So maybe this was it; their flame had officially been stomped out. Now, they were nothing more than client and exorcist. With a sigh, Viola slid into a pew and wished that she didn't feel so crappy about that.
Ailbeart arrived in fantastic time. They were silent during the short ride to the house. It was late, and everyone was tired. Fortunately, as they pulled onto the warded property, Vi didn't sense a single demonic thing.
Inside the house, the only light came from the TV and a few dim lamps. The murmur of the 24-hour shopping network told Viola that her dad was in bed and her mom had waited up. Having embraced the comforts of passing a certain age and no longer giving a fuck, Amy's hair was wrapped around wide curlers and she wore a thick, cozy robe.
"Oh, I'm so glad you're all okay," Amy whispered as they traipsed through the front door. She gave Viola the side-eye. "Thank God Aaron has the good sense to text his mother, or I'd have been a mess all night."
