by Lindsay Mead
Lana whistled. "Been a while since someone reacted to you like that."
"That's happened before?" Ian gawked as Aaron put a sympathetic hand on Vi's shoulder.
"My appearance isn't exactly considered normal." Glancing down at her plethora of tattoos, she remembered the many freak outs she'd caused through the years. "In certain parts of the world, especially with older generations, I can seem scary and satanic."
"Having Aaron around usually calms the locals." Lana raised her camera and snapped a picture of them.
"I'm sorry that happens to you," Ian said, his voice soft and genuine. The gentleness in his eyes made Viola feel delicate, made her want to be wrapped in his arms. Fortunately, he caught himself and rubbed his neck. "So, did you learn anything?"
"I did, actually." Viola instantly perked up. There was no better pleasure than getting another tattoo. Really, it was an addiction. "We need to find a tattoo shop."
"Seriously?" Ian smirked. "Is now a good time to get a new tattoo?"
"First, there is never not a good time to get a new tattoo." She wiggled her eyebrows at her stepbrother but, being tattoo-less, he rolled his eyes. "Second, my tattoos are crucial to my work. You'll have to trust me on this."
Still smiling, he shrugged. "With my life."
Miguel returned at a jog.
"Sorry about that. I had to make sure the old man didn't have a heart attack." Miguel put his hands on his hips as he caught his breath. "So, what next?"
Viola crossed her arms, feeling excited energy zip through her body. "Is there a tattoo shop around here?"
"Sí, it's a few blocks down." Not fazed by the strange request, he pointed the way eagerly. "Do you want me to show you?"
"No thanks. I think we can take it from here." Viola shook his hand. "I really appreciate your help."
"Anytime, beautiful señorita." Still holding her hand, Miguel guided her away from the group and murmured, "I have to admit that I tried to stall you in the beginning. A soul as dark as his, does it deserve saving?"
"He's one of the best men I've met in a long time." Shaking her head, she extracted her arm gently from his grasp. "But either way, don't you think those souls deserve to know peace?"
"I do." His eyes lowered in humbled acceptance. "And if the Scotsman has earned the praise of one such as you, he must be worthy of saving."
Ian cleared his throat loudly, disrupting their murmured conversation. "We should probably get to the shop and make sure they can fit you in tonight."
"Sure, just a sec." Viola waved Ian off, then asked the brujo, "Before I go, Miguel, I'd like to see if you recognize a symbol. Do you have a pen?"
He extracted one from the inside pocket of his black jacket and passed it over. Not having any paper, she grabbed his hand and doodled a symbol that had haunted Viola for too many years. If only she could find someone who knew what the image meant. Twisting, Miguel smirked at Ian as if to imply that he was getting Vi's number. Boys.
"So?" Straightening, she gave back the pen. "Have you seen that symbol before?"
Miguel angled his hand and examined it but, unfortunately, shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't. What is it?"
She had no idea.
"Something you shouldn't wait to wash off." Ignoring her disappointment, Viola gave him a parting smile and made to rejoin her friends. "Thanks for your help."
"Wait, Señorita." Miguel grabbed her arm again and whispered, "I must warn you to be careful of the girl."
"What? Lana?"
"There's something different about her." He raised an uneasy hand, touching his fingers together for emphasis. "Something that's…not right."
"Take a look at my group, Miguel." She waited for him to peer from the orphaned Native American girl to the cursed Scotsman, and finally to the priest who could hear God in his head. "We specialize in not right. Trust me, she's exactly where she needs to be."
22
Reclining in the leather chair, Viola kept one arm above her head as the artist worked on her last tattoo. Inked over her ribcage, this was her third for the evening. The skin on her arm and collarbone still burned from the other fresh tats.
With her head lulling to the side, Vi watched the constant revelry on the streets. The growl of the ink gun and the overhead rock music drowned out the festival sounds. Ian appeared with Lana outside the big window. She stayed on the sidewalk, snapping endless photos, while he opened the jingling shop door.
"Hey," Viola said, getting his attention. "Did you guys have fun?"
Exaggerating his exhale, he came to stand by her chair. "There is way too much to see out there."
"I bet." She smiled at him. Why did he have to be so cute? "Where's Aaron?"
"He went back to the cemetery, said he'd meet us at the hotel for dinner." Leaning over her chair, Ian took a gander at the new Chaos symbol on her ribcage. "How are the tattoos coming along?"
"I'm all finished." The tattoo artist said, snapping her nicotine gum as she rolled her stool away. "We can settle up at the desk."
Already, the tug was changing. It wanted Viola outside and heading toward the cemetery. Strange, since she'd expected to return to the shrine right away. But there was something else too, something that caused the tug to falter. It felt like a glitch in an overworked computer program. That was odd—the tug was normally single-minded.
Shaking it off, Viola accepted Ian's hand and Viola hopped out of the chair. She pulled her tank down, careful not to touch the agitated skin. The first thing Vi was going to do when she got to the hotel was examine her new ink in the mirror. God, she fucking loved getting new tattoos.
The artist stepped behind a long graffiti-covered desk. "How ya gonna pay?"
"Cash." Viola dragged some bills from her rear pocket as Ian examined a poster featuring dozens of potential tattoos.
"Ailbeart led me to believe that the church doesn't pay you much," he said, squinting at a skull design.
"They don't." Viola signed a paper the artist slid in front of her and stretched her neck as the tug became overly persistent. Something was up. "They reimburse me for tattoos, though, since it's part of the job."
"Maybe I should get one," Ian mused.
A familiar chill rolled along Vi's spine, cutting off any snarky retort she might've had. The tug jerked her again and this time its purpose was clear. Forget the cemetery…something worse was coming. "Ian, I think we need—"
Viola dropped the change the artist gave her, seeing the strigoi looming behind the unaware Scotsman. The artist followed her gaze, then stumbled backward with an earsplitting scream. It shocked Vi out of her brief daze. She had to stop the strigoi from grabbing Ian, even if she didn't have a weapon to kill it.
"Lana!" Viola shouted and leapt at the creature.
Turning, Ian lurched against the wall with nowhere to go. The strigoi opened its mouth, exposing long and nasty fangs, as Viola landed on its back. She splayed her palms flat against its bare skin, then wrapped her legs around its midsection. No way was it going to shake her loose. "Adolebitque, motherfucker."
At her command, the crosses on her palms flared red. The strigoi stumbled away from Ian, wailing to high Heaven as its skin sizzled from the contact. Sorry, buddy. Heaven isn't taking calls from demons today.
Apparently not appreciating her inner snark, the demon reached around and sank its jagged nails into her. Viola cried out as it reopened some of her wounds. With little effort, the strigoi ripped her from its shoulders and tossed her like a ragdoll.
Not for the first time in her life, Viola crashed through a store window. The glass shattered, spraying the sidewalk, as she hit the cracked cement. People nearby scattered, gaping at her with wide eyes and spouting alarmed curses. No one, of course, came to her aid. For them, it was all part of the festival's craziness.
"Lana!" Viola finally got her assistant's attention and hastened to her feet. "Uriel!"
She brushed the glass from her clothes and glanced through the open window. The strigoi had Ian pinn
ed against the wall. Viola watched in horror as it raked a single claw down his neck. He winced from the pain, a swell of blood oozing from the cut. A long, forked tongue snaked out of the demon's mouth and the pink tentacle lapped up the blood in a single, languid swipe. Its head snapped back in ecstasy as a strange purr rolled from its throat. Ew.
Viola ran for the door, her boots crunching on the broken glass. "Now, Lana!"
"Catch!" From her crouched position in front of the duffel, Lana tossed the sword.
Without slowing, Viola snatched Uriel from the air and charged the shop. She busted through the door, letting it smack against the wall. Viola couldn't stop, not with the demon about to strike. As she ran, Vi angled the sword behind her head and swung like Babe—mother fucken—Ruth.
The blade cut through the air and Viola's eyes barely tracked the demon as it launched itself to the opposite wall, causing the sword to slice mere inches from Ian's nose. The strigoi gripped the concrete, its cloak fluttering around it. Putting the blade between herself and the demon, Vi moved to guard Ian.
The strigoi glared at the sword and hissed, "Uriel."
"Ah, so you recognize the blade that killed your brethren." Viola smiled, loving that she was able to cause a demon to fear.
"I will have the sinner's soul," the strigoi replied in Latin. "Then, I will carry yours to Hell myself."
Well, that was an unsettling thought. The demon leapt over the counter and the quivering tattoo artist, then disappeared out the rear door. Viola listened for fearful screams, but they never came. Of course not, at a glance, the strigoi probably seemed like any other costumed festival-goer. The demon would be long gone before anyone could notice otherwise.
"What the fuck?" Ian breathed. "I thought those things preferred stealth?"
"I guess it figured you were worth the risk," Viola mumbled and lowered the weapon.
Her adrenaline levels began dropping fast, causing uneasy trembles in her hands. Viola attempted to steady herself by sucking in slow breaths. The demon was gone, its dark energy fading with each second. Yet she still felt vulnerable, exposed.
Lana slammed through the front door. "Are you guys okay?"
"I'm fine." Viola spun to check Ian while Lana went to the cowering artist. "Are you hurt? Is the cut bad?"
"I don't think so," he exhaled and applied pressure to the gash, his eyes searching her body for injury.
"Let me see." Gently, Viola peeled away his bloody fingers. "We were lucky. It won't even need stitches."
Lucky didn't begin to describe it. She'd let her guard down, been caught without a weapon, and it was a God damned miracle that Ian wasn't dead. If the strigoi hadn't been a sin junkie—hadn't taken the time to savor its latest score—then Viola would be standing over Ian's corpse right now. While she was lying in broken glass, the demon would've ripped out his throat and ended it all.
Viola stumbled away from Ian, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. The world tilted. Ian reached to steady her, but Vi stepped out of his reach. Holy hell, she'd really screwed up this time. Heart pounding, Viola dropped Uriel. The metal clanked loudly against the hard floor. How could she have let Ian get that close to death? The vision of his dead body, of him surrounded by blood, filled her mind again.
Scrambling for the door, Viola gasped, "I need to get outside."
"Are you okay?" Ian shouted after her.
"I just need some air." Oh, God, she couldn't breathe.
Bursting into the streets, she collided into a passerby. Viola didn't stop to apologize. She stumbled away, not hearing their outraged grumbles. Unfortunately, being outside didn't ease her panic.
The festival was too much; body-to-body, skulls and symbols of death all around her. People laughed and danced to the loud music, jostling her as she fumbled through the crowded street. It was like some awful joke at her expense—look at the poor exorcist suddenly so afraid of losing someone that she was hyperventilating.
Two strong hands gripped Vi's shoulders and spun her around. Ian's blue eyes peered into hers, his eyebrows curving with concern. Everything fuzzy, Viola barely registered the giant skeleton floats and dancers swooping past them. Her focus stilled on the blood running from his neck, staining his shirt bright red.
With shaking fingers, Vi touched the scarlet plume and tears welled on her eyelids. "Oh, God, Ian. I can't…"
Her voice abandoned her, replaced by several short breaths. She couldn't look away from Ian's blood.
"You can't what?" he gently prompted, bending to peer into her eyes. "What's going on, Viola?"
Freed from her spiral by his tenderness, she whimpered, "I'm scared."
"Scared of what?" Ian asked, but she glanced at the ground and didn't answer as large tears fell from her face. He shook her. "Viola! What are you scared of?"
"I'm scared of losing you!" Viola's gaze shot up, meeting his. She clutched his arms, desperate for him to understand. "I'm so scared that I can't fucking breathe."
"You're not going to lose me." Pulling her against him, Ian's exhales tussled her hair. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
"But you will." She shoved him away. "Even if I save you from the strigoi, I'm still going to lose you."
"Viola, I don't understand," he pleaded.
She turned away and walked with the flow of the parade. Despite the festival chaos drowning out most sounds, she knew that Ian was close behind. Viola fought to calm herself, fought to keep it together, but she couldn't. Not anymore. Vi whirled on Ian.
"I tried not to fall in love with you. Everyone warned me not to because your life is someplace else." Dragging a hand through her hair, she swallowed hard against a new wave of tears. "I tried, Ian. I truly did, but it happened anyway. And now I can't stand for you to go."
"I won't leave, Viola." Ian ran his fingers down Vi's arms to calm her. "We're different."
"You're wrong. It's no different for us." Her voice cracked as she swept a fingertip under her eyes. "When you're safe, you'll have to return to your old life and I'll have to chase the next demon." Lower lip trembling, Viola rubbed her chest and stared up at him. "You see? Life will pull us apart, not tie us together."
Ian didn't say anything. He only watched her, a hundred thoughts seeming to flash across his eyes. Viola shook her head and moved around him, intent to head back to the tattoo shop.
Slowly, Ian's hand slipped around her arm and gently stopped her. Viola kept her eyes averted, covering her mouth as a couple fresh tears hit the ground. Not letting go, Ian stepped up to her and whispered, "So, marry me."
Breath catching, Vi gawked at him. "What did you just say?"
"Marry me, Viola," Ian rushed out, his fingers sliding down her forearm to hold her hand. "Take vows with me. Let that tie us together."
"You're insane," Viola scoffed as her heartbeat fluttered erratically. "We barely know each other, and you want to get married?!"
"I know all that I need to know about you." Chuckling, Ian threw out his arms. "You're brave and selfless. You have a depth that goes for miles, and a week with you has been more fun than a lifetime without you." He dropped his arms and went on softly, "You love so ferociously that once you start, you work yourself into a fit for fear of losing it." Ian paused to cup his hands around her face, still smiling like she was a dream come true. "If there's more about you that I need to learn, then let me spend the rest of my life learning it as your husband."
"You're serious." Viola was mesmerized, hardly able to believe what she was hearing.
"I told you that I would never hurt you, that I would never leave you." Ian's touch was unwavering, lending her some of his strength and surety. "Let me prove it. Please, marry me?"
Vi was breathless—mystified. Why would she agree to this? Hadn't her family made it clear that she was all wrong for a traditional life? Heh, but there was nothing traditional about this. Maybe this really could work…a non-traditional proposal for a woman with a non-traditional life. "Okay."
The word was out before t
he logical half of her brain could stop it. Viola started to grin. She wanted this—she wanted to throw herself into this love and run full speed. Consequences be damned—Viola's life motto.
"Wh—What?" Ian stuttered. "Are you saying yes, you'll marry me?"
Holy fuck yes, she was doing this! "Yes, I'm saying I'll marry you."
Ian raised his chin and let out the loudest whoop imaginable, yanking her hard against him. "I never thought being cursed would be the best thing that ever happened to me."
Smiling so hard her cheeks hurt, Vi patted his chest. "Speaking of which, we need to get your soul squared away right now."
"Whoa, whoa, slow your horses," he waved her off, adorably using a phrase that he'd probably heard from her grandparents. "Can you guarantee that you can get this blood money stuff fixed in an evening? If not, then I'm going to marry you tonight."
In all honesty, she couldn't. Given that the tug was pulling her toward the cemetery and not to the shrine, there could be more prep-work still to be done. "No, but what if the strigoi come after—"
"Nope. I'm not waiting," cutting her off, he slid his arms further around her and buried his face in the curve of her neck. "If I'm going to die tomorrow or the next day, I want to go having spent my last hours on earth with you as my wife."
"That's very romantic, Ian, but it's stupid to put this off." Viola struggled to push him away, his lips on her neck making her deliciously weak in the knees. "You're more at risk every second."
"Viola." He jerked back and leveled her with stern eyes. "I have faith that you'll keep me safe, but my gut is telling me not to wait. I need to be your husband as soon as I can be."
Hot damn, did he know all the right things to say.
"Well then, we'd better go find Lana and Aaron." Dancing excitedly in his arms, she shouted, "Because we're getting married!"
23
From a nearby boutique, Lana had snagged a white sundress for Viola to wear during the ceremony. Vi twisted in front of the church mirror, admiring the way the lacy fabric hugged her frame and fell a few inches above her knees. The outfit's effect was simple, sweet, and damn sexy with ivory high heels. Thankfully, it also hid her fresh bandages.
