“Damn it. Sorry, Dee. She still thinks she’s twenty-five and hot. You have my permission to tell her you usually get tips for being gawked at like a piece of meat.”
“The bird’s done.” Jerry had backed away, but his hands still rested on her hips, and hers on his shoulders. “We’ll have everything out in a few minutes.” As Dee left, Jerry turned his attention back to Riona, motioning between them. “This isn’t over.”
But Riona had come back down to Earth. “Yes, it is. That was a mistake. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let you do that and I’m …” Riona’s fingertips went to her head, massaging her temples. “I’ve lost count of how many glasses of wine we’ve had. But the food smells great. You really can cook.”
“I excel at heating things up,” Jerry assured her. “And yes, you are drunk, but you’re a truthful drunk. Those kisses just now: oodles and oodles of truth. Ree …” Her chin fought only for the slightest of moments to his efforts to coax it up. He stepped in closer. “Why are you resisting this? Screw prophecy and everything else. Look at me, am I really that unworthy?”
Her eyelids fluttered closed as her forehead fell to press against his lips. “It’s not that. It’s … Marc and I …”
“Marc and you, yeah, you had potential. But Riona, you know there was only one way for that to turn out: badly.” Her eyes shot him daggers. “I’m not saying Marc wasn’t a standup guy, no knocking him, but his rules were already set. You’d both either have been heartbroken and bitter, or together and damned. But you and me? We make sense. We were great when we were together. We clicked, if you want to use that tired old phrase.”
A smile ghosted her lips. “We clicked a lot.”
They both knew the loaded comment that was, and their shared grin confirmed it to each other.
Reaching up, Jerry brushed a rebelling strand of her ruby locks from her face. “Just give me a chance. Give me a chance to show you I am actually the man you fell in love with once.”
Riona sighed and pulled back. He let her go; there was nothing to be gained by forcing an answer out of her now, and far too much to lose.
“I can’t say yes to something like that.”
She honestly looked upset by that fact. Which was only about one-percent of how Jerry felt hearing her say it.
“But …” She paused, her hands on the turkey-laden serving tray. “Will you take a rain check on that? For now?”
Jerry sprang to her side and pushed a kiss to her cheek, beaming like a LED gone crazy. “I’ll take anything you’re willing to give me. I’m going to show you, Riona. Love me, and I won’t ever hurt you. You can trust me.”
Chapter 21
Ramiel had never developed a tolerance for, or understanding of, the human beautification of food binges. Well, other than those held in recognition of religious holidays for obvious reasons, and cheesecake because, damn, even an angel got a sweet tooth from time to time. In any other epoch, and had it been any other Pure Soul, he would have flat out rejected an invitation to something as silly as Thanksgiving dinner. One held in the middle of December, no less. But for Riona … Well, that child was just in a world of hurt and confusion. Any excuse to spend time Earthside and be with her, he took.
The idea struck him offhandedly that if he was going to go through with this charade of being a human guest—Riona had warned him when summoned earlier in the day that Molly Dade would also be darkening her door—he was going to do it up right. No materializing into their midst among a halo of divine ether. He sauntered up to the front door of the Boston brownstone, swept the snowflakes from his overcoat, and rang the doorbell.
Through the frosted glass of the door frame the silhouette of fine, feminine curves came in to sight. Riona, he assumed. When instead the door opened and the Greek beauty whose visage could make a gay man spring to attention stared back at him perplexedly, he felt his temporary humanoid body have all the air knocked from his lungs.
“Steph?”
“Ramiel?”
Gaping, he could hear her breath quicken at the sight of him, saw the flush that filled her cheeks. Damn, he loved the reaction he had on her. He wasn’t sure if it was just his presence, or if it was the fact that he had decided to sport a full Armani suit, right down to a striped gray tie he understood was all the rage these days. Ramiel ached to pull her to him and tell her, no show her, the effect she had on him.
“I didn’t know you were going to be here,” he offered. He flinched his eyebrows, hoping she’d understand that he was anything but displeased by the discovery. “Nephilim aren’t really into the whole giving thanks thing.”
“I really wish you’d get over all those damned presumptions you have. We’re not all deviant malcontents.” She crossed her arms over her chest—oh God, to be her arms at that moment—and leaned against the doorframe. “My brother invited me.”
The angel nodded. “I should have expected that. Um, could we chat for just a sec?”
He tugged just hard enough to show he was serious, but not enough to cause her pain. Looking just inside the door, no other curious faces appeared.
“Ramiel, what the hell?”
“They can’t know, okay?” He held her at arm’s length, fighting his own temptation to close that distance. “This whole thing between you and me, we have to keep it to ourselves.”
“Chill, angel. I’m not about to go off blabbing about my sex life to my brother and his purity posse. Besides, I don’t think they’re much in a mood to talk.”
His head tilted. “What’s that mean?”
“Just humans acting very humanly. Come inside and see.”
The impressive spread of dishes and condiments looked like the table had been carpet bombed by a sortie of Martha Stewart wannabees. A golden brown turkey sat on a platter amidst satellites of mashed potatoes, gravy, rolls, cranberries, pumpkin pie, and some gooey, toasted white puff. A green and auburn tablecloth served as the perfect canvas for a scene Rockwell would have crowed over. Empty wine glasses and uncorked bottles tricked out the sight as class-a middleclass Americana. It gave the room that perfect lived-in, boozed-up ambiance.
A drunk demigod and drunker ex-demon sat at the corner of the table, all their earthly honor riding on a pending victory in an arm wrestling match. They didn’t even stop to look up as the angel passed into the room.
“Who in the hell are you now?”
Ramiel swung about. Molly Dade’s minuscule frame on the couch swam under a crocheted throw, a plushy pillow, and a magazine. She looked like something from a movie in which a mad scientist’s experiments had gone terribly wrong, shrinking humans to three-quarter’s size, but leaving the surrounding furnishings unharmed. She stared up at him in a manner that suggested she was anything but impressed by his drop-dead gorgeous physique.
Not that that bothered Ramiel at all, of course.
“I’m Ram … Um, call me Ramon,” he quickly corrected, not sure if she already knew that or not. Her face showed no signs of recognition, at least. “I’m a friend of Riona’s. And Dee’s. And … well, I’m not a friend of the other one, but I’m bound by contract to acknowledge his existence.”
Placing her hands on her leg, Molly pushed herself to her feet, letting the blanket fall to the floor and placing the magazine on the coffee table. She reached down to the handle of her rolling oxygen tank as she began to shuffle toward the dining room. “Yeah, I’m not too hot on that goofball either.” There was enough gravel in her voice to pave three miles of the 80. “And what about the Barbie doll? You acknowledge that one by contract, too?”
Ramiel caught Persephone’s eyes. They both blushed. “Steph and I have an occasional exchange of … words.”
Molly shooed him with a wave of her hand. “Some company my daughter keeps. No wonder she never comes to visit. Where the hell is she anyway? Riona! RIONA FRANCINE DADE! You’re keeping your guests waiting. Get out here, or they’ll think I was an unfit mother, raising you to be so rude.”
Riona bustled into the dining
room en route from the kitchen, her cheeks redder than beets. “Momma, there’s tons of other reasons you were unfit. Ram …”
“Ramon!” Persephone interjected, drawing everyone’s attention as she pushed the angel forward. “… has just arrived, Riona. I hope you don’t mind that I let him in.”
Let him in? Boy, did she ever …
He took the witch in his arms. Her floral scent mixed with something bold and about twenty-five proof. Drawing away, he examined her face, noticing how her pupils made her look like an anime princess and noting the beads of sweat dotting her brow.
“Thanks for coming! I was beginning to think you had bailed on us. How are you? Can I get you something to drink, Ronald? Um, Ryan. What … what was your name again?”
“Ramon,” Ramiel repeated.
“Ramon?” Riona repeated the number through a giggle, bitting her balled up first. She leaned in close to him and whispered, “Isn’t saying that’s your name telling a lie, Ramon?”
He matched her volume. “Not technically. I only told her to call me that, didn’t say it was my name. There’s a thousand roads around the truth.” He turned to Jerry and Dee, who had just seemed to acknowledge his existence. “Sure you got anything left? Y’all look three sheets to the wind and six bottles toward the floor.”
Dee bounced up and assumed a posture more befitting of a Hollywood supersized gorilla scaling the Empire State building. “They’re tipsy, but I’m only drunk. No, wait! What I said, but the other way around.”
“Pfft! Don’t be silly,” Riona resumed, lurching to the right as she guided him to the table. “I only bought six bottles, and we have at least one bottle left.”
“Had.” Jerry thrust a purple-tinted wine flask into the air. “Dee and I just topped off. Sorry, Riona did you want me? I mean, more?”
“Easy there, Jer-Bear. You know I get frisky when I’m drunk. And you look …” Riona’s voice trailed off, but her eyes stayed hungrily fixed on the ex-demon. She clapped her hands and smiled. “I’ll go fetch the brandy.”
Ramiel’s eyes followed her as she scampered out of the room and into the kitchen. When he looked back to the table, he caught sight of Jerry, sitting in his chair, slowly traipsing his fingers over his collarbone.
The ex-demon shrugged when he noticed he had an audience. “What can I say? She’s right. Riona and booze … a very sultry mix.”
Molly, having finally achieved the table, tsked and threw her hands out to smack Jerry upside the head. “Don’t you have any respect for your elders, boy?”
As though her lashing had actually hurt, Jerry rubbed the side of his head. “I could say the same. I only have a few thousand years on you.”
“Bad news or good news?” Riona stumbled back into the room, a tall glass bottle barely concealed behind her.
“Bad news!” Dee’s fist pounded his fist.
That poor table wasn’t going to last the year at this rate.
“Pllltp!” A spray of spit flex from Riona’s mouth. “Fine. The bad news is, there’s no brandy. The good news is …” The bottle of incriminating liquid went up over her head. “… that I found the tequila!”
Riona lunged toward her seat at the end of the table as though breaking out in a spontaneous display of performance art. She didn’t sit in her chair as much as surrender to it as if forced at gunpoint. How they had managed to bring everything from the kitchen to the table without a major accident proved mysterious. Perhaps Persephone had helped.
Molly Dade grumbled something about Irish genetics and Riona’s ability to “get sauced” as she took a place next to Dee. After rolling her oxygen tank in to position, she reached out and slapped Dee square on the shoulder. The demigod looked more surprised than hurt, especially when Molly launched in to a screed about the evils of drinking and how he, as the most senior of the lot, should set a good example.
“I’m drinking away my pain. This isn’t a good example?” Dee laughed, putting his arm around Molly.
The old woman looked away disgustedly but made no move to remove herself.
“Pain of what?” Persephone’s face showed sincere concern.
Dee’s eyes narrowed on his sister as she sat down between Riona and Jerry on the opposite side of the table. Too many gestures passed between them to be just a warning expression. Ramiel had always hated the Nephilim’s telepathic ability. Usually, however, they were kind enough not to go to radio silence with others in the room. Then again, Dee was drunk off his ass. Maybe he didn’t want to know.
“Oh, Dionysius.” Persephone’s head tilted to the side, a compassionate smile softening her features. “I’m so sorry.”
To everyone’s amazement, Molly began hitting herself in the side of the head.
“Momma, what the hell are you doing?” Riona rambled off.
Molly leaned in slightly. “Hearing aid battery must be going again.” She boxed her ears a few more times before adding, “Well, let’s get to it.”
Dee’s hand lashed out toward a bowl of steaming green beans, but Molly struck his mitts like a felon.
“After grace,” she admonished, looking expectantly around the table at the blank stares. “Fine, since it seems you’re all as much heathens as my daughter, I’ll say grace. Dear Lord,” she began, and though it was true that none of the others would ascribe the term practicing anything to themselves, they had enough proof of the divine to bow their heads respectfully.
Or maybe it was that they’d passed out; Ramiel couldn’t be sure.
“We ask you that you look down on our meal today and know that we give thanks for your blessings. You make our table and our hearts heavy with bounty. Thank you, dear God, for this beautiful meal, the health of those gathered here today, and for the ability for people to change. It is for that reason I can still have faith that you will show my errant daughter the truth of her transgressions and open her heart to recant her sins and live in your glory before she winds up burning in Hell forever and ever. Amen.”
He listened for lightning. There was none. He expected an earthquake. The ground stayed solid. Cracking an eye and looking at Riona, he at least thought he’d see a glare. What Ramiel actually observed, however, was far scarier and foreboding.
Riona.
Praying.
Her lips moved silently, her head still tilted down, her hands clasped before her on the table. Ramiel knew that some humans—while inebriated—found themselves in the midst of a religious experience, but this was astounding. By the time she opened her eyes a few minutes later, everyone was gaping at her. Except for Molly, who just observed with a look of joy clouded with arrogance.
“Amen,” Riona said at last. “Thanks, Momma. Before we go all Texas Chainsaw Massacre on this …” her hand motioned toward the platter in the middle of the table, “poor, deliciously-roasted bird, I want to say something. It’s the middle of December, so you’re probably all wondering why I decided on a Thanksgiving dinner.”
“It’s December?” Molly Dade crooned her head left and right, looking for confirmation.
“Yes, Momma, it is,” Riona said. She poured herself a fresh shot and held it out before her. A few drops trickled down the side of the glass when she had problems leveling it out. “Last night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about … someone who recently exited my life, and how I never had a chance to tell him before he left how much I appreciated him. Then I began thinking about how I never really tell anyone what I feel about them, I thought that has to stop. Because we just don’t know, do we, how much time God is going to give us? We don’t know when our number will be punched. I owe each of you a debt, and I don’t want to have it happen again, that I don’t get a chance to say it.”
Confusion filled Ramiel as Riona stopped, her elbow lowering to the table. He thought at first she was crying, until a laugh bleated from her reddened face.
“And I almost screwed this up!” she bellowed. “I thought I’d make you all a big dinner, and I couldn’t do it. Jerry cooked all this. Jerry
saved it. Jerry saved …” The corners of Riona’s mouth dropped as her eyes fixed on the grinning ex-demon. “… me. Jerry saved me. I never said thank you, did I? Well, I’m saying it now. Thank you. I love you.”
At that, Ramiel felt slapped in the face. Had Jerry done it? Had he actually succeeded in wooing the witch? But just as quickly as his heart inflated at thinking the prophecy was coming true, Ramiel got gut punched as Riona held her glass up and saluted everyone at the table.
“I love all of you!” she declared before kicking back the tequila. She wiped her mouth off on her sleeve and slammed the cup down. “Now, let’s slice up this bird and go crazy! Where’s the knife?”
Molly surveyed the room confusedly. “Jerry? Who’s Jerry?
“I took it back to the kitchen,” Persephone piped in. “After I saw how … um, spirited you all were, I didn’t want any accidents to happen. I’ll go fetch it, but I think Ramon should carve.”
The witch jumped to her feet and, promptly, fell on her ass. She recovered quickly enough, but embarrassment warmed her cheeks. “No, I got … I got one in my bag.”
She stumbled across to a buffet table where her bag sat. A moment later, Riona pulled out an eight-inch silver blade mounted on a bejeweled hilt, sending a ripple of excitement through the room.
Persephone blanched, leaping back from the table as though realizing it was covered in snakes. “Holy fuck, where the hell did you get one of those?”
Riona examined the object in her hands with a furrowed brow. “What? It was my dad’s. And, oh yeah, Marc used it to kill himself. If it can slice up a priest, it can probably slice up some poultry. Who wants a leg?”
Molly’s eyebrows arched. “Marc? I thought he was Marc?” she asked, pointing to a confused and befuddled Jerry across the table.
Riona turned the knife point to the table and used the butt of the hilt to prop up her elbow. “Funny story, Momma. That isn’t Marc. It used to be Marc. You know that Jerry guy I raved to you about and thought was ‘the one’? Yup, that’s him now. Which reminds me … Good call, Momma. You always said the devil was going to come find me and drag me into Hell someday. I should have listened, ‘cause he tried. But Marc, who actually was ‘the one,’ as it turns out, killed himself to take my place. Oh, and here’s the kicker.” She broke out in a round of laughter that would have given a clown a conniption fit. “Marc was a Catholic priest, so he couldn’t have really been the one anyways. Didn’t keep my sorry ass from wanting him, though. So in the end, damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Now seriously,” she readied the dagger in carving position, levitating it over a juicy, brown breast, “anybody for some dark meat?”
Once You Go Demon (Pure Souls) Page 16
