by Jana Oliver
“Let me see.” He took her hand in his, and the pain eased.
“Wow, how did you…” Riley looked up at him as she spoke, then all the air fled her lungs.
Ori shimmered in a harsh, pulsating light. She might have been able to ignore that, but the immense wings behind him pretty much sealed the deal. They sat tight against his back and were pure white, each feather shimmering in the lights from the tents around them. As she stared in wonder, a woman walked by them toting a basket and humming to herself, failing to notice that Riley’s date glowed like a supernova.
I’ve been holding hands with an angel? Having hot thoughts about one of Heaven’s peeps?
“You’re an—”
Ori shook his head in dismay. “Not here,” he said. He flicked his hand and the scene changed.
* * *
Riley found herself surrounded by a deep green carpet of grass, blades bending in the faint breeze. Nestled within the green were bluebells, and in the distance, white clumps. The clumps moved.
“Sheep?” she asked, surprised.
Every now and then one would raise its woolly head, move a few steps, and start grazing again. They didn’t have sheep in the market, and there wasn’t grass like this, or a big blue sky.
“What is all this?” A scent tickled her nose and she placed it immediately. Watermelon.
Riley found Ori under a broad oak tree that had to be at least a century old, his wings hidden now. A dark blue blanket lay on the ground, along with a wicker picnic basket. On the blanket was a white china plate with slices of succulent watermelon, the black seeds dotting the firm red flesh.
“I thought we needed privacy,” he explained.
It was all so real. “Where is this place? How did we get here?”
“Just accept this as a gift from me.” He waved her closer.
A picnic with an angel? Her mind finally completed its reboot. And went suspicious.
“You’re not here to have me stop Armageddon or anything, are you?”
“No,” he said smiling.
“How do I know you’re not a demon playing games with my head?”
“You don’t,” he said. “You just have to trust me.” He smiled and beckoned to her again. “Come on, the watermelon is really good.”
Riley groaned to herself as she hiked up the hill. She paused at the edge of the blanket, arms crossed over her chest. She still wasn’t buying all this. “Why haven’t I been able to see your … angelness until now?”
“Because the timing wasn’t right,” he replied. “Unfortunately, one of the other Divines thought it would be amusing to alter that situation in the middle of the marketplace.” From the low rumble in his voice it was clear he wasn’t pleased by the prank.
“You mean I got bumped by an angel?”
A nod. Ori gestured toward the plate of watermelon. “Your favorite, I believe.” He knelt next to the picnic basket and retrieved a bottle of red wine, followed by two crystal glasses. Then a plate of cheese, sliced peaches, and frosty grapes.
“How do you do that?” she quizzed.
Ori’s face lit with a smile. “Divines are allowed small bits of creation,” he said, as if it were nothing.
She took another look around, inhaling the fresh air. “This isn’t small, Ori. This is amazing!”
Finally Riley gave in to the moment. What else could she do? It beat being bored to tears in a church basement. Besides, the smell of the watermelon was getting to her.
He fed her sliced peaches by hand, then the wine and the watermelon. They laughed as the juice rolled down her chin. The taste was extraordinary, like it was the best ever.
“Why does it feel different when I’m with you?” she asked dreamily. “Is it because of what you are?”
“That’s it exactly.” He seemed at ease here, not tense like he’d been at the market.
“So are you like my guardian angel or something?” That would totally rock.
“No, I’m not.”
“Oh,” she said, sincerely disappointed. “But you kept the Five from killing me.”
“It wasn’t your time to die,” Ori said simply.
Which meant he knew when her time was up.
She couldn’t ask that question. “So what do you do as an angel?”
“You mean besides giving pretty girls roses?” he said.
“Yes, besides that.”
“I’m a problem solver. I handle difficult situations.”
“Like…” she quizzed, beckoning with her hand for further information.
“Like that Geo-Fiend who killed your father. It’s a rogue demon. It must be destroyed.”
“So that’s what you do all the time?” she said, sneaking another piece of watermelon.
“I told you I was a demon hunter,” he said, brows furrowed. “I didn’t lie.”
“You just shaded the truth, a lot. You so didn’t mention the ‘I’ve got wings’ thing.”
“I didn’t want to scare you,” he said, his voice softer now.
“Do you always hang around pool halls?” she jested.
“Not usually. It was lucky I was there that night, or the Mezmer would have had your friend’s soul.”
Riley stilled. “Was it that close?”
“Yes. He was at the breaking point. I made sure it didn’t happen.”
She let out a whoosh of air in relief. “I wasn’t sure if he was okay. Beck wouldn’t say much about it. Pride and all.”
“He is his own master. Pride and all.”
Riley cocked her head. “Why did you save him?”
“Because he’s important to you, so that makes him important to me.”
She opened her mouth to protest, then realized it would be futile. “I do like Beck, at least when he’s not being a jerk.”
“I thought so,” Ori said, then popped a grape into his mouth. “Besides, you’ve lost too much already.”
“Like my dad,” Riley said. “Do you know who summoned him?”
“No, I don’t. It might shock you to know that Divines aren’t all-knowing.”
“Of course. That would be too easy.”
Ori put his arm around her, drawing her close. Initially she wasn’t sure if she wanted that, but eventually she snuggled next to him. She knew from the post-Allan experience that rebound romances weren’t a good idea. A rebound with an angel? That didn’t even register on the cosmic scale of “not a good idea.”
“I disagree,” Ori said. He delicately tipped her chin up with a finger. His eyes told her what he intended. And then he kissed her, without waiting for her verdict on the subject. Like the wine and the watermelon and everything else around them, the kiss was beyond what it should be. Every nerve in Riley’s body tingled, a Simon-level kiss on steroids. They kissed again, this time more deeply. Her body began to hum, like it was lit from within by a strange erotic fire.
Riley pulled out of his arms, her head swimming. “Too much wine,” she said, though she’d only had one glass.
Ori graciously allowed her the fib. He leaned back against the tree, one foot propped up. A scoundrel with that black hair skimming over his shoulders and those bold, dark eyes.
Get a grip, girl.
“Why are you are doing this? Spending time with me, I mean. You could have just followed me and I would have never known you were there.”
“I feel alive when I’m with you.”
She barely subdued the snort. “You’re an angel. You hang with God and all those other divine guys. I’m just … me.”
“You’re Riley Anora Blackthorne,” he replied, as if that settled the matter. “You deserve better than what you’ve had.”
Her mind traitorously returned to Simon and how he found more comfort with his rosary than he did with her. And Beck, the constant annoyance in her life. What would they think if they knew she was hanging with an honest-to-God for-real angel?
Riley felt a faint touch on her arm.
“Neither of them can know the truth.”
“Okay, that’s way freaky,” she replied. “You know what I’m thinking.”
“Only when there’s a lot of emotion behind the thought.”
Then Ori was near her again, looking into her eyes, his lips barely brushing her cheek.
“One more kiss,” he said, “then I’ll take you home.”
They took their time, and when they finally broke apart Riley could feel her heart hammering. Amazing.
“Amazing?” he said, that wicked grin blossoming.
He’d read her mind. Again. “Stop that,” she chided.
“You’ll get used to it.”
“Only if I can hear your thoughts.”
“Maybe that’s possible. Let’s find out.”
The angel pulled her close. His skin felt warm, toasty even. There was nothing at first, then the silent brush of wings against her mind.
Hello, Riley.
She yanked herself away, blinking in surprise. “I heard you!”
He nodded, satisfied. “It is said if a mortal can hear an angel’s thoughts, they were meant to be together.”
Together?
He pulled her close again, putting his forehead against hers. She heard him as plain as if he’d spoken the words.
You will be my downfall, Riley Blackthorne.
She surrendered to another kiss, one that seemed to stir something deep inside her, like a flower unfolding in the glorious sunshine. For the first time wild, impossible futures began to form in her mind.
“Good night, Riley,” he said, and then she was standing next to her car just outside the market, keys in hand. Ori was nowhere to be seen, but she could still taste his kisses on her lips, the brush of his fingers on her cheek, the warmth in her belly.
Then it all faded, like a dream. Even the watermelon on her tongue was gone.
As if it never existed.
* * *
Beck felt like an idiot. He’d been sitting in his truck for the past hour, playing the same Carrie Underwood song over and over until it sawed across his nerves. It was now close to eleven, and Paul’s daughter wasn’t at the church yet.
“Where the hell are ya?” he snarled. “If yer…” He clenched his teeth, trying hard not to think of what might be happening between that slick bastard and Paul’s little girl.
One moment Beck knew what he was doing was right, then the next he felt like a damned stalker. She wasn’t a kid, even if he tried to act like she were. He’d not been fair when he said all her boyfriends had been jerks. There were a couple boys between Allan and Simon who had treated her decently. But deep in his gut he was sure this Ori guy was a bad move.
During his hour’s vigil he’d come to one conclusion: He was losing his mind when it came to Paul’s daughter. He was jealous. No way to deny it. When he’d seen that man put his arm around her, he’d wanted to rip the guy to pieces.
I gotta get a grip on this. Can’t keep goin’ down this road.
Beck blew out a lungful of air in relief when Riley’s car pulled to the curb and she stepped out. She had a strange look on her face and wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings, so he tracked her until she entered the church and the door closed behind her. At least he knew she was safe.
And alone.
He started his truck, then just sat there. After a moment’s consideration, he headed toward the Westin. Justine might know something about this Ori guy, and besides, she had her own brand of magic, the kind that would help Beck forget the one girl he’d never have.
* * *
Ori found his nemesis in the old cemetery near the master trapper’s empty grave. The earth had been returned to the hole now, but it had settled, causing cracks to form along the edges where it met solid ground. He made no effort to cover his approach but landed squarely in front of Sartael, wings unfurled and prepared for battle.
“What were you playing at?” he shouted, his hands fisted. “Why did you reveal me? You nearly ruined everything.”
Sartael observed his anger with cool detachment. “You know why.”
Ori’s fists unclenched and he ruffled his wings in agitation. “The rogue demon will come for her and I will kill it. That’s been my plan all along.”
Sartael eyed him gravely. “I have heard all this before. He is not pleased with your progress. If that does not spur you on, then you are a fool.”
“I will speak with Him—”
“That is not necessary. You are to use your special talents this time.”
Ori studied his foe, unsure if he could trust him. “Is that His order?”
“You would question Him?” Wings beating in unison, Sartael rose into the sky, sending decaying leaves billowing underneath him in a whirlwind. “If you do not prevail, I shall. And I promise, you will not like the outcome.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
As the morning newscast droned on the television in Harper’s office, Riley worked on the record keeping. It put her in the unpleasant position of having her back to her master, but he seemed less likely to leave bruises these days, what with his injured ribs.
“Done yet?” he asked, muting the sound.
“Yes, I got it. Between the money for the demons we’ve trapped, the disability payment from the Guild, and the scrap metal sales, you’ve got one thousand, two hundred and eighty-seven dollars coming in over the next three weeks.” She turned in the squeaky office chair. “Is that enough?”
Harper gave a slow nod. “Better than I thought it’d be. I’ll be able to take you and Saint out next week sometime. In the meantime, you trap with Beck.”
Trapping demons with Beck? That had been okay in the past, but after last night she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be anywhere near him.
“Okay,” she replied. There wasn’t any other answer she could give.
The front door to the warehouse pushed open, causing Riley to take a deep breath and hold it. Was it the hunters? What would her master do if the Vatican came calling?
“Master Harper, good morning,” Simon said, moving slowly into the office. She noticed he didn’t bother to include her in the greeting.
“Saint. How you doing?” their master called out.
“Better.”
“Simon,” she said. Only then did his crystal-blue eyes move in her direction.
“Riley.” His voice was as cold as a tray of ice cubes dumped down her back.
More drama. Just what I don’t need.
She moved out of the chair and let her former boyfriend sink into it. His face was as pale as his white-blond hair, and he had one hand placed on his abdomen like he expected his intestines to fall onto the floor at any moment.
The fact that he was up and moving at all was astounding. Heaven really did deliver on their promise, even if it did have unintended consequences.
“You sure you’re good enough to be here?” Harper asked, rising from the recliner.
“For a little while. Thought I could do the paperwork.”
“Give him the reports, then,” Harper said and shuffled off toward the bathroom.
Riley moved the stack of papers in front of Simon. “I haven’t gotten to these yet.”
A nod. Then he picked up a pencil and began to work through the trapping reports. The moment Riley heard the bathroom door shut, she knelt down until her eyes were level with his.
“You sicced the hunters on me,” she accused, keeping her voice low.
Simon’s eyes bored into her like fiery blue lasers. “If you’re innocent, no problem,” he said levelly.
“How could you do that? I thought we had something, Simon.”
“We did, until you showed your true colors.”
“I haven’t changed,” she said. “You just think I have.”
“Don’t try to reason with me,” he retorted. “I know what you are, and I know who you work for.”
“And just how can you tell that?” she demanded. “Is there like some mark on my forehead or something?”
“I just know,” he said, his voice less sure now.
“I’m not the only one who’s figured it out. He told me all about—”
When Harper exited the bathroom, she lurched to her feet.
“If you don’t need anything else, sir,” she said, wanting to put distance between herself and the cold-hearted monster sitting at the desk. This time it wasn’t her master.
Harper waved her off. “Keep your phone on. If a call comes in, I’ll need you to take care of it.”
As she left the building, she could hear them talking. She bet Simon would waste no time telling their master all about her “deal with Hell.”
And Harper will believe every word of it.
* * *
With time to kill before class, Riley flopped onto her own bed and stared up at the ceiling. She’d managed to cross off one item on her To Do list—groceries. The really big things were still undone, looming over her head like some ancient curse.
Though the tenant upstairs was vacuuming the floor and every now and then there would be a thump as the vacuum bumped into a piece of furniture, it felt good to lay in her own bed. The sounds of domesticity comforted her. The ache in her chest was still there, aggravated by seeing Simon in all his cruel and unrepentant glory. He really did believe she was evil. Maybe Heaven hadn’t healed him as well as they thought. Maybe the lack of oxygen to his brain did do some damage.
Either way, Riley knew from past experience that this loss would eventually contract to a hard knot but never disappear. She still had one for Allan and one for Beck after he’d blown her off a couple years before. Simon’s would be the biggest.
The vacuuming ended and there was relative silence. Riley’s eyes closed, and for a brief moment she swore she could taste watermelon on her tongue as the soft brush of wings in her mind lulled her to sleep.
The knock at her door roused her out of a totally X-rated dream that involved a certain hunkalicious angel, no clothes, and much heavy-duty horizontal exercise. “Oh wow,” she said, fanning herself. It was good she was at home. Having that kind of dream at the church was probably a mortal sin.
Another series of knocks. “Miss Blackthorne?” It was a female voice, one with a strange accent.
Riley relaxed. It wasn’t the demon hunters; they didn’t have women on their crew. Maybe they’d decided it wasn’t worth the hassle to check her out.
