“Your mither,” he said, his deep Scottish brogue stronger than Sean’s. “She was a guid woman, son.” Terry nodded and the man’s eyes settled on Armen. “And who’s this lovely young lass?”
“This is Armen, Uncle Seamus,” Terry replied, placing an arm around her shoulders.
Armen held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Seamus brushed her hand to the side. “I’ll nae shake your hand when my nephew has his arm around you like that. C’mere.” He wrapped his burly Terry-like arms around her in a tight hug. “Welcome to the family.”
Armen choked on her words and attempted to play it off as laughter. “Thank you.” She didn’t know what else to say to him.
A long line formed behind Seamus, and Terry touched his arm. “Do you think you could take Armen away from this, please? I don’t think she’s up for it.”
“Aye,” Seamus replied, took Armen’s hand, and placed it on his arm. “Come, lass, let’s wander over here and see how many spirits we can disturb, shall we?”
The laugh forced its way out, and Seamus led her away from the crowd. She quickly covered her mouth.
“Noo, noo, lass, there’s no need to be ashamed of a little laughter,” Seamus said. “I’m a right funny man anyway.”
She chuckled as he led her to a stone bench and offered her a seat before sitting next to her.
“Noo, Armen, tell me what you do fer a living, besides making my nephew a very happy man.”
Armen looked up at him. “How in the world can you see that right now?”
Seamus’ thin lips parted, baring age-worn and coffee-stained teeth. “I can see the sparkle in his eye when he says your name, deary. Come, come, what do you do?”
“I’m a medical examiner,” she replied and waited for the jokes to begin, but thought they would be inappropriate, given the setting.
“Ah, you play with dead people. Nice,” he said with a grin. “Ever had anyone come back to life on you?”
“Um, no,” she replied, and gave a small laugh at the crack he’d made. “They’re quite cold when they get to me.” She held up a finger. “Although, in the field, it’s a bit touch and go with that.”
Seamus’ loud laughter had a few people turning their heads. “A sense of humor, I love it. You’ll do well in this family.”
“Um, yeah,” she said softly and looked away.
Seamus shifted on the bench, turning more toward her. “Are ye nae dating my nephew?”
Armen looked at her hands. “Well, we haven’t really been on a date yet, sir. We just work together a lot.”
“I never would’ve guessed it from the way he looks at you.”
“Yeah, I know,” she said with a sigh and looked over to Terry, who had person after person hugging him.
“You look at him the same way, y’know, but there’s something a bit different about it. Like you think you don’t deserve him.”
She shifted her gaze to Seamus. “Is it that obvious?”
He shook his head. “I’m a bit keen on those things. Besides, Terry has mentioned you.”
“He has?” She was shocked, though she shouldn’t be. She’d known about Terry’s feelings for some time.
“Of course, you’re a braw lass. Why wouldn’t he mention you?”
“I’m sorry, braw?” Armen had heard a lot of terms in her lifetime, but that one wasn’t familiar.
“Guid,” Seamus replied with a wink. “Ye met on the job?”
Armen gave a short nod. “It was a while back. Well, technically he saw me two months before we ever conversed.”
“Ah, well, Terry can be a bit shy. Can’t blame the man after what happened with the last woman he cared about.”
“Last woman?” She never heard him mention a girlfriend or wife. “What happened?”
“If ye dinnae know already, I’ll nae tell you. Terry’d have my hide for divulging such information before he has the chance to.”
Armen had the distinct impression that it was something really bad, considering the grim look on Seamus’ face, no matter how brief. “That’s fine. I can wait a pretty damn long time.”
“You must have the patience of a Saint, then,” he said. “Because it’ll take a pretty damn long time before he’ll tell you.”
She cringed. “Hardly.”
He chuckled softly. “Your name, Armen, it sounds familiar. Might I ask where your mither came up with such a name?”
She stiffened and cleared her throat. “I don’t have a mother.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, deary,” he said. “Forgive me.”
“It’s okay. It happens a lot.”
“’Course it does. Anyone who’s had both parents in the mix is bound to assume at some point in their life that everyone else has the same thing. It was rude and I apologize.”
“You already apologized. It’s fine.” She now felt incredibly uncomfortable. Armen didn’t care to discuss her parent, which was where that conversation always went to next.
“What about your father?”
Yep, there it is. “Oh, He disowned me.”
“What in God’s name for?” Shock morphed his face. “From what I can tell, you’re a wonderful young lass.”
She chuckled. “It’s a really long story. But thank you.” She was quite certain he knew a good portion of the story, considering he was Sean’s brother and if he was any sort of a religious man.
Armen watched Terry walk toward her and Seamus. The suit he wore hid his bulk well, making him look like a sleeper—a person others misjudge in their ability to defend themselves. And boy, could Terry ever defend himself.
He helped Armen to her feet and brushed his hand across her cheek. “Has my uncle been keeping you entertained?”
“Oh yes, he’s a right funny man.”
Seamus laughed as he stood. “I like her, boy.”
“Yes, he can be.” He looked down at her legs. “Still doing okay down there?”
She no longer needed the cane, telling her the injury wasn’t as serious as she’d thought. “It’s not hurting as much.”
“Good.” He looked to Seamus.
“We’ll be heading back to the house noo.” Seamus turned and walked off.
“Right behind you.” Terry led Armen to the car slowly. His father was ahead of them and climbed into the limousine in front of his Lincoln. He helped her into the car and they had to wait a few minutes for everyone to get into their vehicles. Seamus and his wife climbed into the limo with Sean.
Terry slid his hand over hers. “Did you see her?”
Armen only nodded once, her throat closing with emotion as the image of Lucille appeared in her mind.
“Was that all she said, that she loved me?”
She met his eyes. “She didn’t speak, Terry. She couldn’t.”
He frowned. “Why not?”
“The dead can’t speak.” She stared out the Lincoln’s front window. “At least, not to me.”
He turned his entire body toward her. “Then how do you know she said that?”
Armen sighed. “I told her to tell my son that I love him. She nodded and looked at you and then back to me. It was understood.”
Terry looked down at their hands. “Did she look . . . happy?”
“She’s happy now.” She covered his hand with hers. “I directed her toward the Light.”
Terry quickly raised his eyes to hers. “She wasn’t in the light before?”
Armen shook her head. “She hadn’t found it yet.”
“Really? How?”
Armen’s heart threatened to choke off her air flow as it leapt into her throat, and she pushed back the tears and swallowed to clear her airway. “It only happens when one experiences that type of death.”
“What do you mean?”
How can he not understand this? “Terry, Sariel . . . . Look, I don’t know what happened, how he killed her exactly, but whatever he did, he trapped her.” She studied his expression, determining how much she should tell him, but decided to j
ust tell him the end because in the short time she’d been flesh, she’d learned that humans couldn’t handle hearing the details of a loved one’s death and afterlife. That they couldn’t deal with hearing the truth. “I released her.”
Terry opened and shut his mouth a few times. Realization dawned of the torture Lucille had endured and eventually succumbed to. “Oh my God.”
Giving in to a demon’s torture, especially one of Sariel’s standing, bending to his will, was comparable to submitting yourself before the Morning Star. It explained why his father reacted the way he had, why he went after the demon on his own, even though he never would have been able to destroy him. Sean Armstrong, the ex-priest now demon wrangler, would have sacrificed his own soul to save his wife’s.
And Sariel knew it would happen.
Armen understood that quite well. In a way, she’d done the very same thing for Sean a few years ago.
The drive to the house remained quiet aside from the rumble of the Lincoln’s engine. Terry didn’t even turn on the radio. Armen sat still and stared out the window, leaving her hands to fidget. She had a good pull on a long black thread in the side seam of her skirt when Terry said her name and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
Concern washed over his face. “Are you all right? You seem a bit jumpy.”
Armen looked down at her fidgeting hands and flattened them against her legs. “I’m fine. You just caught me off guard, that’s all.”
“Looks a hell of a lot more like something’s got you on edge.”
She turned to face him. “I’m. Fine. Terry.”
“Oh-kay.” A long silent pause filled the air while Terry tapped his fingers against the steering wheel to a tune only he could hear. “Thank you for helping my mom.” He looked back to the road for the umpteenth time, but Armen could tell he didn’t believe for a second that she was fine.
“You’re welcome,” she replied softly.
“Knowing that you released her from her fate means more to me than you’ll ever know, more than I can express in words.”
“I was only doing what was right.” She turned to gaze out the window once more. “She doesn’t deserve their tortures.”
Again, Terry was silent as he followed the limousine to his parents’ home. He had voiced that he didn’t like the idea of having anyone at the house just yet. They’d barely cleaned and cleansed the home.
Armen turned her head in his direction again, her eyes studying his face once more. He seemed to age over the last few days, lines creasing around his eyes and mouth, the strain evident. Neither of them had slept much, and the dark circles under Terry’s eyes showed it. She was pretty damn certain she looked like shit too, and didn’t bother to check the visor for a vanity mirror. She doubted there was one in this classic beast.
“You need a good rest.” She turned back to the landscape.
“We both do, I think.” His reply was soft, gentle. “Maybe tonight.”
Armen nodded silently. “Maybe.”
“I don’t know if I want to leave my father in that house. What if . . . something happens?”
“Sariel’s gone, Terry.” She shifted her head and eyes to his face again. “You took care of that.”
“But what if another one comes?”
“Sariel was the cause of everything. All should be quiet now.” For a while. Exactly how long that while would be, she didn’t know. Demon time was much different than human time. Shorter, yet longer. Longer, yet shorter. It all depended on which level one was standing in and with whom they were dealing. Sariel tended to make things last as long as possible, but worked quickly to get a jump on whatever torture he had planned.
After a few miles, he spoke again. “Did you love him?”
Armen damn near snapped her neck, and certainly cracked a vertebra or two, she turned her head so fast. “Who?”
“Sariel?” He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, veins popping up on the skin, knuckles bulging and turning white.
“You can’t be serious.” Her anger surfaced at the edge, her blood boiling just beneath the layers of her skin. She couldn’t believe Terry had fallen for Sariel’s ploy. She wanted Sariel back just so she could shove that damn scepter through him herself.
“I am serious. The things he said—”
“Demons lie, Terry.” She bit back the anger so she wouldn’t scream at him, or slap him upside the head. “You of all people should know that.”
“Okay, how about the things you said back to him?” His right cheek twitched, telling her that he also withheld his anger as much as he could. “Am I supposed to accept demons lie for that, too?”
Armen sat in mouth-agape silence as Terry pulled into the driveway. She blinked a few times. Closed her mouth. Opened it again.
“This is why I never tell anyone what I once was, you fucking bastard.”
As soon as the car stopped, she was out faster than Terry could put the car in Park. She slammed her door. Terry jumped out yelling. Sean was already at the door, and Armen bolted for him, even though she probably shouldn’t be running. However, she was quicker now that she’d rid herself of that damn cane.
“Answer me, Armen,” Terry demanded, jogging up the walkway to the front door.
She was already inside with Sean. “No! I am not answering such a ridiculous question.” She ran through the kitchen.
“Damn it, Armen,” Terry shouted, but his father stopped him in the kitchen. “Dad, move!”
“What in the devil are you two goin’ on about? She nearly tackled me to get inside.”
Terry stood before him, attempting to look around the corner. “I see you.”
Armen flipped him off and ducked out of his line of sight. She opened Sean’s office doors and closed them behind her most of the way. She wanted to listen in case Terry got past his dad.
“Terrance!”
“It’s nothing, Dad.”
“Well, if it’s nothin’, drop it. Guests’ll be arriving soon and I’ll nae have you running about your mither’s house swearing at the top of your lungs!”
“Pa—”
“If ye cannae discuss it calmly, you’ll chase her away.” Sean peered into the kitchen, catching sight of Armen in the doorway of his office. “Which you’ve nearly done with whatever you’ve said to her.”
“He called me a demon,” Armen shouted from the study. Emotions bubbled up inside her, wanting out in a bad way, and she damned Terry for bringing them to the surface again after she had closed them off for so long.
Sean slapped him upside the head. “What’d ye go and do that fer?”
“I didn’t call her a demon.”
“Bullshit,” Armen shouted. Their voices were more distant now, as she moved toward the bookshelf.
“Son, God’s given her a second chance. It is nae fair of you to throw in her face what she once was.”
“She loved him, Dad. Sariel said—”
“I heard that demon’s tall tales. What you fail to understand here is that one, demons lie to get their way, and Sariel got his way by enraging you through your jealousy. And two, what happened between them was in a time long before you and me, and long before she became flesh, before she sacrificed herself for me. You were wrought with emotion at the time, so I dinnae expect you to pick up on the voice patterns of demons in such an instance, but you’d best learn how to keep emotion at bay when dealing with ‘em. Armen, from what I can tell, cares for ye a great deal, and she played the game so you could destroy him. Who are you to judge her when He has already passed His judgment?”
“Shit,” Terry said.
“Watch your mouth,” Sean replied, and Armen heard the light slap of a hand against skin. “Armstrong men dinnae act like wee boys. Noo, go talk to her, like a man.”
“Crap,” Armen said and pulled back on the book of Enoch. The bolts moved and the shelf slid to the side, exposing the surprisingly non-drafty stairwell. “Let there be light.”
She ran down the stairs and opened one of the d
oors.
His footsteps hit the stairs loudly and his shadow darkened the space beneath the door. She turned toward the counter before he opened it. He found her sitting on a stool in front of the counter where they had been three days prior, where she’d started to make her healing salve for his father. She rested her head on her crossed arms on the countertop, attempting to ignore him, but Terry always had such a strong presence. It may even be reason for her attraction to him. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he had divine lineage.
He gradually made his way to the counter and stood next to her. He reached for a jar and pulled it down from the shelf, then sat it in front of her. The glass clinked against the tile, and Armen raised her head to look at it.
~ Calendula ~
She pushed herself up and turned away from him.
Terry sighed softly. “Personally, I thought it was brilliant. I never would have thought to throw that in his face.”
Armen swiveled on the stool, turning her back completely to him, and stared at the doorway.
“Look, I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.” He laid his right hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off. “I deserve that. I deserve much more than that.” He moved to the side and held up his bandage-free left hand. “Look, your salve completely healed my hand. You can’t even tell it was shredded four days ago.”
Armen sat perfectly still and silent.
Terry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Armen, please say something to me. Anything. Yell at me, if you need to. I don’t care. Just talk to me. You said you would talk to me.”
Armen hopped off the stool and turned around to face him, arms crossed. She steadily drew in a deep breath. “The trouble with humans is you don’t appreciate the reflection of silence. You have to fill it with needless chatter.” Terry blinked rapidly. “Yes, I said I would talk if you would, but the problem is, Terry, that wasn’t talking, that was accusing, that was assuming you know everything about me and my past, which, might I remind you, is in the past. There’s a reason they call it the past.”
Dusk of Death: an Armen Leza, Demon Hunter novel (Armageddon Trilogy Book 1) Page 12
