Counselor of the Damned

by Angela Daniels

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Loose Id Titles by Angela Daniels

  Angela Daniels

  COUNSELOR OF THE DAMNED

  Angela Daniels

  www.loose-id.com

  Counselor of the Damned

  Copyright © February 2014 by Angela Daniels

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Image/art disclaimer: Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

  eISBN 9781623006723

  Editor: Venessa Giunta

  Cover Artist: Scott Carpenter

  Published in the United States of America

  Loose Id LLC

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  San Francisco CA 94104-0806

  www.loose-id.com

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning

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  Chapter One

  “We counsel those who can be saved, Tegonni. I’m not going to allow you to waste time and resources on a lost cause.” Jaime’s heels clicked on the linoleum floor as she crossed the break room. She poured herself a cup of coffee.

  Tegonni Ellis trailed after her boss, one hand tapping at the belt holding up her beige dress slacks, the other clutching the new-client file. Jaime hadn’t bothered to read it. No surprise. Tegonni gestured with the folder. “Father Morgan says this guy goes to confession every week. He’s searching. Just let me bring him in for an assessment.”

  Jaime stared at Tegonni over one slender shoulder. At five foot seven, Tegonni felt like an amazon as she towered over Jaime’s short, petite frame. With her pixie haircut and high cheekbones, Jaime looked…cute. She wasn’t. She turned away, whipped her coffee and cream before throwing the spoon into the sink. “No. I don’t care if the vamp’s a priest. He’s damned.”

  Tegonni twisted her fingers around the tightly coiled locks of her hair. Catching herself in the calming gesture, she stopped and looked out the window at the park across the street instead. Tegonni had never given vampires much thought. Jaime was right. A Demon Lord held their souls captive, so they were certainly damned. They hadn’t given themselves, however; they were born that way. “He is powerless over what he is, but he’s making the choice to be a good person. My job is helping lost souls.”

  Jaime slammed down her cup and coffee splashed on her hand. “Fuck!”

  Tegonni fought the smile twitching at her lips as her boss stuck her scalded fingers under the cold tap. Most Lightworkers, from whatever religious background, kept an air of decorum about them. Dealing with heavenly beings daily inspired even the most irreverent to reign themselves in. Not Jaime. She’d curse in front of Archangel Michael himself without flinching.

  Tegonni studied the other woman, who muttered as she refilled the cup. Jaime must possess some degree of piety for the Lephiri—their angelic bosses—to keep her in such a high position in Lightworkers Universal, but Tegonni had never seen it.

  Jaime stared at her, the amber of her eyes a cooler reflection of the fire in her brick-red hair. “Your job, Dr. Ellis, is to save human souls from damnation. People—not vampires—who still have a chance to turn their lives around. As you said, he has no choice in what he is. Evil. Best case, nothing happens. Worst, he’s tricking you into allowing him to get close enough to kill you. Or worse, mind-rape you for information.” She shivered.

  “It’s unlikely that is his goal. He may not even be aware of Father Morgan’s affiliation with us.”

  “Doesn’t know a priest had ties to the human servants of Heaven? Tegonni, please.” She snorted.

  Tegonni shrugged. Though Heaven recognized no religious boundaries, embracing all, the Lephiri could only speak to and guide those who listened. An embarrassing number of spiritual heads didn’t. In his church’s neighborhood, Father Morgan had a reputation for creating miracles with his devotion to prayer. Humans weren’t in the know about Lightworkers Universal, or the greater paranormal community for that matter, but vampires certainly were. She had to admit Fernando would have to be dense to have missed the priest’s Lightworker connection. “I also ran a background check. No red flags. Willing donors only, no deaths, no bindings, and he hasn’t turned anyone.”

  “Willing donors, eh? Vampires’ power to compel makes that doubtful. Their idea of willing and ours are very different. You know that. And, anyway, no red flags makes him even more suspect. Sounds like a wiped history to me.”

  Tegonni blew out a breath and debated whether to use her last gambit. It might convince Jaime of the vampire’s sincerity or confirm her belief they had no need to involve themselves with this affair. “He wants Father Morgan to give him the Eucharist.”

  Jaime startled and stared at her with wide eyes.

  That got her. Hope pushed Tegonni to continue. She stepped closer to her boss, talking excitedly. “Mr. Amaral has been pleading for the last month to take communion and prove his devotion.”

  “A surprising choice, I admit. Or a ruse. The Host will certainly kill him. Without divine intervention at least. I rather like the idea of letting Heaven decide.”

  Tegonni groaned inwardly. “Father Morgan doesn’t want to give Mr. Amaral the Eucharist knowing he won’t survive.” She left out the part about the priest being directed through prayer to abide by the Lightworkers’ decision on the matter. That was the reason he’d contacted her in the first place.

  “I still don’t believe the creature is on the up-and-up.” She gave a little shake of her head. “No, too dangerous. Help Jenson with the survivors of that demon-summoning debacle on the West Side. Let the vampire bastard take the Host and accept God’s judgment.” She brushed past, leaving Tegonni staring after her.

  Wow. Vampire bastard? Tegonni tossed the folder on the counter and made herself a cup of tea. She shouldn’t have been surprised at the way the conversation had gone. Everyone in their Chicago branch of Lightworkers Universal knew Jaime hated vampires almost as much as demons. What bothered Tegonni more than Jaime’s prejudice was her recklessness in allowing it to rule her decision.

  Tegonni knew firsthand ho
w destructive such reasoning could be. Her mother, a devout Catholic, had left her father when he began studying African religious traditions. That was difficult, but fair, even understandable. What had been unforgivable was Mom’s rejection of Tegonni and her sister when she found out they’d been attending rituals while visiting their father. Tegonni remembered her mother’s hard eyes and harsh words. “Go live with him. I don’t want any sinners in my life.” Tegonni clenched her teeth at the memory. She could not accept Jaime’s determination on this case. But defying her could be a career-ending move.

  She opened the file and studied the picture of Fernando Amaral for the umpteenth time. His eyes, gold as they caught the light, seemed to plead with her from a youthful, bronzed face. She scanned his bio.

  Born February 3, 1367 in Castile, Spain. Race: Bloodborn vampire.

  Born a vampire. Not changed like those who used to be human.

  The sired commonly had regrets, but she’d never heard of a bloodborn seeking redemption. Before Father Morgan had come to her, she would have agreed with Jaime—vampires were evil, and like a demon, had no choice in the matter. Now, Fernando Amaral challenged her assumption.

  “Unless he’s lying.” Vampires were as good at deception as any other hellspawn; it might be a trap.

  One tidbit in his bio convinced her otherwise.

  After the death of his bloodborn mother, Alaria Eshan, Fernando was baptized Catholic at the behest of his human foster father.

  He already would have been drinking blood at that age, and he’d survived a baptism. Tegonni shook her head in wonder. The demonic part of him should have guaranteed a gruesome death.

  She’d seen a vampire doused with holy water. The image of melting skin made her shiver. She silenced the memory of the poor shrieking creature. What a horrible chance his father had taken. She didn’t want to think of a child, even a vampire child, enduring such torture.

  He, however, had suffered no ill effects.

  She had to agree with Father Morgan’s explanation. Baptism was about a parent’s commitment to raise the child with Christ’s teachings, since the child was too young to understand. Because of this, Father Morgan believed Fernando’s foster father and his unshakable faith in heaven had protected young Fernando.

  That gave credence to Fernando’s assertion he had lived his life as a devout Catholic, as much as he was able. She peered out the open window. Children giggled and shouted to one another as they ran in the park. He’d never been one of those kids playing in the sun and had probably wanted to be so badly. He must have been isolated growing up away from the vampire community but unable to be with human children. His developing a faith in an all-powerful God would be a comfort.

  What’s it like for Fernando to have lived nearly six hundred and fifty years believing he was cut off from heaven’s light?

  Tears stung her eyes, brought on equally by awe at his devotion and by his personal hell.

  No wonder he wanted to end his existence by taking communion. When she confirmed his sincerity, perhaps she’d petition the Lephiri to free his soul. She didn’t know what else she could do, but she wouldn’t let such a remarkable vampire die without trying to help. “Heaven help me.”

  She’d just have to make sure she wasn’t caught.

  Chapter Two

  Tegonni rose from the plush chair and paced the elegant hotel office. She again considered bailing on this meeting, but each time she turned to Father Morgan to tell him she’d changed her mind, worry lines creased around his gray eyes. She understood. He didn’t want to be responsible for a parishioner’s death, even a vampire’s.

  The priest brushed a silver curl of hair off his forehead. “It’s just full dark, so I’m sure he’ll be along shortly. He was so pleased you wanted to meet.” Though his smile was nervous, he managed a soothing tone of voice. “Try to relax.”

  She sat back down. Relax. Right. She hadn’t told him she was here against Jaime’s orders. She’d explained not meeting the vampire in the Lightworker offices as a “safety measure.” He’d raised a brow, then shrugged his slender shoulders and agreed to set up the meeting in the vampire’s business office.

  She rubbed damp palms over her slacks. This might still blow up in her face. She hoped Fernando Amaral was worth the risk.

  Low voices sounded outside the door before it opened, revealing a tall man in an elegant business suit. He spoke to someone in the reception area. “Thank you, Phillip. I’ll call if I need you.”

  When he turned, she recognized those rich tawny eyes immediately, as well as the solemn face. Both she and the father rose as he walked in.

  Amaral grasped and kissed Father Morgan’s hand. “Father,” he said with reverence.

  In person, Amaral was even more striking. She pulled her gaze away from the attractive lines of his body revealed by the tailored suit and focused on a professional assessment. His skin was a toffee complexion, lighter than her mocha coloring, but hardly the paleness most might associate with vampires. In fact, she’d take him for human if she didn’t know better. An interesting trait, and one that could have allowed him to get close to Father Morgan and the Lightworkers without revealing his true species. Yet he’d been honest. Her heart calmed as she was reassured of his sincerity.

  The vampire turned to her with a closed-lipped smile as Father Morgan introduced them. Tegonni, having never met a vampire before, shook off a mix of relief and disappointment at not getting to see his fangs. “Fernando, this is Ms. Ellis of the local Lightworkers. She’ll be…counseling you before you make your final decision about taking the Eucharist.”

  Fernando’s expression gave nothing away of his thoughts as he looked at her. She thought she caught the movement of his eyes flickering over her body, but it was too quick for her to be sure. The slow, charming smile he gave her was definitely flirtatious. She smoothed her shirt, nervous under the handsome vampire’s scrutiny.

  After a moment, he gave a slight bow. His voice was mild, silky, and rich with a lyrical accent she placed as Brazilian rather than Spanish. “Dr. Ellis, I’m surprised and pleased the Lightworkers would take the time with me. I truly am grateful, despite my tardiness. I had to handle a small business matter straightaway.”

  The combination of his voice and his intimate observation brought heat to her cheeks and a flutter to her stomach. Very unprofessional.

  “Fernando manages this hotel,” Father Morgan said. “And he’s quite generous with his financial support of the church.”

  “Ah…wonderful.” She gave the priest her attention, happy for an excuse to break eye contact with Fernando.

  He beamed at her and Fernando. “Well, I’m sure you’re eager to get started, so I’ll leave you to it.” After Fernando kissed his hand again, the priest grasped his arm. “Son, you have more faith and devotion in you than many humans. Consider the possibility Heaven loves you as you are.”

  “Only a possibility, Father? See, even you cannot say for sure.”

  The priest didn’t respond. He gave Fernando’s shoulder a pat before walking out of the office and closing the door.

  Tegonni stared at her new client with curiosity niggling at her brain. “Is that why you want to take communion? To prove Heaven loves you?” She normally would have started with casual, getting-to-know-you questions, but she couldn’t let this perfect opening slip by.

  He turned from the door, his jaw set. “Partaking of the Eucharist is the only way to know.”

  She took a deep breath. “You don’t wish to die?”

  One side of his mouth lifted in a sad smile. “Yes, Dr. Ellis, I do. I already know Heaven does not—cannot—love a vampire. Just as it cannot love a demon or the Demon Lord who created my kind. I do not want to go on as an unlovable thing.”

  “If you are so sure, why were you looking forward to meeting with me?”

  “Two reasons. One, the father hinted you were seeing me without the permission of your superior, and that intrigued me.”

  She suppressed a
frown. Of course Father Morgan had guessed.

  “Two, I want to ask a favor.”

  “Oh?” What could he want from her?

  He smiled and gestured toward the two high-backed chairs in front of the picture window. “Shall we sit?

  Deciding to let him explain in his own time, she walked to the chair nearest the large, sturdy-looking oak desk and sat. “Of course. Please, call me Tegonni.”

  He remained silent, and she looked up.

  His golden eyes, shimmering with an inner light no human could boast, gazed back. “In all my years, I have never heard your lovely name before.”

  Tegonni chuckled. “That’s saying a lot.”

  “May I ask its origin?”

  Personal disclosure was within the bounds of the client-counselor relationship. It fostered rapport and mutual trust. She ignored the swell of happiness the thought of sharing a bit of herself with him inspired. “Well, the short version is my father went through a ‘back to our African roots’”—she made finger quotes in the air—”phase when I was fourteen. Besides converting us from Catholicism to Haitian Vodoun—and insisting my sister and I wear nothing but kaftans—he also legally changed our names.” Fernando raised both eyebrows as he sat in the chair opposite hers. “Quite the conversion.”

  She wondered if the notion of voodoo scared him, and she smiled at the irony. A vampire thinking she was an evil doll-touting voodooist. “Yes and no. In Haiti, Vodoun overlaps with Catholicism quite a bit. Something to do with the slaves who practiced it being better able to hide it from their Catholic masters. It gets a bad rap, but it’s not as scary as its reputation.”

  “Perhaps not, but I have experienced something of this personally. I visited Haiti in the sixteen hundreds. I found the priests and priestesses to be surprisingly powerful. Their gifts didn’t always come from Heaven.” He tilted his head. “You practice this?”

  “Some of it. Mixed with a generous dose of Wicca.”